Chapter 75: A Heart Like a Fierce Tiger (II)

Chapter Seventy-Five: Heart Like a Fierce Tiger (Part Two)

Outskirts of Jiangning, riverside, boathouse.

“Shoot.”
“Let him go.”
“Shoot!”
“You’ll die miserably.”
“Who are you? Why did you tie me up?”
“Er Lang’s mother—”
“......”
“What have you done?”
“Step back.”

The corridor of the boathouse was dim, with no lamps; faint firelight from the kitchen and the glow of an oil lamp in the living room cast slight hues at either end, painting an atmosphere of suffocating confrontation. A giant man, crossbow, sharp blade, blood, a hostage barely clinging to life, water flowing beneath their feet. The giant held the crossbow, shouting angrily, unable to restrain the murderous aura emanating from him. The figure a few meters away seemed insignificant in comparison, yet that hand gripped the sharp blade calmly, hooked at the hostage’s throat.

As the giant’s furious threats echoed, the response came directly, not intense nor flippant but brief, quiet, and steady—like a pillar fixed in a raging current. Sometimes it seemed the water would engulf it, but the next moment, as the waves splashed, it remained unchanged. Nearly every utterance from the giant was met with an immediate reply, no hesitation or delay, pressing the giant’s anger back.

The figure took a deep breath, gritting his teeth, speaking slowly and deliberately: “What have you done to them…”

“You guess.”

“What did you do—”

The roar was deafening, but the reply, quiet and swift, pressed beneath it: “If you like, guess again.”

The giant’s jaw trembled as he stared at the figure, as if he wished to devour him whole, then took a deep breath and finally stepped back.

“I misjudged you…”

“That’s good.” The only way out was through the living room. Ning Yi watched that step, answered coldly, and pushed the staggering hostage forward. The giant retreated another step.

“If they’re unharmed, we can talk.”

“Fine.”

“As long as they’re alive.”

“Fine.”

“...Otherwise, I swear to kill your whole family.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll skin you alive, make sure you die horribly.”

“Fine.”

“Ning Yi, Ning Liheng.”

A few steps, a few exchanges, indifferent and perfunctory answers. The giant had now reached the living room’s doorway, the light casting on his side. His expression twisted spasmodically with anger, furious at such responses. Normally, even a scholar like Ning Yi would tremble at his mere presence.

Behind the hostage, the scholar who had been cautiously peeking with one eye now tilted his head, both eyes coldly gazing at the giant. Yet, he realized the giant’s reaction was not because he had shouted that name. The gaze lingered, and then Ning Yi spoke, deliberate and slow: “Keep stepping back, keep talking, don’t. Stop.”

Yang Yi slowly turned, retreating across the threshold between living room and corridor.

The flickering lamp flame in the living room cast his massive shadow toward the door. Hiding beside the door, Yang Heng gripped a steel blade, exchanging a glance with him. From the first words, he hadn’t rushed into the passage but stood by the door, poised to respond. In the corridor, Ning Yi watched the shifting shadows, still pushing the hostage forward. Neither party could see the other.

“Who sent you?”

“There are rules in every trade.”

Yang Yi retreated with the crossbow, kicking a stool aside.

“You won’t escape.”

“Mhm.”

“This is outside the city, no one will come to save you.”

“Oh.”

“Even if you leave this house, you’ll die.”

“Fine.”

“I admit I misjudged you, but you’re just a scholar. You’ll fear making a wrong step… and you’ll die.”

Ning Yi’s figure appeared at the doorway, coldly watching, turning the hostage around. Yang Yi shook his head.

“I, Yang Yi, can accept defeat—just spare my family, anything can be negotiated.”

The dim lamp light made the room feel even darker under the tense confrontation. Yang Heng pressed against the wall by the door, steel blade in hand, eyes wary. Nearby, Ning Yi was about to push the hostage inside, the sharp blade still pressed at the throat. He quietly watched the hand gripping the blade.

At the table, Yang Yi’s expression softened: “I keep my word.”

As footsteps crossed the threshold, a slight shift in voice sounded: “How do we negotiate?”

At that moment, the tension seemed to reach its lowest. By the wall, Yang Heng’s left fingers gently moved, preparing to raise his hand. In the next instant, a shout erupted.

“Watch out—”
“Careful—”

The previously subdued atmosphere surged to a climax. For the first time, Ning Yi shouted aloud. Shadows flickered, lamp light swayed, the rush of wind, a black shadow swung fiercely toward Yang Heng. Yang Heng raised his blade, severing the rope in midair.

A clay pot spun and flew, closing the distance. Instinctively, Yang Heng raised his elbow.

Boom—

“Aaaaah—”
“You—”
“Shoot—”
“I’ll kill you—”
“You’re dead, you’re dead.”
“Pull the trigger, pull the trigger—”

Fragments of the clay pot exploded in the dark room, boiling oil splashing onto Yang Heng’s upper body. Instantly, cries of pain erupted amid the sizzling burns. Yang Yi raised the crossbow, shouting furiously, no longer holding back, ready to charge. Ning Yi shoved the hostage forward, rushing into the room, dragging him into a corner.

The three voices overlapped, Yang Heng’s elbow and upper body blocked much of the boiling oil, sparing his head, but one eye was still affected. It was summer; he wore only a single layer. Half his body was drenched in oil. Amid screams, he slashed a nearby stool, cursing fiercely, blisters rising on face and body, grotesque as a monster ready to pounce. Yang Yi shook his head vigorously.

“I don’t believe you’ll let him go—”

“He won’t dare kill Da Lang, he won’t dare—”

“Come on, try it, why not pull the trigger?”

“I won’t let you out.”

“Kill him.”

