Chapter 152: The Third Strike

Struck squarely on the head, the man glimpsed the gold tossed by Zhou Qing as he staggered and fell, and a smile crept once more onto his face. For him, gold was something he’d barely laid hands on in his entire life, so how could he not be delighted upon seeing it lying on the ground?

He reached out and seized the gold, but no sooner had he grasped it than the woman dealt him another forceful blow to the head. “It’s either you die, or I die.” Clearly, years of abuse had left her simmering in silence, and now the hatred she had long suppressed finally erupted with full fury.

After being struck a second time by his wife, the man’s consciousness grew faint. All he could feel was a wave of pain coursing through his body, and before long, he lost consciousness.

“You beast, what did you promise me when you married me? You swore you would cherish me, hold me dear, but after the wedding you squandered all my dowry and never cared for our three children, not even for a single day. These years, I rise before dawn and sleep only at midnight, bearing the burden of raising three children alone. Did you ever care even a little for me? Not only did you neglect me, you abused me daily. Tonight, I’ll die with you—life has become meaningless.” The woman, as if possessed, swung the stick wildly at her husband, all the while venting her grievances in a torrent of accusations.

Hearing this, Zhou Qing let out a quiet sigh and stepped toward her. Just as she was about to deliver the fatal blow, Zhou Qing reached out and stopped her.

“Sister, why torment yourself so? A lesson is one thing, but if you truly perish with your husband, what will become of your children?” Taking the stick from her hands, Zhou Qing placed a money pouch in her palm—enough silver to live a quiet, ordinary life.

The woman did not regard the pouch; instead, she sank to her knees, clutching Zhou Qing’s leg. As the saying goes: men fear choosing the wrong livelihood, women fear marrying the wrong man—it could not be truer. Looking down at this pitiable woman, Zhou Qing’s heart was filled with complicated feelings. He lifted her up and offered a few words of comfort, learning in the process that her surname was Mai and her given name Ying.

“There are no insurmountable obstacles in life, sister. Do not entertain thoughts of ending your own life. If it truly becomes unbearable, take your children and seek another place to live.” With these words, Zhou Qing nodded gently to her and took his leave.

The woman kowtowed toward Zhou Qing’s retreating figure, and as his red-clad silhouette faded from view, neighbors who had been hiding to watch the drama emerged one after another. Soon after, someone fetched a physician from the city to tend to Mai Ying’s husband, but the doctor could only sigh before leaving.

Three days later, Mai Ying’s husband awoke from his coma, but his mind was no longer as before; he had become dull-witted. Originally, Mai Ying intended to leave with her three children, but upon seeing her husband’s condition, she stayed. Though he was now foolish, it meant he would no longer abuse her nor squander the family’s money, so she simply regarded him as another child.

…

Having helped Mai Ying in the city, Zhou Qing departed from the great city, heading north. Along the way, he encountered many refugees streaming south from the north.

It was clear that the war in the northern regions of the Great Tang was raging fiercely. Yet for Zhou Qing, this conflict had nothing to do with him. He journeyed north because, amid war, innocent people inevitably perished, and from their untimely deaths, resentment would arise, giving birth to monsters and evil spirits. Thus, he ventured northward.

The city where Zhou Qing had met Mai Ying seemed a boundary of sorts, for after leaving it and traveling for two days, he found the villages and small towns he passed were nearly abandoned. The farther north he went, the more desolate it became. At first, after leaving the city, he encountered a few villagers, but by the third day, the hamlets and towns he passed were empty save for livestock left behind by fleeing residents.

“Families destroyed, people scattered, homeless and wandering—what purpose does war serve in this world? Is it not better simply to live in peace? Ultimately, it is those in power who treat lives as insignificant, sacrificing the people for their own selfish desires, heedless of all living beings.”

Standing at the edge of a level field, Zhou Qing gazed out and sighed softly. The farmland was strewn with countless corpses, soldiers clad in cloth armor and softer mail alike. A breeze drifted across the fields, carrying with it the heavy scent of blood and faint odor of decay. Zhou Qing frowned as he circled the mound of bodies, then made his way toward a grove bordering the field.

At the edge of the grove, Zhou Qing climbed into a tree, then took out a book and a charcoal pencil. On the cover were four bold characters: “Travels and Miscellany.” Opening to the first page, he found “The Chronicle of Zhou Qing,” followed by “Lake of the Ghost King,” which recounted his experiences at that haunted lake and the making and consumption of the Flood Dragon Pill.

After “Lake of the Ghost King” came “Wolf Howl Mountain,” then several blank pages. Zhou Qing now intended to record the story of Mai Ying. The first two chapters of his “Travels and Miscellany” were devoted to the adventures of his grandmaster Tian Yi Zi and his master Wu Liaocheng, all concerning evil spirits, but Zhou Qing did not wish to follow their path. He hoped to fill his own chronicle with reflections on the human world, for tales of monsters and demons had already been exhaustively documented by his elders.

“Having spoken, let it be so. I have now arrived beneath the jurisdiction of Li’an Prefecture…” With charcoal pencil, Zhou Qing recorded his thoughts word by word. When night fell, he stowed the pen in his treasure pouch and read over his newly written “Memo of Li’an Prefecture” before storing it away as well.

Standing on a thick branch, Zhou Qing stretched lazily, not descending but reclining against the trunk to listen to the sounds around him. Who knew how much time passed before a crow fluttered to the top of his tree, cawing harshly.

Hearing the crow’s cries overhead, Zhou Qing turned to look toward the level fields. By the pale moonlight, he noticed a figure in the distance racing wildly along the furrows.