Chapter Eighteen: The Villain

(The second week’s ranking challenge begins. This week, we have a recommendation, though it’s not particularly strong. Last week, we made it to the top three with nothing but bare bones, so this week, surely we can reach even greater heights—of course, the power lies with you. Each click, every vote, all represent your support and help for Liaozhai. Southern Dynasty bows in gratitude—where there is support, there is motivation, and there will be updates!)

The north wind howled, and suddenly, white snowflakes began to fall—a snowfall that could not wait for night, impatiently descending from the sky.

Snow landed cold upon Chen Jianchen’s face, but his heart was colder still.

“Ah San, you dare to offend me? Are you not afraid of thirty days in the pillory?”

Chen Jianchen spun around, his sharp brows arching, his voice thunderous and full, like a sudden bolt from the blue. In the Tian Tong Dynasty, scholars held honorary titles—even at the lowest rung of the privileged class, they were exalted above ordinary folk. Moreover, the law decreed that any commoner who insulted a scholar would be sentenced to thirty days in the pillory.

The so-called “pillory” meant the criminal was fitted with a wooden yoke around the neck and wrists, forced to kneel outside the magistrate’s office for all to see. The yoke often weighed thirty or forty pounds, and after prolonged wear, the neck would be so pressed that one could hardly lift it. If the punishment lasted too long, it could even kill a man.

Chen Jianchen relied on this, giving his opponent a stern warning to see if he would retreat.

Ah San, startled by the rebuke, stood rigid, his expression shifting uncertainly; after a moment, he gritted his teeth, his face twisted with malice. “If I kill you, who will know it was me?”

At those words, Chen Jianchen knew there would be no turning back. He replied with chilling resolve, “You’ve got guts!”

Ah San, desperate, shouted and charged forward, wielding a half-foot-long dagger in his hand, murderous intent in his eyes.

His courage was fueled by drink—his plan was to kill Chen Jianchen while no one was around, drag the corpse to the forest nearby for the wolves and tigers to devour, so no one would know it was his doing. He had always been a ruffian, fierce and unruly; now that opportunity presented itself, how could he let a scholar slip away?

Seeing Ah San rush at him, Chen Jianchen remained calm. In the blink of an eye, he dodged aside and struck out with his palm.

Smack!

His hand landed squarely and forcefully on Ah San’s cheek.

Ah San staggered, stars exploding in his vision, half his face numb. Far more shocking than the numbness was his astonishment—was Chen Jianchen not a frail scholar, powerless against even a chicken? How could his response be so swift, his strength so fierce—as forceful as a seasoned fighter?

Chen Jianchen did not give him a moment to recover. In a flash, he stepped forward, launching a flying kick that landed squarely on Ah San’s chest—a kick executed with a precision his previous life, despite years of training, could never match.

Ah San screamed in agony, the dagger dropped from his hand, and he was sent flying over ten feet, landing hard. He felt a sweetness in his throat and spat a mouthful of blood onto the thin snow, vivid and shocking.

That kick had knocked every ounce of viciousness from him. He struggled up, kowtowed so hard his head thudded against the ground. “Master Chen, spare me! I was blind, please have mercy!”

Chen Jianchen snorted coldly, deeply satisfied. He remembered a fable from long ago, in another world: There was a temple, and in front of the temple ran a wide ditch. One day, a man passing by found the ditch too wide to cross, so he took the statue of the god from the temple, laid it across the ditch like a bridge, and walked over it, leaving nonchalantly.

Later, another man came by, saw what had happened, and lamented, “How can one defile the deity so?” He hurried to restore the statue, carefully dusted it clean, placed it back upon the altar, and then bowed respectfully before leaving.

After this man departed, the temple’s little spirits complained to their king, “Outrageous! Shouldn’t we punish the first fellow?”

The king replied, “Of course! Let’s give the latter one some trouble.”

The spirits were shocked: “Shouldn’t the first man be punished? The second treated you with utmost reverence!”

But the king said, “The first one was a villain; what could we do to him? The second is easy to deal with.”

Thus, even spirits fear the strong and bully the weak—how much more so mortals?

Chen Jianchen was eager to return home and had no wish to drag Ah San before the magistrate. He trusted that after today, Ah San would not dare try anything again. He spoke coldly: “Ah San, mind your ways.”

With that, he swept his sleeves and departed.

Only after he was far away did Ah San dare to sit up, clutching his chest in pain, uncertain whether his bones were broken. Despite the bitter cold, sweat broke out on his forehead. Cursing his luck, he recalled the saying: “When a scholar meets a soldier, reason is lost.” But this Chen, the great scholar, simply settled matters with fists and feet—two moves made the reasoning clear enough.

Was this a scholar? Alas, he was not someone Ah San could afford to provoke…

He spat out blood-tinted saliva, but a nagging question lingered in his mind. He had never heard of Chen Jianchen possessing martial skill—was there some secret to it? Ah, best to keep away from him in the future. He must have been out of his mind to dare attack him—what was the point?

He shook his head and prepared to leave, but suddenly heard rough, heavy breathing behind him. Startled, he turned—and nearly cried out in terror.

Somehow, a massive black wolf, sleek and glossy, had crept up to within three feet behind him without a sound.

The wolf was huge and robust, its fur pitch-black, ears long and pointed, eyes gleaming with ferocious light. Its mouth gaped open, revealing a set of sharp, interlocking fangs.

“Beast, get lost!”

Ah San was frightened. He snatched a small stone from the ground and hurled it at the wolf, then scrambled to retrieve his fallen dagger.

Growl!

The stone missed, not even grazing a single hair. The black wolf let out a low snarl and suddenly lunged, knocking Ah San to the ground.

Ah San was strong, but now injured, his strength and agility greatly diminished. Pinned by the giant wolf, he could not break free. Fear and panic overwhelmed him, and he shouted for help. But Chen Jianchen was long gone, and no one else was nearby—there was no rescue.

Chomp!

In his desperation, the wolf seized the moment, sinking its teeth into Ah San’s chest. The sharp fangs pierced his heart—pain beyond words flooded him, and Ah San lost all strength, his limbs going limp, his gaze fading. He never imagined his life would end beneath the jaws of a wolf…

Awooo!

The sky hung heavy, snowflakes swirling. The giant wolf rose on its hind legs, casting its head back to howl at the heavens, its maw dripping blood, terrifying to behold.

Finished, the black wolf stood upright on its hind legs like a man, striding forward—toward Maple Mountain. Behind it lay a corpse, chest torn open and heart devoured, blood pooling beneath, unmoving as the snow began to cover it.

And now, the snow fell thick and fast…