Wu Hao stopped moving. He'd shucked off his pants so he stood there, near-nude, while cold water dripped down his legs.
It was almost like being a deathsworn again, he thought. He might've chuckled if not for the situation he was in.
"Dad isn't here," Wei Mingku said. Wu Hao would give him this: his voice didn't shake, and the nervousness in his voice was well-hidden. "And no, I don't know where he is, sir Yan Liang."
"Is that so?" Yan Liang's qi coiled slightly, twitching with irritation, but not moving in the deliberate patterns that showed he had cultivated a particular art or anything like it. He wasn't even close to being a full third-grade martial artist, that much was clear.
"That's how it is," Wei Mingku said. "So -"
"Where's he gone, the useless bastard?" the man asked. He must've craned his head and ignored Wei Mingku's earlier words. It was funny, in a way, like he was rattling off a script for intimidation. "He's not hiding again, is he?"
"No," Wei Mingku said. A glimr of sarcasm shone through his voice. "Why would he hide from you, sir?"
"Don't get lippy with , you little shit. Just because your father's not man enough anymore to raise a hand to you and teach you so manners..."
Wu Hao watched the qi circulate through the room beyond the curtain. He didn't open it - it was attached by rings spanning a tal bar, which ant that it'd make an obvious noise of the tal ringing across tal. That might even have been intentional, actually.
Anyway, while the man ranted, thoughts raced through Wu Hao's head.
If this Yan Liang wasn't a debt collector then his na wasn't Wu Hao. And considering the general shabbiness of the store, it seed like there wouldn't be much to collect. The little he knew about scenes like this was that people might be taken to repay the debt.
In other words, that could an won sold into prostitution and children sold into debt slavery. That looked like it might have been what happened to 729 in his original tiline. If, after that, they were taken to the large slave markets, that might explain how Father had found Wei Mingku. It made more sense than a raid this close to Chongqing, of all places.
The question, then, beca simple. Was he going to do sothing about it, and if so, what?
He retrieved the knife from where he'd laid it carefully against the floor before undoing his pants, twirling the knife so that the right side was pointed up, and ran his finger alongside the dull end of the blade, feeling every crack and every chip of its surface, like a dry riverbed.
It might do for one attack, he figured. Afterwards it'd shatter, he was pretty sure.
"What're you holding there?" Yan Liang asked, stepping a little closer to Wei Mingku.
"Clothes," Wei Mingku said in response. "Because this is a tailor's."
"I told you about the lip, kid," Yan Liang said, and he moved forward with surprising speed lent to him by qi. There was a muted whoosh and then the loud, ugly smack of flesh on flesh as he slapped Wei Mingku across the face. "That's your last warning. Next ti it won't end with that."
"Yes, sir," Wei Mingku mumbled. There was an undercurrent of anger to his voice that Yan Liang seed to ignore or simply not to pick up on. Whichever it was, it didn't matter. The debt collector moved around again, apparently inspecting the goods on sale.
"Most of these you still ain't sold," he pointed out. "I thought you'd said last week that these were guaranteed sellers?"
Wei Mingku didn't answer imdiately, and when the qi around Yan Liang spun, Wu Hao presud that the man himself had turned and was glaring at Wei Mingku.
"Yes, sir," he said, a few heartbeats later. "Sorry, sir. I don't know why."
"Would your bum of a father know, then? If he's not repaying his loans and he's wasting the cash he does have on things like fancy dresses instead of repaying what he owes..."
Yan Liang's words faded, as if he was suddenly struck with a thought.
"Fancy dresses, though?" Yan Liang asked himself. His voice returned, louder, aid at Wei Mingku. "Your old man got his eye on so new at, does he?"
"Never!" Wei Mingku shouted, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. "I an... no. Dad said he'd never do that."
"Your dad," Yan Liang said, "also said he'd repay us. Where's the money, then?"
Wei Mingku said nothing.
"Face it, kid," Yan Liang said. "Your dad's a coward, a leech, and a liar."
To Wu Hao's eyes, tracking the way that the man's qi colored with small dark-golden stripes as the conversation continued, it seed that Yan Liang was just enjoying twisting the knife. He didn't care about the details: he just felt an ugly vindication when bullying Wei Mingku.
Disgusting.
"My father's not a liar," Wei Mingku said. "He's just trying to find sothing that will allow him to repay the debts he owes, when he owes them."
Again, a grunt of vague acknowledgent. More steps followed, as the debt collector made a quick round of the store. Wu Hao was still trying to figure out what he'd do when the steps began to co closer and closer, and then finally they stopped a small distance away from the cabin in which he'd been dressing himself.
"Kid," the man's voice said. A thin little whisper of qi, just enough to inform Wu Hao that this wasn't a real martial artist but maybe soone who'd gotten a technique or sothing, at so point. "You got a custor in there?"
"No, sir," Wei Mingku said, a faint note of panic slipping into his voice. "At this hour? Be reasonable, sir. And -"
And then the debt collector ripped the curtain open and stared directly at Wu Hao, who was still standing there, staring back.
Yan Liang was almost a typical thug in appearance. He wore a headband around his thick, bald forehead, and his clothes weren't anything special, either. A shirt with its sleeves ripped away in a dark grey had been matched with pants that had mud splattered on them at irregular patterns. He had little neck, tattoos running up and down his arms, and a few missing teeth, obvious in his scowl.
The fact that Wu Hao was wielding a knife seed to take a longer mont to register, because Yan Liang craned his head back and laughed.
