Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Man Who Slaughters the Donkey After Removing the Millstone

"Father, Senior Brother Liang, and my three junior brothers, greetings! I’m glad you finally arrived. I thought you’d be here last night so we could set out together today! None of my junior brothers have ever been to Blackwater County before."

"Greetings to Uncle Xiang and my fellow brothers," Luo Changning said, cupping his hands.

"Greetings to the clan leader..."

"Hello, Uncle Xiang. I’m Ma Xue’e..."

After the customary exchanges and introductions, the group proceeded to a refined room on the second floor to share tea, gathering around a grand round wooden table that could seat twelve.

Chen Xiangru laughed heartily, "Ha! I thought Senior Brother Xiang had invited some expert from afar, but it turns out to be young Brother Luo!"

Luo Changning and Xiang Yinglong had been close since childhood, and he was acquainted with most disciples of Luoyang Martial Hall. Though their friendships couldn’t compare to his bond with Xiang Yinglong, they could still jest with one another.

Luo Changning’s brows arched teasingly. "What, do you look down on me?"

Chen Xiangru, honest as ever and unable to grasp Luo Changning’s sarcasm, hurriedly protested, "Ah! Brother Luo, I didn’t mean that at all!"

"Pfft, Senior Brother, Brother Changning is joking with you. Only you would take it seriously!" Mo Feng, ever eager for chaos, chimed in.

"Ah..." Chen Xiangru slapped his thigh, "Look at my thick head! How could Brother Luo ever take offense!"

After the laughter faded, the conversation turned to serious matters.

"Changning, our two families have always been close, and you and my son grew up together. I know you have a mind to help, but don’t act rashly. Just do what you can—above all, keep safety in mind," Xiang Ao advised, then turned to Ma Qingyun.

"I thank you, Young Master Ma, for your assistance. Should you ever require my help in the future, I will not hesitate!" His promise, naturally, represented the entire Luoyang Martial Hall.

"Master Ma, you’re too courteous," came the calm and indifferent reply, unperturbed by honor or disgrace.

Xiang Ao felt satisfied. Truly, Changning’s friend possessed a steadiness far beyond his peers, even more composed than his own disciples.

"In any case, be careful during the competition," Xiang Ao finally cautioned.

His concern was well-founded. Four years ago, during a similar contest, a disciple from the Divine Hand Martial Hall, young yet ruthless, crippled his opponent’s right arm even after victory had been decided.

The master of the crippled disciple was silenced by Gao Ba’s words: "In martial contests, injury and death are inevitable. If you’re not skilled enough, that’s your lot."

In the end, a mosquito’s leg cannot twist an elephant’s trunk. To avoid retaliation, what could one do but admit inferiority?

Mo Feng, meanwhile, secretly observed Ma Qingyun. His thoughts spun rapidly: This man’s appearance is ordinary, but he carries a noble aura, nothing like a servant. Especially with a sister like that. His modest attire surely conceals another truth...

Chen Xiangru stood, waving his Snake Halberd with excitement. "I’ve never sparred with outsiders before. How about we find a place and have a bout?"

"Tsk, tsk, Senior Brother Xiangru, this is an inn. Be careful. Your halberd is over seven feet long—another swing and you’ll tear the place apart. If you break anything, other martial halls will laugh at us," Mo Feng teased.

"Indeed, Junior Brother Feng is right. The contest is tomorrow; best save your strength," Liang Zhenyun, the usually taciturn eldest brother, spoke up.

Chen Xiangru immediately stowed his halberd, obedient as ever. He always listened to this eldest brother—sometimes Xiang Ao’s words meant little, but as soon as Liang Zhenyun spoke, all was well.

He patted his head, wearing an expression of contrite realization. "Heh, eldest brother is right. I need to break my habit of challenging everyone I meet."

After a shared lunch, the group dispersed.

The afternoon air was heavy, perfect for sleeping. The inn was quiet inside and out—everyone conserving their strength. Even pedestrians dared not make noise, lest they provoke a hot-tempered martial artist.

Ma Qingyun was meditating on his bed when suddenly he opened his eyes, staring at the closed window.

He rolled out of bed, flashed to the window, and gently pushed it open. A pale gray bird slipped through the gap.

The bird was indeed tiny, no bigger than two fingers, now perched in his hand—so fragile that a squeeze would turn it to dust.

Ma Qingyun smiled faintly, eyes half-closed, smoothing the bird’s feathers with his free hand. The little bird, as if understanding, pecked his palm lightly, then lifted its head, its dark gray eyes gazing at him with a pleading look.

Ah, little creature...

"Go on," Ma Qingyun said softly.

The bird fluttered out the window at astonishing speed, vanishing into the horizon in moments.

