15: Chapter 15 The Night of the Murder, Building the Jingguan

Jiang Hanzhou dragged the small boat onto a hidden rocky beach and tied it down.

Looking up, the cliff in the torrential rain was pitch black and slippery, almost blending into the night sky; it soared dozens of feet high, difficult even for monkeys to climb.

He took a deep breath; the rain was mixed with the scent of soil, vegetation, and a faint trace of... smoke.

This is the place.

He did not hesitate in the slightest; using both hands and feet, he pressed against the cold rock wall.

The Perfection of the Fishing Eagle Plunging into Water Hand granted him astonishing finger strength and precision; the light-body and Qi-lifting techniques of the Wave-Treading Step were utilized to their limit, while the steady lower-body posture of the Mud Leg Steps ensured every step he took was solid.

He was not climbing; it was more like he was "swimming" on the vertical rock wall.

His fingers were like hooks, gripping tiny crevices in the rock, while his toes were like awls, tapping onto almost non-existent protrusions.

His figure appeared and disappeared in the torrential rain, like a ghostly vine growing from the cliff, spreading upwards silently and swiftly.

The higher he went, the stronger the wind and rain became, almost tearing a person off; but Jiang Hanzhou's heart became increasingly calm.

So calm that only one thought remained:

The heart is not at peace.

Then kill.

"Pfft."

He placed his palm on the edge of the cliff top and applied a slight force; his soaked body flipped up as if it had no weight, lying prone in the muddy grass.

The view before him suddenly opened up.

The top of the cliff was actually a fairly large natural platform, with the mountain behind it and facing the great river.

Several simple but sturdy wooden houses were built against the mountain; in the central clearing, the ashes of a bonfire remained, and a large shed was piled with quite a few supplies.

At this moment, most of the wooden houses were dark, with only the largest one and a guard shed in the corner emitting a dim yellow light.

About a hundred people... Jiang Hanzhou's gaze swept across, making a judgment based on the houses and the faint auras.

Most of the auras were heavy and chaotic; they were ordinary fierce bandits.

In that large house, there were a few auras of stronger blood and Qi; they should be the leaders.

That is enough.

Like a pool of flowing shadows, he merged into the deeper darkness and moved first towards the guard shed in the corner.

Inside the shed, two River Bandits were dozing off wrapped in fur coats, holding their swords, the fire basin about to go out; the door curtain was blown open by the wind and rain, and a colder "wind" rolled in with it.

A black light flashed.

A tiny bloody hole appeared in the throats of both River Bandits simultaneously; their eyes widened suddenly, but they could not make a sound as they slumped over softly.

Jiang Hanzhou's figure was no longer inside the shed.

He walked towards the first dark wooden house and gently unlatched the door.

Inside was a communal bed where seven or eight River Bandits were sleeping, snoring like thunder; the air was filled with the smell of sweat, fish, and cheap alcohol.

Jiang Hanzhou walked inside.

The water-dividing thorn traced imperceptible, fatal arcs in the darkness.

Precisely sweeping across the side of the neck, piercing into the heart, severing the windpipe... there were no wasted movements, not a single sound.

Only the extremely faint "hiss" when the sharp blade cut into flesh, and the last foul breath laden with the scent of blood as life faded away.

He was like the most skilled Fisherman, harvesting sleeping fish.

One house, two houses, three houses...

The torrential rain covered everything; death spread quietly amidst deep slumber.

When the last person in the fourth wooden house fell, Jiang Hanzhou's body was already covered in warm, sticky blood, which was constantly washed away by the icy rain.

His eyes remained calm, even more focused than when he was sorting medicinal herbs at the Medicinal Cuisine Hall.

Finally, the door of the largest wooden house was violently pushed open.

A scarred, burly man wearing only underpants and carrying a ghost head saber rushed out; he had been awakened by an inexplicable palpitation.

"Damn it! Where the hell did everyone go?! Do we not need to keep watch just because it's raining?!" he roared.

The roar startled the River Bandits in the neighboring houses, and one by one, people emerged with weapons, rubbing their sleepy eyes.

Then, they saw that figure standing quietly in the curtain of rain.

And around the figure, from the doorways of the dark wooden houses, a dark red color slowly flowed out, still striking even under the washing of the rain.

"Enemy attack—!!"

The shrill howl pierced through the rainy night.

The remaining forty or fifty River Bandits were completely awakened, hurriedly grabbing their weapons and swarming into the clearing.

Torches were lit, stubbornly struggling to cast light in the torrential rain, illuminating faces twisted with a mix of shock, anger, and disbelief.

