Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 437 - 107: A Bowl of Noodles (1/2)

By the time Wang Anfeng returned to the manor, Yan Ling had already been there for quite some time.

The latter appeared somewhat disheveled, with a scent of fresh blood about him, his palm wrapped in a blood-stained red cloth bandage, which looked even more striking. He sat quietly next to the table in the master house of the manor, still holding the bloodied Great Qin Broad Saber in his hand, unwilling to put it down.

Hong Feibai had already put the young girl’s corpse back into the coffin.

His eyes were somewhat red, but his spirits seemed somewhat lifted as he sat on the other side of the table, holding a sheathed sword.

This was certainly not his own sword.

His sword had been shattered by Wang Anfeng using finger force during their confrontation; this smaller one, slightly sleeker, was his junior sister’s sheathed sword, obtained from Yan Ling, and the deceased girl’s belongings were also laid on the table.

The old man, who should have been deep in sleep, came shakily bringing tea on a wooden cane, placing cups beside both young men.

Yan Ling and Hong Feibai thanked the elderly man, who smiled, turned his head around, and seemed to just notice Wang Anfeng entering from outside. He greeted the young man with a grin:

"Young hero arrives at a good time."

"Would you like a cup of tea to refresh yourself?"

By then, the hour was close to morning, and although there was no light yet, it was no longer as deep as it had been at the beginning.

The darkest time of night had already passed.

Wang Anfeng walked in amid the pre-dawn dimness, slightly surprised at the sight of the old man who should have been deep in sleep, nodded politely, and said:

"Thank you, elder."

The old man chuckled, the wrinkles on his face gathering together, and said:

"It’s no trouble at all."

"Please, take a seat."

Yan Ling snapped back from his thoughts, his gaze falling on Wang Anfeng, and he frowned slightly, about to ask why Wang Anfeng had suddenly left alone, leaving the distracted Hong Feibai behind. Before he could speak, his eyes landed on the marks on the young man’s shoulder, sensed his somewhat unstable vitality, and he paused slightly, asking:

"Anfeng, who did you confront?!"

Wang Anfeng nodded, grabbed a small stool as he entered the room, and took the tea offered by the old man, voicing his thanks. After a sip of tea, which was slightly scalding and left a bitter taste spreading over his lips and tongue, he felt somewhat revitalized. He looked at Yan Ling, composed his thoughts, and began:

"It was ’Yi Nanping’."

Yan Ling furrowed his brows, instinctively thinking of that Yi Nanping involved in the recent case. He intended to bluntly ask if Wang Anfeng had encountered the murderer, but his voice paused slightly, considering the disheartened Hong Feibai beside him. He softened his tone slightly, merely saying:

"That impostor?"

Beside him, Hong Feibai’s hands subconsciously clasped around the teacup; the beverage was a bit hot, and as the young man was distraught, he unknowingly relaxed his grip, reddening his palms. Hearing the conversation, his eyes lit up slightly and he looked up at Wang Anfeng.

His gaze grew intensely sharp.

It was precisely this vigor that decided Wang Anfeng to kill the murderer himself rather than handing him over to Hong Feibai for dealing.

Having known each other briefly, he did not want to see the latter fall into the throes of vengeance.

Some things, once started, could not be undone.

Wang Anfeng slightly narrowed his eyes, pretending not to notice Hong Feibai’s gaze, reined in his stray thoughts, and prevented his true intentions from being perceived. He shook his head earnestly, saying:

"It was indeed Yi Nanping."

"At that moment, I was standing in the courtyard, sensed his presence, then saw him in a black attire and bamboo mask, thinking he was the murderer, I hastily chased after him."

"His qinggong is very good."

"We crossed swords near the official road once, ending in a draw. I couldn’t capture him, nor did he gain much advantage over me."

His voice paused slightly, then he added:

"His sword is really fast, and it carries a sharp fierceness."

Hong Feibai’s eyes grew dim again, a trace of pain surfacing.

His head bowed, and strands of hair in front of his forehead obscured his eyes, making it impossible for Wang Anfeng and Yan Ling to see the anguish in them.

Yan Ling’s gaze lingered on Wang Anfeng’s slightly pale face, noting the traces that one typically had after clashing with a skilled swordsman, and nodded, accepting Wang Anfeng’s explanation.

He was well aware of the latter’s capabilities.

In his view, someone who could hold their own against Wang Anfeng, who had made his way through the Hundred Layer Tower of Fufeng, certainly could not be compared with the murderer from Yue City.

When White Tiger Hall operatives are dispatched, usually a main force is accompanied by three slightly lesser martial artists as flanking support. If the flanking support comprises Seventh Rank Martial Artists, then, comparatively, the strongest among the dispatched White Tiger Hall martial artists would likely be a Sixth Rank Martial Artist at the Incense Master level.

An ordinary Sixth Rank Martial Artist would definitely not be a match for Wang Anfeng.

Following the appearance of White Tiger Hall, even the real Yi Nanping had emerged?

This place really is a ’precious spot of geomancy’.

A prickling sensation rose in Yan Ling’s heart, his inner voice tinged with irony as he looked up at Wang Anfeng, his expression regaining its usual integrity, and he asked:

"Were you wounded?"

