Chapter 8: Severance

When it came to Zhao Dehua, Li Miao had already formed his judgment long ago.

Zhao Dehua was by no means the amiable escort chief he appeared to be; beneath the surface, he was cold and ruthless.

Li Miao’s reasoning lay in the claw technique Zhao Dehua used last night when he fought Mei Qinghe.

As mentioned before, martial arts are subjective. How far one can take a particular skill depends greatly on whether their temperament aligns with the technique.

For example, saber techniques are typically bold and aggressive; someone indecisive would find it hard to reach mastery. Yet, if that person turned to a style that emphasizes softness overcoming hardness, they might make rapid progress.

The claw technique Zhao Dehua wielded was sinister and cruel, designed to gouge hearts and flay flesh. No righteous man could use it to such an extreme.

Zhao Dehua was not gifted physically; his rise to a second-rate expert was largely due to how perfectly he suited this particular style.

Back then, that infamous bandit probably realized he couldn’t escape the pursuit of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Thus, he deliberately “remade” Zhao Dehua into a successor worthy of inheriting his skills.

Zhao Dehua did not disappoint.

Mei Qinghe watched Zhao Dehua rolling on the ground, wailing, scratching his ears until they bled, and shook her head.

She turned to Li Miao and asked, “Senior, do you have an antidote?”

Li Miao raised an eyebrow. “What, having second thoughts?”

Mei Qinghe shook her head. “No. I want to kill Zhao Dehua, not a madman who doesn’t even know why he’s dying. Such a muddled death is too easy for him.”

She had always imagined that when her long-awaited vengeance was at hand, she would weep with uncontrollable emotion. Yet now her heart was still as water, calm as if witnessing a stranger’s fate.

Only her inner energy surged within her, like a smoldering fire that had burned for fifteen years, parching her lips.

Li Miao tossed her a small pouch. “Use this. Stuff it in his mouth and catalyze it with your energy—it’ll work in a moment.”

Mei Qinghe took the pouch, thanked Li Miao, turned, and forced the antidote into Zhao Dehua’s mouth.

She then gripped his pulse and poured her energy into him.

Gradually, Zhao Dehua’s cries faded and his limbs stilled.

After the time it took for an incense stick to burn, clarity returned to Zhao Dehua’s eyes.

He looked up at Mei Qinghe, his lips trembling, and finally croaked, “You… you’re not dead…”

Just as he had said when he first saw her—back then, poisoned and delirious, he’d thought the vengeful ghost of Mei Qinghe’s mother had come for him.

Now, his mind clear, he recognized Mei Qinghe as the little girl he had let escape years ago—come now to avenge her murdered mother.

Mei Qinghe nodded, “Yes, I survived.”

“Ah—!” Zhao Dehua suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream, clutching his face as blood seeped through his fingers.

Without another word, Mei Qinghe had gouged out his eyes.

Pain throbbed in his empty sockets, and his hands felt something sticky—his own eyes.

Flailing and kicking, he tried desperately to crawl away from her, but before he could get far, a foot pressed down on his back, heavier and heavier. With his meridians sealed by Li Miao, he could not resist and was crushed flat against the ground.

Like a turtle out of water, his limbs thrashed uselessly around him.

Zhao Dehua begged, “You were there that day. Yes, I’m a beast, I did wrong. But at first, I tried to let you escape! I tangled with the Plum Blossom Thief so you could run!”

“For the sake of me risking my life to protect you back then, spare me!”

At the mention of the “Plum Blossom Thief,” Li Miao, watching the drama unfold, raised an eyebrow. “What a coincidence? Fifteen years ago… the timing fits.”

He recalled that when he’d met the Commandant of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, he’d mentioned a nearly fatal task he’d completed fifteen years before—the one that earned him his “eight-hour workday” labor contract.

It was this very business that had gotten Li Miao promoted to Captain.

He vaguely remembered that several remnants had escaped, among them the “Plum Blossom Thief.”

But he only sighed; he’d done his utmost—what he couldn’t clean up, others would. He never made a habit of burdening himself with the leftovers.

Mei Qinghe sneered at Zhao Dehua’s pleas.

“If you hadn’t helped us, I wouldn’t have come for revenge.”

“Nothing is greater than life and death. I never expected anyone to risk their life for kindness.”

“Today—” Mei Qinghe picked up the short sword Li Miao had tossed aside and drove it into the tendons of Zhao Dehua’s leg.

“To kill is to kill the one who aided the wicked, who, with the Plum Blossom Thief, tortured my mother and left me in the mountains to die.”

As Zhao Dehua screamed in agony, Mei Qinghe slowly, methodically severed the tendons in his legs.

