Beware of chicken, p.20
Beware of Chicken, page 20
Meimei and Yun Ren were pretty tuckered out. Gou Ren and Chunky, however, had to be coaxed back to the house. They were still bright-eyed and raring to go even after hours of running around, but I managed to corral them eventually, and we set off for home. My only regret was that there was no hot chocolate.
It was the one damper on the otherwise perfect day. I swear, though, I’ll find a cocoa tree somewhere. Maple trees exist, so I assume I can probably find cocoa pods. Considering they were considered medicinal, and a bit of an aphrodisiac, the chances of finding them in xianxia land were pretty high.
And then, I shall have hot chocolate, I thought, a smile on my face.
Peppa and Chunky hooked themselves back into my sleigh, and we began the trek back home. My sleigh was coming along nicely. I definitely still needed some good jingle bells— and probably a horse, but Chunky and Peppa seemed to like the whole thing. Now all I needed was some antlers, and they’d be like Max from the Grinch. Soon, Santa would descend on Hong Yaowu-ville and bring gifts for all the good boys and girls!
Sure, none of the religious reasons existed, but I’d always held a sentimental attachment to what the holiday had come to mean. It was the same reasons people here celebrated: mostly family, friends, and an excuse to party.
I hoped this would be the kid’s first taste of gingerbread too. China probably has something like it, but I couldn’t tell ya.
I was still planning for my “Great Christmas Caper” when we got back to the house. There was nobody else around, with Big D and Tigger off somewhere. I fed my pigs their dinner, then started thinking about some other important questions, like, what was for our dinner?
“Any votes on what to eat tonight?” I asked.
The Xong brothers looked at each other and nodded.
“Let us make you food tonight, Jin,” Yun Ren said with a smile.
I have to admit, it was pretty cool to see them make hand-pulled noodles. They were fast. Considering they also brought some chili oil and salted beef, I knew it was going to be a great dinner.
I eyed my small stockpile of Spirit Herbs. These would be the last until the shoots matured, in a month or two. But to hell with it. This was a meal that deserved the extra oomph.
They somehow found their way onto the cutting board. And into the noodles.
Dinner was delicious, if a bit more oily than I was used to. The extra zest was noticeable.
Gou Ren sighed contentedly after we finished eating. “Things always taste so much better when we’re here,” he mused out loud.
This got nods from Meimei and Yun Ren.
Huh, really?
I personally thought that the food at Hong Yaowu was delicious … but that may just be the fact that it was Meimei’s cooking most of the time. She’s good. Real good.
I collected the dishes and went to wash them up. Sure enough, the carp was ready and waiting for me. I was a little worried about how the oil would affect the fish, but he had eaten some to no ill effect before, so it was probably fine. If anything, he seemed to suck on the plates even harder.
Gluttonous little thing.
When I got back to the living room, Meimei had my pipa out.
“Could you play, like you played for me?” she asked with a hopeful smile.
That is how I knew Meimei was absolutely superior to all other women.
She liked John Denver.
↔
The man grinned as he heard the stomping feet and laughter coming from the farmhouse. Yes, these people were going to be ripe for the taking. Their guards were down, and judging by the house, they were absolutely loaded.
Rich enough to build that monstrosity made out of snow. He felt a surge of vindictive pleasure at the thought of tearing it down. These bastards were living large, while he had been running for his life.
And if he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear a woman’s laughter mixed with the men’s. This was just too perfect. It had been so long since he had a woman.
He turned, going to report to the boss, but then paused. There was a rooster in the snow in front of him. It was quite the vibrant thing, and he could see its thick, surely juicy thighs. It cocked its head to the side and stared at him in the creepy way every chicken stared at people.
His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten much today. Nobody would notice the chicken disappearing. The damn bird had probably eaten better than he had recently. Grinning, he reached out for its neck to wring it. His fist closed around the rooster’s throat and squeezed.