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"What the hell?" Yan Liang laughed. It wasn't happy laughter, though, but a laughter with the deep anger of soone who felt they'd been tricked. "Wei Mingku, you and your father are running a charity now, huh? With whose money? This beggar-looking little fuck, which street did you find him at?"
Wu Hao took a step forward, quietly, and then rushed qi forwards. It sang through his ridians, bristling at the fact that he was being underestimated again. Qi blasted forwards from the tip of the knife, forming into irregular patterns that flickered and faded faster than the eye could track, but each of them was deadly sharp.
Wu Hao took another step and stabbed Yan Liang, and his eyes didn't waver from Yan Liang's as the man's laugh abruptly cut off.
"Huh?" he managed.
The knife twisted, deeper into Yan Liang's side, and Wu Hao pushed more qi. Yan Liang gave a great roar of pain and twitched as if he was going to swing one of his aty arms.
Wu Hao ripped his arms to the side, pulling hard, and the Long Hook exploded out of Yan Liang's belly with a loud, wet squelch. Blood blasted out, landing across Wu Hao's chest, and Yan Liang gave a sort of strangled scream.
Then he collapsed, his bulk pulling Wu Hao's knife free. Or most of it, anyway - there was a loud snap as parts of it broke off and remained stuck inside Yan Liang, followed by a loud thud as the man collapsed sideways across a shelf and tore several bits and pieces of cloth with him in his fall.
Wu Hao exhaled, raised the end of his knife, and figured it might still be sharp enough to cut the man's throat.
"What the fuck," Wei Mingku muttered from the end of the store. Then he saw Wu Hao reached forwards and made a funny sort of noise, before repeating it, louder, nearly stumbling across his feet: "Wait!"
"Why?" Wu Hao asked. "He's still alive."
"You don't know what you just did," Wei Mingku said, horrified. He stopped next to Yan Liang's groaning body, as if unsure what to do with himself. "He's just a lackey of the man who's really in charge of the debt collection. That's his elder brother. Yan Biao. Now Yan Biao's just going to send more people."
"Right," Wu Hao said. He considered this carefully. "This Yan Biao, he's nearby?"
"What?" Wei Mingku asked.
"I'm going to kill him," Wu Hao said, and looked at the spreading pool of blood. A twinge of knowledge of anatomy told him that he'd accidentally stabbed the debt collector where it hurt a lot to get stabbed but that it wouldn't be fatal. "After killing this guy, at least."
"Wait," Wei Mingku said, hands rising in sothing of a panic. "Just wait."
Wu Hao raised an eyebrow.
"I just -" Wei Mingku said, and faltered. "I just..."
He stared down at Yan Liang, with his nose flare and his hands clenched, and then he reared a leg back and kicked Yan Liang right in the belly. The man groaned like a stuck pig and clutched at the wound, but he didn't really seem to wake. Wu Hao checked the man's qi just to be sure but he didn't seem any more conscious that way, either.
"There," Wei Mingku said, breathing hard. "That felt.... necessary. You don't know how much of an asshole he's been."
"I don't," Wu Hao agreed. "Can I kill him now?"
Wei Mingku swallowed and muttered sothing to himself that Wu Hao just managed to catch - sothing about not being able to get off, once you decided to ride the tiger. He didn't know what that ant but so part of him decided that "the tiger" referred to him and another part growled in approval.
Wu Hao raised the knife again, hunched down, and slit Yan Liang's throat without further ceremony. There was a quiet death rattle as the last of his breath escaped his lungs and then he was still, blood pooling quietly on the wooden floor.
Then he stood up, looking down at his handiwork, before letting the knife clatter onto the ground next to him. It was broken, anyway, and of little use.
Instead he returned to the cabin. Wei Mingku followed, with wide eyes.
"So," Wei Mingku said, voice only trembling a little. "Now what?"
"Give a minute," Wu Hao grumbled. "I still need to put the shirt on."
Wei Mingku made a sort of agreeing noise and then rcifully said nothing.
"Right," Wu Hao said, stepping out of the cabin and pulling at the shirt.
It was a little too thin around the shoulders, frankly, and the pants a little too long, so that they sagged and bunched up over Wu Hao's shoes. Both were annoying, but Wu Hao basked in the feeling of being more or less clean anyway. It'd been a long while.
"Can't you fix that?" Wu Hao said, gesturing.
"If you give ti," Wei Mingku said. "But - I was wondering -"
He struggled with his words, and from his week with Jin Qilong, Wu Hao figured that it might be better just to let him unravel the thread on his own.
"Why?" Wei Mingku asked.
"You did a favor," Wu Hao said. "Besides, I was told that that was what martial artists did, no? Travel the land, defeat evil?"
Wei Mingku nodded slowly.
"Right," he said, the most sarcastic he'd sounded yet. "Of course. Don't let stop you. You're the heroic martial artist."
"I am," Wu Hao said.
"Wait," Wei Mingku said. "Actually. I just wanted to make sure."
"Make sure of what?"
"If you die," Wei Mingku said. "I still get to keep your clothes, right?"
Wu Hao snorted and checked himself a final ti.
Shoes - check. Shirt - check. Pants - check. He didn't wear anything around his head and he had no other accessories except the bag that he'd been carrying with him, and that was hanging off his hip the sa way as it usually did. So why did he have the feeling he was missing sothing important?
Finally, though, as he stood there frowning, it ca to him and he sighed.
Right. Of course.
"Listen," Wu Hao asked Wei Mingku, who had just tiptoed around the spreading pool of blood. Despite his earlier bravery, now the boy looked sowhat green. Maybe the reality of the situation had started to set in.
"Do you happen to have a knife or two that you're not using?"
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