Chapter Twenty: Feud of the Clan

Even Six Ugly had not expected the recovery office of Heavenly Mountain Retreat to be so efficient. In less than a quarter of an hour, the vast number of items he had brought out had been converted into cash and goods. Though the sum was not large, it was already enough to purchase everything he needed.

He spent half an hour choosing two hundred steel quarrels, some poison, a small amount of elixirs, and artificial demon cores for Golden-Eyed to replenish itself. It could also absorb natural demon cores, but from Six Ugly's point of view, that was still somewhat wasteful. Before he had found a stable source of income, thrift was better than extravagance.

As for the rest, such as meteor-iron blades and armor, cloud-raft mechanism beasts, large traps, and other fine wares, Six Ugly did not merely refrain from looking; he did not even trouble himself to think of them. The money in his hands could not even buy the furnace of a single cloud raft. To look would only invite vexation; better not to look at all.

Leaving the Heavenly Mountain Tomb, Six Ugly entered Dog Mound City. He still needed to replenish food and water here. Though there was still some left within the gourd-world, whenever he thought of the vast stretches of black marked on the map, he instinctively wanted to prepare more. On the one hand, after his strength improved, he could pursue greater indulgence in food and drink; on the other, the risk of exposure caused by hunting was also one of the factors he considered.

Soon he walked into a food shop. As a city attached to Heavenly Mountain Tomb, many of the merchants here served the wars of Heavenly Mountain Retreat. Their goods were somewhat inferior to the finest products of Heavenly Mountain Retreat, but they were cheap, and many attendants chose them.

He found a shop at random, entered, and tossed a half-bag of knife-coins onto the counter, saying directly, "Buy me all of it as dried meat, and if you have strong liquor, bring me a few bags as well."

"Yes, sir. This humble shop has excellent wine. I will prepare it for you at once." The shopkeeper was used to serving soldiers returning from the battlefield, and his manner was respectful and his movements brisk. In very short order he presented what Six Ugly needed, and he did not dare overcharge, asking only the proper price.

In truth, Six Ugly did not know the going prices here. Seeing that the quantity was not small, he said no more and took it all up one by one. He had already noticed in Heavenly Mountain Retreat that many people here carried spatial pouches for storing goods. Since he could produce the gourd-world, it was not strange in the least, and thus he dared to use it openly. Even so, he copied the manner of a spatial pouch when storing things, piece by piece, item by item, not daring to do it all in one sweep.

Just then, a harsh cry suddenly rang out from far down the street, repeated again and again as it drew nearer: "Six Ugly... Where is Six Ugly... Six Ugly... Come out... Where is Six Ugly..."

The voice was fierce and savage. Six Ugly had just put away the things he had purchased and taken up his iron staff before stepping out of the shop. He stood brazenly in the middle of the street, lifted his chin high, and looked toward the source of the shouting.

There were five men running over, all armored, each carrying a broad blade or long sword. The leader held a sheepskin scroll, comparing it as he swept his gaze across the street. The others kept shouting, looking for all the world like street ruffians from later ages.

Six Ugly stood still. Before long, the man in the center noticed him. The five of them immediately came straight toward him. Before they had even drawn near, the one with the sheepskin scroll barked loudly, "You. Are you Six Ugly?"

The others spread out with faces full of hostility, casting sidelong looks at Six Ugly. Their weapons were held obliquely and thrust forward without the least courtesy, arrogant to the extreme.

Six Ugly's expression remained calm. From the armor and weapons on these men, they were clearly men of means and not ordinary soldiers of Heavenly Mountain Retreat. Though he did not know why they bore such enormous hostility toward him, from Six Ugly's point of view, if they were enemies, then killing them would suffice. There was no need to trace the matter to its root. Knowing or not knowing made no difference.

Yet the newcomers clearly thought otherwise. Seeing that he seemed to be tacitly admitting it, the leader immediately said haughtily, "My surname is Tu, my given name is Que, of the Mangdang Tu clan!"

