Chapter Ten: Crimson Lips on the Door

Having obtained so many materials from the demon beasts, there was no longer any need to go to Yun City. The ten spirit stones given by Lei Zhenan had naturally become Lei Xiang’s to keep.

The crimson figure in his sea of consciousness remained in a deep slumber, so Lei Xiang hurried back to Lei Fortress to report in.

As soon as he reached the foot of Spirit Mist Mountain, Lei Xiang sensed something was amiss. Overhead, the sky above Lei Fortress seemed shrouded in a baleful aura.

Blue light flashed wildly in Lei Xiang’s eyes, and he could faintly see a grayish haze enveloping the fortress. Mind alert, he reached into his storage pouch, gripped an object in his palm, and then strode forward.

Lei Fortress itself had changed little—the same walls, the same great gate—save for one thing affixed to the door.

Something that most certainly did not belong on a door.

A mouth.

How could a wooden door grow a mouth? This one was more than a foot wide, with two red, glistening lips like slabs of cured meat, and within, two rows of green, gleaming teeth could be glimpsed.

From afar, it looked just like two thick slices of bacon sandwiching a pair of green cucumbers—a “bacon sandwich,” he mused wryly.

But as Lei Xiang was busy making light of the sight, something even more terrifying occurred: the mouth suddenly spoke, and in flawless official dialect, no less—each word crisp and clear. “Hello, would you like to come in?”

On this night of sparse moonlight and gentle breeze, beneath the faint starlight, here was a great wooden door sporting a blood-red mouth, speaking perfect Mandarin—a scene both bizarre and horrifying.

Lei Xiang stood unmoving, his formidable composure keeping him utterly calm. He merely nodded.

The scarlet maw let out a rasping laugh, like timber being sawed: “Ho ho ho! The road to heaven you refuse to take, yet the gates of hell you seek out yourself—come in, then.”

At that, the two massive doors swung open to either side. The crimson mouth yawned wide, stretching over a dozen feet, and Lei Xiang could clearly see the cucumber-thick green teeth within.

Lei Xiang’s pupils contracted. To enter Lei Fortress, he had to walk through that mouth!

Few, indeed, would possess such nerve, but Lei Xiang was one of them. With steady steps, he approached.

He drew close enough to see even the glistening slime on those green teeth, but the mouth and teeth did not move. Lei Xiang strode in with a single step.

Abruptly, the red mouth snapped shut, and the green teeth bit down savagely.

Lei Xiang only smiled faintly. The object he had readied in his hand was thrown out, shooting upward and lodging between the jaws, propping the mouth open. The mouth let out a choking cough but could not move at all.

Lei Xiang weaved his way through the tender green “cucumber” teeth as if strolling through his own backyard. With a bound, he stepped out, casually collecting his Sword Hound Whip. Behind him, there was a thunderous crash—the red mouth and green teeth vanished, leaving only an ordinary wooden door.

Lei Xiang tried probing the tightly closed gate with his spiritual sense, but it was forcibly rebuffed. He shook his head with a bitter smile, turned around—and froze.

Corpses!

Corpses lay everywhere, strewn in all directions. Judging by their clothes, Lei Xiang recognized that most were people from Lei Fortress, including Lei Xiaowu and the third master—all dead.

Had Lei Fortress been slaughtered?

Lei Xiang’s right hand slipped into his storage pouch and emerged gripping a transparent, needle-sharp weapon. Stepping lightly, he moved inside, already aware that several powerful spiritual senses had locked onto him.

Passing through the front courtyard and into the second, he found more corpses—but also survivors.

There were over thirty people, including Lei Zhenan, collapsed on the ground, eyes wide open, staring at him. But none spoke or moved.

Only six people were standing—five in black, tight-fitting garments, and one in the attire of Lei Fortress.

Lei Zhong.

Lei Xiang knew him well—Lei Zhong, the steward of Lei Fortress, a man in his fifties. But why was he standing with the enemy?

Suddenly, a shadow leapt at Lei Xiang, startling him. The man’s appearance was truly frightening; if one word described him, it was “maimed.”

This man in black seemed incomplete in every way. He had but one leg, one arm, and though his face had all its features, his eyes were terrifying—one, bulging and pale as a shelled egg; the other, tiny as a joss stick’s tip. The contrast was inhuman.

A cripple!

Lei Xiang cupped his fists, “Impressive, truly impressive!”

The crippled man paused. “Boy, who are you praising?”

“I praise your parents. How did they manage to bring you into this world with such creative disregard for order?”

The man’s face twisted in rage. “You brat! Today you’ll learn the price of offending the Four Cripples of Meishan!”

The Four Cripples of Meishan?

Lei Xiang could not recall hearing of them, but soon saw for himself.

Four cripples—the other three men in black, each wielding a weapon, leapt to surround him.

Lei Xiang couldn’t help but sigh at fate’s cruel sense of humor. One was thin as a stick, missing both arms, resembling a stunted sapling; another, a green-faced giant, lacked ears, and with his rotund frame, looked just like a postbox.

The last, though lacking nothing, was so obese he surely weighed no less than seven hundred pounds, his head as vast as a water barrel.

“Are these even human?” Lei Xiang swept them with his spiritual sense. Each was at the eleventh stage of Qi Refinement, the same as himself—hardly worth worrying over.

The Four Cripples of Meishan attacked at once. The one-legged man glared with his odd eyes and jabbed his spear into the ground, using it as a pivot, his single leg kicking out swiftly.

So the spear wasn’t for killing, but merely for support.

He spiraled forward, spear jabbing the earth, body spinning like a propeller. Lei Xiang bared his small tiger fangs in a smile, his hand slicing through the air—blue light flashed.

A crack.