And squeezed some more. The rooster looked spectacularly unimpressed. The man was confused. He didn’t seem to be doing anything to the bird. He went to pick it up. The chicken reached out with his beak and bit down on the offending arm.
Its head jerked.
And the man’s arm was plucked from his body.
The man gaped stupidly at the stump where his arm once was. The pain hit. He opened his mouth to start scream—
↔
The man’s head hit the snowy ground with a dull thud.
The rooster retracted his outstretched wing. No blood had stained him, and this filth had been unworthy of his spurs.
His suspicions were confirmed. Those that sent scouts ahead to slink in the shadows and offer no respect to the Great Master’s Pillars were interlopers.
And interlopers had no place in Great Fa Ram.
He called the disciples.
From the trees, a stripy orange cat descended, walking behind and to his right. She prowled with unnatural grace, her footsteps not damaging a single snowflake and leaving no footprints behind her. She eyed the rooster with disdain, annoyed that he dared to command her, but she obeyed, nonetheless.
A large boar emerged from the gloom. His face was battle-scarred. In contrast to the cat, the snow parted as if fleeing before his unstoppable might. It vacated his presence, lest it be destroyed utterly.
From the left, a second pig emerged. She was smaller than the first and moved with precision, stepping gently through the snow. She paused a moment, sniffing at the corpse. And then with a single, dainty bite—
Consumed it whole.
She sneered with disgust, swallowing. Faint whips of Qi surrounded her mouth. ‘The things I do for Fa Ram,’ she muttered, her voice prim and proper.
On her back, a nervous little rat sat. She wrung her paws and fidgeted, checking and rechecking her little satchels of herbs, ready to provide aid to her fellow disciples. But the little one’s eyes were firm and focused. Her resolve was set. She would follow this path until the end.
The rooster gazed over their forms and was glad. He bowed in respect for the other’s resolve. The cat sneered. The rat took a bracing breath. The pig raised an eyebrow. The boar oinked happily.
They were prepared. Bi De, the First Disciple of Great Fa Ram, turned his gaze to where the interlopers gathered.
With great dignity, the rooster began his march. Each stride was regal yet humble. His stature was kingly and yet not tyrannical. His presence was as bright as the moon, his intent, deep as the darkest night.
Behind him, the might of Fa Ram followed.
CHAPTER 28
STRENGTH AND SKILL
It was important to be well rested before a raid.
That was the one thing he always insisted on. You needed your energy to do what needed to be done. And being fresh meant that if there was a fight, then the boys would be raring to go instead of being tired and distracted.
Sure, it made them a little antsy and aggressive, but he liked them mean. Not too mean, because then they tended to burn, then try to pillage, and he couldn’t have that.
It was going to go smooth. He and his boys could have a bit of a sponsored party—courtesy of the farmer, have some fun with the girl, kill the men, and then be gone. The people in the house were obviously rich and stupid.
He didn’t expect much in the way of fighting. Three men and a girl, against thirty bandits? Three of whom were cultivators?
And what of he, Sun Ken, the Whirling Demon Sword himself?
He would’ve had a fourth cultivator if that whore of a Young Mistress hadn’t killed him. He would mourn his brother later. Even just remembering that they’d had to flee from the Verdant Blade Sect stoked his rage. The bitch of a Young Mistress had been far, far too tenacious.
His fist clenched, and he growled. His boys might not get a turn if he stayed this angry. Mortal girls were so fragile.
Still, his boys were as rested as they could be, and they had some food in them.
It was a good night for raiding too, with clouds covering the moon. Darkness always made him feel at home.
“Gather up, you worthless bastards! Gather up!” he commanded, his voice booming through their camp.
There were some things one had to do as a leader to maintain order. These speeches were one of them, to hype the men up. He knew there had been grumbling about leaving the wounded behind, for even men like these disliked abandoning their comrades.
But soon, soon, everything would be in the back of their minds.
His boys staggered to their feet with hungry looks in their eyes. Oh yes, they were definitely ready.
