Chương 109: Death's Familiar Face, IV

Wei Mingku was sitting with a man Wu Hao didn't know when Wu Hao returned. This, Wu Hao supposed, had to be Wei Mingku's father: he could tell from the way they grimaced, the things it did to their faces. His father seemed more weathered, though, in a bunch of ways. His clothes, normally something that tailors would have focused on, seemed made of tough cloth with several patches of leather applied at strategic places.

His face, too, seemed to have several bits that might have been made of leather, like the crinkles around his eyes made by frowning too much. A thin beard ringed his cheeks. The new man was having a furious discussion with his son, which was so loud that it could be heard from outside. When Wu Hao walked in it continued, and he caught the last parts of it by accident." - to his death, he seemed eager. He was obviously a martial artist! Was I going to stop him?"

"That's not what I -" Wu Hao coughed and, when the argument didn't end, coughed very loudly and rang the bell above his head. The tension in the room peaked as the tailor grabbed a needle and whirled around as if about to attack, but then his gaze tracked slightly downwards to meet Wu Hao's eyes.

"You came back," the tailor said, studying him. He rose from his three-legged stooped chair and tried to walk over.

"Son, I don't know who you are, but thank Heaven you saw reason. That man Yan Biao, he's -""Dead," Wu Hao said calmly.

"He's dead." That stopped Wei Mingku's father short. Disbelief bled across his face and his fists clenched to hold tight to his composure. His son was staring with wide eyes at Wu Hao, too.

"What?" both of them said, and for Wei Mingku's father it came out as a croak.

"I killed him," Wu Hao said.

"I killed all of them. Here." He took out half of the money he'd gotten and, as he'd planned, threw it over to Wei Mingku, whose fumbling hands nearly failed to catch it.

"What?" Wei Mingku's father said again, his head having snapped around to track the flight of the money.

"Son -""It's real," Wei Mingku said, his voice disbelieving.

"The money's real, dad."

"Of course it's real," Wu Hao said, annoyed.

"I'm not lying. I killed all of them. Go check their bodies if you still don't think that I'm telling the truth."

"Right," Wei Mingku said, and swallowed.

"I believe you. Obviously. Just coming to grips with it." Wei Mingku's father seemed to return to his senses then, giving a short cry and sinking to his feet. He pounded the floor with a fist, muttered words that Wu Hao couldn't make sense of.

"Dad," Wei Mingku said, hurrying over.

"Dad, come on!" He helped his father stand up again, but the man said nothing. Instead, he turned to Wu Hao and, despite the shocked face of his son, bowed so low that Wu Hao thought he might teeter over.

"Thank you!" Wei Mingku's father shouted.

"Benefactor, you have no idea of how much you've helped me. I... how can we repay you?" Wei Mingku made an odd sort of face, but then his father must have seen it and almost jumped on him, forcing his head down with wiry strength.

"My son thanks you as well!"

"It's fine," Wu Hao said uncomfortably. An odd sort of mix of feelings was taking hold in his chest - warm, yes, but half of it was the warmth of embarassment and half of it was a better, full sense of warmth.

"Please, stand up." The two of them were slow to rise, with Wei Mingku rubbing the back of his head where his father had pushed him down.

"Please," the father said.

"What can we do for you, benefactor? Is there anything you require?" Wu Hao waved him off.

"I'm fine. Your son paid in advance by giving me clothes."

"Ah," Wei Mingku's father said, and visibly grew slightly more uncomfortable.

"If you require any other clothes, sir..."

"No, these fit," Wu Hao said.

"Again, I'm fine." Wei Mingku's father seemed to want to say something, but then he threw a look at his son, who made a face in response.

"Thank you," Wei Mingku's father said again.

"Really, sir, you've risked your life. Is there anything else you possibly require?" He was being really pushy about repaying things. Was Wu Hao dressed that badly? He'd been careful about not getting bloodstains on his new clothing, too.

"No," Wu Hao said, but he did spend a moment longer thinking about it and apparently that convinced Wei Mingku's father there had to be something.

"Anything at all," he pressed.

"An extra pair of clothes, maybe," Wu Hao said, surrendering to the man's urge to give him something.

"These are fine, but..." Wei Mingku's father ran an experienced eye across Wu Hao's clothes, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Fine?" he said, with a critical tone.