They also illuminated Jiang Hanzhou.

A young man who did not look particularly tall or strong, soaked through, wearing tight-fitting black clothes, his face and body splattered with blood, holding a pitch-black water-dividing thorn.

He just stood there, rainwater dripping continuously from the tips of his hair on his forehead and the tip of the thorn in his hand.

"Just... just one person?"

"Damn it, playing god and acting like a ghost! Kill him!"

The bandits clamored, relying on their numbers, waving their swords and spears, and surrounded him from all directions.

Jiang Hanzhou moved.

With this movement, it was like a dormant river dragon entering the water, a fierce tiger leaving its cage!

He no longer hid, no longer sought silence.

The blood and Qi inside his body surged thunderously; the Perfection of the Tidal Breathing Technique brought nearly infinite stamina and explosive power, while the Minor Achievement of the Layered Wave Bone Tempering Strength made his bones resonate and his power lie in wait!

Facing the three sword-wielding bandits who rushed at him first, he did not retreat but advanced, lowering his frame and sliding through the gaps in the sword light like a swimming fish.

The water-dividing thorn split left and right, and two points of black light plunged into the hearts of the two men on the left and right almost simultaneously.

The middle man's sword had only swung halfway, but Jiang Hanzhou had already crashed into his chest, his elbow like a heavy hammer, slamming fiercely into his chest and abdomen.

"Crack!" A bone-cracking sound that set one's teeth on edge.

"Pfft!" Fresh blood sprayed wildly.

The three fell to the ground.

The next moment, Jiang Hanzhou's figure suddenly shot up, spinning in mid-air to avoid the several spears thrusting from below; with a tap of his toe on one of the spears, he used the force to swoop toward the crowd on the flank like a sparrowhawk.

The water-dividing thorn in his hand was no longer just for "stabbing."

Sometimes it was like a sword, tracing cold arcs and cutting throats.

Sometimes like a dagger, parrying against the bandits' weapons, sliding in, and thrusting into the ribs.

Sometimes like a short stick, using the handle of the thorn to strike temples and Adam's apples.

Sometimes it flew from his hand like a poisonous snake flicking its tongue, piercing the throat of an archer attempting a sneak shot, only to be snatched back in mid-air by his uncanny movement technique.

His movements were too fast, too fluid, too... unpredictable.

Clearly just one person with one short weapon, yet in the siege of dozens, he transformed into a fatal black vortex.

The essence of the Tidal Shadow Thousand Hands was displayed to the fullest at this moment.

Fists, palms, fingers, elbows, knees, feet... every part of his body became a weapon, intertwining with the cold light of the water-dividing thorn into a web of death.

He was like the tide; wherever he washed over, life was ruthlessly swallowed.

He was like a ghost; one moment he was in front, the next he was behind; every time he appeared, someone was bound to fall with a scream.

Rainwater, blood, and mud mixed together, and the clearing quickly turned into a Shura slaughterhouse.

"Stop him! All together! Hack him to death!"

The scarred leader's eyes were splitting with rage; waving his ghost head saber, he led a few of his best henchmen, formed a simple formation, and roared as he charged, attempting to meet force with force.

Jiang Hanzhou didn't even look at the sword light they hacked over.

His left foot slammed into the ground, shattering a puddle of water; his figure did not retreat but advanced, avoiding the fiercest blows by a hair's breadth, and instantly cut into the middle of them.

The water-dividing thorn flicked upward, deflecting a machete, and followed through to pierce that man's wrist.

His right leg was like a whip, side-kicking the side of another man's knee, the sound of bone cracking clearly audible; at the same time, his left palm struck out like lightning, imprinting onto the blade of the third man who was hastily defending.

"Layered Wave Palm!"

The first layer of strength shook the bandit so that the web between his thumb and index finger burst, and the single-blade slipped from his hand.

The second layer of strength followed immediately, surging into his arm, snapping tendons and breaking bones.

The third layer of strength, the most obscure and sinister, penetrated into his chest cavity like a strike through a mountain.

The bandit's eyes bulged, he spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with pieces of internal organs, and fell backward.

In the blink of an eye, three men were crippled.

The scarred second-in-command's sword momentum was spent, but Jiang Hanzhou had already ghost-like turned to his side, the tip of the water-dividing thorn gently tapping on the major artery of his neck.

Cold, stinging.

The second-in-command stiffened all over, not daring to move in the slightest.

He finally saw the face of this god of slaughter clearly: young, calm, and even... somewhat handsome.

