Bab 2: Tenth Bandit

Editor: celllll, Nou

The Qing-Yun Sect had over three thousand years of historical legacy and was one of the most respected sects in the Chufung Kingdom. Within all of the kingdom—or even the entire South Jambu Continent—even the lowest-ranked disciple of the Qing-Yun Sect was viewed by the ordinary people with a holy reverence, for they were more powerful than any local gangs or factions.

Perhaps the most famous story of them all was how its core disciple—Xiao Jianming—had single-handedly managed to infiltrate Guiyan Valley’s infamous bandit group three months ago, successfully kill nine out of the ten bandits, and leave their heads hanging at the entrance to the valley. However, while everyone else had celebrated, Xiao Jianming did not; he was determined to find the tenth bandit who’d escaped, and he’d been searching all of Mount Yandang ever since.

It was said that the tenth bandit was also the most mysterious of them all and that no one had even verified his existence, but Xiao Jianming believed he would find him—he had sworn to do so, so he must. What he didn’t know, however, was that just under three months ago, the tenth bandit had already joined the Qing-Yun Sect and become one of his new shidis¹….

If one considered a daotong¹ to be a disciple, that is.

Although the Qing-Yun Sect had its recruitment ceremony to find talented disciples only once every ten years, daotongs were recruited throughout the year. Daotongs were still considered a part of the Qing-Yun Sect, but there was a sharp contrast between them and an actual disciple, and daotongs received neither formal teachings from the elders nor Spirit Stones as rewards for their hard work and contribution. Not only were there over ten thousand daotongs in the sect, they were usually assigned to mundane tasks such as cleaning, cooking, and farming, with only one day off for each month.

All of this just for a thin manual titled "Qing-Yun’s Qi Formation".

After Shijie Linyun had taken off with Xiao Mahn, the plump Daoist brought Fang Xing to a wooden cabin. Inside the cabin sat a man with a distinctively large mole on his face, seemingly around his late teens. The Daoist gave a grim smile before passing Fang Xing a set of cyan-colored robes, a thin booklet, and a small woodblock engraved with his name.

Once the plump Daoist had left the cabin, Fang Xing looked around the room while the man with the mole spoke to him unwelcomingly, "Aren’t you a lucky little one? If it weren’t for Shijie Linyun, someone like you? Hah!" he laughed in disdain. "With no connections, no money, and no innate powers, you can only start from the bottom. Take this Qing-Yun’s Qi Formation and study it well. Not just anyone can have the opportunity to read this, you know! When you’ve mastered the first level, you can become one of the outer court disciples."

There were also a few other boys in the room and—although none were much older than Fang Xing—they all had their arms crossed and pretended to be much older than they actually were.

"So which tier are you in?" Fang Xing asked.

The mole-faced man pointed his thumb to himself with pride. "I have already felt the movement of Qi. Nobody else here has accomplished anything!"

"And how many years have you all been here?" Fang Xing questioned again, thoughtful.

"I’ve been here for six years! They’ve been here for at least three now," the mole-faced man answered proudly.

"Dammit, so that woman lied to me!" Fang Xing released a loud sigh and threw the manual aside.

"What woman?" the mole-faced man asked, curious.

"Who else? That woman named Linyun! She said she’d take me into the Qing-Yun Sect… but I’m not here to be a worker! And all I get is a stupid booklet!" Fang Xing continued while clutching his fists. "Look at all of you! Six years, three years, and what have you achieved? That lying bi*ch…."

"Shijie Linyun?" Shocked by Fang Xing’s words, the furious mole-faced man reached for Fang Xing’s collar and spoke in a hushed manner, "Shut up, you little brat! Do you know how much trouble we’ll all get into if someone hears about what you just said? Remember this: you’re here in my herb field. If I tell you to go east, you don’t go west. If I tell you to jump, you ask me how high and don’t question it. Do you understand?"

"That’s right! You’ll also need to clean the stools and fill the tank with fresh water every day!" a boy with freckles—likely the person normally in charge of such chores—excitedly agreed.

"Hah! And the laundry, too! This is always done by the newcomer!" The motive of whoever demanded this went without saying—he must have been doing the laundry for quite a while now.

Fang Xing looked to everyone present before nodding to himself, as though just realizing something. "So you’re all just bullying me?"

"Yeah. And?" The mole-faced man grinned before slamming his arm savagely against a nearby table, showing off the blue veins of his muscular arm. "What are you gonna do?"

"Don’t you dare hit me! I… I can scream…." Fang Xing appeared frightened, as though he would scream for help if someone so much as touched him with a single finger.

Seeing this, the mole-faced man gave a laugh. "Don’t you worry about that! I won’t touch you now, but once the night falls and we’ve shut our doors… there’ll be just you and all of us. No one will be able to hear you, even if you scream at the top of your lungs…."

"That’s right! The shixiongs from the Herb Department only come to check on us once every three months, and it’s all up to us when they’re not here! No one, not even the regulation shixiongs will be able to help you," the boy with freckles on his face threatened. "They’ll be way too busy to care about you. And if you didn’t know, as a daotong, you won’t be able to leave for at least another ten years…." It seemed as though this was his first time threatening someone, and he sounded almost too excited to stop.