"No, this won't. Just hold and I'll get you some other things. Stay the night, I'll work through the dark to make sure that your new clothes fit you properly." Before Wu Hao could protest much, though, Wei Mingku's father had already scurried off to another part of the store to go grab some more clothes from across the store.

"Why are you in debt, anyway?" Wu Hao asked, feeling a vague desire simply not to have the conversation end yet. As Wei Mingku's father looked away with shame on his face, Wu Hao assumed the worst. The man was a gambler or a drunk or perhaps a womanizer: all of those could lead easily to money slipping through the fingers like water scooped up from a stream. All of those would explain why Wu Hao hadn't seen a mother anywhere in the home, either.

He'd assumed the worst at first, but he'd not spotted anything like he'd been thinking near the hideout. Wei Mingku could apparently read the look on Wu Hao's face and snorted where he leaned against the counter with his back.

"It's not sordid or anything."

"It's private," Wei Mingku's father said, snapping, before he realized who he was snapping against.

"I mean... I'm sorry. I don't think it's really worth your notice, benefactor."

"It's fine," Wu Hao said. He didn't care that much.

"They started as a protection racket," Wei Mingku said, deciding someone had to say something.

"My dad didn't pay. He and several other store owners thought they could -""Mingku!" his father barked.

"Stop!" He hobbled over to the counter, then pounded his fist down. Breathing in deeply, his eyes rose to meet Wu Hao's and then flicked down. It was as if he was preparing himself to lift a heavy weight, but his shoulders bunched inwards.

"It was my mistake," Wei Mingku's father said, bitterly.

"They came here a year or two ago. They had no backing as far as we knew. I thought we could resist them, together. I convinced the others that with Mt. Song nearby, if worst came to worst, we could send a messenger to Mt. Song and the righteous sects there would put a stop to this." Wu Hao frowned but said nothing.

In all honesty he'd never actually met someone from the righteous sects yet, but the sects that he knew - the Red Dawn and the Jin alike - wouldn't have lifted a single finger to help the people of Green Village. Despite not considering himself a cynic at heart, he wasn't sure that the righteous sects would have moved, either. As Lady Jin had said, friendship was temporary and benefits eternal, but where would the benefit have been for these righteous martial artists? Love this novel?

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"In the end, it did get worse," Wei Mingku's father said.

"They threatened me most of all, since I was considered the leader of the group resisting them. I sent out a messenger - my younger brother, who'd been apprenticed to the local butcher." His voice, already choked with bitterness, grew quiet and hard as he spoke, and he averted his head from Wu Hao. The pain and the rage - Wu Hao was glad that the man had no qi, because that would have been unpleasant to look at.

"They killed him," Wei Mingku's father said. He pounded the counter again, so loud that something sounded like it might have cracked.

"They killed him, those bastards!" He breathed heavily, then shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the anger that way. Wu Hao emphatized.

"That was the end of our resistance," Wei Mingku's father said.

"The others all gave in before they too lost family members. But that scumbag Yan Biao still thought that I hadn't been punished enough. He decided that I needed to be an example. He cut the tendons in my leg to cripple me so that I couldn't run, and still demanded that every cent I make goes to him and his gang." Silence fell. He'd planned on maybe giving Wei Mingku the Black Axe Art booklet, but that clearly would be a bad idea.

"I'm glad I killed them, then," Wu Hao said. Wei Mingku's father gave a solid, heavy nod.

"I just wish I could have," he said in response, and struck his leg with his fist and pulled a face.

"But with this holding me back..."

"Don't blame yourself," Wu Hao said, more because it was a stock phrase that seemed vaguely relevant than because he meant it. He didn't have an opinion on blame, anyway. It wasn't his place to say. Wei Mingku yawned loudly, and after that his father sent him off to bed. The man also offered Wu Hao the chance to sleep in his bed, since he'd be up for a while working on the new clothes anyway, and Wu Hao refused the offer. Instead he picked a sort of cushy seat nearby, which caused Wei Mingku's father to protest.

The conversation had only cut off when Wu Hao'd plonked himself down in the chair pointedly. All these luxuries, he thought, and let his head loll over the edge of the chair. He didn't need them. As if to prove his point he woke up three hours later, feeling almost rested. He squinted into the dark, tried to ignore the crick in his neck, wondered what'd woken him, and realized it'd been the sound of soft footsteps padding nearby. More of these Black Cleaver Gang bandits?