Only that pair of eyes, deep like the heart of the river on a stormy night, had no anger, no madness, only a sheet of cold, pure-to-the-extreme murderous intent.

"You... who are you? Why..." the second-in-command's voice was dry and hoarse.

Jiang Hanzhou did not answer.

The tip of the thorn moved forward, gently pushing.

"Hiss."

A jet of blood sprayed out, mixing into the rainwater.

The second-in-command clutched his neck, making gurgling sounds, stumbling backward; in his wide-eyed gaze, the last image was that black-clad figure turning around and pouncing toward the backs of the last few River Bandits who had been scared out of their wits and started to flee.

The massacre entered its final stages.

When the last River Bandit attempting to jump off the cliff to escape was pinned to the edge of the cliff by the flying water-dividing thorn, the entire Longya Ravine platform, besides the sound of the torrential rain, was left with only Jiang Hanzhou's slightly heavy breathing and the scattered, gradually cooling corpses covering the ground.

The torches extinguished one by one in the rain.

Jiang Hanzhou stood in the center of the mountain of corpses and sea of blood, slowly adjusting his breath.

How many did he kill? He didn't count.

One hundred? One hundred and twenty? It didn't matter.

He walked to the largest wooden house; it was empty inside, containing only some valuables, alcohol, and meat.

The big boss, "Over-River Dragon," did not seem to be here; perhaps he was at a more hidden lair.

But, it was enough.

He found a few large bamboo baskets used for holding fish and sought out some oilcloth that was still relatively intact.

Then, he began to bend down, doing something extremely bloody and extremely time-consuming.

...

Dawn was about to break, and the torrential rain gradually ceased.

On the pier of the Canglang Water Dock, the first batch of Fishermen and servants to rise walked to their respective posts with sleepy eyes.

Then, they stood frozen in place as if cast with a freezing spell.

On the most conspicuous clearing on the pier, a small "mountain" was stacked neatly.

It was not cargo.

It was human heads.

Their faces were ferocious, some terrified, some twisted; the bloodstains had been washed pale by the rain, but it was still shocking to the eye.

Densely packed, at a rough glance, definitely over a hundred!

At the very front, a wooden pole was inserted, hanging a tattered, broken canvas painted with a twisted, blood-red dragon shape.

It was precisely the one left by the River Bandits as a provocation on the fishing boat!

Dead silence.

Boundless dead silence shrouded the entire pier.

Then came the uncontrollable sound of gasping for cold air, and the sound of teeth chattering.

Someone recognized a few of the faces; they were indeed the leaders under the arrogant and domineering "Over-River Dragon"!

The news spread through the entire Water Dock in an instant like a thunderclap.

The Dock Master, Dock Master, arrived at the pier with a large group of guards, his face livid.

He looked at the monument of heads stacked up, looked at the glaring broken sail, and the muscles on his face twitched fiercely a few times.

His gaze, sharp as an eagle's, swept across the scene, but he could not find any clues pointing to the perpetrator.

Only some messy dragging marks on the wet ground of the pier, almost washed away by the rain.

"Investigate! Investigate thoroughly for me! Who did this?!"

Dock Master's voice carried thunderous rage, but if one listened closely, there seemed to be a trace of imperceptible... trepidation.

To be able to single-handedly slaughter a major stronghold of over a hundred people belonging to "Over-River Dragon" in one night amidst a torrential rain, and then so provocatively send the heads back to the Water Dock pier...

This was no longer revenge; this was a declaration.

Throughout the Water Dock, hearts were unsettled, and there was much discussion.

There was fear, there was relief, and there was an even more indescribable shock.

The Fishermen gathered in the distance, looking at that monument of heads, looking at that broken sail; many people's eyes turned red, clenching their fists tightly, then slowly loosening them.

Outside the crowd, Jiang Hanzhou had changed back into the grey cloth long gown of the Medicinal Cuisine Hall, his hair still damp, holding a package of ordinary medicinal herbs he had just "purchased," walking quietly past.

He glanced at the commotion on the pier, glanced at the monument of heads that he had personally stacked, his face devoid of any expression.

It was as if that half-night-long torrential rain slaughter, that life-or-death journey of going against the current and then with the current, and that hand that had rummaged through cliffs and piles of corpses, had nothing to do with him.

Only when he passed the closed, dilapidated door of Li Tietou's home did his footsteps pause slightly.

He did not stop, continuing to walk forward.

Sunlight pierced through the clouds, shining on his calm side profile, and also on that shocking dark red on the pier.