Chapter 40 Stepping Forward

"Otherwise, if this young gentleman accompanies me back, we shall take only half of the merchandise and no longer trouble the rest of you. How does that sound, young man?"

Yan Jingming's gaze fell upon the youth's face, shifting and flickering uncertainly before he finally made up his mind and spoke these words.

A look of utter astonishment surfaced in the youth's eyes: "What? Return with you? What do you want me to do?"

The youth was as pure and innocent as white paper, but Yan Jingming's subordinates understood their leader's intent in a single instant.

Although a few of them had already cast greedy eyes upon several female dependents in the caravan, once Yan Jingming spoke, they had no choice but to support their boss's decision, chiming in one after another: "Little brat, Lord Yan has taken a fancy to you. It is the fortune of a lifetime."

"For your sake, he is willing to spare dozens of lives here. You ought to appreciate such bodhisattva-like mercy."

Seeing that his subordinates were giving him face, Yan Jingming was quite satisfied with them.

Hearing these blatant words and meeting Yan Jingming's scorching, coal-like gaze, the youth finally woke as if from a dream to the man's meaning. A flush of light red immediately swept across his face: "This humble scholar is a man, not..."

Before he could finish, Yan Jingming interrupted him: "That matters not. The noble households of Chang'an and Luoyang often keep delicate boy favorites in their estates. I, Yan Jingming, am the third disciple of Alliance Leader Wang; am I not permitted to keep one? If you come with me, boundless benefits await you."

The youth's complexion changed instantly.

Behind him, a series of pleading gazes were cast toward his back.

One would have to be an absolute fool not to know what these people intended to say.

Zhu Wen, hiding behind the ginkgo tree, suddenly felt a wave of intense disgust in his heart.

He had no particular interest in playing the hero or upholding chivalry, but the scene before him made him profoundly sick to his stomach.

In this situation, he could choose to turn around and leave, or he could step right out.

Zhu Wen chose the latter.

He did not overthink it at the time, but acting when action was called for had always been his rule of thumb.

"Yan Jingming, you've done a fine deed."

Zhu Wen clapped his hands hard, a look of mockery in his eyes as he leisurely strolled out from behind the massive tree that required several men to embrace: "Doing something like this is surely not what Alliance Leader Wang taught you."

Yan Jingming was startled on the spot. When he realized that Zhu Wen was entirely alone, his expression grew even darker.

"Zhu Wen, what are you trying to do? Don't think that just because you've become a strategist in the Salt Commander's army, you have the right to meddle in my business!"

"Ah," Zhu Wen sighed. "Why must Young Master Yan be so unaccommodating? Even Young Master Qin is quite courteous to this Zhu fellow nowadays."

At the banquet where Wang Xianzhi and Huang Chao joined forces, Qin彦, the young master of the Bamboo Flower Sect, had openly challenged Zhu Wen on the spot. However, after fighting side by side through several engagements such as Dingfeng Mound, their relationship was now quite amicable.

"Humph," Yan Jingming sneered. "Qin Yan is merely the young master of the Bamboo Flower Sect; how can he compare to the third disciple of Alliance Leader Wang? As for today's affair..."

"I haven't even said what I'm going to do yet, and Young Master Yan is already being so unwelcoming..." Zhu Wen spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

Hearing this, the scholar-robed youth's expression shifted slightly, but Yan Jingming's expression suddenly relaxed: "Then, Zhu Liangyu, if you pretend you saw nothing of this matter today, a share of the wealth here shall be yours."

Among peers, addressing one by their courtesy name denoted respect. This change in address showed that Yan Jingming was reluctant to completely burn bridges with Zhu Wen, a blazing new star in Huang Chao's army.

"Splendid, splendid." Zhu Wen smiled like the warm spring sun, twirling his slender fingers. "How much are you willing to give?"

The youth instantly changed his tune, saying, "This gentleman, I took you for a good man. How can you collude with bandits?"

Zhu Wen did not even deign to look at him, keeping his clear, water-like gaze fixed solely on Yan Jingming.

Yan Jingming hesitated slightly, his gaze sweeping over his subordinates: "My brothers are numerous; out of the profits harvested today, I shall set aside three percent to share with you. Are you satisfied now?"

In Yan Jingming's view, Zhu Wen had merely stumbled upon this by chance yet stood to gain a three percent share; he had already shown enough respect to Huang Chao's chief strategist.

Zhu Wen rubbed his hands together. "Young Master Yan certainly knows how to give this Zhu fellow face."

"Naturally. We men of the pugilistic world live by the rule of sharing whatever we encounter." As Yan Jingming spoke, a hint of smugness crossed his face, as though he truly believed himself to be immensely righteous.

"However, I still feel there is something wrong with Young Master Yan's division method."

"Oh?" Yan Jingming's facial muscles twitched. "Then how much does Young Master Zhu want?"

Zhu Wen said unhurriedly, "To my mind, if Young Master Yan leaves with his men right now, I will pretend I saw nothing today. But if you drag your feet and linger, I'll have to tear the rhinoceros-hide belt off Young Master Yan's waist to pay for the burial expenses of those two murdered martial arts masters."

Yan Jingming was stunned for a moment, then his face fell instantly as he barked harshly, "Zhu the Third, are you playing games with me!"

The gang of sycophants around him also drew their sabers and swords, glaring angrily at Zhu Wen.

At that moment, Zhu Wen heard the youth's low voice drifting over on the wind.

"They say a life for a life; if all they give is burial money, isn't that... letting them off far too lightly?"

A wave of amusement washed over Zhu Wen; he found this kid absurdly, inconceivably foolish.

Yet a saber had already lunged swiftly toward him, the blade cutting through the air with a chilling whistle.

