800 Taels of Silver! [Please continue reading!]

Su Yang's face was expressionless, except for his eyes, which were frighteningly bright.

He could "hear" Hu Batou's sudden, frantic heartbeat, "smell" the faint body odor emanating from him due to fear, and clearly perceive the weakness in the other's wrist as it stiffened while holding the knife.

"you……"

Hu Batou's throat was dry, and he could barely utter a complete syllable.

His hand holding the knife felt as heavy as a thousand pounds; the indomitable spirit he had displayed moments before had vanished completely. It was as if an invisible mountain was pressing down on his shoulder—the almost unbearable pressure of death from the gaze of his opponent and the corpses of his comrades scattered on the ground.

"Now."

Su Yang finally spoke, his voice not loud, but like a cold blade scraping against everyone's eardrums: "We can talk about 'rules' now."

He took a step forward.

Just one step.

That chilling, murderous aura, carrying the scent of blood, swept over us like a tidal wave.

The remaining three hooligans dared not make a move.

His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees with a series of thuds. He then slid down the door panel, slumped against the wall, and trembled. A damp patch was faintly visible in his crotch. His lips trembled, and he couldn't even manage a complete plea for mercy.

Hu stood alone among the four corpses, his legs trembling violently, his teeth grinding together. He looked at the pool of blood spreading rapidly on the ground, then at the blood-dripping knife in Su Yang's hand, and finally met those unfathomable eyes. There was no killing intent in those eyes, only indifference, which was more despairing than any murderous intent.

"Clang!"

The thick-backed machete slipped from his completely powerless hand, striking the bluestone ground with a piercing crack. His knees buckled, and he collapsed heavily to his knees at the edge of the pool of blood, splattering a few drops of blood.

"Please... good sir, spare my life!"

Hu banged his head on the ground, his forehead bruised and swollen, his voice trembling with tears: "It was I who was blind and ignorant! I offended a hero! It was I who wanted to cheat him out of his position, I was just greedy!"

Su Yang's gaze, as cold as ice, slowly swept over them.

His gaze paused almost imperceptibly as he glanced at the handle of the thick-backed machete that Hu San had discarded on the ground.

That knife hilt... something's not right.

The wear on the leather-wrapped handle is very specific, mainly concentrated at the point where the index finger and the web of the hand exert force, and the depth and direction of the marks are almost consistent. This is by no means a messy mark left by random swinging, but a unique "patina" formed over many years with a fixed posture, fixed angle, and thousands of swings.

A thought flashed through Su Yang's mind.

Although this man appeared rough and uncouth, he was not merely relying on brute force. He had diligently practiced swordsmanship, mastering a specific set of techniques to a considerable degree. His fear and panic were genuine, but the stance he adopted when unleashing that strike just now subtly revealed a sense of discipline and method.

Su Yang's mind raced, but his expression remained impassive.

"greedy?"

His tone was devoid of emotion: "You, the head of the Southern Branch of the Canal Gang, led your elite troops to kick down the gates of the Huang residence, all for some baseless bamboo pole?"

"Yes! I was blinded by greed and folly! Grandpa, have mercy!"

Hu San kowtowed repeatedly, not daring to hesitate in the slightest.

Su Yang's gaze lingered on the knife for a moment before shifting away. He had already made a new plan in his mind.

He stopped asking questions, turned around and walked to the broken door. He tapped the broken door panel with the scabbard, making a hollow sound.

"The door, fifty taels."

"The land, thirty taels."

"My buddy's fright, forty taels."

"The wear and tear on my knife is worth one hundred taels."

With each number he announced, Hu San's heart sank a little deeper, yet he also felt a twisted sense of relief—as long as he didn't ask who was behind it, he didn't care how he was punished!

Su Yang turned around, the candlelight flickering in his eyes, revealing no warmth whatsoever.

"As for the life of Hu San, the leader of the Southern City Canal Gang," he paused, his voice clear and cold, "five hundred and eighty taels."

"In total, it's eight hundred taels."

"Eight...eight hundred taels?!"