“Come here, no matter what happens, if anything goes wrong, this blade will cut his throat immediately…”

“You won’t leave this door today.”

“Block the door.”

“His windpipe will be torn open, blood will gush from his throat, mostly foam. Of course your son will feel pain, then he’ll realize he can’t breathe…”

“If he dies, you die…”

“I’ll cut off your hand—”

“Do you know what it feels like not to breathe? Imagine, imagine—like a fish out of water, his whole body will convulse, limbs flailing, his throat already cut, maybe he’ll claw at it, then more blood, more blood, until he feels nothing. This process, you might enjoy a cup of tea while watching…”

“You’ll die worse than him.”

“But he’s your son.”

The three men in the room, like three points of confrontation, occasionally shifted, keeping their distance. Their speech was rapid-fire. Yang Yi blocked the door with the crossbow, resolute, aiming at Ning Yi’s vital spots. Yang Heng, fierce and brutal, threatened to pounce. Ning Yi spoke quietly and swiftly, watching the two giants. Whenever Yang Heng feinted forward, Ning Yi adjusted, and Yang Heng retreated.

“I won’t negotiate further, you won’t let my son go.”

“He won’t dare make a move.”

“If you move, I move.”

“No one leaves today.”

“We’ll see who lasts longer—your son or me…”

“Aah—”

Yang Heng suddenly roared, swinging his blade as if to rush forward. Ning Yi’s left hand flashed out something, sparks flickered in the room: “Come on.” It was a fire starter from the kitchen. Yang Heng, monstrous-faced, halted, shouting, “Throw it!”

“I will throw it.”

“Then throw it here.”

“If you dare, come—”

Yang Heng lunged forward, Ning Yi waved his hand, Yang Heng stopped and retreated, but the fire starter was never truly thrown. This repeated several times. The giant seemed desperate, constantly trying to approach. He was certain Ning Yi wouldn’t kill the hostage unless desperate, hoping for chaos and an opening. Ning Yi, holding the blade to the hostage, shifted positions. Yang Yi, crossbow in hand, watched warily. At a certain moment, Yang Heng and Yang Yi exchanged a glance; Yang Heng suddenly charged.

The room was already taut to the limit, all three stretched to breaking point. Ning Yi waved, Yang Heng shifted again, then another shout. Their positions crossed, the fire starter was thrown toward Yang Heng.

Yang Yi moved faster, kicking a stool aside, the fire starter was knocked away. Yang Heng charged without restraint. Ning Yi grabbed at the oil lamp on the pillar. The lamp didn’t budge—it was nailed to the pillar. Yang Heng closed in, grabbing at the blade pressed to his nephew’s throat. Yang Yi kicked aside another stool, advancing.

Ning Yi’s left hand plunged into the oil lamp, scattering kerosene.

The room darkened for an instant. Yang Heng’s left hand seized the sharp blade, pulling it away. In the next moment, fire blazed between Ning Yi and Yang Heng.

Boom—

Flames surged, sweeping in both directions.

In that instant, Ning Yi used the lamp’s wick and kerosene to ignite his opponent’s body—and his own left hand.

In the eruption of fire and Yang Heng’s screams, his hand still pulled the blade from his nephew’s throat. Ning Yi yanked the blade, blood spurting amid the fire. Yang Yi closed in, aiming the crossbow. Ning Yi released the hostage, dashed to the side, and swung the blade at Yang Heng’s head.

“Aaaaaa—”
“Yaa—”
“Aa—”

The crossbow bolt shot past Ning Yi’s back, Yang Heng screamed as flames consumed him, Yang Yi shouted, Ning Yi swung his blade with all his might. Their shadows crossed in an instant, flames raging wildly. Yang Yi seized the opportunity, grabbed his son’s shoulder, pushed him aside, tried to grab Ning Yi, but missed. Ning Yi, who had charged at Yang Heng, now rushed out with Yang Yi’s son. Yang Yi failed to react in time, watching as his brother burned, a blade embedded deep in his head. When he pursued Ning Yi and his son, he realized they were tied together by a rope.

The blood-soaked scholar nearly pushed the son to the other side of the room, then turned, pulling an iron spike from his back and pressing it to the son’s throat, glaring at the others.

Yang Heng retreated a few steps, collapsing amid the flames. The fire wasn’t fatal—if he escaped to the river, he might survive—but Ning Yi seized on his panic, delivering a fatal blow to the head.

Everyone was scheming. Earlier, Yang Heng and Yang Yi exposed a flaw, luring Ning Yi to throw the fire starter. Had Ning Yi not moved to the oil lamp, he wouldn’t have thrown it so easily. The room belonged to the Yang brothers; they knew the lamp was fixed, Ning Yi didn’t. Yang Heng risked himself to break the deadlock, but Ning Yi responded with ruthless ferocity, igniting his own hand to set his opponent ablaze.

At the far end of the room, Ning Yi still held the hostage in front of him. His left hand that had gripped the chest was now burning fiercely. Yang Yi turned with grief and anger, Ning Yi looked back coldly, slapping the burning hand against the hostage, then himself; kerosene soaked his arm and wrist, the flames wouldn’t die. Yang Yi watched him wave his hand in the air, then suddenly clenched it into a fist, swung it forcefully.

With a thunderous sound.

Behind him was a black clay wine jar—large, thick-walled, still burning. Who knows how much strength he used, but he smashed the jar with one blow, likely fracturing or breaking his hand. Wine flooded out, and he plunged his arm into it, extinguishing the flames. The hand trembled, seemingly ruined.

Yet the cold gaze and the iron spike pressed to his son’s throat didn’t move at all; only the furrowed brow spasmed several times…

Fierce and wild, begging for votes.