The one-legged man became legless, severed clean in two, never understanding what spell Lei Xiang had used.

The remaining three crippled men were shocked. They had always been the bullies; never before had they suffered such a loss. How could this child be so strong?

Instantly, the three summoned protective shields of various colors and began casting spells. The stick-thin man shouted, and from his shoulders sprang two iron arms, which lunged to seize Lei Xiang; the green-faced giant pointed at Lei Xiang’s feet, turning the solid flagstones to flowing sand, creating a pit over a yard wide.

As for the obese man, he leapt straight up, descending upon Lei Xiang like a black thundercloud. Above Lei Xiang’s head, the air seemed to crack and creak, as if it too would be crushed.

With quicksand below, the massive man above, and iron arms closing from both sides, it seemed escape was impossible.

But Lei Xiang’s experience as a sniper enabled him to make a split-second decision. He didn’t run—he simply waited, poised for the perfect moment to strike.

The black cloud of flesh was about to crush his skull; the iron arms were about to bind him.

Just then, Lei Xiang moved—he simply flicked his left hand, which he’d been clutching all along. An irregular piece of hide flew up, expanding in the wind into a beast-skin pavilion two yards wide, completely covering him.

This was Lei Xiang’s first homemade magic tool—a tent stitched from five demon beast hides, their edges punched with holes and threaded together with tough grass.

The iron arms bounced off the beast-skin tent; the obese man was flung aside. Within the tent, Lei Xiang arched an eyebrow and flicked out his needle.

“Die!”

The green-faced man fell dead on the spot, a shining needle embedded in his brow.

The stick-thin and obese men scrambled to their feet, but dared not attack again. Their eyes, once scornful, now brimmed with terror.

At that moment, a pale, sickly young gentleman strolled over with measured steps. “What is your name?” he asked. “So young and yet so lethal—killing two of the Four Cripples of Meishan in as many moves.”

Lei Xiang looked him over. This man’s cultivation was higher than his own, at about the thirteenth stage of Qi Refinement. “Young Lord Gao Qiu of the Heaven’s Cripple Sect?”

Gao Qiu replied, “You may not know the reputation of the Four Cripples of Meishan, but in the Northwest, they are renowned. In our Heaven’s Cripple Sect, they were top experts, holding four guardian positions. Never did I expect two would fall to you.”

Lei Xiang had no recollection of the Four Cripples, but the Heaven’s Cripple Sect was infamous. Comprised largely of disabled cultivators, led by Gao Tiancan, its members were notorious for their twisted hearts. It was one of the most evil forces in the Eastern Yue Kingdom.

Why had the Heaven’s Cripple Sect suddenly attacked little Lei Fortress? Was it for the treasure over which Gao Qiu and the Serpent Scorpion Lady had quarreled?

Seeing Lei Xiang silent, Gao Qiu showed no anger, merely dabbing his lips with a white silk handkerchief.

Lei Xiang’s eyes gleamed mischievously as he bared his tiger fangs and smiled. “I just can’t tell what your disability is. There’s no sign of it on your person. Could it be...?”

Gao Qiu’s eyelid twitched, about to retort, when suddenly eight beautiful women darted in, kneeling at his feet. “Young Master, there’s no one else.”

Lei Xiang watched coldly as Gao Qiu covered his mouth with his white silk handkerchief, coughed twice, and smiled back at Lei Xiang. He made no visible move, and yet Lei Xiang felt a gust of wind—and found himself utterly immobilized.

“What kind of spell is this? Even the beast-skin pavilion can’t block it?”

The stick-thin man hurried to lift Lei Xiang, tossing him among the thirty-odd captives. Now Lei Xiang, like Lei Zhenan and the others, could neither speak nor move—only watch helplessly.

Circulating his Dragon Elephant Divine Technique, Lei Xiang finally discerned the sealing method of the Heaven’s Cripple Sect: a wind-type spell, akin to a martial acupoint strike, rendering one motionless and mute for a time.

Gao Qiu’s expression changed as he strode over and kicked Lei Zhenan out of the group.

“Lei Zhenan, I know that besides the master of Lei Fortress, you are the one in charge. Now, you must decide: collaborate with us, or watch me destroy Lei Fortress and everyone in it.”

He raised his hand, and a jet of black smoke shot from his palm, striking Lei Zhenan’s brow. Lei Zhenan trembled, and suddenly found himself able to speak. “Bah! Heaven’s Cripple Sect scum, you dream in vain. Even if I knew what you’re after, I’d never tell you.”

Gao Qiu laughed coldly. “Still clinging to hope, are you? Do you think your old coffin-dweller can save you? He’s only at the fourteenth stage of Qi Refinement. What use would he be against us?”

Lei Zhenan sighed inwardly. His father’s cultivation was the highest in Lei Fortress, but against this perverse group, there was little hope. It seemed Lei Fortress was doomed tonight.

Gao Qiu continued, “Do you know why your elder hasn’t appeared after all this slaughter? Don’t spout nonsense about secluded cultivation—it doesn’t add up.”

Lei Zhenan knew Gao Qiu was trying to break his resolve, but there was truth in his words. His father was indeed in seclusion, but with the chaos today, how could he not have heard? Why had he not emerged?

Seeing Lei Zhenan unmoved, Gao Qiu shouted, “Lei Zhong!” The short Lei Zhong stroked his greasy whiskers and bowed. “Young Master, I truly do not know where the thing is.”

“Useless! What good are you then?” A flash of black light, and Lei Zhong’s head rolled to the ground before he even realized what had happened. Gao Qiu summoned back his flying knife, snarling, “Go back and search—dig three feet if you must!”

Suddenly, a syrupy female voice called out, “Young Master, I know where the old man is in seclusion.”