Volume 8 Chapter 49 Secret Deal. Gui Wa.

“Hah, hah, hah…”

The man fleeing on foot felt as though the wind blew with passion, taking away his energy with each breath, yet he put one leg in front of the other over and over, seemingly afraid the darkness would swallow him. He had no idea how long he had been running for; he had gone from paved streets to the mountains, but he was convinced he shouldn’t stop.

He was tough enough to be revered among friends and enemies for being as tough as his armour, yet he showed a clean pair of heals as soon as he came face to face with a certain individual, not even daring to look back until his lungs forced him to stop. He thanked the heavens there was only one trail behind him until he turned around.

“Did you have to run?”

“Ah! Ah!” Frightened, the man threw a punch with reckless abandon, landing it on the individual’s chest.

The individual didn’t bother to shield himself with the technique he was proud of in his arsenal, putting the man’s reputation as a strong man to shame.

“If Evil Spirit’s general’s punch is this weak, why run? What difference will running make?”

The man rolled on the ground, beseeching, “I apologise! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that! Please forgive me! Forg-”

The individual killed the man with his unshakable, yet forlorn, eyes.

“What compelled you… to do that?” asked the individual, despite knowing the man couldn’t answer and knowing what the answer was. He didn’t need an answer; he already witnessed more greed and cruelty than he wanted to see. “Hahahaha.” The man’s maniacal laughter was his only relief from the sorrow that plagued him. “Let’s go drink! I’ll kill whoever stops me!”

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew as a man and woman dashed through the woods.

“What are you going to do if we want to stop you?” shouted the tall man hiding his appearance in a black robe.

“Brother, I have something to tell you!” responded the maiden, who was the same age as Ming Suwen, chasing after him.

Why have you still not dropped your fixation habit?

“Can you stop chasing me?!”

“Let me see how you look!”

Including the night I met Yu Feiyuan in the lake, we had been running for two days and nights straight.

“Didn’t I tell you I’m an old lecher? Get back.”

“I refuse.” Yu Feiyuan burst forward and asserted, “You resemble someone important to me. Actually, I believe it’s you. Brother Feizhen, wait for me.”

“You have the wrong person!”

Among the marriages dumped in my lap, my engagement to Yu Feyuan was the only official one. Custom dictates that engagements and marriages are only official if both parties’ parents arrange it, and the rites are followed.

The year I was grounded on Mount Emei was the year my shifu met with orthodox sect members from Nanjiang, which was a rarer than rare occurrence. Few people wanted to receive him as a guest due to the chaos he caused; curses he spouted; and sisters, wives, aunts, neighbours and friends he had affairs with.

See why I don’t want to succeed the patriarch role of Mount Daluo? I’d drown in spit if all of the enemies my shifu made spat on me once.

I was eight years old the year I met five year old Yu Feiyuan. Back then, she was petite, sported pink all the time, had soft, full cheeks and was adorable. Until I met her, she was reticent. After we met, she was always following behind me, calling “Brother Feizhen. Brother Feizhen.” I brought her along with me wherever I went just as Shifu did with me, considering it to be the natural thing to do. Others, however, didn’t interpret it that way…

Shifu told me to bug off every night when he caroused with the people he convened with at Emei’s Golden Summit, telling me kids should do things kids do. Of course, I didn’t buy his story. Accordingly, I led Lass Yu (the nickname I gave Yu Feiyuan) to the conference room because she was a living key to all areas of Mount Emei. I opened the door and heard, “Tianhu!”

Tianhu? The adept? Could Shifu be discussing how to rebel against the imperial court?

I poked my head inside to see my shifu, Daoist Jinguan, (Emei Sect’s patriarch at the time) Greater Empyrean Sect’s patriarch and Nanjiang’s best pugilist (forgot their name) sitting at a square table usually for eight people to dine at. As a pupil, I decided to sneak in for a closer look and to offer help if it was necessary since the four were partaking in a silent competition between each other. To my dismay, the four damn old farts were playing mah-jong!

The Tianhu I heard wasn’t “Flying Fox” but Tianhu as in “natural” in mah-jong! Inflamed, I turned to walk off, only to hear Daoist Jinguan flip the pieces o