Chapter 81: The Origins of Zhang Tianbao

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Zhang Tianbao stared at the small child before him. He could crush the boy with one hand, yet instinct warned him that this little one was dangerous. The last time he felt such a threat was when he faced a tiger, but no matter how he tried, he could not equate the fresh, fair-skinned child before him with a wild beast. Especially those eyes—bright and clear, yet sly as a fox, with a hint of a tiger’s dominance.

“Speak. Who do you want me to kill? Or who am I supposed to deal with?” Zhang Tianbao finally drew his gaze away from Yun Hao after a long moment. He spoke with difficulty, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Look closely. I’m just shy of eight years old this year. Even if I had enemies, what sort of foe could a child have that would warrant such trouble to seek revenge through you? You’re not about to have me fight a group of children, are you?” Yun Hao shrugged, opening the enormous food box as he spoke.

“Man can go without iron, but not without food; skip a meal and you’ll feel weak. I know you’re tough as steel, but you haven’t eaten since yesterday, have you? Whatever needs discussing, let’s eat first. I’ll check your wounds after. Listen, I’m a doctor.” Yun Hao noticed that the moment he opened the food box, Zhang Tianbao’s eyes fixed intently on it.

Zhang Tianbao’s salivary glands seemed to erupt, and drool flowed freely. He swallowed hard; after all, he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since the day before (those two fingers of the Mountain Leopard didn’t count). His stomach had been empty for ages, and the pale, wrinkled steamed buns looked delicious. He sniffed—was that the scent of meat? Could the buns have meat inside?

They were lamb-filled buns, seasoned with scallion; each one was a plump meatball. The aroma rose as Yun Hao lifted the lid. Truth be told, Yun Hao preferred pork buns, ideally with layers of juicy pork belly. But these days, pigs hadn’t been properly castrated; pork carried a pungent odor, making it unpalatable even for stir-fries, let alone buns. Only common folk ate such inferior meat; wealthy households favored lamb.

Yun Hao also wished for beef-filled buns—cattle were available, but slaughtering them was illegal. If caught by the authorities, it was worse than murder. Yun Hao had no desire to challenge the law, so lamb buns it was. Someone like Zhang Tianbao probably hadn’t had good lamb even during New Year’s. Presented with lamb buns, he’d chew his own tongue off.

There’s a saying: martial arts masters are sustained by their appetite. Yun Hao had doubted it, but today he believed. The fist-sized buns disappeared into Zhang Tianbao’s mouth as though swallowed by a black hole. He barely seemed to chew; was he born under the sign of the crocodile?

“Delicious, but not quite filling. Half full will have to do!” A large bowl of millet porridge vanished down his throat with a gulp. He wiped his mouth, and used his tongue to clean his teeth, as if determined to leave nothing behind, not even a crumb.

A bottomless pit! Truly, a bottomless pit! Yun Hao now understood the meaning of the term. Expecting a martial arts master’s large appetite, he’d brought fifty buns. Yun Hao himself could barely manage five, but this man ate all fifty and still claimed to be only half full. No wonder his household was impoverished—just feeding him would bankrupt a family.

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“I’ll bring more next time. Now stretch out your leg; let me check your wound.” Yun Hao changed the topic, unable to discuss food any longer. He noticed Zhang Tianbao’s throat kept moving—he was truly still hungry.

The flesh around his ankle was torn, raw from the shackles. It looked gruesome, yet it was only a superficial wound, no tendons or bones damaged—a stroke of luck.

“Brace yourself, this might sting.” Yun Hao took out alcohol, soaking a cloth to disinfect Zhang Tianbao’s wound. The prison’s conditions were abysmal; an infection could be disastrous. Yun Hao had no wish to amputate such a man’s leg himself.

“A mere surface wound, nothing to worry about. Hey, is that wine?” Zhang Tianbao sniffed at the ceramic bottle in Yun Hao’s hand, dog-like in his curiosity.

“It’s not wine, it’s medicine! Distilled from alcohol. If you’re not afraid of going blind or never walking again, then drink it!” Yun Hao warned as he applied the alcohol, recalling countless cases of tainted liquor causing blindness or crippling people in his previous life. He’d heard that when Russians were out of spirits, they’d drink bath gel and shampoo. Truly a warrior race!

Hearing Yun Hao’s dire warning, Zhang Tianbao smacked his lips, though his expression betrayed disbelief.

“If you don’t want me to kill someone for you, why are you helping me? That Rolling Dragon’s sister is Wang Wei’s favored concubine—the Deputy Keeper of Jinyang. Since you’re from the Duke of Tang’s household, you should know this. Why wade into this muddy water?” The alcohol stung fiercely, yet Zhang Tianbao spoke to Yun Hao as if he felt nothing.

“You cared for your sworn brother’s orphan and aged mother, that shows your loyalty. To be honest, my household needed a guard, and I had my eye on you. But now, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh? Why?” Zhang Tianbao asked, puzzled.

“You said it yourself: Rolling Dragon has Wang Wei behind him. I can’t handle this matter, so you can’t become my household’s guard. But I don’t want to see a man like you tormented to death. Lending a hand to save you isn’t difficult. In troubled times, someone like you will surely rise. If I leave a shred of goodwill now, perhaps when I fall on hard times in the future, you won’t stand by and watch.”

“Haha! Hypocrites who toss around the word ‘brother’ are countless. But to speak so frankly as you do—that’s a first. With Nannan following you, I’m at ease.”

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“How did you know Nannan and Grandmother are at my house?”

“When I was captured, I saw you holding Nannan. I had my doubts, but seeing you today, I’m reassured. When my family fell on hard times years ago, my brother’s household helped us out of loyalty; that’s how I survived. Now my brother is dead, leaving an aged mother and orphaned child without anyone to care for them. If not for Nannan and Aunt, I would have smashed that Rolling Dragon into a pulp long ago.

Think about it—I studied martial arts at Mount Song…”

“You’ve already smashed Rolling Dragon into a pulp, enough that not even his mother would recognize him. No need to mention your training. Did you become a monk at Shaolin Temple?”

“How did you know? You’re so young—how do you know Shaolin Temple?” Zhang Tianbao’s eyes widened as he reassessed Yun Hao.

“Oh, so you’re a Shaolin monk. Then you must know Master Jueyuan? Let me tell you a secret: the most powerful figure in Shaolin isn’t Master Jueyuan or even Bodhidharma. It’s the Sweeper Monk in the Sutra Library. They say his Six Meridian Divine Sword is so advanced he can defeat any move without making a move.”

“Six…! Six Meridian Divine Sword?” Zhang Tianbao’s mouth gaped wide enough to hold eight buns, utterly bewildered.