Chapter Twelve: Death and Dissolution

"Hey!"

Scarface struck successfully, his feet barely steadying before he twisted Monster Third's arm, his entire body surging with strength. With a move called the Great Star's Back Drop, he hoisted the creature high and hurled it sideways. The monster's guts, snagged and tugged by the force, tumbled out in a bloody heap, trailing gruesomely across the ground.

At that moment, Scarface seemed utterly reckless. Without waiting to land, he lunged forward, bringing his leg down with a heavy stomp on Monster Third's chest.

A distinct crack was heard—the unmistakable sound of breaking bones. To the naked eye, Monster Third’s chest was caved in, the body thrown back and landing far away.

The old man in black, seeing Scarface break free, was overjoyed. Staggering to his feet, he joined Scarface, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"Boss, it seems tonight the two of us will be buried here in this desolate wilderness. What stings is that we never found that thing, only to die under the claws of these demons. Truly a humiliating end. I suppose we've been too reckless with our karma—tonight's our retribution."

"Master, let’s do this. I’m not afraid of these damned things. They're just a bunch of useless trash."

Scarface’s words rang hollow, his strength clearly waning. He was trying to bolster his own courage, refusing to let these monsters outmatch them in spirit.

The old man in black looked desolate. This time, it was truly death. Staring at the scene before him, his heart sank. Was this really heaven’s punishment? Was their whole sect to be buried in these wild hills? He laughed bitterly to himself—if you walk by the river long enough, your shoes are bound to get wet.

"Master, you should go. I’ll hold them off."

Scarface suddenly spoke.

"Go? Where to? This is a pit we’ve dug ourselves—there’s no getting out of it now," the old man replied, a distant look in his eyes. He seemed to sense something, but said no more.

The wind rose in the distance. The surrounding grass rustled endlessly.

The two men stood side by side, their fighting spirit at its peak, ready to ignite at any moment.

The two monsters crouched low to the ground, blood streaming from their wounds. Yet they seemed immune to pain, their emerald eyes glaring with ferocity at the men. Strange, guttural sounds rumbled from deep in their throats.

"Come on, you bastard, taste Liu’s blade!" Scarface charged first, steel flashing as he broke the stalemate.

Man and monsters clashed, fighting tooth and nail with no thoughts of retreat. Blood splattered the scene, soaking the two men until it was impossible to tell whose blood was whose. All that mattered was fighting to the last breath.

At last, their trembling hands could no longer grip their blades. Leaning against one another, they waited for the monsters’ final blow.

The monsters, too, were battered and broken, half their bodies gone, wounds too many to count. Yet they showed no sign of pain, just as before, stretching out their ghastly claws and lunging once more.

At that moment, the old man and Scarface gave up resisting. They closed their eyes, feeling the energy shift in the air, the scent of blood sharp in their nostrils.

So be it, Scarface thought, resigning himself to oblivion.

Suddenly, the sound of something slicing through the air—twice—startled them. The monsters were flung aside as if struck by an invisible force.

Scarface and the old man snapped their eyes open. They saw a figure descend from above, as though a god had fallen from the heavens. With a palm and a kick, the newcomer sent the two monsters flying, landing lightly in the midst of the carnage.

Saved?

Scarface’s first thought was disbelief. After all the night’s chaos, his mind couldn't accept this sudden turn. Exhausted and numb from the endless battle, he could only stare, wide-eyed and speechless.

The newcomer wore a long red robe, tall and lean, with an indifferent expression. His hands were clasped behind his back, eyes never lifting. Though his features were ordinary, he stood out starkly in the scene, an invisible force swirling about him, hinting at fathomless depths.

Revived from the brink of death, the old man in black gathered his spirit, clasped his fists, and bowed deeply. "Thank you for saving our lives, pulling us from the jaws of death. May I ask your noble name? I am Han Shizhong, the Tiger Beyond the Pass. I owe you a debt I will never forget and shall repay in full someday."

The tall, thin man kept his hands behind his back, not deigning to answer, as if he hadn't heard at all.

After a moment’s thought, the old man held his posture, speaking cautiously, "From the southwest come dark clouds; white clouds, black clouds, all are clouds. An outsider offers foolish guidance, carrying a lantern up the high platform." The meaning was: we're from the northeast, far from home, don’t know whose territory this is, but we’re all in the same business, eating from the same pot. I don’t know your standing, but I hope to learn your name and find a way out.

If the man understood these words, he was surely part of the same world—the code was clear. As the saying went, "Better to give ten strings of cash than to teach a single trick. Better to give a bar of gold than a single word in spring." In other words, in their circles, knowledge was guarded fiercely, never given lightly for fear of cutting off one’s own livelihood. The same went for secret words and jargon; sharing them could ruin everyone’s trade.

The tall man snorted softly, his expression full of disdain. He still did not look at the two, nor did he alter his posture. From the corner of his mouth, he sneered, "You want to know my name? You're not worthy."

Neither Han Shizhong nor Scarface had expected such a response. Was this the style of true masters? However great your skill, at least show some respect for the rules of the world. In their line, you always gave face—after all, everyone crossed paths sooner or later. Was this what it meant to be "approachable" for someone of his caliber?

Scarface thought bitterly, this is outright disrespect. The name Tiger Beyond the Pass might not shake the heavens, but it’s well known in the underworld—anyone would show respect. If not for being saved tonight, he would have given this man a piece of his mind. Yet, when his eyes met the tall man’s, he instantly shrank back, unable to muster a flicker of defiance. All he could do was lower his head.

"Uh… cough, cough…" Han Shizhong tried to save face, clearing his throat awkwardly and speaking in a low voice, "We owe you an immeasurable debt tonight. If you would give us the chance, I would be forever grateful to repay you."

"Hmph. The Tiger Beyond the Pass? Nothing but a sick cat in tiger’s skin," the tall man muttered, not even lifting his head, his expression as indifferent as ever.

Han Shizhong almost choked on his own breath, but unable to protest, he could only force a smile and stand there awkwardly.