Hu San's vision went black, and he felt a pain so intense that his heart was bleeding.

"You can get it right now from the counter at your Drunken Immortal Pavilion."

Su Yang interrupted his exclamation: "Send your men back to get the silver!"

He took an incense stick from the incense burner, took out a tinderbox, and lit the incense. "Deliver the silver before the incense burns out. If the money arrives, you crawl out. If the money doesn't arrive..."

He didn't finish speaking, but instead placed the burning incense stick next to the pool of blood by the door.

That burning incense stick was the countdown to Hu San's life.

"Go now!!"

Hu San roared at the three hooligans, his voice distorted, "Find the chest in my room! Bring me eight hundred taels of silver! Now!!"

The three ruffians tumbled and crawled out of the door, heading towards the nearby Drunken Immortal Pavilion.

The front hall was deathly silent.

The only sounds were the faint hissing of burning incense sticks and Hu San's heavy, bellows-like breathing.

He stared intently at the ever-shrinking incense stick, sweat mixed with blood streaming down his forehead.

Just as the incense was about to burn out, hurried footsteps sounded.

A ruffian tumbled in, carrying a bundle, and pounced on Hu San, crying, "Boss! Silver...silver!"

Hu San snatched the package, crawled a few steps on his knees, and placed it in front of Su Yang: "Grandpa...Grandpa! Eight hundred taels of silver! The full amount! Please...please take a look!"

Su Yang took the package and counted them carefully. Inside were eighty silver ingots, each worth ten taels.

His movements were unhurried, yet they made Hu San feel like he was sitting on pins and needles every moment.

"Remember, these eight hundred taels are for your life this time!"

Su Yang spoke slowly, his voice low, yet each word struck Hu San's heart: "Take these and get out."

After speaking, he tapped the corpse on the ground with the scabbard of his sword.

Hu San felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He didn't even dare to pick up his cherished thick-backed machete. He and the three ruffians hurriedly dragged the corpse away and staggered away, not daring to look back at the lintel of the cloth shop.

The incense stick had just burned out.

The last wisp of smoke dissipated into the blood-soaked air, and the ashes fell silently.

Su Yang stood with his hand on his sword until the footsteps of Hu San and the others completely disappeared at the end of the long street.

He knew perfectly well what was going on.

The matter is far from over. The traces of Hu San's deliberately practiced swordsmanship, and the possible mastermind behind him, are all worth investigating. Eight hundred taels of silver are merely an appetizer.

He turned around.

Zhao Qian had already emerged from the back room at some point, his usual smile gone.

"Team Leader Su."

Zhao Qian spoke first, his gaze falling on the package in Su Yang's hand: "Eight hundred taels of silver. Hu San has really gone all out this time."

"Just empty money."

Su Yang walked up to Zhao Qian in a calm voice and suddenly asked, "Manager Zhao, do you know what kind of martial arts Hu San has besides being the leader of the Canal Gang? The slash he made before discarding his knife just now seemed to have some skill; it wasn't just a haphazard approach."

Zhao Qian paused slightly, then narrowed his eyes and glanced at the thick-backed machete on the ground: "The captain has a good eye. Hu San was able to establish himself in the south of the city in his early years because of his skill. As far as I know, he practices a sword technique called 'Five Tigers Blade of the Wind.' He has been immersed in this art for many years and is considered a master in ordinary gang fights."

"The Five Tiger Blades of the Wind-Splashing Army..."

Su Yang silently made a note of it.

He had vaguely heard of this style of swordsmanship; it was indeed a common technique, but if mastered to a high level, it was no ordinary skill.

The fact that Hu San was able to establish himself in the south of the city with this knife shows that he had indeed put a lot of effort into it and must have had a complete knife manual to refer to and practice with.

He then changed the subject: "In your opinion, Manager Zhao, where is Hu San most likely to go tonight? Will he return to his own residence to lick his wounds, or... go to apologize to the person behind him?"

A glint flashed in Zhao Qian's eyes as he understood Su Yang's intention.