Chapter Six: Scheming

When the cripple appeared, Lin Qi was standing by the liquor cabinet, staring intently at the group of young men. He watched with a near-maniacal gaze as the leader of the group, a young man, carefully wiped his hands with a white silk handkerchief. The young man’s fingers moved, and the rings on his hands cast one mesmerizing halo after another under the light.

Lin Qi’s blood surged to his brain and heart; his body grew hot, and sweat streamed down his face. “This guy is really rich!” Lin Qi, whose vision was darkening from the spike in blood pressure, struggled to swallow, his nostrils flaring as he took deep breaths, barely suppressing the wild fire burning in his chest. His hands hidden in his sleeves, Lin Qi’s fingers repeatedly caressed the triggers of two small hand crossbows he kept there. Several times he almost lost control, nearly raising his hand to attack the young man.

Gold—gleaming, radiant gold; gems—sparkling, dazzling gems. Lin Qi let out a low groan, pressing his right hand firmly over his heart. Breathing deeply, he gradually calmed his breath, letting the boiling blood slowly circulate through his body, staving off the risk of a heart attack or stroke.

“What a plump sheep, what a pity they chose to come to the Cripple’s place,” he cursed in his heart, damning every deity he knew. Whatever god had sent this flock of fat sheep to the Cripple’s tavern, from this day forth, that deity was Lin Qi’s sworn enemy. That young man’s bejeweled right hand—Lin Qi had never seen a hand so valuable in his life.

Lin Qi possessed the simplest, most straightforward worldview: to him, there was only his money and other people’s money, only the rich and the poor, only valuable treasures and worthless trash. To turn some rich people into paupers, to take their treasures for himself, to make other people’s money his own—this was Lin Qi’s ideal, his pursuit, his life’s goal. His very existence was built on wealth; without it, his life was devoid of light.

The young man’s right hand was like a beacon atop a lighthouse, illuminating a long stretch of Lin Qi’s life path. “What a shame—this is the Cripple’s turf!” He swallowed hard, then lowered his hands, relaxing the crossbow strings, and carefully tucked the two poisoned bolts back into the leather pouch at his belt. Stepping out from the shadows of the liquor cabinet, he grinned, leaned over the long bar, and made a throat-slitting gesture at the young man.

“Easterner, for the sake of the blood you share with my ancestors, I’ll give you a word of warning. This is the Cripple’s tavern—Uncle Cripple’s domain. You dare to strike his most beautiful, most beloved maid? You lot are finished!”

Lin Qi’s words dripped with malice; he was eager to incite conflict between the Cripple’s tavern and these black-cloaked, fattened sheep. In that instant, he had formed a plan: only if these sheep clashed with the Cripple would he have a chance to profit from the ensuing chaos. For gold, Lin Qi would work with the Cripple; for even more gold, he would sell the Cripple out without hesitation.

The pale-faced young man curled his lips in a cold, arrogant smile. With his left hand behind his back and his body slightly hunched, he strode slowly to the bar. He squinted, sizing up the Cripple, then glanced at Lin Qi. His right hand slipped into his cloak, and when it emerged again, he was holding a gold bar as thick as a thumb and half a foot long.

He placed the bar lightly on the greasy counter. In fluent Western Continental Common Speech, he said, “I am Jiang Yong. According to your customs, you may call me ‘Jiang’ or Manager Jiang.”

A strange, chilling smile flickered across his lips. Jiang Yong spoke softly, “About that young lady, I apologize deeply. But please understand—I do not like people getting too close to me.”

With a light sigh, Jiang Yong nonchalantly tapped the gold bar on the counter with his finger. His slender, pale finger silently pierced through the gold, sinking deep into the century-old oak bar, leaving a clear hole in the inch-thick surface.

The bravos, who just moments before had been itching to milk the sheep for all they were worth, simultaneously retreated to their seats, raising their mugs and resuming their boisterous revelry. The three dancers enthusiastically kicked their pale legs, drawing wild laughter and howls from the men. The tavern swiftly returned to normal; the air once again thick with sweat and the scent of liquor.

Two servants from the Cripple’s tavern carried off the unconscious Lisa, quickly vanishing with her from the raucous hall.

Standing beside the Cripple, Lin Qi drew in a sharp breath. He stared in astonishment at the gold bar and the counter, both pierced by Jiang Yong’s finger, then let out a heavy sigh.

Such terrifying strength—could this Jiang Yong truly possess the power of a high-ranking knight? Apart from those legendary knights who could cleave boulders with their blades, Lin Qi could not imagine what other monster could perform such a feat. For flesh and blood to pierce solid gold—what were his fingers made of?

This was no fat sheep, but a fierce beast clad in splendid fur. While the pelt of a beast might be valuable, risking one’s life for gold was clearly unwise. Unless Jiang Yong truly possessed a fortune worth Lin Qi’s risk, the rings on his hand alone were not enough to tempt him.

Of course, if Lin Qi knew that Jiang Yong really did carry a vast fortune, he would surely show him that, no matter how formidable his strength, it was a fatal mistake to flaunt such wealth on the Iron Fist Brotherhood’s turf.

Casting a deep look at Jiang Yong, Lin Qi left the bar, taking Enzo and Vic to sit at a table. He loudly ordered wine and roasted meat, laughing and joking as he enjoyed the dancers’ wild performance.

In the blink of an eye, the Cripple had already led Jiang Yong and his entourage away from the bar. Only Lin Qi, who had been watching them from the corner of his eye, noticed how they left, especially when the table legs brushed aside the cloaks of Jiang Yong’s followers, revealing the deep blue robes beneath.

The robes were of a peculiar style, embroidered with strange creatures that looked like pythons, but with mouths full of sharp teeth and four clawed feet reminiscent of a rooster’s talons. The creatures were both fierce and beautiful, exuding a sinister, alluring aura.

“Easterners!” Lin Qi raised his mug and took a hefty swig, muttering, “This is Brailey City—the turf of Master Lin Qi’s Iron Fist Brotherhood!” Narrowing his eyes, he said in a low voice, “Vic, send someone to tail them. I want to know exactly how much money they brought.”

The scrawny Vic stuffed a large chunk of fatty meat into his mouth, nodded eagerly, and gave a passing maid’s backside a playful squeeze.