Chapter 34

A hand suddenly landed on Fu Tingjun's shoulder from behind.

She was scared out of her wits, her hand went limp, and the dagger clattered to the ground with a "clang."

Everyone in the hall stared at Fu Tingjun in surprise, unable to understand why she had looked so tragically resolute and determined to die just moments before, only to be so frightened that she dropped her dagger the next. When they looked at the fierce-faced man with the square jaw, it seemed to offer some explanation. Even the square-jawed man, who was striding toward Fu Tingjun, wore a smug expression.

The man with an easy, unrestrained bearing in the northwest corner furrowed his brow slightly, looking deeply disappointed.

But what rang in Fu Tingjun's ears was a low, cold voice: "Find me A Sen's eyebrow-level staff."

The tone was casual, even a little indifferent, yet it brought tears to Fu Tingjun's eyes.

It was Ninth Master, it was Ninth Master...

His eyebrow-level staff had been whittled down to a wooden stick during the fight with Feng Laosi.

She wanted desperately to ask about his injuries, to turn around and see if he was safe... But with the square-jawed man closing in, she dared not delay. Stumbling, she picked up the staff that had rolled to the side and handed it to Zhao Jiuye.

Zhao Jiuye's face was flushed, his gaze hazy, and he rose unsteadily, leaning on the staff.

The crowd suddenly understood.

The square-jawed man halted mid-step. Seeing how gaunt Zhao Jiuye was, his expression relaxed into a cruel, mocking sneer: "Another one coming to die!"

"Get behind me!" Zhao Jiuye said in a low voice to Fu Tingjun.

Ninth Master was still sick!

Fu Tingjun hesitated for a moment, then, seeing Zhao Jiuye step forward to shield her, she quickly acknowledged and, grabbing the fallen dagger, curled up in the corner of the hall—her eyes fixed unblinkingly on his figure.

"The green hills remain, and the rivers flow on," Zhao Jiuye said, looking at the square-jawed man but with unfocused eyes. "Good sir, if I have offended you in any way, I beg your forgiveness..." His cheeks burned as if on fire, and he was holding himself up entirely by the staff planted on the ground. It was obvious he was gravely ill and merely forcing himself to stand.

The man with the easy bearing watched and shook his head slightly, then, as if losing interest, turned back to speak quietly with the handsome, delicate-featured man beside him.

The square-jawed man, meanwhile, burst into loud laughter, cutting him off: "That depends on whether you've got the skill to make me forgive you!" With that, he threw a punch straight at Zhao Jiuye's face.

Zhao Jiuye tilted his head, and the punch missed. His staff swept in a half-circle, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle and striking the square-jawed man's shoulder. A faint "crack" sounded, and the man's body buckled as he staggered backward and fell to the ground.

Zhao Jiuye, meanwhile, stood there quietly, leaning on his staff, with a calm and steady bearing like a mountain—one that commanded respect.

"Ah!" The man with the easy bearing stared intently at Zhao Jiuye, a strange glint flashing in his eyes. The man behind him, who looked like a shopkeeper, and the burly man exchanged a glance—one placed his hand on his waist, the other clenched his fist behind his back.

The burly man in the southwest corner had also risen from his seat at some point, setting down what he was holding.

The square-jawed man stared at Zhao Jiuye in shock.

He knew what a punch like that would do.

He had once smashed a man's face so badly that even his own parents couldn't recognize him.

But this time, this sickly man who looked like he might collapse at any moment had not only dodged his thunderous blow, but the spot where he'd been hit was burning with a piercing pain.

A sense of dread crept into his heart.

But everyone's eyes were on him. If he stopped now, how could he ever keep his men in line? Even the silver he'd just collected might not stay his. He looked at Zhao Jiuye's thin, frail body and felt a bit more confident.

"Damn it, you consumptive ghost, sneaking an attack on me while I wasn't looking!" the square-jawed man bellowed, a bloodthirsty cruelty flashing in his eyes. He turned, snatched the waist knife from the nearest person, and strode toward Zhao Jiuye. "All of you, get him! Whoever kills this bastard gets the little lady by his side!"

Fu Tingjun's beauty was plain for all to see. They surged forward in a rush, their voices dripping with undisguised greed, excitement, and lechery... It made Fu Tingjun's legs go weak, her trembling hands clutching the dagger tightly.

She would rather die than be humiliated.

Zhao Jiuye said nothing.

His thin lips pressed tightly together, a flash of brutality crossing his calm face. His brow arched, and a fierce killing intent radiated from his entire being—so palpable that even the two groups on the other side of the hall felt it. But the mob charging at him, emboldened by their numbers, paid it no mind. Raising sticks and blades, they rushed in, swinging wildly.

A series of low, crackling sounds like firecrackers rang out through the hall.

Those who charged forward were either beaten to the ground and unable to move, or sent stumbling backward, or clutching their heads and shoulders with loud cries... None of them could even land a hit on Zhao Jiuye, let alone get close to him. The great hall was in complete chaos.

The man with an easygoing demeanor watched Zhao Jiuye, his gaze growing even more intense.

However, Zhao Jiuye could do nothing about those who had fled—he did not pursue them. As long as they stayed out of reach of his staff, they were safe.

Soon, the square-faced man who had shouted the loudest, charged at the front, and yet ended up watching from the sidelines, discovered the reason—Zhao Jiuye was protecting the woman behind him. As long as he moved his feet, the barrier in front of the woman would be removed, and they could attack her without restraint.

Once he figured this out, the square-faced man grew excited and shouted at his men: "He's protecting that woman! Grab her!"

With his reminder, the others quickly caught on.

They all turned their attacks toward Fu Tingjun.

