The Young Man’s Return Chapter Thirteen: The Aged Mother

In the darkness of night, Clerk Wu was once again hurled out by the burly man, thrown beyond the gates of the Drunken Red Pavilion. He traced a humiliating arc through the air before crashing heavily into the thick snow. Snowflakes scattered as his clothes became soaked.

“Give me back... my silver,” Wu groaned.

He scrambled on all fours, struggling pitifully, clawing at the snow to lift his body. But before he could fully rise, a pack of pavilion attendants swarmed like wolves. These attendants rolled up their sleeves, their eyes fierce and scornful, showing no mercy.

“Hmph, just a mere clerk, and you dare cause trouble in the Drunken Red Pavilion?” snarled the leader, a burly attendant with a face full of scars. With that, he delivered a vicious kick to Wu’s waist.

Wu was sent sprawling forward, his face burying deep in the snow. “Why don’t you look at yourself in the mirror, you pathetic wretch!” another attendant jeered, rushing forward to kick Wu’s back again and again, each blow packed with brutal force.

Wu curled into a ball, moaning in agony. “Don’t... hit me, please.”

“If you dare stir up trouble here again, I’ll cripple your arm!” barked another, cursing as he stomped fiercely on Wu’s wrist. Cold sweat broke out on Wu’s face, his features twisted in pain.

The attendants vented their rage with punches and kicks, surrounding Wu who was powerless to fight back. The snow around them was tossed into chaos by his desperate struggles.

“Please... stop hitting me! I beg you!”

Suddenly, from the shadows, an old woman staggered forward, her steps unsteady and eyes filled with panic. Unmindful of the rain of blows around her, she threw herself over Wu, shielding her son with her frail body.

Her voice trembled with endless pleading and despair. “It’s all my fault, every mistake is mine. Please don’t beat my Hao’er anymore. I beg you, spare him…”

“Hmph! Let’s go,” the leader grunted disdainfully, signaling the others. They swaggered off toward the Drunken Flower Pavilion, as if the violent scene had been nothing but a trivial farce.

Passersby watched coldly, their eyes devoid of sympathy.

The old woman gritted her teeth against the pain, slowly propping herself up. “Hao’er, let your mother help you up.”

She looked at her son curled up and battered with heartache, ignoring her own injuries as trembling hands repeatedly tried to lift him. But her frail body was too weak; several attempts failed.

At this moment of despair, a figure emerged from the darkness.

---

The newcomer wore a black robe that fluttered in the cold wind. On his shoulder hung a heavy Wei-style longsword, its blade exuding an icy chill; on the other side was a zhe wood bow, its string taut and ready to strike with deadly precision.

A talisman for slaying demons hung at his waist, reflecting an eerie and unnatural light under the faint glow of street lanterns.

The old woman lifted her head, her gaze fixed resolutely and with guilt upon the young man before her.

She took a deep breath and said slowly, “Young Master Yiheng, I stole the magistrate’s seal. Hao’er has nothing to do with it. Please don’t trouble him; I’m the one at fault and deserve punishment.”

Yiheng looked upon the tragic scene with mixed emotions, letting out a helpless sigh. His voice was gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument:

“Let’s put aside the theft for now. The urgent matter is to treat your wounds. I’ll take you back to the county office.”

Without hesitation, he bent down and carefully lifted Clerk Wu into his arms.

Wu’s body was limp and powerless, his face pale as paper.

Yiheng strode swiftly toward the end of the long street, the cold wind howling as his black robe fluttered wildly. Each step was steady and resolute, as if afraid that the mother beside him might break down from her son’s groans.

Behind them, the old woman limped along painfully, her eyes never leaving her son cradled in Yiheng’s arms, filled with worry and sorrow. Despite her own injuries, she pressed on with great difficulty, fearful that even a blink of an eye might cause her to lose sight of her son.

Along the way, the red lanterns lining the street swayed in the wind, their dim light stretching their three shadows long and thin.

---

In the bleak cold, the long street was shrouded in darkness, its silence unnervingly eerie.

By the dim moonlight, the old woman stumbled into Yiheng’s shoulder.

“Young Master, what’s wrong?”

Yiheng slowly raised his head. Nearby, a horse-drawn carriage stood by the roadside—that very carriage stolen by a petty thief. Yet, Yiheng paid it no mind, instead staring deep into the darker reaches of the street.

A stench of blood drifted on the wind. He set the unconscious Clerk Wu down gently.

“Auntie, I’m placing him here. There’s something unclean nearby. Don’t panic, just stay put.”

“All right… okay. You be careful,” she said, crouching beside Wu, peering around curiously but seeing nothing strange except for the darkness and the howling wind.

Suddenly, a crack! The sound of snow being crushed echoed.

Then, like a fierce beast pouncing out of the shadows with tremendous speed, a strong stench of rotting flesh slammed into her nostrils, making it hard to breathe.

But just as suddenly, it vanished.

The youth was gone from her sight. In the distance came the loud crash of a heavy object striking a wall, followed by the sound of snow tumbling from the eaves.

---

“Young Master Yiheng, are you all right?”

“Don’t worry, I’m unharmed.”

Yiheng relaxed his clenched fists, his expression grave. Though the darkness blinded Auntie, his eyes shone like daylight.

The thing that had attacked was no beast, but a corpse—pale, eyes shut tight, looking as if dead for days.

How could a corpse move!

As Yiheng cautiously approached the fallen figure, the snow suddenly exploded beneath them. The corpse’s eyes snapped open, and with rapid hands, it lunged at Yiheng.

“Hmph!”

“Looking for death?” Yiheng said coldly.

He swung his right shoulder and dashed forward, throwing a punch that cracked ribs audibly.

Yet the corpse showed no pain; instead, it grabbed Yiheng’s shoulders and bit at his neck, the stench of decay overwhelming.

Terrible!

Yiheng seized the corpse’s hands, twisted sharply to wrench the arms free, then kicked fiercely, sending it flying before its teeth could sink into his neck.

“Auntie, what is that thing?” she asked, panic-stricken, kneeling on the street and clutching her son.

“It’s a leopard cat,” Yiheng replied without looking back. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it first.”

Before he finished, the corpse lunged again.

Coming back!

Yiheng’s temper flared. He charged, throwing punches rapidly—more than a dozen in a few breaths—each smashing into the corpse’s chest, cracking bones and tearing flesh.

“Go die!”

He followed with a mighty blow to the head, sending the corpse flying a dozen feet. It struggled briefly, then lay still.

Applause echoed in the dark street.

The sound made Auntie’s skin crawl. She held her son tightly and called out, “Who’s there? It’s late—stop scaring people!”

Yiheng turned toward the carriage parked by the roadside, frowning slightly.

“A petty thief?”