“I know what you want, so I’ll keep this short. We got a bunch of rich bastards an hour’s walk that way. They have generously decided to add their wealth to the Whirling Demon Sword Gang.”
At this, his men laughed. The mood was getting good.
“I know we’ve been through hell these last couple of days. Those Verdant Blade bastards thought they were hot shit, and we still managed to kill a bunch of ’em! But today is the turning point. Today, we get what we need and”—he paused to make sure everyone was paying attention—“what we’re owed. A night beneath a good solid roof and all the grub you can eat!”
Some of his men started to cheer.
“This is what I promised all of you when you joined underneath my banner! A life to live, instead of just exist! A life without the Sects of the officials breathing down our necks! A life of freedom!”
The cheers got louder.
“Now, let’s have a good night! A wild night! A Whirling, Demonic night!”
The men roared their approval when a voice cut through the night. Most of his men seemed deaf to it, but a small voice said to them:
‘This is not a good-wise course of action, Interloper. You approach the border of Fa Ram.’
He froze at the voice that drifted in on the wind. “Who dares?! Who dares approach the camp of the Whirling Demon Sword Gang?” he demanded.
‘We are of Great Fa Ram. Thy scouts have fallen-perished, for attempting to assault-kill its disciples and Interloping.’
His hackles rose at the statement, the voice a Qi-filled whisper. His men formed up around him; their swords drawn and ready. The rest of his gang inched closer together. That was stupid, when fighting cultivators, but they could not control the fear, or the feeling of being watched.
Sweat beaded on foreheads. Men, already antsy and remembering the attack of the Verdant Blade, looked close to breaking.
‘Our Great Master is a kind-generous soul, and you are not yet upon his land, so the First Disciple instructs you thus:
‘That you do not know the strength-power of Fa Ram is forgivable. Attempting to strike at it anyways is not. To continue upon this course-path is to end your lives.’
Sun Ken let some of his intent leak out. His men’s resolve firmed as they felt his presence.
“Show yourself, you coward! Show yourself, and this daddy will kill you swiftly for daring to dictate terms to him!”
‘You shall see the First Disciple, then, and Fa Ram shall instruct you .. .’
There was a burst of snow as something landed at the entrance of their camp. The men, confused by their leader’s shouting, flinched back from the puff of white powder.
The men shifted nervously as footfalls echoed out, stepping assuredly through the snow.
Sun Ken’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.
The snow was abruptly blown away, wind howling from the direction of the voice. Sun Ken’s blade inched out of his sheath, ready to strike—
When he paused, incredulous at what had been revealed to him.
He blinked, just to make certain what he was seeing was true.
He started laughing. A rooster? With a vest on? Who dared to precipitate this absurd farce?
“You little shit!” one of his men barked at the rooster and stepped forwards to strike it with his blade.
And then Sun Ken felt it. The laughter died in his throat, and sweat beaded on his brow.
Spirit Beast.
“No! wait—” the Whirling Demon Sword tried to shout, but it was too late.
The man’s body hurled through the air, his chest caved in by a mighty kick. He slammed into a tree with a sickening crack and dropped, dead before he hit the ground.
One could hear the hearts of the men, hammering away in their chests, but their breaths were silent. They dared not breathe at all.
The rooster cocked his head to the side and lowered his leg. He walked into the bandit camp, uncaring that he was surrounded.
The voice whispered again.
‘The First Disciple wishes to tell-inform you that your disciples are very ill-disciplined, but he shall forgive you this time.’
The rooster gestured to him.
‘You sniff-slink around the Great Master’s land like rodents. The First Disciple demands to know why.’
This damn Spirit Beast. An up-jumped cock dared to threaten him? Calling itself “First Disciple?” Fury burned in his gut at the thought. His boys were no match for Spirit Beasts, but he had slain many.
This one would be no different. He would consume its core and put its flesh in his cooking pot!
