Chapter 2: Resentment

Zhao Ying listened to these words and nodded. She had grown up hearing Zhao Dehua recount tales from the martial world, so she understood the intricacies well, though her own experience and judgment were lacking. Now, as Zhao Dehua explained, she could grasp his meaning.

"And what about the older one?" she asked, still most curious about Li Miao, whom Zhao Dehua hadn't even bothered to exchange pleasantries with.

Hastily, she pressed on, "Him? I can't see through him, but he's the most formidable," Zhao Dehua replied.

"His breathing is natural, no different from an ordinary person, as if he doesn't know any martial arts at all. Yet look at how he reclines, pressing on his chest; most people would find it hard to breathe in such a posture, their breath becoming faster than when sitting upright. But listen closely to his breathing."

Following his advice, Zhao Ying closed her eyes and tried to distinguish Li Miao's breath. After a moment, she opened them again, astonished. "Why is his breathing so light? Even lighter than the young girl’s—I could barely hear it!"

"Exactly. In the martial world, the higher one’s skills, the longer and steadier their breath. His is light and short; you, who have trained your hearing since childhood, must concentrate to catch it. If he held his breath in the darkness, you wouldn’t be able to locate him at all."

"To achieve this, either he practices a kind of internal skill I’ve never heard of, or his mastery is so profound that he’s transcended the ordinary ranks of martial artists."

"Look at his hands," Zhao Dehua continued.

Now, Zhao Ying set aside her wary thoughts, treating this as a lesson, and focused her gaze on Li Miao’s hands.

"No calluses... No deformities. He doesn’t handle weapons or practice hard skills."

"His nails are neat and rounded, his fingertips long, the middle finger longer than the index—he doesn’t train in finger techniques either."

Zhao Dehua overheard her muttering and shook his head. "Don’t imitate my method of observing the young man. You must learn to find what’s truly unusual, not analyze these trivial details."

"What is he doing now?"

Puzzled, Zhao Ying answered, "Shelling peanuts, Father. Why?"

"Silly girl, you only notice that he’s shelling peanuts, but not how he’s doing it."

"These are roasted peanuts, their shells brittle, yet he’s been at it for a while. Have you seen any crumbs on his hands? With a pinch, the skin falls away, but the two halves remain intact. Is such skill ordinary?"

Zhao Ying laughed. "Father, I believed you when you said his breathing was unusual, but now you speak so seriously even about shelling peanuts—perhaps the man is simply very good at it!"

Zhao Dehua chuckled as well. "Perhaps I am overthinking, making things seem more mysterious than they are."

"But the three of them dare to share a room with us, and when the skilled young man greeted us, Li Miao remained lying down, even as so many entered. He must have some ability."

"In the martial world, harmony is best; pride and rivalry are the lowest form. He may not have looked at me, but he acknowledged us. Don’t bear any ill will toward him."

"Understood, Father," Zhao Ying replied with a smile.

After their conversation, the warmth from the fire seeped into their bodies, and their spirits relaxed. Traveling with the escort group had been tense and exhausting, and now, as they unwound, Zhao Ying’s head began to nod, her eyes drooping.

Zhao Dehua assigned several to keep watch with him, while the others, unconcerned about the dust on the floor, sprawled wherever they could and settled down to rest.

Li Miao and his companions also made themselves comfortable.

When the first half of the night had passed, Zhao Dehua felt drowsy, judged the time, and roused a few to take over the watch. He yawned, wrapped himself in his cloak, and leaned against the escort chest, closing his eyes.

After a while, Wang Hai, lying down, twitched his nose and opened his eyes in the darkness. He remained still, quietly extending his tongue to taste the air, analyzing for a moment.

"There’s sleeping gas. Someone aims to attack the escort group," he silently concluded.

The quality of the drug wasn’t high or low, but it was insufficient to deal with a Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. If the target were Li Miao’s trio, even the most reckless would use exotic poisons or the finest sleeping powders from Tang Sect.

Using such an ordinary drug against a Commander was like sending a greeting card before a fight.

Given the few in the room, it was clear the target was either them or the Tiger Might Escort Agency.

"It’s late, the Commander must be deeply asleep by now," he thought.

"Uncertain of the intruder’s background, it’s unwise to act rashly. I’ll wait and see how things unfold before making a move."

With this in mind, Wang Hai glanced toward Li Miao, only to jump in surprise.

