Chapter Sixty: You Fall, Or They Do

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“You brat! Courting death, are you?” Seeing Zhang Wu dare to chop off his subordinate’s arm right under his nose, the burly man with tiger-like eyes erupted in fury. With a thunderous roar, he leapt forward and swung his machete down hard at Zhang Wu.

Zhang Wu neither dodged nor flinched, raising his knife with one arm to meet the blow head-on. The force was too great, though, and he staggered back several steps. The enraged, tiger-eyed brute pressed the attack without pause, launching another identical strike. Zhang Wu frowned, knowing his injured leg left him at a disadvantage in a direct clash, but with the tiger-eyed man’s followers already surging forward, he dared not retreat recklessly. Gritting his teeth, he gripped his butcher’s knife tighter, bracing for another heavy blow.

A sudden rush of foul wind swept past Zhang Wu’s ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a black shadow—then, with a muffled thud, the tiger-eyed man was sent flying backwards, arms still raised futilely overhead.

Leaning on Zhang Wu’s shoulder was a long staff, its tail end gripped by Zhang Mingzhi, who had arrived just in time. Assessing the effect of his strike, Zhang Mingzhi frowned slightly—after all, he was wielding only an ordinary wooden staff. Had it been his finely crafted wooden spear, the blow just now would likely have ruptured the man’s organs.

As it was, the tiger-eyed brute managed to steady himself with the help of his men. After catching his breath twice, he seemed to recover, though he eyed Zhang Mingzhi with lingering fear. Seeing only an unfamiliar face, his apprehension faded. He hefted his machete once more and barked an order to his men: “Go! Kill them! If anything happens, I’ll take responsibility with Luda Chi!”

Luda Chi ruled this barbecue street—a Mongolian strongman from the steppes, like Agu Da, but with a far more fearsome reputation. Among the “Four Legends of Little Nanhai”—wine, meat, wealth, and women—the latter two referred to pleasure boats run by Master Hua’s underground empire. The business of this barbecue street, the “wine and meat,” was firmly under Luda Chi’s control.

With their boss’s backing, the tiger-eyed man’s followers cast aside their hesitation. They had come looking for trouble to begin with, most wielding sturdy iron rods at the very least. Now, dozens surged forward, and even Zhang Mingzhi and Zhang Wu struggled to hold their ground. Though not yet overwhelmed, Zhang Wu’s leg injury left them both hard-pressed.

“There he is! That brat’s hiding over there!” The tattooed brute who’d been knocked out by Ding Li’s punch earlier soon spotted Ding Li amid the chaos. He raised his machete and pointed, shouting to his cronies, “Brothers! That’s the one! Cut him down!”

“Li—Li-ge, what do we do now?” Agu Da, who had been leaning on Ding Li’s side, turned with a trembling voice—only to see Zhang Yurou, utterly fearless. As for Ding Li, the moment he heard the shout, he had already stepped forward.

“It’s either you fall, or they do.” Ding Li didn’t look back, just tossed this terse warning to Agu Da.

“Go on! Are you, a grown man, really going to hide behind me, a weak woman?” Seeing Agu Da still dazed, Zhang Yurou urged him on impatiently. Then, with no concern for appearances, she ran back a couple of steps, grabbed two daggers, and shoved them into Agu Da’s arms, giving him a long, complicated look.

“Go!” Perhaps it was the trust in Zhang Yurou’s beautiful eyes, or perhaps her words struck a chord in his heart, but the blood of the grasslands surged through Agu Da, burning hot and wild.

“Brothers, let’s go!” The tattooed brute, recalling how Ding Li had knocked him out recently, suddenly hesitated as Ding Li strode fearlessly toward them. He stopped in his tracks, urging his men forward while staying put himself, waving his arms and shouting from a safe distance.

There were over a dozen of them, but Ding Li showed no fear at all. Calm and poised, he slowly raised both arms, the butchers’ knives in his hands gleaming menacingly, sending a wordless warning to all.

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The two knives, once merely tools for slaughtering pigs and sheep, had become deadly instruments in Ding Li’s hands. Drawn by some hellish curse, one after another, men rushed at him, only to be cut down in turn.

Against this rabble—no more than street thugs—Ding Li barely needed to move his feet, rarely even bothering to dodge. Even when attacked, his lightning-fast counters always struck first, every blow decisive. Not one opponent could stand up again once struck.