Wu Hao jumped to his feet quietly, pulled the knife from his belt, and pushed open the door. But all he saw was Wei Mingku, padding nearer to the washtub, holding Wu Hao's dirty clothes from the night before.

"I woke you up, didn't I?" Wei Mingku said.

"Sorry. I thought I was being light on my feet. I couldn't sleep and I figured that maybe I could work it out somehow, you know?" Wu Hao didn't, never really having struggled to sleep in his life so far as he remembered. He sat down, though, and after a bit Wei Mingku resumed his labor. A thought had occurred to Wu Hao, though.

"By the way," Wu Hao said.

"Try not to show that robe to anyone from the Jin clan, alright?"

"What?" Wei Mingku asked.

"What does that mean?" Wu Hao shrugged. Wei Mingku looked at the fine fabric that he'd laid out across the counter, staring at it.

"How bad is it?" he asked. He swallowed.

"You won't get hunters or assassins sent after you, will you?"

"Probably not," Wu Hao said. This didn't seem as reassuring as he'd intended it to, because Wei Mingku just looked dismayed. Like that they talked for a little bit. Wei Mingku asked more about Wu Hao and he gave a quick sort of summary of this life so far, ever since he'd returned to life. Not the bits where he'd stolen and killed - he didn't know Wei Mingku that well - but of defeating the bandits and of being taken to the Jin clan unconscious.

He'd been telling Wei Mingku about the Jin clan compound when Wei Mingku's father entered the room, bags under his eyes but prideful.

"It's done," he said.

"Come with me, sir." The clothes that he'd made Wu Hao had been carefully chosen and adjusted to his measurements, and as a result they fit much better. Instead of the stitch butting against his shoulder it fit snugly, even leaving some extra space for him to grow into. Maybe in terms of material or expense it couldn't have compared to the clothes he'd received from the Jin clan. Those particular robes hadn't been made in his specific size, though, and they'd been too fancy by half.

These were made of a cheaper material but stitched with more care. Wei Mingku had also pressed another pair of clothes into Wu Hao's arms, which he'd stuffed into a bag that he'd also received from the tailor, together with the pillow they'd handed him. Especially the pillow seemed great. It'd been a good idea to accept that offer, Wu Hao reflected. Wei Mingku's father stepped back and shook his head.

"It's not good enough," he muttered.

"For a martial artist -""It'll do," Wu Hao said, feeling the material with his fingers. It wouldn't get in the way.

"I'm content with these." There was nothing else to be said, after that, except them telling him they were grateful and a few attempts at small talk. After a quick breakfast, Wei Mingku accompanied Wu Hao to the city limits and clearly seemed to have more to say, but Wu Hao had spoken more today than he had for the last week and he'd had enough words and gratefulness.

When they reached the gate and as Wei Mingku summoned up the words, Wu Hao simply pushed qi to his feet and flashed away, rushing through the open gates and continuing for another minute until he felt that he'd gone far enough away that no one'd bother to chase him. Goodbyes had a way of clinging to clothes. Wu Hao had goodbyed several people now and he'd felt weirder every time, so simply not saying goodbye anymore was going to be his solution from now on.

Not looking behind him, Wu Hao moved on from Green Village, leaving the Wei family behind for the open road. He felt oddly light, despite being more heavily laden than when he'd entered the town. He had a knife again, he had food, and he had water enough for a day if he rationed it carefully. And he had the route to Chongqing. Wei Mingku's father had told him of a shortcut that was apparently taken by hunters every so often, which ambled alongside a small river.

The road would lead to the next village and then to the next village after that, bending and twisting to form a path that led past a sequence of villages in turn. Now Wu Hao would skip those other villages and just head straight forward. He just needed to keep his bearings in the great forest. He'd managed as much earlier, so this couldn't be too hard. And if he did, well, there was always the option of resetting until he was back somewhere he recognized. He wondered what Chongqing would look like.

Unbidden his thoughts returned to the topic of righteous martial artists, and he wondered what they were like, too. Heroes, maybe. Strong martial artists, definitely. The idea of men putting their time and energy into trying to serve justice was fascinating to him, especially now that he'd had a taste of how dealing out justice felt. Besides, if nothing else it'd be a good source of interesting deaths.