"My dear brothers, please don’t hurt me. I’m a good person! I’ll do whatever you say…" Fang Xing suddenly began to pitifully beg.

"Hah, thought so," the mole-faced man laughed, clearly experienced with people like this.

The herb field was not only vast, but also magical. Even at the closure of autumn, the garden was still filled with different shades of green, reinforcing just how abundant and wealthy the Qing-Yun Sect was.

On the next day, Fang Xing went straight to work at the field, voluntarily taking on the hardest and dirtiest of the jobs. The field was spread across three miles, yet the entire area had to be maintained by only the six of them. The freckled boy responsibly taught Fang Xing how to water, weed, fertilize, and control the pests—flowers such as the "Qinrui" could only be watered during the sunset hours, the herb called "Moling" had to be watered at the first crack of dawn right before the dewdrops disappear….

Fang Xing caught on quick and was extremely polite and friendly throughout the whole day. By dusk, he’d even drawn some water to soak everyone’s dirty clothes so they could be washed after dinner and dried overnight. Everyone was extremely satisfied with his attitude and promised they would all share their experiences and understandings of cultivation with him. By nightfall, the herb field rested quietly as everyone fell asleep.

Everyone except for Fang Xing, that is.

Sitting on his bed, Fang Xing fiddled with a sharp dagger he’d just taken out from the cloth-wrapped bundle containing everything he owned. The dagger had been a gift from his third uncle along with some gold leaves he’d used to buy Xiao Mahn before arriving at the sect. His third uncle had also taught him a set of cunning martial arts to be used with the dagger for close-range combat.

Other than that, there was a cute tiger plushie given to him by his first uncle; some medicine from his second uncle; his fourth uncle’s snuff bottle that could release a thick smog; a hidden weapon that released silver needles from his fifth uncle; his sixth uncle’s… treasured collection of Chun’hwa¹; the seventh uncle’s rare wild ginseng; his eighth uncle’s wine gourd; and finally, the most mysterious item of them all: a book from his ninth uncle.

Fang Xing stared blankly at all that remained of his uncles… until—clearing his head of all thoughts—he packed up the bundle and placed it safely aside.

Stealthily, with his dagger clutched in his hand, he drew close to the bed where the mole-faced man was still fast asleep. "Brother Wang, Brother Wang…" he whispered ever so softly into his ears.

It took Fang Xing quite some effort before the man woke up. "What the hell are you doing in the middle of the night! Do you wanna die?" the man snapped, irritated.

"No, you will." Before Wang Zhi had time to react, Fang Xing stabbed the dagger right into the man’s body, pushing it all the way down to the handle.

The man let out an agonized scream—just one scream, and then it was nothing. Fang Xing had quickly covered the man’s mouth, preventing him from making another. Listening carefully, Wang Zhi’s earlier words were proven correct; the nearby area was vacant and nobody had overheard.

Wang Zhi wanted to flee, but couldn’t; the dagger was stabbed so deeply through him that it had practically stapled Wang Zhi to his bed. Pinned, he soon realized it was less painful if he just stayed still and remained quiet.

Fang Xing didn’t want to cause a large disturbance, but he’d made sure those he wanted to hear had heard. It didn’t take too long before everyone in the room realized just what had happened, and the freckle-faced boy let out a sharp shriek in terror.

"If you don’t want to die, shut the hell up!" Fang Xing muttered in a deep tone unnatural for his barely ten-year-old appearance. The freckled boy was a couple years older, but he was so shaken that a sudden warm rush trickled down between his legs.

Fang Xing slowly withdrew the dagger, and the second it was pulled free, Wang Zhi curled up like a shrimp from the pain. Everyone else froze as Fang Xing walked towards them on the other side of the room, and the timid freckled boy was even hiding beneath his blankets while sobbing uncontrollably to himself.

"How dare you all try to have a go at me? No one ever bullies me, you hear?" Fang Xing swayed the dagger in front of everyone before continuing, "Only I get to bully all of you! And, just to make it clear, I’m your new boss. All of you are now in my herb field; if I tell you to go east, you don’t go west. If I tell you to jump, you ask how me how high and don’t question it. If anyone decides to get their own ideas… well, my dagger doesn’t discriminate, and you know, if my hands slip….

"Do you even know who my sister is?" Fang Xing showed a proud smile. "She’s a current favorite of Shijie Linyun, and I have her protection! You guys are as blind as a bat!"

"Fang Xing…."

"What did you just call me?"

"I mean… Boss Fang Xing! Boss… I think we should probably bandage Shixiong Wang. He might really die…."

Fang Xing glanced over to Wang Zhi—who was still shriveled up on the corner of the bed, by now exhausted and seemingly passed out—before smirking. "He won’t die. My third uncle said as long as I have the dagger enter him through these acupoints¹, it’s not going to injure any of his organs and he can’t die. But... maybe my hands slipped…. Hey, you! Go bandage him up!"