By the time Agu Da, daggers in hand, charged forward, only five men remained upright beside Ding Li—all of them trembling violently, including the one who had just called for Ding Li’s death.

“If you don’t fight now, you’ll be the next to fall.” Ding Li’s cold glance swept over them, his words as chilling as a death sentence. Fired up, Agu Da hesitated no longer. Eyes bloodshot, mouth open in a furious howl, he hacked a dagger at one man’s side.

A wet, sickening sound. Whether paralyzed by Ding Li’s murderous presence or stunned by the carnage, the man made no move to resist, allowing Agu Da’s blade to strike. Slowly, he turned, staring at Agu Da in shock and horror.

“Aaaah!”

Spattering blood hit his face, but Agu Da, meeting that gaze, squeezed his eyes shut and slashed again without thinking. The man collapsed instantly, his expression still frozen in disbelief, as if unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Killing was nothing new to Agu Da—countless wild beasts had died by his hand over the years. Now, in a fury, he radiated a savage aura that few could withstand. Even Ding Li frowned, shooting a wary glance at the man who now seemed on the verge of madness.

“It’s either you fall, or they do. You fall, or they do…” Ding Li’s earlier warning echoed in Agu Da’s mind, as if enchanted. Again and again, he raised his butcher’s knife, striking down, then raising it again. Even his steps, once heavy, grew light and unsteady.

In the blink of an eye, Agu Da had cut down three men. Blood covered him from head to toe, thick streams running down his face and dripping from his chin. With every swing, blood sprayed from his dagger, and his wild, contorted visage resembled an asura risen from hell.

“Devil! Devil!” The unending slaughter and the stench of death sapped the last of the two survivors’ will. Not daring to tarry a second longer, they dropped their weapons and fled on all fours, shrieking in terror.

Agu Da, half-insensible, was about to chase after them when a powerful hand seized his shoulder. By reflex, he wrenched free and slashed back with his dagger.

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With a dull thud, before Agu Da could even raise his blade fully, Ding Li’s elbow crashed into his neck. Agu Da’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed bonelessly to the ground. Ding Li had seen that Agu Da was losing control—his erratic steps and wild attacks made it clear. Especially when Agu Da began swinging blindly at friend and foe alike, Ding Li acted without hesitation, knocking him out. He turned to Zhang Yurou and instructed her gravely, “Watch him! I’m going to help the others!”

The situation was far less favorable for Zhang Mingzhi and Zhang Wu. Though Ding Li had drawn away many attackers, the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming. Zhang Mingzhi, still treating his wooden staff like his usual spear, found his attacks less effective than he’d like. Zhang Wu, hampered by his injured leg, was constantly at risk—he nearly fell outright after a reflexive kick.

But the tiger-eyed brute was faring no better. His repeated clashes with Zhang Mingzhi had left him with nothing to show for it—worse still, his left arm was now badly swollen from a heavy blow, rendering it useless for the moment.

He had intended to retreat to the edge of the crowd and watch, but as soon as the tiger-eyed brute steadied himself, a chill ran down his spine. Turning instinctively, he saw that all the men he’d sent after Ding Li were gone. Staring him down now was Ding Li himself, cold and merciless.

For a moment, the brute was stunned. Then, with no time for second thoughts, he steeled himself, gritted his teeth, and, ignoring the pain in his left arm, charged Ding Li with his machete in a one-handed grip.

Sparks flew as Ding Li sprang forward without hesitation, meeting the attack head-on. The tiger-eyed brute was secretly alarmed, but his feet staggered back before he could think.

Ding Li gave him no respite. Blow followed blow, three heavy strikes in quick succession. The brute could no longer hold up—his machete flew from his single-handed grip, and all that remained were his wide, terrified eyes, staring up at the butcher’s knife poised above his head.

In a split second, Ding Li grunted, forcing himself to halt the descending blade inches above the brute’s skull. Before the man’s expression could shift from terror, Ding Li lunged forward and kicked him square in the chest. The brute flew backward, and a flicker of delight and relief flashed across his face—he had survived by a hair’s breadth.

Without sparing him another glance, Ding Li spun, rejoining the fray. Like a street performer spinning knives, he wielded his two butcher’s blades with dazzling, almost otherworldly skill. Each swing traced an arc of crimson in the air, vivid and beautiful.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing whistle shattered the rhythm. A man before Zhang Mingzhi collapsed instantly, a jagged point protruding from his throat, its tip glinting coldly beneath the thick, oozing blood.