Li Miao was quietly peeking with one eye open, watching the Tiger Might Escort group with keen interest.

Li Miao found Wang Hai’s startled reaction amusing.

He had spent twenty years in the capital, and since Wang Hai had joined him, he’d followed his “eight-hour workday” routine. Wang Hai was deeply accustomed to Li Miao’s habits.

Little did he know, in the feudal era, holidays were rare, and aside from festivals, every day was a workday. For twenty years, Li Miao had lived perpetually in this cycle.

He’d used the “eight-hour workday” to strengthen himself, but it also limited his energy, causing him to become drowsy as soon as night fell.

Indeed, his golden finger was called the “eight-hour workday”—a name Li Miao himself had chosen, perfectly apt.

But now, for the first time in twenty years, he was on a business trip.

As everyone knows, travel time doesn’t count toward work hours.

Not working meant he wasn’t restricted in his energy. Now, as he circulated his internal energy, he was fully alert and eager.

He couldn’t wait to witness his first true encounter with the martial world—his first real brush with a vendetta!

Li Miao and Wang Hai exchanged silent glances, waiting patiently for something to happen.

After a while, Zhao Dehua’s arms, folded across his chest, slid down; his once orderly breathing became chaotic, clearly unconscious.

Worn out from travel, the Tiger Might Escort group had long been exhausted. Zhao Dehua, having watched the first half of the night, was at his limit. Those who took over the watch had just awakened, their minds still muddled.

Releasing the sleeping gas at this moment showed the perpetrator had been observing, picking the most opportune time.

After another pause, someone crept in through the door.

She walked quietly toward Zhao Dehua, stopped abruptly as she neared him, and swiftly retreated.

No sound.

Seeing Zhao Dehua unresponsive, she didn’t approach but instead pulled a small pouch from her bosom and tossed it toward him.

The pouch floated through the air.

Suddenly, a large hand reached out, caught it, and tucked it away.

“Hmph! Old man, I knew you wouldn’t fall for it so easily!” she exclaimed, her voice clear and melodious—a young woman.

Her face was hidden behind a dark veil.

“I’ve escorted goods for over a decade; how could I not know when the night is most dangerous? Miss, you underestimated Zhao,” Zhao Dehua replied.

He stood up, eyes sharp and bright, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The other escorts had indeed succumbed to the sleeping gas, but as a seasoned martial artist, Zhao Dehua slept with one eye half open; he sensed something was wrong the moment the gas entered.

As the saying goes, a thief can act for a thousand days, but no one can guard against them for a thousand days.

Zhao Dehua could have woken the others before the gas took full effect, but the attacker would have escaped. With such a threat lurking, he’d never sleep soundly again.

Confident in his skills, he feigned weakness, hoping to lure the assailant close enough to subdue her and eliminate future danger.

But the woman was no fool; she retreated abruptly at the edge of his striking range, nearly provoking him to act.

Zhao Dehua wanted to continue pretending, but the pouch she threw was obviously a poison bomb, designed to explode upon contact.

He dared not risk his internal energy against it and had to intercept it, thus exposing himself.

Now, the situation was clear: a one-on-one confrontation.

Zhao Dehua sized up the masked woman, unable to recall anyone of similar build.

He frowned and asked, “May I ask what grievance you bear, Miss? Is there any room for reconciliation?”

He did not ask if she was after the valuables they were escorting.

The sleeping gas she used, though unimpressive to Wang Hai, was high-grade by martial world standards, costly and rare. If she were after money, she wouldn’t waste such resources.

Moreover, her words implied familiarity, calling him an old man and saying she knew he wouldn’t be caught.

Clearly, she was not a thief driven by greed, but a personal enemy!

The woman made no effort to hide her intentions, sneering, “Old man, have you grown senile?”

“If a few words could resolve our feud, would I bother targeting you?”

“If we don’t fight, would you let a masked enemy walk away?”

“If I really left, would you sleep at night?”

Zhao Dehua sighed.

“Ah, you’re right, Miss. The older one gets in the martial world, the more cautious, losing all courage, always seeking peace.”

“Forgive me for making you laugh.”

“Let’s—settle this with our hands!”

Before the last word faded, Zhao Dehua crossed the room in a single stride, launching himself at her!

His fingers curved into claws, slicing through the air, aiming straight for the masked woman’s eyes and crown!