Chapter 6: The Scholar's Courtyard

As the eastern sky turned white, the world was refreshed with a clear breeze. After a night of turmoil, Luchang had returned to its peaceful state. The police had withdrawn from the Luchang area before ten o'clock last night, and Liu Baishu's body was packed and directly transported to the provincial police headquarters. Beiruyan also left in the Bei family's helicopter. Everything seemed as if nothing had happened.

The police had also taken statements from Zhao Heng and Lu Meng last night, hoping to close the case. However, those testimonies could not be used as evidence in court and were absurdly laughable. One claimed he had a crush on Beiruyan and risked his life to save her; the other said he wanted a million to buy a car, guns, and women.

These were two demons of the world!

Sima Qing concluded: They were still two bastards!

In the end, under Beiruyan's mediation, they crafted two beautiful statements. After communicating with the two brothers, she had all records of their actions erased from the police files to avoid inconvenience in their lives and retaliation from Gu Da, the bandit leader. Moreover, it was not worth encouraging or promoting the killing of two teenagers.

Thus, the events of last night were separated from Zhao Heng and Lu Meng, but the million would not be lacking.

The sun had not yet spread across the earth when Lu Meng and Zhao Heng carried a large bag of steaming buns and fragrant soy milk, heading towards a secluded courtyard at the top of Luchang. On the way, they discussed Liu Baishu's tragic death, Beiruyan's beauty, and the delicious and sweet snake soup Uncle Feng had cooked last night.

"Brother, do you think Uncle Feng is up yet?"

Lu Meng took out two hot buns from the paper bag, handed one to Zhao Heng, and bit into it: "He drank so much last night, I'm afraid he's still lying in the hall asleep. If I had known, I would have moved him to the empty courtyard. Only the cold mist would help him sober up faster."

Zhao Heng also bit into a large part of the bun and walked briskly, responding: "If he gets hit by the mist after drinking, wouldn't he die quickly? If he dies, where will we go to drink delicious snake soup in the future? That guy may be a bit despicable, but his cooking skills are top-notch. The snake soup is really delicious."

"You're right!"

Lu Meng glanced at the courtyard they were about to reach and finished his bun in a few bites: "And we haven't received the ten thousand reward yet. If he dies now, what will we use to send him off? We can't even afford a coffin. We'd have to throw him into the mountains to feed the wolves, but I'm too lazy to carry him."

Zhao Heng smiled: "So we'll ask him for some money to send him off."

Lu Meng laughed heartily: "That makes sense!"

Uncle Feng was an outsider, but no one knew where he came from. His name was Feng Wutian, and he called himself a wine-sword scholar. Twenty years ago, he bought a dilapidated courtyard in Luchang, renovated it slightly, and moved in. He lived a decadent life without working, with wine, books, a sword, and constantly changing computers.

He also named his place: The Scholar's Courtyard.

Zhao Heng and Lu Meng boarded his "pirate ship" when they were five years old. A few comic books and movies tied them down, making them willingly become Uncle Feng's disciples. However, they did not live the comfortable and carefree life that Uncle Feng did, nor did they have movies to satisfy their curiosity every day. They only read books, practiced martial arts, and hunted.

By the time they were ten, their lives had become even more miserable. They started running a kilometer every day, through the mountainous grasslands set by Uncle Feng. Often, there were no paths, but they still had to run with backpacks. What was in the backpacks? Two-inch-thick bricks! Four on each shoulder, rain or shine.

By the end of the day, they could barely lift their legs to step over a threshold, but Uncle Feng didn't care how tired they were. The next day, he still made them crawl and roll for another kilometer. Most importantly, the distance increased every year. By now, Zhao Heng and Lu Meng were running to the county to study, a full twenty kilometers.

Only when they met Uncle Feng's requirements could they indulge in a drunken and dreamy life.

Such a life passed in a blink of an eye for five or six years. Only then did they become equals with Uncle Feng, able to freely use the no-longer-rare computers, read not-so-bitter love stories, and drink his expensive red, white, and yellow wines. They could even touch the long sword that Uncle Feng boasted was very powerful.

Of course, their status improvement did not change their master-disciple relationship. Zhao Heng and Lu Meng still trained for five hours every day, but their relationship was as harmonious as brothers. The three would gather at the Scholar's Courtyard whenever they had free time to discuss life, ideals, and martial arts, and occasionally drink a little and have a fight.

Last night, the three of them had a snake meal.

While Zhao Heng and Lu Meng were killing for women and money, Uncle Feng had taken two large snakes and two wild chickens from the Lu family, preparing a sumptuous dinner for his disciples. That's why a child ran to the scene to call for help, allowing the exhausted Zhao Heng and Lu Meng to enjoy a hearty meal of dragon and phoenix.

