Chapter 32: Three Quarters Past the Second Watch

"You've got some nerve, pretending to be me, huh? Not bad at all. I thought I was an old hand at this, but you almost had me fooled," Ling Chi said from the darkness.

"Speak. Who put you up to this?"

"Please, boss, spare me! It was Master Hongde who told me to follow you and say those words by your side!" the man in gray answered.

Ling Chi was startled. He’d actually been tailed without realizing it. Had the ease of his new life dulled his vigilance? Impossible—instinct was not something one lost. The only explanation was that this man in gray had used some other method.

"Who do you work for? The Lianshan Bandits?" Ling Chi asked directly.

The man’s heart skipped a beat. How does he know? Am I exposed?

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," the man tried to remain calm.

"Don’t you know, in an interrogation, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ usually means you’re right."

Ling Chi laughed heartily, finally regaining some of his old presence through experience.

"Look me in the eye, you scoundrel. Where is the Lianshan Bandits’ hideout in the city?" His eyes crackled with thunder, his voice resonating with power, captivating the soul.

"The hideout is inside Good Faith Temple, under the statue of the Laughing Buddha in the Hall of the Heavenly Kings—there’s an entrance to a tunnel there."

"What’s the name of the technique you practice, and where do you keep it?"

"Divine Concealment Technique, under my pillow!"

Ling Chi reached under the pillow and pulled out a worn manual. He flipped through it, then tucked it into his robe.

"Where’s Monk Hongde?"

"The master is at the temple."

"Is any of the Lianshan Bandits’ leaders in the city?"

"The Third Chief is spending the night at Spring Welcome Brothel, guarded by brothers."

"That’s all I need. In your next life, don’t be a thief. Try being a good man."

The man in gray jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. He’d confessed everything.

To spare him from catching a cold, Ling Chi promptly twisted his neck. And so he wouldn’t be lonely on the journey below, he sent his wife to accompany him.

I must be a saint!

From entering the house to leaving, Ling Chi spent about a quarter of an hour. He’d broken his own rule tonight—he hadn’t set a fire. Too much noise would alert the enemy.

When he moves, he wipes them out completely. Ling Chi carefully tallied his targets for the night: the Third Chief and the Lianshan Bandits in Spring Welcome Brothel, everyone at Good Faith Temple, and the rats hiding in the underground lair beneath the Hall of the Heavenly Kings.

There was a glaring flaw: the underground base surely had escape routes.

He didn’t have intelligence on that yet. He’d have to play it by ear—a prospect he greatly disliked, for it meant anything could go wrong.

It was now about half past one in the morning. He had to finish before five at the latest—an hour and a half at most. Time was tight and the mission heavy. No time to hesitate.

He hadn’t felt such passion since his last life, when he hunted telecom scammers in Southeast Asia.

Ling Chi stood at the crossroads, paralyzed by indecision. For a moment, he didn’t know who to kill first.

After three seconds of hesitation, he decided to start with the Third Chief at Spring Welcome Brothel.

The biggest difference between a brothel and other places was that it was still brightly lit with giant candles deep into the night. Ling Chi glanced at his night-walker’s garb and, with no other choice, stole a long robe from a guest.

The Lianshan Bandits had rooms next to the Third Chief’s—eight men, six asleep, two standing guard. It was now about one forty-five, with another half hour before the next shift—plenty of time.

Ling Chi slipped into the room, targeting the sleeping ones first. Like a gecko, he pressed himself to the window, listening to the steady breaths within, then sneaked inside. Four thugs lay together in a tangle of limbs.

Ling Chi crept over, covering mouths and noses, and with a slanted thrust of his dagger into the temple, each became a corpse in a second.

He was experienced enough to know that stabbing the heart left seven seconds of brain activity—and in this supernatural world, that time might be even longer.

The four thugs died in their sleep. Ling Chi pulled up the covers over them—not out of concern for their catching cold, but to keep the smell of blood from alerting the target.

He slipped out the window, pressed against the outer wall, and slid over to the window of the next room.

Using the same method, he ended the two there, donned one of their robes, and hid his dagger up his sleeve.

Feigning a midnight trip to the latrine, he walked with his head down, yawning and covering his face.

The guards saw someone come out of their own room and didn’t react in time.

Not until a dagger punched into Guard One’s temple—Guard Two’s mouth just opening before it was covered and his neck snapped. Twenty or thirty threads of spiritual energy were absorbed into Ling Chi’s body.

Ling Chi dragged the two still-warm bodies back to their room, set them on the bed, covered them, and slipped quietly into the Third Chief’s room next door.

A plaque hung on the door, bearing the words “Chun Xiang.” Ling Chi had never been here and had no idea what it meant.

The doors in brothels had no crossbars. Ling Chi listened to the two steady breaths within, slid the latch, and squeezed inside.

He silently crept to the bedside. With a knife-hand strike to Chun Xiang’s carotid artery, she lost consciousness instantly.

They all lived by labor; none of it was easy. Ling Chi didn’t want to kill her or let her see his face—even this sallow one—so he simply knocked her out.

Lightning would draw too much attention, so he chose to use his pure yang energy—a rarely used ability, mostly for cremating bodies and setting fires. Not that it wasn’t powerful, but Ling Chi preferred flashier effects.

The cyclone inside him spun wildly, turning the dagger red-hot.

He stabbed at the Third Chief’s neck. Sensing danger, the Third Chief’s eyes flew open, only to see the red-hot blade growing larger and closer, its heat nearly searing his skin.

A surge of murderous energy exploded from the Third Chief as he punched at Ling Chi. Ling Chi’s skin turned golden—the Thunder Gold Body Technique.

Ling Chi took the punch head-on as his dagger pierced the chief’s neck. Facing death, the Third Chief summoned unprecedented strength, shifting to the right.

Ling Chi’s left fist landed squarely on the chief’s temple, leaving him dizzy. He knew he was finished—a moment’s daze at such a critical moment was as good as death.

A cold snort. Before he could recover, a psychic assault left him even more dazed, and Ling Chi’s dagger finally went in deep.

The Third Chief’s eyes bulged, veins cracking at the corners, as he clutched Ling Chi’s right arm in a death grip.

Ling Chi’s left hand burst with power, smashing down on the hilt—the tip burst from the other side of the neck.

The Third Chief died on the spot.

Ling Chi severed his head—this was the gift he would present to the Chief of the Lianshan Bandits.

Over a hundred and fifty threads of thunder spirit energy were absorbed, bringing him closer to the eighth level.

The fight had been brief but intense. Ling Chi retraced his steps.

He wondered what Chun Xiang would feel when she woke to find the Third Chief’s head vanished. It would probably leave a psychological scar—or maybe she’d even be mistaken for his accomplice.