The Tu clan? Six Ugly thought about it, but had little impression of them. He glanced at the others beside him. The men behind Tu Que fiercely tightened the flesh of their cheeks and glared with feigned ferocity. "We are all Tu Que's sworn friends, bound by the same breath and branch."

Six Ugly nodded and still could not be bothered to speak.

His reaction was clearly different from what the five had expected. Seeing that he still said nothing, Tu Que finally could not restrain himself and snorted. "I have heard that the death of my clansman Tu Hu's uncle was related to you."

Only then did Six Ugly understand the source of their hostility. When Tu Hu failed to return after boarding the cloud raft, the outcome was plain enough. Six Ugly had not paid it much mind, but he had not expected Tu Hu's clansmen to pin the matter on him and come seeking vengeance.

But that was of no concern...

Almost at once, everyone within several zhang of Six Ugly felt a chill descend. It was as if a winter storm had swept past, lowering even the temperature of the air. Whether cultivator or not, all could faintly glimpse a sky full of blood and corpse heaps piled as high as mountains in that aura!

The surrounding shops instantly erupted into confusion. Doors were shut, windows barred, and people fled in all directions.

A trace of fear flashed through Tu Que's eyes. He was no green recruit who had never seen a battlefield, and his familiarity with this sort of aura far exceeded that of the men behind him. This was a quality known as baleful aura, possessed only by those who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Even within his own clan, only a handful possessed such a presence, and their intensity was still far removed from Six Ugly's.

He suddenly regretted it. Just now in Heavenly Mountain Retreat, he had heard others mention Six Ugly's name, and with his companions egging him on, he had formed the thought of coming to use Six Ugly to establish his own authority. Who could have known he would provoke such a murderous fiend?

In an instant Tu Que wanted to find a way to avoid battle and stop his companions' provocation, but before he could come up with a fitting excuse, those so-called sworn friends behind him had already rushed forward, their long swords and broad blades slashing out together, enveloping Six Ugly in a halo of light.

The men following Tu Que were far inferior to him. Though they too sensed that the atmosphere was wrong, they did not know this was baleful aura. Instead, they thought it was merely some affected display. Acting on the idea that the first strike has the advantage, they attacked first.

Six Ugly narrowed his eyes slightly, took two steps forward, and with nothing more than a flourish of his iron staff, he entangled every weapon in the hands of the four men and sent them flying from their grasp in an instant. Then he leaped upward in a single bound, drew in his leg and thrust out his knee, smashing it hard into the face of the man directly before him.

Struck by the heavy blow, that man's nose bridge was instantly shattered, blood streaming down his face. Six Ugly followed through by using the momentum to rise into the air again, grabbing one man's hair and whirling his own body halfway around in midair. With two sharp kicks, he struck the throats of the other two men, sending them crashing to the ground at once. Their throats rasped and wheezed, yet they could not cry out.

The man whose hair had been seized screamed miserably and, in desperation, reached out toward Six Ugly. But Six Ugly had never intended to stop there. Instead, he suddenly let his body fall backward. The tremendous force dragged the man with him, his whole body flung backward, the back of his head slamming heavily into the ground, knocking himself senseless.

Only then did Six Ugly land, release his grip, and blow away the half of a topknot still clutched in his hand.

Everything was as fluid as flowing clouds and running water, with not the slightest pause, and there was even an indefinable beauty to it. Yet in Tu Que's eyes it was altogether different, especially that topknot torn off by brute force and the mottled blood streaks bursting across the man's scalp. It was enough to make the hair stand on end and fill him with endless regret.

Six Ugly did not even look at him. Instead, he slowly walked to the man rolling on the ground with blood covering his face, raised his iron staff, and cleanly smashed his leg in two. Then he walked toward another man...

Tu Que watched as Six Ugly broke the thighs of the four men one by one and did not dare say a word. Six Ugly never once looked at him either, and only after he had finished dealing with all of them did he finally collect his staff, stand still, and look over, saying:

"So what if it has something to do with me?"

