Chapter 9: I Won't Charge You Any Silver

Kill a man every ten steps, travel a thousand miles without leaving a trace, finish the task and depart brushing off one's robes, blending into the crowd while making a name for oneself. Such words are spoken easily and written elegantly, but whether one can actually achieve them is quite another matter. Of course, there are indeed those gifted with extraordinary talent who can kill with a smile without their expression changing, but Yang Chengzu was clearly not within the category of such extraordinary individuals.

He had lived two lives; his experience in a theater troupe in his previous life, combined with the inherited physical memories of this life, gave him excellent martial skills, but this recent slaughter was the first time in his life he had actually killed someone. This wasn't killing chickens or dogs; this was real killing.

During the fight just now, it was either the enemy died or he lived, especially when he was holding the tower alone with a single blade. His nerves were under extreme tension, and his mind was entirely occupied with how his blade should strike, what he should do when the enemy's blade came, and whether he could hold out. Now that the powerful enemy was gone, his taut nerves relaxed, and he could no longer restrain himself, vomiting until the world turned dark and the sun and moon lost their light.

Just as he was suffering from bouts of dizziness and blurred vision, he caught a scent of fragrant wind. A slender, white jade-like hand reached out from behind, holding a large crimson handkerchief. He didn't have the energy to see what pattern was embroidered on it; he only felt the nose-stinging scent of fragrant powder. He took the handkerchief and wiped his face a few times before turning around to look, seeing it was none other than the fairy-like lady who had assisted him earlier by throwing the teapot.

He had been too busy vomiting to notice where he was, and only now did he realize that he was likely in a woman's private boudoir. Seeing the furnishings in the room, they would be considered top-tier for a place like Hua County, though the colors were somewhat overly gaudy. The mess on the bed seemed to prove that something had occurred here previously.

Ruxian's expression was calm. "This is my room. Yesterday, after they kidnapped the County Magistrate, the Madam made us accompany these men for drinks. They were afraid that if one of them got angry, they might smash this Xiangman Pavilion or harm those masters. They were quite vigilant and didn't touch us, but later, the leader—the one you split with your blade—dragged me into this room. What, do you look down on me? Do you think I'm dirty? I hope my handkerchief didn't soil your face."

Though her tone was very calm, the emotions hidden within her words were still captured by Yang Chengzu. Ordinarily, in this profession, a pair of jade arms are used as pillows by a thousand men, and half-open vermilion lips are tasted by ten thousand; welcoming and seeing off guests was the norm. Was there any need to explain herself so clearly to him?

What he didn't know was that although Ruxian was a figure like a top courtesan of Hua County, having seen men both rich and noble, today she was nonetheless captivated by the heroic bearing of Yang Chengzu, the "Yang the Butcher." In other words, despite her experience, this Lady Ruxian had been moved.

It wasn't actually strange when one thought about it. The current Ming Dynasty could be summarized as life being a play, relying entirely on acting. Those scholars and poets who pointed at the mountains and rivers with passionate prose, or wrote wildly after drinking to criticize the entire imperial court without mercy—was it truly just hot-blooded recklessness and a lack of discretion?

Of course not; they were performing to gain prestige. Whether it was wielding a brush on the spot to paint a portrait for a beauty or composing a poem, the goal was to win a lady's favor and achieve a romantic union. If that lady were replaced by a "River East Lion" with a waist as thick as a water bucket, one can guarantee that not a shred of poetic sentiment would appear; no matter how much wine they drank, they would only vomit, not write a single word.

Criticizing the administration was because the current Ming Dynasty had loose controls on public discourse; criticizing the court would not only result in no serious consequences but could also help one gain fame—essentially a disguised way of building reputation. Usually, these were scholars; in another time and space, during the era of the Qing Dynasty, every single one of them would be as honest as a grandson, and all this madness would vanish. Was it a lack of cultural level? It was simply that the Qing Dynasty truly dared to kill people.

Take Wang Gen, the patriarch of the Taizhou School; when he first went to seek learning from the patriarch of the School of Mind, Wang Yangming, he wore a paper crown, wide robes with large sleeves, and stepped in wooden clogs, appearing to possess the spirit of the Wei and Jin dynasties. As a result, Wang Yangming simply said he was merely using eccentric clothing to vent his dissatisfaction with society.

For example, Zhang Xianyi of Suzhou Prefecture loved to wear bright red clothes when going out; he kept five sets of fake beards in his sleeves. When he was in a good mood, he would put on a red beard; when he was in a bad mood, he would put on a white one. All of this could be categorized as performance, relying on various acts to stand out.

And although Peking Opera did not yet exist in this timeline, Southern Opera was incredibly popular. The martial actors of Southern Opera could stir the hearts of young ladies from noble families, leading them to secretly exchange tokens. If precautions were not strictly kept, it could even lead to matters that disgraced the family reputation. This wasn't just a matter of having a handsome face; it was truly because they knew how to perform.

Compared to this, was Yang Chengzu at a disadvantage? He had received systematic stage performance training in his later life, especially having studied traditional opera since childhood. His movements were not only graceful and dignified but also highlighted a heroic aura. If scholars and poets conquered women through their literary talent, he relied on his iron-willed courage to make Ruxian infatuated.

As a top courtesan who had been welcoming and seeing off guests for years, she had seen many scholars and understood their true faces well. If they truly displayed their scholarly talents, it would actually be of little use to her.

Yang Chengzu's heroic and chivalrous air caused a certain string in the heart of this fate-stricken red-carded girl to be violently struck. Otherwise, with the ready-made master Zhang Jiayin outside needing a beauty's care and comfort, why would she bother coming in to hand a handkerchief to Yang Chengzu? The latter was merely a minor Jinyiwei, while the former was the County Magistrate, the parental official who could make Xiangman Pavilion prosper or close.

Concern breeds confusion; seeing Yang Chengzu glance at the messy bed, her heart felt an inexplicable ache. Ultimately, this was a shady profession; perhaps in his heart, her good intentions would only be seen as misplaced, and he might even find her dirty. Little did she know that Yang Chengzu tucked the handkerchief into his bosom and smiled at her, "I was only afraid that Sister would find me dirty. We Jinyiwei have a reputation that speaks for itself; I suspect Sister has scolded me quite a bit behind my back on ordinary days."

Seeing him so understanding, even calling her "Sister" right off the bat, Ruxian felt a sweetness in her heart and revealed a sweet smile. She had smiled countless times in the past, but only this time was her smile the sweetest and most moving. "If you've finished vomiting, hurry up and go out. They are all rushing to buy things for the Magistrate; if you, the main protagonist, don't get the credit, it would be a huge loss."

"With my vomiting like this, I'm afraid I've lost face before the masters. If I go out now, I don't know how much I'll be mocked."

Ruxian, however, took a step forward, leaned her head toward his ear, and said, "Those masters outside are vomiting even harder than you. By vomiting like this, you've actually brought yourself closer to them. If you hadn't vomited, with your heroic and divine momentum, you would have overshadowed the masters, and they would have resented you in their hearts. It is precisely this vomiting of yours that makes things right. Hurry out, don't let those petty men steal your credit. If you don't find me dirty, come find me... I won't take your silver."