Chapter Forty: The Slashed Face

"Have all the arrangements been made for the villagers’ funerals?"

"They have, all who needed burial have been laid to rest. We buried them on the hillside behind the village, so we can honor them together in the future. The village elders said there must be a grand opera performed... but we’ve yet to find anyone who knows how to sing," replied Huang You’an, who was in charge of these matters.

Tang Fei cast a sidelong glance at the old man and said, "If you truly can’t find anyone, I’ll find one for you."

"Thank you, brother," said Huang You’an.

He had been troubled by this, but in a single sentence, his elder brother had settled it.

The old man’s eyelids twitched furiously. Damn it, I only sing little ditties, not grand operas—how could I be used for such an occasion?

Tang Fei turned to the chubby one and asked, "Have all the corpses of the Flame Army been buried?"

"They’re buried," the chubby youth replied with an excited grin. "The fire burned fiercely, crackling and hissing... I used pine branches and poured on a lot of pine oil. The smell was wonderful, like roasted pine nuts."

"..."

Tang Fei had no wish to continue this morbid conversation with the boy. He looked to the old man and asked, "Has all the grain and wealth brought back been distributed?"

"Brat, do you still not trust me to handle things?" the old man snorted.

He pointed at Phoenix and said, "She was there watching the whole time. Not a grain more, not a coin less for anyone. Everything was divided according to the number of people in each household..."

"And didn’t you say there’d be a hefty reward for anyone who could report the lair of the Predators? Well, two lads pointed it out, and indeed we brought back grain and treasure... but they refused to accept any reward, saying they’d already gained enough, and wished to share equally with everyone..."

Tang Fei understood their reasoning. First, they truly had received enough to last them a long while—far more than years of hard labor would have earned. Another important reason was their fear of standing out and incurring the Predators’ or the Flame Shrine’s vengeance.

Though Tang Fei had done away with many, there would always be more bandits.

If everyone shared in the spoils, they would also share the risks.

Tang Fei was thoroughly satisfied with this outcome.

This was the classic redistribution—seize from the tyrants and divide the fields among the people.

The Flame Shrine and the Predators produced nothing, neither hunting nor farming.

Yet their bases were packed with more grain and treasure than could be counted.

Meanwhile, the common folk who toiled in the fields and forests often went hungry, while these criminals could feast as they pleased.

After all, they needed to keep themselves strong—to have the strength to rob again.

A vicious cycle.

Though this whole affair began because of Tang Fei, by wiping out the Flame Shrine members and the Predators in the Hate Mountain region, he had brought enormous benefit to all the humans living there.

His own village had received grain and wealth. The other villages, at the very least, would have respite from plunder and extortion by the Flame Shrine and the Predators for some time.

Tang Fei’s gaze settled on Wang Tianlong, who sat with his head swathed in bandages. "What are your plans?"

Thud!

Wang Tianlong fell to his knees, terror etched across his face. "Brother, I’ll do whatever you ask... just don’t kill me. I have elders to care for and children to raise..."

"Enough, enough, get up and speak properly," Tang Fei interjected. "You’re repeating the same lines I once used..."

Wang Tianlong scrambled to his feet, cautious. "You used those words, brother? My apologies, I’ll find a new script..."

"Do you know why you’re still alive?" asked Tang Fei.

Wang Tianlong shook his head, then nodded hastily. "Because you are merciful and broad-minded, brother, forgiving past enmity and thus sparing my miserable life..."

"Merciful and broad-minded?" Tang Fei’s eyes narrowed with a smile. "Your former comrades would hardly agree with that."

Wang Tianlong dared not speak further.

He knew what transpired after he’d fainted. All his men were dead, the Flame Army annihilated, the Hate Mountain Flame Shrine wiped from existence.

He was no longer that obsequious vagrant who used to offer him grilled skewers, nor the boy who choked up as he bade him farewell, urging him to visit again.

He was death incarnate, a demon.

Could such a man be called merciful?

"It’s because of the flame sigil you cast, and for the few words you spoke on our behalf before Chen Hu," Tang Fei explained. "You are not, at heart, a bad man. I am a straightforward man—vengeance for wrongs, gratitude for kindness. That is why I spared you."

"Thank you," Wang Tianlong replied hoarsely.

"What do you plan to do next?"

"Plan?" Wang Tianlong pondered and realized there was little he was suited for. He looked at Tang Fei with earnestness: "Brother, whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it..."

Not being clever, he habitually left decisions to those who were.

"You’ve been with the Flame Shrine for years, you must know their organization well?" Tang Fei asked.