Uncle Feng was even more excited when he learned that the two had killed Liu Baishu. He brought out a bottle of fine wine he had been saving for years and drank until he was drunk. So, Zhao Heng and Lu Meng got up early today, asked for two pots of soy milk and buns in the village, and went to visit Uncle Feng, wanting to see if the drunkard had woken up and to start their training.

"Uncle Feng!"

Their enthusiastic discussion made them forget the time and the potential danger. They quickly entered the Scholar's Courtyard. As they pushed the door open and walked into the courtyard, the originally gentle white mist suddenly surged like a raging tide, splitting and breaking. Then, a sharp blade of light flashed.

With a tearing sound, it struck Lu Meng like a thunderbolt.

It was like a bolt of lightning, like the sun rising over the East China Sea, illuminating thousands of miles. A delicate, even beautiful face, a snow-white flowing robe, and disheveled hair appeared from the mist, eyes as cold as frost, like a god of death descending. Two figures were thrown back, and they almost shouted in unison:

"Uncle Feng, playing sneak attacks again?"

The urgent shouts, the retreating footsteps, and the sounds of bodies leaning against each other mixed together, making the scene instantly chaotic. Zhao Heng and Lu Meng rolled to their feet, dropped the soy milk and buns on the table, and each grabbed a wooden sword, then stared into the thick mist.

"Kids, aren't you pretty tough?"

A hoarse and arrogant voice drifted out, and a man in white appeared in their field of vision. He was tall and slender, holding a wooden sword firmly. From a distance, he looked like a transcendent and composed martial arts master, but his overly beautiful face ruined his dignity and killing aura:

"Still excited from the killing? Come on! Let's play a few moves with Uncle Feng."

Lu Meng swung his wooden sword and charged forward: "Damn! Do you really think I'm a fool?"

"Hehe! You've got some spirit!"

The laughter was light but unusually clear in the chaotic sounds, like the ringing of a temple bell. The middle-aged man in white moved like lightning, his expression wild and crazy. He casually slashed his sword, hitting the back of Lu Meng's sword. Clang! The wooden swords collided, and Lu Meng was pushed back.

"Hmm, not bad! Lu Meng, your skills have improved."

A smile appeared on the face of the man in white, and he tilted his wooden sword, his fighting spirit surging: "It seems this summer was useful, allowing you to focus on martial arts instead of the chests of those schoolgirls. Come on! Let Uncle Feng test you a few more times. I hope you can hold up, hehe."

Lu Meng licked his lips: "Hold up your sister! I play with guns!"

"But playing with swords will still beat you! Take this!"

Lu Meng then roared and charged forward, his steps precise. The man in white approached with a cold smile, and the two wooden swords clashed repeatedly in the air. When the dull sound rang out, Lu Meng kicked at the man's groin. The man quickly withdrew his strength and retreated, shouting: "Kid, you're too underhanded!"

"Damn! That's what you taught me!"

Lu Meng panted slightly: "If I'm not underhanded, how can I live up to you as my master?"

The man in white's eyes widened: "You're really a traitor! Watch this!"

He swung his sword, forcing Lu Meng to retreat two steps.

He then continued to slash, each strike cold and precise, ruthless and cunning, using every underhanded trick. There was no trace of a master's dignity. In a blink, Lu Meng, who had rushed forward, was flustered and hit by over a dozen wooden sword strikes.

Then, the man in white cut Lu Meng's chest, and Lu Meng could not stop retreating.

"Old Feng, using such harsh moves?"

Lu Meng, in pain, finally stabilized himself and was horrified to find a huge tear in his five-hundred-yuan shirt. Despite his extensive training and exceptional skills, he was completely helpless against the sudden attack of the middle-aged man, and he had even ruined a shirt.

The man in white tilted his wooden sword: "Scared?"

"Lu Meng, step back, I'll take over!"

After eating two buns and drinking half a cup of soy milk, Zhao Heng wiped his mouth, gripped the wooden sword he had used for over ten years, and stepped in front of Lu Meng. He twisted his neck, radiating fighting spirit. The man in white's gaze became more serious when he saw Zhao Heng's right hand trembling slightly, indicating that a terrifying force was slowly gathering.

After a moment of thought, the man in white chuckled:

"Zhao Heng, you're not my match either. Let's not fight."

"I'll leave some confidence for the young ones and avoid being accused of bullying the young."

Despite the man's playful smile, Zhao Heng swung his sword without mercy. The middle-aged man immediately blocked with his own sword, and the two swords collided with a loud bang. Both men were pushed back several steps, and the man's tiger's mouth (the area between the thumb and index finger) ached slightly. He then shouted: "No more playing, let's eat the buns first."

Zhao Heng smiled and moved forward again.

The man in white looked pained: "Again?"

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