Eighty-eight: There’s No Choice but to Seek Refuge

The scene was a complete mess. Except for the table Ming Tian had guarded, not a single intact piece of wood remained in the entire inn. The pungent stench of blood was overwhelming—this was the first time Ming Tian had killed so many people in such a confined space. There were six corpses in total, including the poor soul who had been beaten to death.

“Boss, here you go,” Ming Tian said, tossing three taels and over sixty wen of silver he had scavenged from the bodies to the innkeeper, who was still dumbstruck with fear.

Ming Tian couldn’t understand why these ruffians carried money if they never paid for their meals. It was like in those TV dramas where bullies take what they want without ever paying, yet somehow always carry cash. It was a mystery that had yet to be solved.

The innkeeper was truly a fool blinded by money. This man, in his forties with a square face, was named Pang Chong, if Ming Tian recalled correctly. As soon as he received the money, all fear vanished from his eyes, replaced instantly by gleaming symbols of currency.

“Oh, thank you, Master Ming! Thank you!” Pang Chong bowed clumsily.

Ming Tian waved his hand and asked, “Can you take care of these bodies?”

Pang Chong laughed heartily, “No problem at all. I happen to know some brothers in the underworld who will handle it properly—no chance the authorities will find out.”

He seemed utterly unconcerned. Ming Tian thought about it and realized that after being bullied by the Jie tribe every day, finally seeing some of them dead and even getting paid for it, how could Pang Chong not be happy?

As for disposing of the bodies, Ming Tian felt confident entrusting it to Pang Chong.

Though the inn appeared legitimate, Ming Tian had sensed something off when he rescued Mo’er a couple of days ago. Despite the high prices, he had bought pure dehulled rice from the inn. Such rice was a rare delicacy during the Southern and Northern Dynasties, only affordable to wealthy families like Ming Tian’s or officials, and even then it was seldom eaten due to its expense. Commoners might never see it in their lifetime; its rarity rivaled that of salt.

That this inn could consistently maintain seven or eight jin of pure dehulled rice through smuggling suggested that Pang Chong was no ordinary man. However, the Jie tribe was fierce, and with Xiao Yaoguang backing him, Pang Chong had to be cautious.

“Master!” Mo’er cried out, rushing over and leaping into Ming Tian’s arms.

“Ugh… don’t press against my lungs…” The young girl was fragile, but her sudden charge startled Ming Tian so much he accidentally let out a fart. With a thud, Mo’er, perhaps too nervous, banged her head like a hammer against Ming Tian’s still-healing chest wound.

“Whoa…” The impact nearly broke a rib, and Ming Tian was knocked to the ground by this little girl who weighed barely fifty jin, despite having just defeated a two-hundred-jin opponent barehanded.

“Master, I’m so sorry, it’s all Mo’er’s fault! Punish me if you must. If you hadn’t saved me, none of this would have happened…” Mo’er sobbed uncontrollably against his chest, overwhelmed with worry.

“Fool,” Ming Tian murmured, gently patting her small head. This fight had not been in vain.

“All right, Mo’er,” Xiao Xinzhu said softly, as tender as ever, lifting the girl off Ming Tian so he could finally stand. The saying went that tendon and bone injuries took a hundred days to heal. Ming Tian’s wounds from the Explosion Alliance incident were still fresh, and Cui Jue’s cuts had just been stitched up, so being knocked like that would delay his recovery by at least another week.

“Commander,” Xiao Xinzhu looked at Ming Tian with eyes full of warmth and admiration. “Ming Tian, you’re amazing. I had no idea you were such a fierce fighter.”

An Luo approached like a lovesick fool, making Ming Tian shrink away in fear. The “Eighteen Gays Incident” had left deep psychological scars, and seeing An Luo reminded him embarrassingly of the way he swaggered around in front of him. Nearby, Yin Chan, usually expressionless, was stunned by Ming Tian’s display, momentarily dazed.

Everyone knew Ming Tian could fight, but none expected him to be so skilled—to have defeated Yu Wen Sha barehanded was deeply impressed upon their minds.

No wonder. Ming Tian rarely fought and, when he did, preferred to delegate to An Luo out of laziness. Even Yin Chan thought he wasn’t very strong. But after today, Ming Tian knew his comrades would see him in a new light.

His physical training with bodyguards in his previous life hadn’t been for nothing. Though his physical strength didn’t carry over after transmigration, somehow his muscle memory did.

Perhaps muscle memory belonged to the soul.

In truth, Ming Tian was very strong. In a hand-to-hand fight with An Luo, he could hold out at least ten seconds. With weapons, Ming Tian was confident he could win.

That was the difference professional combat training made.

Internal energy and physical conditioning were only parts of martial arts. Anyone could develop those with effort, but the essence of combat lay in technique and reflexes—gifts of talent.

Even with equal physical strength, the one with professional fighting skills would dominate.

They knew how to conserve energy, how to exhaust their opponent, how to defend and dodge most effectively, how to strike with minimal effort yet maximum damage, and how to attack to inflict severe injuries while expending the same energy.

No exaggeration: many street thugs who bragged about being “bosses” probably didn’t even know how to properly make a fist.

True strength was not just speed and power as depicted in novels and films, but a deep understanding of combat itself.

Of course, no matter how strong Ming Tian was, facing two Yu Wen Sha simultaneously would be difficult. Humans were limited by nature.

Having killed Yu Wen Sha and four Jie tribe members, Ming Tian stood, frowning as he pondered what to do next.

It was only a matter of time before the Jie tribe found out.

Yangzhou was no place to linger.

But Ming Tian realized one problem.

He couldn’t just leave Yangzhou like this.

Pang Chong, the innkeeper, was a serious issue.

If he left abruptly, Pang Chong might send people to tail him, discover his whereabouts, and claim a bounty on him.

Ming Tian didn’t know him well, but his money-grubbing nature was clear after a few words.

Kill Pang Chong?

Ming Tian wasn’t stupid. The inn was in central Yangzhou. Killing him would likely get Ming Tian caught before he could even leave the city.

For now, it was best to maintain a temporary alliance and find a chance to slip away quietly.

“Come with me to the resistance,” Zhao Yu’s voice interrupted Ming Tian’s thoughts.

Looking up, he saw Zhao Yu smiling warmly.

“Killing the Jie tribe has caused a big problem. Miss Yin Chan, you don’t look like you can leave either. Why don’t you all come with me to the resistance? Our leader may have a solution for you,” she suggested.

Her words reminded Ming Tian.

Right! How had he forgotten about that damn resistance?

It must be because he hadn’t had a “normal” life in a long time—too many indulgences had dulled his memory. From today onward, no more indulgences!

Ming Tian swore a vow he had attempted over eighty times before but never succeeded.

…………………………

Next chapter: Exciting developments ahead.