Chapter Seventy-Three: The Godot Duel Style

The atmosphere in the hall grew strange. The arrival of Han Ming, the young lord of Dongzhou City, seemed to have disrupted everything. Even Old Master Gong, who usually commanded the room with ease, made no move to acknowledge Han Ming.

Randall’s words had clearly angered Han Ming, and in the eyes of everyone present, provoking Han Ming was no different from offending Lord Han Zhen himself. Ahu, seeing that Jiang Pingchuan had caught Han Ming’s eye, felt a secret delight. He disliked Jiang Pingchuan’s presence in the Gong residence, stealing his spotlight.

“Young lord, this young man is brash and has offended you. Please, I ask that you do not hold it against him,” Old Master Gong said as he approached Han Ming’s side. He glanced at Randall, signaling him to apologize, but Randall remained unyielding, his expression that of a man who feared nothing. Unless Jiang Pingchuan asked, he would not back down.

“Heh, Old Master Gong, you see, it’s not that I’m unwilling to give you face, but this boy simply doesn’t know his place,” Han Ming replied, then ignored Old Master Gong and waved his hand. Two guards stepped forward, moving to stand beside Randall.

“Young lord, is it? I advise you not to lay a hand on me,” Randall said, lips curling into a smile as he looked at Han Ming. Han Ming’s face darkened as he put his hand on Jiang Pingchuan’s shoulder, intending to pull him aside before dealing with Randall. To his surprise, he found he could not move Jiang Pingchuan an inch.

Jiang Pingchuan, meanwhile, looked at Han Ming with a good-natured smile. Han Ming grew even more irate. He had come here today to put Old Master Gong in his place and teach the newcomers a lesson, only to find himself faced with a tough opponent.

“Cripple him!” Han Ming ordered coldly, pointing at Randall behind Jiang Pingchuan. The guards nodded and reached out toward Randall.

Suddenly, a thunderous noise erupted, startling everyone. All eyes turned to see the source: Han Ming’s two guards were now kneeling rigidly on the ground, faces twisted in pain, blood seeping from their knees.

The two of them clung to Randall’s leg, bodies trembling, lips quivering, faces pale as death. Han Ming released Jiang Pingchuan’s shoulder, his expression darkening as he stared at him. The scene had happened so quickly.

Few present had managed to see who had acted. Those who had, kept silent—after all, it was still unclear which side would come out on top, and to speak up now might bring disaster upon their own heads.

“You little brat, you’re playing with me—you’re dead!” Han Ming shouted at Jiang Pingchuan and Randall.

“Young lord, it was I who acted just now. This has nothing to do with the other two,” said a middle-aged man who had been sitting quietly in the corner the whole time. Han Ming’s angry face changed abruptly on hearing the voice, and he turned to look at the man.

“Master Lai, are you standing up for them?” Han Ming asked, looking at the man in the chair. The man did not rise to greet Han Ming, but Han Ming showed no displeasure; if anything, there was a flicker of respect in his eyes.

Old Master Gong leaned in to whisper to Jiang Pingchuan, explaining that the man in the chair was Lai Qing, the leader of the Beggars’ Guild in Dongzhou City. Lai Qing’s origins were shrouded in mystery; no one knew when such a figure had hidden himself in the city.

Overnight, he had gathered all the beggars and itinerant cultivators in Dongzhou and united them into an unbreakable Beggars’ Guild. The guild had existed in the city for over a decade, peacefully coexisting with the authorities, and no one dared to harbor ill intentions toward Lai Qing.

Lai Qing had legitimate means to support the guild; they did not rely on begging but engaged in their own businesses, giving every member a livelihood. In fact, one might see a lavishly dressed person on the street and never guess he was a member of the guild. Lai Qing led the guild without seeking power or profit, and his lack of desire only made him more enigmatic.

He seemed unlike any ordinary man. Even Lord Han Zhen, the city’s ruler, held Lai Qing in high regard—let alone Han Ming. When Han Ming saw Lai Qing, all his arrogance vanished, and he spoke as though to an elder.

“They are newcomers and ignorant of the rules. Why trouble yourself over them, young lord? As for my actions just now, your men have been overstepping their bounds at the city gates recently, lining their own pockets. When hands grow too greedy, people will take offense,” Lai Qing said, stretching and yawning as he spoke. His meaning was clear—he was intervening in the matter of Jiang Pingchuan and Randall, and his blow to Han Ming’s men was justified by their corruption at the city gates.

