Chapter Four: Turmoil at the Teahouse

At this time, although Lin Yanghao was still thin and small, he was much stronger than he had been a year ago. Over the past year, though he wasn’t able to hunt ferocious wild boars, catching small rabbits and the like was well within his abilities.

“Should I roast this rabbit or stew it? Hmm, I think I’ll roast it,” Lin Yanghao thought to himself, his heart brimming with excitement and happiness.

Now that he had mastered this skill, he no longer had to worry about going hungry.

As his thoughts wandered, Lin Yanghao found himself nearing home. Yet, upon arriving, the first thing he did was not to eat; instead, he put down the rabbit and hurried straight toward the teahouse.

There was an old man in the village known as Old Lin. It was rumored that Old Lin had left home as a child and spent many years wandering the world. No one knew where he had been all those years, and he did not return to his hometown until he was middle-aged.

Old Lin was a man of broad experience, and every weekend he would tell tales at the teahouse—strange stories from this continent, and accounts of martial artists and cultivators. Lin Yanghao never missed a single one of these gatherings.

Old Lin was a respected elder in Xiaohe Village, his prestige even greater than that of the village chief Tian Ergou’s father. Over time, Old Lin became renowned throughout the neighboring villages, for he could describe the wonders of the world beyond the mountains and the might of martial artists—matters that were the villagers’ greatest fascination and longing.

Whenever Old Lin spoke, the teahouse’s takings for the day would rival those of three or four ordinary days combined.

Aside from hunting, Lin Yanghao’s greatest pleasure over these past years was listening to Old Lin’s stories. Whenever Old Lin recounted those tales with an air of mystery, Lin Yanghao would listen with rapt attention, his heart filled with longing and yearning. Yet, dreams are but dreams; when Old Lin finished, everything would fade like passing clouds, unreal and intangible.

Nonetheless, the allure of these tales was irresistible for Lin Yanghao, and he never missed a single one.

That day, Lin Yanghao arrived early at the teahouse. It was already crowded, but he managed to secure a small spot and waited expectantly with the other villagers for Old Lin’s arrival.

After about a quarter of an hour, an elderly man appeared at the entrance—his hair white, his face deeply wrinkled, and a streak of white beard on his chin. His expression was kind and gentle.

“This is the Dragon Martial Continent, a land filled with martial artists. Even the weakest among them possess strength enough to lift thousands of catties, to split rocks and shatter stone. The strong can cleave rivers, rend mountains. There are even martial emperors who can pierce the heavens and shake the earth. Martial arts determine fate and life and death on this land. The weak are bullied, the strong look down from above. Commoners are but ants in the eyes of martial artists.

“The ranks of martial strength are divided into Nine Heavens, each Heaven further split into early, middle, and late stages. Mastery of each stage is called a peak, and the peak of the late stage is known as perfection.

“It’s said that after mastering the Ninth Heaven, one attains the realm of Martial Emperor—the pinnacle of the martial path. Martial artists temper their skin, flesh, and bones, and the stronger among them develop inner force. Alongside martial artists, there are cultivators as well, who live in secrecy and rarely interfere in the lives of mortals. They are beings who have transcended the mundane world, and so cultivators are rarely seen,” Old Lin recounted from his place at the front.

“Get out of here, you little bastard! Who said you could sit here?” Just as Lin Yanghao was listening with rapt attention, a loud voice bellowed in his ear. He looked up in alarm to see the village bully, Tian Ergou, glaring at him with eyes like a raging bull, a cold glint flickering within. Several cronies followed behind him.

Faced with Tian Ergou and his lackeys, Lin Yanghao’s body trembled slightly, his pupils narrowing, hatred slowly rising in his heart. Over the years, Tian Ergou had often sought to trouble him. Though Lin Yanghao had grown stronger, he was still no match for several attackers at once. At first, he hadn’t paid Tian Ergou much mind, but soon learned he was mistaken—Tian Ergou’s family wielded considerable power, and his followers were many. They tormented Lin Yanghao whenever they pleased, and he had no recourse but to endure, for any resistance only meant worse beatings.

Seeing Lin Yanghao cowed, the bully grew even more arrogant. “Didn’t you hear what your granddaddy just said, you little bastard? Hurry up and get lost! You think you deserve to sit here?”

Suddenly—

Bang! A sharp pain made Tian Ergou shudder, his vision dimming for a moment before clearing again.

“You want to die? Get him, boys!” Tian Ergou roared, spinning around to kick Lin Yanghao hard. His cronies joined in, attacking as well.

Pain exploded in his stomach, making Lin Yanghao tremble uncontrollably, his face grazed and blood covering his childish features. He thought he might go mad—after enduring so much for so long, he finally snapped. Scrambling to his feet, his injuries and pain seemed trivial compared to years of pent-up hatred.

“Ah! Ah!” Lin Yanghao screamed in fury, lunging at Tian Ergou.

Bang! Once more, Lin Yanghao was knocked to the ground.

But now, enraged beyond reason, he seemed to forget his pain altogether, hurling himself at Tian Ergou again and again.

Bang!

Bang!

After knocking him down several times, Tian Ergou began to feel uneasy at Lin Yanghao’s relentless attacks. This could end in tragedy, and though Tian Ergou was feared in the village, he dared not go so far as to kill someone openly. Weighing the risks, he decided to leave.

“Kid, I’ve got things to do. I’ll play with you next time!” With that, Tian Ergou led his gang away. Little did he know that as he left, Lin Yanghao—lying on the ground, bloodied and battered—watched him go, a cold smile curving on his shadowed face.

A few kind villagers carried the unconscious, pain-wracked Lin Yanghao home. He didn’t wake until the following day.

His injuries were so severe that Lin Yanghao took a full week to recover enough to walk. It was several more days before he was completely healed.

“Tian Ergou, just you wait. This isn’t over,” Lin Yanghao vowed to himself once he’d finally recovered.

A few days later, Lin Yanghao appeared on the market street, hunting gear slung across his back. He bought a fine knife for one hundred gold coins at a shop, then headed straight for the Red Delight Courtyard.

He had no intention of seeking pleasure there; he had come for revenge on Tian Ergou.

Over the past few days, Lin Yanghao had been inquiring about Tian Ergou’s whereabouts, learning that he came to the Red Delight Courtyard at the end of every month. So, he arrived early, waiting patiently for Tian Ergou to emerge.

After an hour, Tian Ergou and his cronies swaggered out of the brothel, arms around one another, laughing raucously.

“Drink! More drinks!”

“Splendid!”

“Brothers, let’s drink!”

Their bawdy laughter rang out at the entrance—it was Tian Ergou and his gang, without a doubt.

Lin Yanghao watched them depart, determined not to act in the city where they were many and he was alone. He quietly followed as they made their way back toward the village, waiting for the perfect moment—hoping to catch Tian Ergou alone, and exact his revenge.