Chapter One Hundred Seventeen: The Six Emissaries (Part Two)

In the South Market of the Eastern Capital, the Yuelai Inn has undergone a complete transformation. With the curtains removed, the establishment looks entirely new, but the most eye-catching feature is a rugged, colossal boulder at the entrance. Embedded diagonally into the stone is a long sword; its tassels, carved from solid rock, appear to flutter in the wind, exuding a heavy atmosphere of the pugilistic world. The couplet inscribed on the stone wall—"Flying snow blankets the sky, shooting the white deer; laughing, I write of gods and heroes, leaning on green and mandarin ducks"—is written in the bold, sharp calligraphy of Quan Ce. Without a traditional plaque, the characters are etched directly into the stone, appearing strikingly fierce.

Inside, the inn is spacious and airy. Each seating area is assigned a name, with major mountain ranges, great rivers, and sects transforming the space into a hub of "illustrious clans and great schools." Exquisite jade plaques, engraved with these titles, stand at the center of each table. In the four corners of the main hall, yellow banners fly, inscribed with the slogans: "Uphold Justice for Heaven," "Dominate the Martial World," "Serve the Country in Arms," and "Wander the Ends of the Earth." Weapon racks surrounding the banners display the eighteen traditional weapons, while the banners themselves, integrated with the hall's pillars, delineate four distinct domains—capturing the various dreams of those who fancy themselves warriors. In the center sits a circular stage, raised about seven or eight inches from the floor, equipped with a desk and stools where a storyteller performs.

The chairs in the hall are crafted from solid wood, shaped like tree stumps. Overhead, dense clusters of wooden swords, coated in silver lacquer, cast a dull, intimidating glint. The waiters are all chosen for their spirited appearance, dressed in black martial attire; they do not bow or scrape, but instead offer a fist salute, addressing guests as "Great Hero," "Young Hero," or "Heroine," or even "Sect Leader" or "Alliance Master" to those with a more dignified bearing.

The second floor houses nine private rooms—four to the left and five to the right—named after iconic locations like Brightness Peak, Knight-Errant Island, and White Camel Mountain. Though the names seem whimsical, they are catchy, and the interior decor of each room reflects its namesake, making for a truly unique experience.

Each private room features a corridor leading to a balcony overlooking the backyard. The courtyard is elegantly landscaped with small bridges and flowing water, yet in its center, two square fighting rings are set up with identical specifications: blue, thick foam mats on the ground surrounded by ropes and wooden posts. One ring is empty, while in the other, two burly men wearing only white loincloths are locked in a fierce wrestling match. The other three sides of the courtyard consist of guest rooms, decorated with a minimalist, grand style that emphasizes a martial spirit.

The residents of the Eastern Capital, being wealthy and fond of novelty, flock to the Yuelai Inn despite the exorbitant prices, allured by its refreshing innovation. Han Zhai, for one, is quite fond of this place. Whenever he finishes his military duties, he invites his comrades here to carouse. When the mood strikes, they often pull a fellow soldier onto the ring for a few dozen rounds, treating the contest as pure entertainment regardless of the outcome.

"Brother Wang, I find everything here excellent, save for the name, which feels a bit lackluster," Han Zhai said, having dragged Wang Hui and some new recruits of the Thousand-Bull Guards to a table reserved for the Laoshan Sect. "To my mind, it should be called 'Strongman Manor' or 'Hero's Terrace'."

"Brother Han is quite right," Wang Hui replied. Unlike Han's high spirits, he and the new recruits beside him were lethargic. They had entered the Thousand-Bull Guards with great enthusiasm, only to find themselves in a living hell. The daily training was grueling, and any failure reflected poorly on the entire team, making it impossible to slack off. Consequently, they pushed themselves to the limit, leaving their bodies aching and their joints popping with every step.

Han Zhai was dissatisfied. "Look at you all—not a hint of vitality! Training is one thing, but when you're outside, you must be lively to truly enjoy your youth. The Thousand-Bull Guards must be the best at everything. Come, who will join me on the ring for a few rounds to loosen those stiff muscles?"