“Heh, so that’s how it is. Master Lai, your lesson is well deserved—these men have needed discipline for some time,” Han Ming said, glaring at the two kneeling guards before turning to smile at Lai Qing.

“Well, now that these disputes are settled, young lord, why don’t you tell us the reason for your visit?” Lai Qing said, twisting his neck with a deep, though oddly restless, voice. He glanced at Jiang Pingchuan, then at Randall and Old Master Gong, a mysterious smile playing at his lips.

“Heh. I heard Old Master Gong had found someone capable of resolving Dongzhou’s crisis, so I came to see for myself. I wonder if this brother here might show us a little of his skill?” Han Ming said, turning to Jiang Pingchuan with a laugh. Indeed, his purpose in coming was to assess the strength of the newcomer Old Master Gong had brought, and he had not expected to find Lai Qing present as well.

By rights, Lai Qing never attended such gatherings, yet here he was. Old Master Gong had previously sworn before Han Zhen that he would resolve the city’s crisis. They had all been waiting for him to fail, so they could claim what had been promised in return. Yet the true workings of the agreement were always in Lord Han Zhen’s hands. The moment Han Ming saw Lai Qing, he sensed that events might soon slip from their control.

“I am always ready, but I have no wish to perform at the whim of every stranger. That would be tiresome,” Jiang Pingchuan replied coolly, glancing at Lai Qing, who had closed his eyes and leaned back, as though asleep.

“Oh? And what would you prefer? Old Master Gong, you know Dongzhou well—what do you suggest?” Han Ming said, watching Old Master Gong with a sly look. Old Master Gong said nothing, but walked over to the table, took a sip of tea, and rolled his prayer beads between his fingers.

“Godo,” Old Master Gong intoned, gripping his beads. At the mention of “Godo,” everyone in the hall straightened. Even Lai Qing opened his eyes and looked at Old Master Gong.

“Godo? Did I hear you right? You mean to use the Godo duel to showcase this brother’s strength? Are you certain?” Han Ming asked, lowering his head and gripping Old Master Gong’s beads. Old Master Gong gently withdrew his beads and smiled faintly.

“Young lord, you heard correctly. I mean exactly what I said: Godo,” Old Master Gong declared with finality, setting his tea back on the table.

“Heh, well, well. But does this young brother agree?” Han Ming turned to Jiang Pingchuan, knowing he was new to Dongzhou and surely unaware of certain traditions. For the old man to suggest Godo was sheer madness, in Han Ming’s view.

“Pingchuan, if you trust me, stay. If you feel uneasy, you can leave now—I promise, no one in Dongzhou will dare bar your way,” Old Master Gong said gently.

“Old Master Gong has helped me once before. This time, let me return the favor,” Jiang Pingchuan responded, bowing to Old Master Gong. Randall shot Han Ming a provocative look, vowing silently that once he returned to the capital, he would send someone to teach Han Ming—a mere young lord—some humility.

“Very well, you have spirit. I’ll explain: Godo is a duel to the death—two men, one-on-one, at the training grounds,” Han Ming concluded, his emphasis on “to the death” directed as much at Old Master Gong as at Jiang Pingchuan.

“Godo, I accept. You may choose whomever you like,” Jiang Pingchuan replied, looking at Han Ming.

“Good. Tomorrow at noon, at Dongzhou’s training grounds. Don’t lose your nerve,” Han Ming said, beckoning to Jiang Pingchuan with a crooked finger and laughing, before turning to have his men carry away the kneeling guards. As soon as Han Ming departed, silence fell over the hall. Jiang Pingchuan sat back in his seat and sipped his tea.

“Those of you curious about my abilities will see for yourselves tomorrow. For now, you may withdraw your probing presence,” Jiang Pingchuan said, surveying the room. The others were taken aback, realizing their discreet attempts to test him had already been noticed. As soon as he finished speaking, some of the oppressive auras withdrawn from him, though a few still lingered.

“Hmph,” Jiang Pingchuan snorted, striding toward his room. After a few steps, he paused, snorted coldly again, and left with Randall.

As soon as Jiang Pingchuan exited the hall, someone inside coughed up blood, staring in shock at his retreating figure.