Tu Que staggered back in panic, nearly falling. Only then did he remember his own earlier challenge to Six Ugly. Now he had at last received an answer, but the situation had already been reversed. His heart was a mixture of joy and sorrow. Joy, because these words had not been especially vile or abusive; sorrow, because though they were not foul words, the intent to provoke was unmistakable, and he would likely not escape unscathed.

His gaze swept across the four men on the ground, all howling miserably in agony. Clenching his teeth, he forced a face full of smiles and said, "G-good... Well done... I-I came to thank you, General..."

Six Ugly glanced at Tu Que, who now looked like an obsequious court favorite, and laughed heartily. "In that case, I will spare you this once. But only this once. Go back and tell your people that if there is a next time, so long as I am not dead, you will be the ones who die."

Having said that, Six Ugly paid no further attention to him and turned toward the outskirts of Dog Mound City. He did not have much time, and wasting it on these people was not worthwhile, nor necessary.

They were nothing but clowns; whether they lived or died did not matter.

"Six Ugly!"

Watching Six Ugly's back recede into the distance, shame suddenly flooded Tu Que's face, and fury showed plainly. He stamped at Six Ugly's retreating figure and roared, "Do not be smug. One day, I will... I will... I will kill you!"

Six Ugly did not turn back. He merely raised a hand and waved, as if in farewell, or perhaps to say: come if you wish, I will be waiting...

Only Six Ugly understood the meaning in that gesture.

A quarter of an hour later, deep within the Heavenly Mountain Tomb, in a chamber that was almost the terminus of a mausoleum.

There was no candlelight in the room. Only a palm-sized opening in the ceiling admitted a faint thread of light, casting the furnishings within into indistinct shadow. In that mistlike, dreamlike obscurity, an old man with sparse white hair sat upright before a desk. On both sides of him were bamboo slips stacked like mountains, and he moved his brush as swiftly as flight, recording with cinnabar upon the slips at high speed.

In the darkness, the old man's pupils were smooth and luminous, like amber, gleaming brilliantly.

There came a few knocks at the door, then it was gently pushed open. By the time the door opened, the old man had already stopped. He still held the brush, but his eyes had closed. "What is it?"

At the doorway a soldier knelt in obeisance. His clothing was ordinary, though slightly distinct from that of common soldiers. His hair was somewhat brownish, and he looked handsome and composed. He did not enter, but knelt where he was and reported, "Blood Chief, a fight just broke out in the market district. Several junior members of the Tu and Xu clans had their legs broken by one of our Heavenly Mountain Retreat marquises, and have already been sent for medical treatment." His body trembled ever so slightly, not much, but enough to seem unusually fearful.

As he spoke, he held a bamboo slip high over his head.

"A fight?" The old man slowly opened his eyes. The luster in them faded, and his pupils returned to normal, no different from those of an ordinary man. A crescent smile gradually curved at the corners of his mouth. "To dare provoke one of my Heavenly Mountain Retreat marquises, a broken leg is a light punishment..." He paused suddenly and said with a puzzled sound, "Why report such a trivial matter?"

The soldier at the doorway said, "Blood Chief, the others clans are one thing, but the one from the Xu clan was just named as a candidate to become Lord Qin's son-in-law. I fear that..."

"So that is it!" The old man's confusion vanished. He nodded and said, "If you had not reminded me, I would almost have forgotten. This matter must be handled carefully. If we were to wait until he became Lord Qin's son-in-law and only then take revenge, would that not bring needless trouble and interfere with our Heavenly Mountain Retreat's iron supply? We must cut this knot at its root..."

As he spoke, the old man's voice grew softer, and he sank into thought. The man at the doorway remained kneeling and silent.

After a moment, the old man's voice rose again, deep and faraway, yet decisive and grim: "No need for treatment. Handle it yourself. Later, send word to Lord Qin and say that this man was of unruly conduct and has already been executed in my Dog Mound."

"Yes."

"Also, bring me the dossier of the marquis who fought with them. Let me see it. If necessary, discard him without hesitation."

"Yes."

The young man saluted and withdrew. Only then did the tremor in his body finally cease. Northern Yu glanced at his receding back, and a very strange smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, vanishing in an instant.