57 The Heart of Wuji I (1/2)
Blood dripped down the Rong man's nose as a bulge slowly emerged on his forehead. He stumbled backward.
Zong Yue had been standing quietly by the side, and upon seeing that Meng Fuyao had subdued him without doing much, a look of praise flashed across his face. Not only were her skills extraordinary, but she was also extremely witty. While she hadn't risen to the top, the seat right at the top would eventually be hers.
Meng Fuyao proceeded to help the lady up before feeling for her child's pulse. She nodded comfortingly, adding, ”You can no longer live here. Every city in Wuji Nation has a home shelter built for the homeless and the suffering. You guys should look for the officer there and seek protection.”
The frightened pregnant woman choked, tears streaming down her face. ”Thank you...”
The old man and his son half-dashed and half-stumbled toward them, their faces moist. They thanked Meng Fuyao, bowing with her hands cupped in front, inwardly glad that they had kept them in out of kindness.
Meng Fuyao waved casually before turning to Zong Yue. ”You go ahead first. I'll bring them to the shelter.”
A strange expression appeared on Zong Yue's face, but he said nothing, simply standing still. Meng Fuyao cast a glance at him, and as she was about to leave, a gust of wind surged from behind. Without even turning her head, Meng Fuyao threw a back kick, her long leg drawing a flexible and beautiful arc before landing on the sneak attacker's chest.
”Ah!”
Meng Fuyao's floating kick sent him flying right out of the door and onto the ground. After releasing a sky-splitting cry and twisting about on the floor, the man stopped moving.
After some time, fresh blood poured out from his body, gradually piling up. The thick sent was nose-piercing.
”Murder!”
A shout filled the air, stalling Meng Fuyao, who was already moving away from the scene. She turned around to look at the big fellow lying in a pool of blood, before walking over and flipping his body. There was a half-penetrated blade on his abdomen. It was the same blade that she had plunged into his companion's hand previously. That fellow must have extracted and tossed it to the ground. It seemed that she had unintentionally thrown the man right onto it and killed him.
'Not right.' Meng Fuyao inspected the blade, and her heart jolted. The Rong man, whose hand she had injured, had tossed it flat onto the ground. Had someone shifted the blade's position?
She shot her head up, catching a glimpse of a suspicious figure that was forcing its way through the crowd.
Meng Fuyao sprung to her feet, ready to make chase, when more Rong men surged forward, eager to take revenge. They brandished their longswords, chanting, ”Murderer! He's killed Han Mutie.”
”Grab him! Grab him!”
Countless longswords were raised, directing the sun rays right into her eyes like water jets, drowning the youth amid the crowd.
Their voices spread outward forcefully, penetrating the houses and streets.
The citizens started becoming frantic as well. Doors started to slam shut as neighbors warned one another, ”Don't leave your house. Something big's about to happen!”
The people who were standing close to Meng Fuyao had fled instantly, declaring loudly, ”I don't know her! I don't know her!”
Some even smoothened their sleeves while retreating and shouting, in an attempt to please the angry Rong men, ”Brothers, this fellow has killed a fellow Rong brother, violating the sanctity of Garison! We will not take it lying down. Let's go inform the magistrate...”
The streets were clamorous, suddenly turning into a boiling pot of congee.
Meng Fuyao tossed the corpse back onto the ground and smirked. ”All living things! All living things!”
Zong Yue stood motionless by her side, adding, ”It's the wrong time to lament about living things. You need to still the situation.”
He spoke simply, but Meng Fuyao's eyes lit up.
To prevent more violent outbursts and deaths, she would have to stop the news from spreading to the rest of the Rong men within the city and do so, she would have to kill every Rong individual present.
The wind rumbled as weapons were being raised. A calamity awaited Yaocheng the moment these Rong men, who formed the biggest ethnic group within the city, started rebelling.
As Meng Fuyao imagined the outcome, her facial expression changed. A web-like blood wisp emerged from the bottom part of her eyes as she abruptly lifted her head.
A batch of Rong men whizzed forward with machetes in hand, only to see the slim youth's eyes turn deadly. If the earlier look in her eyes was akin to a sharp, unsheathed sword, the look she was giving at that moment was like the very same sword but bloodied – one that had taken a life and become a true killer weapon.