With another thud, Wang Tianlong dropped to his knees, panic-stricken. "Brother, I haven’t been there so long... and I haven’t done much wrong. I admit, I’ve taken some food and drink, and nabbed a few valuables... but I never killed indiscriminately, never joined in arson and slaughter... Well, I did rob, but never burned or killed..."

"Enough. I’m not a magistrate—I don’t care for your criminal history," Tang Fei said irritably. The man was timid and meek; he wasn’t sure if he could entrust him with the task at hand. "I want to know about the internal workings of the Flame Shrine. With what happened at Hate Mountain, do you think they’ll seek revenge?"

"Revenge?" Wang Tianlong thought for a moment. "I suppose they will?"

"And what solution do you propose?" Tang Fei pressed.

Wang Tianlong stared at Tang Fei as if doubting his ears.

Brother, are you serious?

I was only a squad leader—how am I supposed to solve a problem of this magnitude?

It’s like asking a kindergartener to solve trigonometry!

"Brother, I... I really can’t say."

"When will you be able to say?"

"I truly can’t... I barely know the internal structure of the Flame Shrine. As for what they’ll do, I can’t predict it."

"What if you were to stay there?" Tang Fei asked. "Remain with the Flame Shrine."

"What?" Wang Tianlong’s eyes widened in shock. "You want me to stay?"

"The Flame Shrine has suffered a heavy blow—most of their core members in Hate Mountain are dead. Right now, your presence is especially valuable," Tang Fei explained. "They need someone senior, someone familiar with the region... and you are the only suitable candidate."

"But... but..."

"You’re worried they’ll suspect you, aren’t you?" Tang Fei smiled. "That’s a real concern. Your companions are dead—why did you survive? If that’s not answered, your position will be dangerous. Not only will it be hard to rise, you might not even survive."

"How do I resolve that?" Wang Tianlong asked.

Tang Fei looked at him with interest. "Do you want to take a gamble?"

"Yes," Wang Tianlong nodded. "At this point, unless I vanish forever, as soon as I appear in any human settlement, the Flame Shrine will notice... I can’t stay hidden all my life. So I might as well take my fate into my own hands."

Tang Fei nodded. "A wound to the head alone might not be convincing... Little Fatty was too gentle."

The chubby youth approached, hammer in hand. "Brother, shall I give it another blow?"

His elder brother had criticized him for not finishing the job. He had to make amends.

"No, no," Tang Fei waved him off. "I’m afraid you’d send him off with one strike."

Wang Tianlong let out a quiet sigh of relief—he too feared a single blow would be the end of him.

Tang Fei pulled a dagger from his pocket and tossed it over. "Stab yourself somewhere obvious—make sure it’s visible at a glance."

Wang Tianlong hesitated, then drew the blade across his face from below upward.

Blood streamed down, flesh gaping.

Tang Fei jumped in alarm. "I said make it obvious—not that obvious!"

"If it’s to be done, better to do it thoroughly," Wang Tianlong replied, attempting a smile. The pain twisted his face, tears welling in his eyes.

"Very thorough indeed. I’ll arrange a clever way for you to appear before them," Tang Fei said, waving his hand in distaste. "Go get yourself bandaged. It’s too gruesome."

Wang Tianlong left to tend his wound. Tang Fei turned to the old man. "The village wants a grand performance to honor the dead. If no singer can be found, will you go up and sing a few songs? Every night after supper, don’t you like to hum a tune in the yard?"

"What I sing are little ditties, verses... can those be used for such occasions?"

"Why not?" Tang Fei replied. "I heard that before the Cataclysm, people even danced on graves... All we ask is that you sing a few songs, not dance. Who cares what you sing? It’s all for the atmosphere."

"I’m not singing," the old man refused flatly.

——

"Descending in the form of the Flame Essence, the multitudes gaze in awe.
Shameful are the offerings of beans and wine, yet the libations are presented nonetheless."

——

"Upright again stands the withered chrysanthemum, lightly frosted it blooms once more.
Drunkenly startled by age, in laughter I sense sorrow’s return."

——

"Green is the garment, green with yellow lining.
My heart is burdened—when will it end?
Green is the garment, green with yellow skirt.
My heart is burdened—when will sorrow pass?"

——

Seated atop the high platform, the old man bellowed with all his strength.

A swig of wine, a line of poetry.

The wine was the fruit brew made by the scholar. The poems were elegies he dredged from the depths of his memory.

Some honored the gods, some mourned brothers, some grieved for lost wives...

Whatever came to mind, he sang—as if presiding over his own open-air poetry gathering.

Yet none cared what he sang, nor would anyone mock him.

In the old man’s hoarse, mournful chanting, the audience below thought of their departed kin and friends, tears brimming in their eyes, sorrow overwhelming their hearts.

For death is the parting that admits no return.