Yan Jingming's subordinates were far too proactive.

If others do not offend me, I shall not offend them.

The Great Xia Dragon-Sparrow treasured saber strapped to Zhu Wen's back flashed as it cleared its scabbard.

When Huang Chao gifted the blade, it had originally come without a scabbard. Earlier, when Zhu Wen beat Chen Liqing—one of the "Heaven-Burning Five Swords" under the Flame Commander—and seized her warhorse, the saddle had been crafted from the skin of a precious South China Sea silver shark. On a whim, Zhu Wen had dismantled the saddle to fashion a scabbard for his treasured saber.

Yet he figured that that bitch Chen Liqing's thick skin was surely tougher and sturdier than silver shark leather; if only he could use her facial skin to make a scabbard instead.

There was a saying in the martial arts world: "A thousand gold pieces cannot buy a single ring," meaning that when practicing swordsmanship, one should avoid clashing blades directly with an enemy, instead using superior technique to cling to the opponent's weapon and dissipate their force.

On a battlefield where life-and-death encounters moved as fast as sparks, this standard was exceedingly difficult to achieve. Especially in cavalry combat, avoiding blade-on-blade contact was virtually impossible.

Yet in a mere chaotic brawl among pugilists, Zhu Wen was quite confident in his saber technique.

The blade passed silently; the lackey who struck felt only a chill at his neck.

His saber was caught and pinned by Zhu Wen's Dragon-Sparrow blade, flung away without a sound to plunge into the reed marshes by the river.

Zhu Wen's treasured saber swept across in one fluid motion, cleanly slicing open the man's throat.

Then, Zhu Wen heard a roar like a wolf's howl.

"Zhu the Third, how dare you kill my brother!"

Only then did Zhu Wen realize that he had not engaged in a Jianghu brawl for a very long time.

Without armor weighing him down, his entire body felt lighter by several degrees, and his strikes were exceptionally swift and smooth. There was no sturdy neck-guard protecting the opponent's throat; the blade sliced through it as smoothly as cutting paper.

The sheer intensity of battlefield slaughter could never be compared to street brawls. The grass-roots heroes under Wang Xianzhi had also been chased and beaten by regular imperial generals like Song Wei for two or three years before they gained the ability to fight regular troops head-on.

"Yan Jingming, you might not believe it, but although your man struck first, this Zhu really didn't intend to kill him—my hand just slipped..."

Zhu Wen's innocent tone only made Yan Jingming and his lackies boil over with even greater rage.

More often than not, the truth was the hardest thing for people to believe.

Suppose Zhu Wen were to tell Yan Jingming right now that he was simply a man who hated trouble; Yan Jingming certainly would not believe it.

Yan Jingming's lackeys swarmed in from all directions like a pack of wild dogs attacking in unison.

In this situation, even if Yan Jingming had kept his wits and ordered his men to stop, he likely couldn't have held them back.

Zhu Wen clenched the short sword at his leather waist belt with his left hand.

The Great Xia Dragon-Sparrow was a long-handled saber, meaning that if enemies closed in tight, he had to have close-quarters combat methods ready.

The tip of the treasured saber thrust forward, utilized like a sword, catching a lackey off guard who had only been bracing for a horizontal slash. The indestructible blade pierced instantly into his chest and bored straight into his heart.

His left-hand short sword lashed out simultaneously, plunging into the lower abdomen of an enemy who had crouched and darted forward. Then, a punch sent that man flying backward.

After running through the enemy directly ahead, the treasured saber immediately swept out in an arc to the right, sweeping backward as if guided by eyes to strike squarely at the neck of a lackey attempting to ambush Zhu Wen from behind. The man's head instantly went flying into the sky.

In the flash of a spark, three enemies had fallen beneath his blade and sword.

The smooth sensation of steel cleaving through flesh and blood reminded Zhu Wen of cutting firewood in his childhood.

Though firewood was hard, as long as one gauged the pressure point, found the wood grain, and utilized the torque of twisting the waist and hips to chop, it would split apart effortlessly.

Killing people was exactly the same.

No matter how hard bones were, they were never harder than armor.

Unarmored enemies were always vastly easier to kill.

Yet Zhu Wen immediately felt a sharp, searing pain in his shoulder.

Yan Jingming lunged forward like a mad tiger, his thick beard trembling with his roar. His long saber carved a chilling, crescent-moon arc that struck squarely upon Zhu Wen's scapula.

"Zhu the Third, pay for my brother's life!"

Such nonsensical, foolish words were remarkably effective at bolstering the courage of those locked in combat.

Thus, Yan Jingming's strike carried absolute vigor and considerable force.

Had Zhu Wen not dodged swiftly, that blade would have driven straight into his chest.

Utilizing nimble footwork to hack down unarmored enemies was undeniably exhilarating.

However, being hacked by others while wearing no armor himself was distinctly unpleasant.

Especially when surrounded by a mob in an open field.

As the saying went, "Two fists are no match for four hands," let alone when the opponents numbered in the dozens.

Among them, Yan Jingming was a skilled martial artist, and the rest were desperate men who feared neither death. Seeing several of their comrades fall did not terrify them; instead, their eyes filled to the brim with murderous intent.

Still, Zhu Wen no longer had the luxury of pondering whether rushing out today had been a reckless move.

Facing adversaries thick as a swarm of bees, if he wished to survive, he had no choice but to keep killing.

He jerked backward in rapid retreat, pressing his back against the ginkgo tree—which stood at least five zhang tall—to protect his blind spot.

At the same time, his peripheral vision glanced toward the reed thicket on his right, calculating whether he could slip into the reeds to thin out the enemy's numerical advantage.