No one responded. Wang Hui swallowed hard, thinking to himself that Han was a beast; during training, Han always led the charge, and even after their commander Zheng Zhong finished the drills, Han acted as if he hadn't broken a sweat while the rest of them were exhausted.

Suddenly, applause rang out from the staircase. A group of people descended, dressed in such luxurious silks that they moved like a cloud of sunset glow.

"If Han Qianniu has such an interest, I would be happy to oblige," said the man leading them. It was Wu Yanxiu. Though his followers wore fine silks, they were thick-necked and brawny, lacking any of the elegance of true noblemen. "I have long heard of the reputation of the Thousand-Bull Guards. Since the eldest son of the Wang family has joined their ranks, he must be quite brave and spirited. Why don't we have a match?"

Hearing his own words thrown back at him, Wang Hui realized the visitor meant no good. Yet, with the reputation of the Thousand-Bull Guards at stake, he had no choice. He stood up and said in a low voice, "How does the Marquis wish to compete?"

"Hahaha, we are all soldiers with our own duties. I have more men, but I won't use numbers to bully you. One-on-one, it's fair," Wu Yanxiu said, feigning righteousness while skillfully distancing himself from the fight.

Without another word, Han Zhai stood up and strode onto the ring. "The Thousand-Bull Guards may not be invincible, but we never shy away from a challenge. Since General Wu wishes to oversee the match, please send your man."

Stung by the sarcasm, Wu Yanxiu pointed to the largest man behind him. "Lou San, go and serve Han Qianniu. But be gentle—Han Qianniu cherishes his life; back when Quan Ce went on the eastern expedition, he refused to go."

Han Zhai's face turned dark. It was true that he had not joined the eastern expedition against Prince Li Zhen of Yue, a fact that had created a vast gap between him and his peers and remained his greatest regret. Having his scar exposed in public ignited his rage. As the match began, he seized the initiative, attacking with heavy, vicious combos. But it was to no avail. Lou San merely guarded his vital points, ignoring the rest, and stood like a mountain, his eyes full of mockery. As Han's momentum faltered, Lou San seized the opening, turned, and delivered a side kick. Han, despite his stable stance, was kicked with such force that he flew out of the ring and crashed to the ground, vomiting blood.

Wang Hui and the others rushed to help him, arranging for him to be sent to a physician. While in a panic, they tried to think of an escape, but it was clear Wu Yanxiu had come prepared; they were no match for him.

"Eldest son of the Wang family, you may flee if you wish, but henceforth, whenever you see the officers of the Right Guard, you must yield the path and shout 'The Right Guard is mighty!'—only then will I let you go," Wu Yanxiu jeered, projecting his voice across the entire inn.

Cornered, Wang Hui and the others rolled up their sleeves. They would rather take a beating than let the reputation of the Thousand-Bull Guards be tarnished.

One by one, they went up and were thrown down—six guards in total, all injured. Wu Yanxiu, surrounded by his thugs, looked triumphant. "Who's next?"

"I am," a clear voice replied. Quan Ce walked in from the outside, tucked his robes into his belt, and vaulted onto the ring. "Though I have been away from the Thousand-Bull Guards for a long time, I am still one of them. General Wu, please, assign me an opponent."

"Oh, Master Quan!" Many guests recognized him. Comparing his slight frame to the hulking brute of Wu Yanxiu's, they were pessimistic and began to murmur. An elder stepped forward, "The Thousand-Bull Guards are brave men who never falter in battle, but they aren't necessarily trained for ring fighting. Master Quan, your status is noble, and you are now a civil official—do not act on a momentary impulse."

Quan Ce bowed to the elders, thanking them for their concern, but insisted on the match. "I might have ignored it if I hadn't seen it, but having seen it, I cannot stand by. General, please."

For a moment, Wu Yanxiu truly wanted to step up himself, but his instinct for self-preservation won out. Suppressing that reckless urge, he waved his hand to send a burly man onto the stage, waiting excitedly for the sight of Quan Ce bleeding.

He had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.