Chapter 74: Ways of the Martial World

"Oh, my dear husband! How can you leave us like this? How are we supposed to go on living?"

"Father! Wake up! Please, wake up! You cannot die! If you die, I’ll be a child without a father!"

"My son! You’ve left me behind, and now I shall follow you to the grave..."

Clearly, the professional agitators were well-prepared. The entire "family" was present, from an elderly mother in her sixties down to a young child. The room was filled with heartbreaking sobs that brought tears to the eyes of anyone who heard them. A large group of clansmen and relatives stood by, narrating a "tragic" story to the onlookers.

A hardworking and honest farmer, a loving father, a filial son, a devoted husband—all because he took a dose of "plague medicine" from Yuewei Herb Hall after falling ill. Upon returning home, he began to feel chest tightness, shortness of breath, and dull abdominal pain. By midnight, the pain became unbearable, and he was writhing on the floor. By the time his family managed to summon a doctor, the poor man was already vomiting blood. He held on until nearly dawn before finally passing away, leaving behind a house full of the elderly and the young. How were they supposed to survive now?

The story was believable and the outcome tragic. Everyone who heard it wept, and their hearts filled with hatred toward Yuewei Herb Hall. So, when Liaochen appeared, he was met with the accusatory glares of a multitude. The families of other patients who had come to seek medicine looked at him as if he were a blade. They were likely congratulating themselves for not having bought the plague medicine from this "murderous quack," otherwise, they would have been paying for their own demise.

Facing the hostile glares of the crowd, had Liaochen been of weaker constitution, he might have already perished from the sheer weight of public condemnation.

"You murderer! Give me back my son!" The first to react was the elderly mother who had been mourning her "son." Upon seeing Liaochen, she acted as if driven by the undying hatred of a mother whose child had been slain. With a sudden spring, she lunged at him, her long fingernails clawing toward his face. It was impossible to tell how a woman of her age could still possess such agility.

Liaochen would not allow the old woman to throw a tantrum. He caught her wrist and pressed firmly on the Shenmen acupoint. The woman felt a sudden, electric numbness shoot up her arm, followed immediately by piercing pain. She let out a wail. Even after Liaochen released her, the agony did not subside. This time, her tears were genuine. She lay on the ground, clutching her right wrist with her left hand, rolling about and howling, while still managing to shriek, "Murder! Murder! Help me!"

Liaochen’s swift handling of the old woman caused an uproar among the crowd. It was not admiration for his "startling" martial prowess, but rather shock at his "brazenness" or, perhaps, his "utter lack of restraint." Still, while most onlookers were disdainful, few were willing to intervene. The relatives of the victim, seeing that no one was stepping up to uphold "justice," felt their momentum falter and had to take matters into their own hands.

"You wild Taoist, how arrogant! You’ve killed a man, and now you dare to strike an old woman? She’s sixty years old and just lost her son! Where is the honor in bullying her?" The relatives finally stepped forward—a group of five or six burly men brandishing short clubs. They closed in on Liaochen while shouting their accusations.

The situation turned volatile, but unexpectedly, the murmurs of the crowd quieted down. As the men brandished their clubs, those who had "seen such things before" realized what was happening. They stopped jeering and began to secretly sweat for Liaochen.

"Fu Sheng Wu Liang Tian Zun," Liaochen said with a smile, surprisingly yielding. "You have all come here early in the morning—surely, you only seek profit. How much silver must I pay to make you stop?"

"Huh?" The change in Liaochen’s demeanor was so swift that even the spectators, and the thugs themselves, were stunned. They stood frozen, unsure whether to strike or not.

"You killed someone, and you think you can just settle it like this? These orphans and widows need to live! It will cost at least 1,000 taels—no, 2,000 taels! And you must hand over the prescription for your deadly plague medicine. Otherwise, we’re dragging you to the magistrate. Decide for yourself!" The leader, after a moment of thought, named his price.

"Hiss!" A sharp intake of breath echoed through the crowd. They had seen extortion, but never anything so brazen. Two thousand taels of silver was an astronomical sum for ordinary people in the Ming Dynasty. At that time, a servant could be bought for a few dozen taels. Two thousand could purchase nearly a hundred servants. The crowd erupted in chatter. If they had previously sympathized with the "victims," the mention of 2,000 taels immediately turned the tide of public opinion.

"Only 2,000 taels? A small matter." Liaochen pulled a stack of silver notes from his robes. The thugs and the "family members" saw their eyes light up; even the old woman on the ground stopped her howling. Every eye in the square was fixed on the notes in Liaochen’s hand.

"At least you have a conscience!" The leader, drooling slightly, stepped forward to take the money. But Liaochen pulled his hand back, a mocking smile on his face. "This money is for the family of the deceased. The deceased was named Kang, correct? Kang Mang—though he forgot his own name. Everyone called him 'Kang the Nose' because of his large nose. He was 31 this year, an orphan who begged for food in the north of the city his whole life. He had no children, no wife, and no relatives. I wonder, which side of the family do you gentlemen belong to?"

Liaochen rattled off the words without pausing for breath, then pointed at the leader. "Your surname is Jiang, isn't it? You're 23, with a mother, a wife, and children at home. I wonder how you became his relative?" He then pointed to the others. "You are surnamed Zuo, you are Tong, you are Diao, and you are Xie. This beggar certainly didn't die in vain to have so many relatives suddenly appear."

The leader’s expression shifted rapidly. How did this Taoist know their backgrounds? Was he truly capable of divine calculation, or had someone betrayed them? Cold sweat broke out on the leader’s back. But there was no turning back. He steeled himself and shouted, "We brothers just can't stand seeing a quack like you killing people for profit! A true martial artist should help the weak and uphold justice. What of it? Is that a crime?"

"Heh! 'Mountain-walking' swindling is a technical trade, but are you really resorting to such low-level 'honey traps'?" Liaochen laughed at their pathetic defense. He pointed at the old woman on the ground. "And this old woman, her name is Ma, isn't it? Just a brothel madam who drove a girl to her death and had to flee, so now she makes a living off these scams. As for the rest of you, how much did your troupe leader, Liu, pay you to put on this show?"

"You motherf***er, you're spouting nonsense!" The leader, realizing his entire scheme had been laid bare, was overcome with rage and desperation. He signaled, and the thugs swung their clubs at Liaochen.