Zhao Jiuye stood firmly in front of her, striking back at fists with his own, slashing at blades with his hands. Several more men collapsed to the ground, unable to move.

Fear flickered across the faces of those who remained.

They exchanged glances, surrounding Zhao Jiuye but none willing to be the first to attack again.

"Idiots!" the square-faced man shouted angrily from the side. "We have numbers on our side, and he doesn't dare move. If you take turns wearing him down, even with his god-given strength, he'll be exhausted to death..."

The group suddenly understood and began taking turns, two or three at a time, to engage Zhao Jiuye in close combat.

Fu Tingjun listened to the square-faced man directing the others, hatred burning in her heart. She thought to herself how wonderful it would be if A Sen were here—perhaps he could catch the square-faced man off guard and kill him... Without their leader, this rabble would naturally fall apart!

At that thought, she couldn't help but worry about A Sen.

Had he managed to find a doctor?

Had he encountered any danger?

Calculating the time, he should have returned by now... She just hoped he wouldn't recklessly charge in!

Anxiety churned within her.

Zhao Jiuye's movements began to slow.

Those surrounding him saw this and exchanged delighted looks.

Suddenly, a loud "boom" echoed through the great hall, as if even the roof trembled. The men attacking Zhao Jiuye stumbled backward in disarray.

They all retreated to more than ten feet away.

Fu Tingjun saw that the staff that had been whirling in Zhao Jiuye's hands was now planted on the ground, and the once-neatly-laid bluestone tiles beneath it had cracked like a spider's web.

"If you persist in your foolishness, don't blame me for showing no mercy!" Zhao Jiuye bellowed, his voice rumbling through the hall like muffled thunder, pressing down on everyone's hearts.

The attackers glanced at the square-faced man, then at Zhao Jiuye, hesitating—neither advancing nor retreating.

Silence fell as they stood in a standoff.

Fu Tingjun's nerves were stretched taut.

The longer this dragged on, the more advantageous it was for the square-faced man and his group... She had to find a way to break this deadlock!

The thought had barely flashed through her mind when she saw Zhao Jiuye's body sway slightly.

Her face turned pale.

Ninth Master... he must be at the end of his strength!

Fu Tingjun's heart ached as if twisted by a knife, and she couldn't help but blame herself.

Why was she such a coward!

If, when she had been startled earlier, she had cut her own throat instead of dropping the dagger, Ninth Master might have been able to escape.

She had known he was injured, and yet when she saw him confronting the square-faced man and his gang, she had still harbored a sliver of hope that, as before, Ninth Master would win with a single move... If she had resolutely chosen to end her own life then, without her as a burden, how could Ninth Master have been trapped here?

Her eyes stung.

Then she heard the square-faced man shout: "Hold on, brothers! He's done for!" His voice was sinister, yet filled with glee.

Zhao Jiuye's staff shot toward him with a piercing shriek, like a gale or a thunderbolt.

The square-faced man was startled. He twisted to dodge, but the staff had already struck his chest.

Carried backward by the residual force of the staff, he stumbled seven or eight steps before the staff clattered to the ground. Only then did his legs give way, and he collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. His head drooped, and with a thud, he pitched forward onto the ground, motionless.

"Big Brother!" The men who had been attacking Zhao Jiuye rushed over in unison.

Zhao Jiuye's body swayed, then fell straight backward.

"Ninth Master!" Fu Tingjun shrieked in anguish, rushing to him. "Ninth Master..."

His eyes were tightly shut, his face as pale as gold paper.

"Ninth Master!" Her tears fell one by one onto his face.

The burly, butcher-like man heard Fu Tingjun's scream, shifted his gaze, abandoned the square-faced man, snatched up a large blade from the ground, and charged toward Fu Tingjun.

A gleaming soft sword followed him like a venomous snake, swiftly piercing through his back.

The burly man's body stiffened for a moment. Only when the soft sword was pulled out of him did a spurt of blood shoot from his body, and only then did he fall to the ground with a dull thud.

Among those surrounding the square-faced man, someone had already noticed something amiss and shouted loudly.

The others looked up one after another.

They saw the man dressed like a shopkeeper, who had just been bowing and scraping to them while handing out silver, now standing beside the burly man's corpse with a soft sword in hand, a genial smile still on his face.

An involuntary shiver ran through the crowd, and they all saw fear reflected in each other's eyes.

"Kill them all!" the man with an exceedingly carefree bearing suddenly said.

His cold voice carried a hint of the aloofness and authority of one long accustomed to holding power.

The burly man responded with a loud "Yes, sir," his voice tinged with a hint of delight.

He strode forward and swung his fist at the nearest person.

A faint cracking sound echoed through the hall, and the man's face immediately caved in. He fell without a sound and never moved again.

The shopkeeper-like man's soft sword moved as swiftly as a venomous snake—one touch meant death.

The square-faced men snapped out of their shock and scrambled toward the exit with shouts and clamor.

But no matter how they tried, they could not evade the killers' strikes.

In an instant, the great hall became a slaughterhouse.

Fu Tingjun was stunned.

Her impression of the people in the northwest corner plummeted to the worst possible degree.

If they possessed such overwhelming skill, why had they refused to save lives earlier?

Her gaze involuntarily darted toward the southwest corner.

That burly man with the fleshy face was gone!

She looked around in alarm.

She did not see the fleshy-faced man, but she did see the shopkeeper-like man holding his soft sword straight and delivering a finishing thrust to the chest of every person lying in the hall.

A wave of nausea churned in Fu Tingjun's chest.

Unable to bear it, she turned her face away and vomited.

Someone walked over: "Miss, are you all right?" A handkerchief was offered to her.