Wang Anfeng relaxed slightly inside, shook his head, and said:

"Struck by the sword qi, there’s some discomfort in my internal organs, but I have already adjusted my Qi slightly just now, it’s nothing serious."

This statement was not false, he spoke it with righteousness.

To deceive Yan Ling, he had specifically returned to Shaolin Temple, where in Copper Man Lane he had sparred fiercely with a swordsman slightly stronger than himself. Only after that did he dare to formulate this lie, even leaving his injuries untreated, adjusting his Qi only slightly.

Apart from the opponent not being Yi Nanping, everything he said was true.

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As the third master mentioned, in Jianghu, nine truths mixed with one falsehood can be most deceiving.

Yan Ling indeed did not harbor any suspicions and nodded, saying,

"That’s good then."

........................…

Wang Anfeng watched a sunrise at the manor once.

The winter sunrise was unlike any other season, beginning with a cold, ink-blue sky that gradually diffused, lighting up with a brilliance that wasn’t blinding at all, reminiscent of a person’s final flicker of life, a last lingering attachment to the world, and then, suddenly, the sky brightened.

Today was rather gloomy.

Wang Anfeng felt quite conflicted.

He sat on the stool for several hours, feeling the thrill of finally having identified the enemy, the melancholy about the unpredictability of Jianghu, and the guilt of deceiving a good friend, blending into an even more complex emotion.

He was not a man prone to sentimentality; he had read many books in the Wind Character Tower and had accompanied his father in reading since he was a child, listening to Libai narrating numerous Jianghu stories. Yet at this moment, no words could adequately capture what he felt in his heart.

All he knew was that this emotion and feeling were different from before, not something he could share with others, but something to be savored alone.

Next to him, Yan Ling leaned back in his chair, head tilted back, seemingly lost in thought.

His expression was as stern as ever, his eyes unfocused, staring at the scenery ahead with a somewhat dull look.

Hong Feibai with his hands resting on his knees, leaned forward, arms crossed and resting on his forehead, his black hair falling forward to cover his face, motionless, the breath quiet, as if he were asleep.

However, both Wang Anfeng and Yan Ling knew that he was awake.

And perhaps, he had never been so lucid before.

"I need to take my junior sister back to the temple gates."

Just as the sun ascended into the sky, driving away the last of the ink-blue, Hong Feibai abruptly spoke, his voice hoarse.

He straightened his upper body and took a steady look at Wang Anfeng and Yan Ling, saying,

"The vengeance for junior sister must be sought eventually, but first I want to take her back... home."

"She probably doesn’t want to stay outside forever."

"Master and Mistress would probably want to see junior sister."

"Even if it’s just for one last look."

Hong Feibai’s voice became increasingly low, but no one could miss the seriousness in his tone. Yan Ling’s gaze swept past the other, resting on the brand-new black coffin; he had risen to his current position in the Ministry of Punishment after three years with numerous cases handled.

He understood the effects of the "Miracle Medicine" of red complexion and white bones.

To say nothing of several days, whether the appearance of the young girl in the black coffin could be maintained for even a day was questionable.

Moreover, since she had died at the hands of White Tiger Hall, it was highly likely that some valuable clues on her body had been overlooked; from the perspective of the Ministry of Punishment, it was necessary to open the coffin for another autopsy before the effects of the Miracle Medicine wore off.

Yan Ling’s expression remained unchanged, he pursed his lips and asked,

"Do you need a carriage?"

Footsteps resounded from behind, and a young man in black vigorous attire entered, ceaselessly rubbing his eyes.

For some reason, he had slept very soundly and deeply last night, still feeling rather groggy as he entered the room, he gathered his spirits, bowed to the three men, and said politely,

"It’s already the hour. Master has prepared some snacks, would you three guests like to eat something to fill your stomachs?"

Smoke rose from the kitchen behind the manor.

The skill of the elderly cook was excellent, his walking shaky, yet the dough he kneaded was very firm.

He made plain boiled noodles, no extra dishes, just some vinegar poured over and a pinch of salt sprinkled on top.

During the meal, Yan Ling took a big bulb of old garlic from the elder’s kitchen and placed it on the table, looking at Hong Feibai with a stern face, he said,

"Old garlic in the winter is spicy and strong, good for eating with a meal."

He said this, but during the meal, he did not touch the garlic at all, his injured hand holding the porcelain bowl, eating heartily, while the garlic, nearly the size of a child’s fist, was all consumed by Hong Feibai, who chewed the spicy cloves deeply, then took big gulps of the bland white noodles.

As the saying goes, ginger gets spicier as it ages, and garlic is not far behind; the taste shot straight to the throat, intensely spicy, causing Hong Feibai’s eyes to tear up uncontrollably.

"Ha, indeed very spicy, strong…"

The youth from inside the room, watching Hong Feibai’s demeanor, smacked his tongue and couldn’t help but murmur softly,

"What’s the point in eating like this…"

"Plain noodles taste blandest, they are best eaten with meat sauce."

The old man smiled and watched the three young men silently devouring their bland noodles.

Observing the unsteady aura of Wang Anfeng, looking at Yan Ling who had been through a deadly fight and still had an aura of blood about him, seeing Hong Feibai’s eyes reddened from spice yet still swallowing big gulps of tasteless noodles, he sighed deeply.

And offered no explanation.

PS: Today’s first update…

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