12. Cornered into the Eastern Depot—Part One

Yang Fan rode a tall, sturdy horse, accompanied by three followers, feeling immensely proud. It was the first time in his life he had felt so imposing.

They said putting on airs was thrilling once, and endlessly exhilarating if you kept it up. Before reaching the peak of that thrill, they found themselves near the Yuelai Inn without realizing it.

From a distance, the inn looked quite old. Upon closer inspection, it was even more dilapidated. For the Eastern Depot’s secret agents to set up in such a place, it was as inconspicuous as one could get.

The inn was a two-story street-facing building, its grayish facade worn and peeling. In the evening sunset, it appeared mottled and weathered.

Two sturdy elm wood doors bore a wooden plaque inscribed with the words "Yuelai Inn."

The location was fairly bustling, situated close to the riverbank, with crowds of townsfolk weaving through the streets.

Though the group’s clothing was ordinary, the strong warhorses made it clear they were not to be trifled with.

It was like a flashy person wearing slippers and shorts—still a notable figure in the eyes of others. Conversely, someone dressed in street vendor’s rags but sporting a fake luxury watch would be mocked for trying too hard.

As they passed, the townspeople hurriedly made way, while some ruffians and idle onlookers nearby whispered and pointed.

“Where did these ragged guys come from? Their clothes are tattered, but they have three fine steeds,” one rogue muttered.

“Those horses look like battle mounts. Could they be soldiers from Jizhen, maybe from the Santun Camp?” another remarked.

A sharp-faced hooligan pointed at Yang Fan. “Soldiers, my foot! Look at the short-haired rider up front—doesn’t he look like a monk? The short guy behind’s carrying a metal rod, the fat one looks like a pig-headed fellow, and then there’s a bearded guy. Aren’t these the famous four from the Journey to the West?”

Laughter erupted among the group.

“Right? That short-haired young man looks just like Tang Seng. The short one with the rod fits the Monkey King perfectly—just missing the headband. Gou Dan, go to Old Cao who nails horseshoes and get him a trimmed horseshoe iron to wear as a headband, then it’s perfect,” the fat hooligan leader said, proudly directing the scene, thoroughly enjoying putting on airs.

The street ruffians roared with laughter.

Suddenly, Mo Zhuo flew into a rage, swinging his iron-shod rod fiercely, “Where did this scoundrel come from, daring to mock your grandpa?”

His blow landed squarely on the fat hooligan leader’s head with a loud thud. The fat man let out a gurgle and collapsed stiffly.

“Ah! You really hit him hard! Big brother, you’ve killed my big brother!” a subordinate cried out.

As their leader fell, the remaining gang immediately surrounded them.

“Don’t run! Come with us to see the magistrate!”

“My big brother supports his whole family. You killed him—you’re condemning a whole household to starvation. Pay up, now!”

“No less than a hundred taels, or don’t leave!”

The ruffians’ voices rose in chaos. Like pumped-up fighters, they grabbed stools and bricks from nearby, forming a threatening circle.

Zhang Gada glanced at the unconscious leader and clicked his tongue. “Hey, Mo Zhuo, you really dare to hit like that. One swing like that might’ve crushed his skull. Even if he didn’t die, he’d be paralyzed. If you keep being this reckless, you’ll end up in jail sooner or later,” the old rogue commented smugly.

“Zhang Gada’s right. There’s an art to hitting people—it’s not just random beating,” said Lv Dan, arms crossed, adding his two cents.

Yang Fan’s interest was piqued. They had to be alert for the Eastern Depot later, but for now, letting the men relax a bit and even get into a scuffle was good practice.

“What kind of art is there to hitting people?” Yang Fan asked.

“Master, the knowledge of hitting is vast. You have to consider who you’re hitting, why, and what you want to achieve,” Zhang Gada said leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world.

Yang Fan cursed inwardly. This old rogue had mastered nothing but scheming, bullying, brawling, and cheating—yet he was an expert at all of it.

“What about hitting these ruffians? How should it be done?” Yang Fan pressed.

Zhang Gada stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves and grabbing the whistle rod.

“Master, these ruffians are all blusterers but cowards inside. The key is to scare them. If you kill one, you’ll have to deal with the law. If you maim one, it’s like gaining an extra father. So you don’t hit them hard. You must drive them off without causing serious harm.”

Mo Zhuo scoffed, “Hit them lightly? Are you giving them massages? How can they be scared away like that? Show me how you’d hit one.”

This was Yang Fan’s first outing with them. He wanted to test their mettle and let them show they were useful.

Yang Fan knew well that Mo Zhuo’s anger at the ruffians’ insults was a chance to prove himself. Without hesitation, he snatched up the horse rod and struck swiftly and decisively. The key was speed—no hesitation, no thought. Such a loyal, reckless servant was exactly what a lord wanted.

His blows were ruthless and merciless, striking fiercely. This lad was no simpleton; he understood perfectly.

“Boy, when your master fought the Jianwen troops, you were still wetting the bed. Watch closely how I handle this,” Zhang Gada said, stepping forward with the rod.

Before the ruffians could close in, he positioned himself in front of Yang Fan’s horse.

He took a slight bow stance, toes gripping the ground firmly beneath his worn shoes. With one hand forming a palm seal, he slowly extended it forward. His aura shifted dramatically, like standing at the edge of a cliff. His right hand gripped the whistle rod tightly as he exhaled sharply.

He struck each ruffian’s forehead swiftly, then pulled back the rod. With both hands, he transformed the rod into a spear-like weapon, striking the noses of five or six in the front row with lightning speed.

“Ah!” screams filled the air, sounding like pigs being slaughtered.

Several ruffians in the front had cracked foreheads, blood smeared across their faces. Their hair came undone, dripping with blood, creating a frightful sight.

A gentle poke to the nose caused blood to gush, tears to flow, and their vision to blur with blood, plunging them into panic and confusion.

“They’re killing us!”

“My head’s cracked!”

“Hey! Leave one leg on each of you so you remember my power!” Zhang Gada roared fiercely, his eyes blazing like a wrathful deity.

With that, over a dozen ruffians, terrified out of their wits, scattered in all directions, abandoning even their leader.

The leader suddenly got up, slipping into a hole under a nearby courtyard wall and vanished in an instant. The fat man’s nimbleness stunned onlookers.

The street fell silent.

Yang Fan rubbed his nose and said, “The trick to hitting ruffians is a combination of striking and pulling. The forehead is the hardest part and most resistant to blows. Don’t hit too hard—just enough to hurt. Then pull down, scraping the skin to cause bleeding. Seeing blood smeared all over their face unsettles them. They don’t realize how badly they’re hurt but get scared. It looks terrifying, but the wounds are actually minor.”

Hearing this, Zhang Gada glanced at Yang Fan with surprise. Yang Fan seemed different now, and Zhang Gada realized he had to be more cautious.

Mo Zhuo stared dumbfounded at the once fierce gang now routed by Zhang Gada’s flurry of blows, standing there slack-jawed and stunned.

Yang Fan smiled faintly. This lad could play dumb; he wasn’t upset at losing face but was calculating. He put on a full performance, showing both depth and follow-through—a true talent.

“Brilliant! This brother’s skill in fighting is superb, and Brother Yang’s commentary is even better! Ha ha ha!”

A man dressed in a scholar’s long robe approached, clapping his hands.

At the entrance to Yuelai Inn, a man with a sly grin watched Yang Fan closely.

Ruan Qingzhu!

Yang Fan narrowed his eyes, a flicker of unease stirring within. What was this venomous snake doing here?