Then his hands.

Despair consumed Zhao Dehua as the agony coursed through his ruined limbs. He knew he was finished. His arms and legs, tendons cut, lay limp at his sides.

Blind, crippled—he was nothing but a ruined man.

But he still wished to live.

“Spare me! Spare me! I didn’t kill you! I didn’t!” he shouted.

“Just as I did back then, leave me here to die! I’m already crippled! Staying alive is only suffering—don’t you want to see me suffer?”

Years ago, Zhao Dehua had intended to silence Mei Qinghe for good, but instead had left her in the mountains to die—his one act of mercy, now his last hope.

“I could have killed you, but I didn’t! I let you go! You shouldn’t kill me today!”

Mei Qinghe replied coldly, “You should have killed me.”

“What I did to survive was no easier than dying.”

She rose, went to the eaves and leapt down. After a moment, she returned, holding something in her hand.

“Tied to that tree, I watched the Plum Blossom Thief torture you, then saw you use your worst fear to torment my mother. I know exactly when you tremble most.”

“I know what you fear most.”

“I blinded you so you could listen more clearly.”

“Listen.”

“Here comes what you fear most.”

Mei Qinghe brought her hand, holding the thing, to Zhao Dehua’s ear.

He shuddered violently.

It was a rustling sound—the crawling of insects in her palm.

With a sudden motion, Mei Qinghe slapped the insects into Zhao Dehua’s ear, then bound it tightly with cloth to keep them inside.

Zhao Dehua jerked upright, his broken limbs thrashing as he rolled and wailed.

“Get them out! Get them out! Ah—!”

He smashed his head against the ground, blood streaming down his face.

“I had no choice! No choice! He forced me! He forced me!”

“He tortured me, and now you do too! I wanted to save you! I wanted to let you go!”

“I’m a good man, I wanted to be a good man, but I had no choice!”

Mei Qinghe watched his agony in silence, unmoved.

Only when dawn broke, the eastern sky growing pale, did Zhao Dehua finally collapse, gasping, barely alive.

He mumbled incoherently, “I had no choice…”

“I had no choice…”

Mei Qinghe gripped the half-broken short sword, walked to him, and said, “For your sins, you must repay.”

“My mother was tortured by you and the Plum Blossom Thief for ten hours.”

“The Plum Blossom Thief never spoke. It was you who took the insects from your own ear and put them in hers.”

“Because you hated her. You didn’t dare hate the Plum Blossom Thief, so you hated her for making you no longer able to be a good man.”

Mei Qinghe stabbed the short sword into the ground, the blade pressing against Zhao Dehua’s neck, raising goosebumps.

“You always said you had no choice. Now you have one.”

“The sword is here. You can throw yourself on it and end your suffering.”

“Live or die, choose.”

Zhao Dehua was silent.

“Have you chosen?” she asked gently after a moment.

He remained mute.

His teeth clenched, tears streaming, his throat alternately pressed close to the blade, then pulled away.

“You dare not choose.”

“You don’t want to choose life, nor do you dare choose death. You are unworthy of being a good man, and you lack the courage to be a villain.”

“That’s why you changed from Brother Zhao to Zhao Dehua.”

“You’re not a good man forced to the brink—you’re just a coward who dares choose nothing.”

With a kick, Mei Qinghe drove the sword deeper, slicing open Zhao Dehua’s throat. Blood spurted forth.

“In the end, someone else had to choose for you.”

Zhao Dehua struggled, as if wishing to protest, but blood flooded his mouth and nose, and all that came out was a hoarse gurgle.

After a brief struggle, he moved no more.

Watching as his life ebbed away, Mei Qinghe collapsed onto the ground.

She gasped for breath, tears finally streaming down her face.

For fifteen years, she had rehearsed her revenge, searching for the most agonizing retribution for Zhao Dehua.

She had succeeded.

She had refused to show any weakness before him, lest it rob him of his terror.

So she had held back her tears, forcing her voice flat, mimicking the tone of the Plum Blossom Thief.

Now Zhao Dehua was dead.

At last, she had walked out of the mountains of fifteen years ago.

Li Miao stepped forward and patted her shoulder.

“Well done. Spectacular. He must have been terrified.”

Mei Qinghe finally broke down and wept aloud.

Li Miao waved his hand. “Alright, keep it down.”

“For your sake, I drugged the nearby households with knock-out smoke last night so you could have your revenge without interruption.”

“It should be wearing off by now, so pull yourself together and clean up the rooftop.”

“I’ve given you your due. From now on, set your mind to working for me.”

“Pack up, buy a sword, and meet me in an hour.”