92 Killing in the Woodshed of the Smithy (2/2)

The bamboo hat fell onto the ground in the rain.

Chen Zixian slowly blinked his eyes, and let go of the firewood in his left hand. His nails were full of black mud. After rubbing his left hand on the front of his clothes, he reached for the knife behind his back and raised the axe in his right hand simultaneously. He then said, looking at the pale lad who had come in from the wind and rain, ”You're finally here.”

Ning Que's podao was coming.

The sharp blade, sharpened by the rice water in the Old Brush Pen Shop of Lin 47th Street for a few days, was pulled lightning-fast out of the sheath. It easily cut through the old cloth that was tightly wrapped over the sheath, the wind, the rain, and the past, and eventually, Chen Zixian's neck.

Chen Zixian lifted his knife and a crisp buzzing was heard from the collision of the two knives while the rain was deflected from the blades.

At this point, a rush of forging sounds could be heard in the front part of the lane, covering up all of the sounds of the knives in the courtyard.

”Zeng, Zeng, Zeng!” Ning Que held his knife with two hands in the heavy rain and walked forward again with an expressionless face to split the neck, cut off the head, and open the stomach of the other man. The podao moved through the wind and the rain to ruthlessly grind and clash with the knife and axe in the old man's hands.

”Dang, Dang, Dang!” The apprentices numbly sandwiched the red iron and swung their heavy hammers to strike the iron again and again next to the red stove. They did not hear anything but the raging storm outside of the lane.

The muffled sounds included the noises of hissing, the cutting of robes, the falling of the axe, and the chopping of a wrist. The firewood outside the room scattered everywhere. Just now, Ning Que struck the 17th blade as Chen Zixian had blocked the first 16 of them.

And then the sounds of the knives disappeared—only the noises of the wind, the rain, and chopping board were heard.

…

…

Chen Zixian fell off to the side of the firewood, with his body full of sludge stains. A few drops of blood appeared on his darkish old face and the countless cuts in the thin jacket over his stomach while the gray cotton scattered around. The middle cut, the deepest one that reached his bones and organs, kept bleeding and body fluids of different colors flowed out.

The rain was dripping down from the roof to the firewood, to his gray hair, and to the distressed wrinkles on his forehead and then flowed onto his dark cheeks, quickly washing away the drops of blood.

Ning Que lowered his head and slowly put the knife away. He could not help but frown looking at the sharp rising and falling of his chest, and the dangerous axe mark on it. He never thought that an ordinary deputy general of the Tang Empire from long ago still had such tough combat ability after so many years of torment and hardship in the bottom of the market.

Chen Zixian powerlessly looked at the lad in front of him with cloudy eyes. He seemed to have a lot of sputum in his throat. He gurgled painfully, and two mouthfuls of bloody sputum were coughed out. He said weakly, ”I thought that I had long been forgotten by this world.”

”You are indeed one of the strongest amongst those who have been forgotten. No one in the imperial court dared to hire you probably because you betrayed your master for the sake of glory. I don't know if you have ever regretted that in all these years.”

Ning Que wiped the cold rain away from his face, looking at the dying old man. ”It won't cause too much trouble if I want to kill you since you've been forgotten by the world. Besides, I've been admitted into the Academy, so killing you is regarded as an indispensable part of the celebration, just like flowers and pigeons.”

Chen Zixian's old weak eyes were filled with bewilderment, and he whispered, ”Please give me a quick finish.”

”It's still early, and your poor apprentices need more time to finish the orders today.”

Ning Que took a glance at the sky where the clouds hung over the curtains of rain and where the sun was missing. However, he knew he still had a lot of time. He said in a low voice, ”It's for my enjoyment. You've made me miserable during these years, so you shouldn't expect to die soon.”

”I have a poem to read to you,” he said calmly, looking expressionless at the old man among the firewood. ”I come from the mountains and rivers. I come from the Yan territory of the grassland. I come from the General's Mansion. I come to take your life.”

Upon hearing the words General's Mansion, Chen Zixian's turbid eyes suddenly became bright and his face gradually became relieved as his trembling hands subconsciously gesticulated in the wet firewood. He said with a trembling voice, staring at Ning Que's childish face, ”So, that's how matters stand. So... the general's son is still alive. You... you said... you've been admitted to the Academy. That's really good... really good. I've lived such a tired life these years... To know before my death that the son of the general is still alive... and lives a good life... I can really rest in peace.”

”Who is not tired of living?” Ning Que looked down on the hollows, which were made by the impact of the rain upon the ground, and whispered, ”I had to learn calligraphy, Mathematical Olympiad, piano, and drawing. And I had to run around on the backseat of mother's bike every weekend and finally get more familiar with the children's palace than my own home. Am I not tired?”

Chen Zixian did not understand this dialogue. He clutched his bleeding cut, shaking his head painfully.