Sun Ken drew his sword and pointed it at the outnumbered avian.
“I am the Whirling Demon Blade, Sun Ken! What I do is what I desire to do! I will take what I please from your Great Master! I shall slay his brothers and rape his wife! I will burn down his home, eat his flesh, drink his blood, and sleep in his skin for daring to mock me so! Sending a Spirit Beast, a chicken, against me instead of facing me himself?! A more worthless ‘Great Master’ I can’t imagine!”
His aura erupted. Demonic red saturated the clearing as he drew upon his full might. Some of his men’s eyes started to go blank, his aura infecting them with bloody-minded zeal. His blade began to whisper and gibber madly, demanding that he cut.
The rooster’s eyes were wide in shock. Sun Ken grinned. The thing had probably never been truly challenged before.
‘So, you have chosen … death.’
The little voice sounded both angry and slightly fearful.
The chicken screeched with fury. It was a shock wave of noise. Several men staggered backwards from the force of the rooster’s cry, their ears leaking blood. One of the closest, directly in the line of fire, clutched his heart and slumped to the ground, frothing at the mouth.
Twin blades of moonlight sprung from the rooster’s spurs, pure, bright silver, and the snow seemed to explode around him as he moved.
The Whirling Demon Blade rushed to meet him along with his lieutenants—and then all hell broke loose.
↔
From the right, an enormous boar that reached the bottom of some men’s chests slammed into the encampment with a joyous squeal. Bones shattered. Organs ruptured. Skulls split. Its mighty tusks gored and savaged as it flung its head from side to side, intent on spearing and trampling everything before it. Where it strode, bare earth was revealed, trampled flat and coated with the blood of the wicked.
The beast’s presence demanded attention, for his grunts of happiness and squeals of joy forced all eyes to him.
Men swung swords and thrust spears with strength fueled by terror, trying desperately to halt its advance, but the mundane weapons simply bounced off its skin as it forged ever deeper into their ranks.
From the left, a more measured threat came. Its trotters struck and kicked. Its bulk carefully crushed and smashed. Its maw opened and shut politely, relieving men of their limbs—before the offending objects were spat back out in disgust.
The pig, for all its mass, fought with purpose. While the boar accepted blows, uncaring and unheeding of them, the pig deftly dodged, or daintily pirouetted between strikes, and struck back with its own, never stopping its own thrust into the enemy’s ranks.
A tiny rat was upon its back, and occasionally the little beast would throw pepper powder into eyes or leap off to bite into fingers before retreating back to safety.
These three were bad enough. But there was one more.
From the back came death.
Mere mortals could not perceive its passing.
Throats split open. Thighs were flayed through the arteries. Eyes were blinded in a blur of orange. Some were merely crippled, falling down and wailing in pain and terror, which only added to the sudden cacophony.
The mere men, assaulted and surprised from all sides, broke. Some tried to flee; some tried to hide, dragging the bodies of their slain comrades over themselves to use as shields; some simply collapsed, unable to take anymore. They were all easy pickings. But death’s eyes were upon a more powerful prize. One of the Whirling Demon Sword’s lieutenants leapt back from a mighty blow from the rooster, his sword nearly flying from his hand with the force of the strike, before death was upon him.
He nearly died in the first three exchanges.
He could not believe his eyes as his sword desperately parried Qi-infused claws. The beast bounced, springing off trees and the bodies of his men, claws scoring great furrows wherever it landed on flesh, leaving no trace upon the wood or earth.
The man could feel it—the sheer bloodlust and glee the beast had, the predatory grace and savage fury. It was like facing his boss, condensed into the form of a monster.
It was a tiger in the body of a cat.
Three more strikes were exchanged, and he threw the beast backwards, then entered into a stance. He ignored the scream of one of his brothers as an arm and blood arced through the air. He sharpened his intent and focused his breathing as the beast stalked towards him.
“Go!” he heard his leader yell, “take the boar, and return to me!”