Closing the window again, Ma Qingyun opened his palm to find a rolled-up slip of paper.

Unfurling it, he read: All hidden posts are secure. The two generals of King Chen are dead.

He stared at those twelve characters for a long while, then let out a cold laugh tinged with bitter irony. "You truly are my good father... You’re becoming ever more adept at killing the donkey after the millstone is done. Well, for a man like you, brothers who share life and death mean nothing. Aside from yourself and your ambition, what else have you ever cared about?"

Everyone else was merely a pawn, an ant...

His smile refused to fade, tinged with loneliness and mockery. Who was he smiling at—the fate that bound him, or the pitiable generals who had been loyal to the wrong man?

He took a sip of cold tea, pausing mid-motion, his brows arching slightly.

Interesting! Someone has chosen to visit just when my mood is at its worst...

As a martial artist of innate talent, he could sense someone outside the door. And their purpose was worth considering, given they’d only met a few hours ago.

Suddenly flinging the door open, he startled Mo Feng, who was just about to knock.

Calming his startled heart, Mo Feng grinned awkwardly. "Is Brother Ma preparing to go out?"

Ma Qingyun’s expression was inscrutable, his gaze half-smiling.

"Do you have business?"

"Um, perhaps we can talk inside?" Mo Feng rubbed his nose, a sense of unease creeping in, as if something had slipped from his control.

Ma Qingyun neither agreed nor refused, simply walking to the table and sitting down.

Mo Feng closed the door, then took a seat across from Ma Qingyun without waiting for an invitation.

"I heard from Xue’e that Brother Ma is an innate martial artist. I greatly admire that. I hoped to discuss martial arts with you and perhaps gain some insight to help in tomorrow’s contest."

Mo Feng’s eyes were sincere, filled with respect and hope.

"You are not qualified," Ma Qingyun replied, his voice flat, simply stating a fact.

Mo Feng’s face stiffened, his cherubic features awkward, evidently not expecting such a blunt rejection.

"Well, even if I can't learn from you, befriending Brother Ma would still be worthwhile."

"Do you not understand plain speech? I said you are not worthy." Ma Qingyun looked at him with mocking disdain. "I am not like your easily fooled brothers. I’ve seen plenty like you—those who overestimate themselves and hope to climb higher by stepping on the backs of others."

Mo Feng’s pupils widened, his fists clenched as he struggled to remain calm. He forced a smile. "Brother Ma is joking. I am simply seeking guidance, nothing more."

"Heh, you know the truth in your heart."

Under the gaze that treated him as an ant, Mo Feng couldn’t bear it, forcing a dry laugh.

"Brother Ma, I won’t disturb your rest." He fled in disarray.

Ma Qingyun toyed with his teacup, unable to hide the mocking curve of his lips. It was unclear who he was laughing at.

Fate, or himself?

Mo Feng stood by the inn’s fourth-floor railing overlooking the main road, his eyes flickering with dark light.

From the moment he met Ma Qingyun, he knew this was a proud young man—proud to his core. Such scions either keep all at a distance or offer their whole heart to one person.

It was this pride and disdain for others that made Ma Qingyun indifferent to helping those within his power. To him, Mo Feng was just an ant—a casual martial tip, nothing more...

Mo Feng had assumed that gaining entry to Ma Qingyun’s room meant he wouldn’t be rejected. Unexpectedly, he was toyed with instead. Under that gaze, all pretense seemed to be stripped away, leaving him dirty and wretched, able only to flee.

The cold wind blew. Below lay the teeming masses, rooftops lined in neat rows. Few walked the streets, vendors dozed at their stalls, the city exuding a tranquil beauty.

Suddenly, he struck the railing with a palm, shattering a length of redwood that crashed to the ground.

Mo Feng’s face twisted with ferocity—a cherubic visage now grotesque, contorted to the extreme, a far cry from his usual sunny, playful demeanor.

Heh, he let out a cold laugh, his gaze venomous and unwilling.

"So what if you’re an innate martial artist, so what if you’re a noble scion? Even if I’m the bastard son of a courtesan, one day, I’ll trample all of you underfoot! Today you toyed with me—tomorrow I’ll toy with the world, just as I toy with those fools in the martial hall!"

…

In truth, Mo Feng’s insight into human nature was not lacking.

Even if Ma Qingyun saw through his true nature, he wouldn’t have rejected him. For Xiang Yinglong’s sake, he would have given him pointers in martial arts.

People climb higher by any means, using every resource available—there’s nothing wrong with that.

His mistake was approaching Ma Qingyun when his mood was sour. When Ma Qingyun was not happy, he cared little for others’ happiness, and resented being used.

In the end, in some ways, the two were very much alike.