Faraway Wanderers Novel (English Translation)

A Rude Awakening

Chapter 54.

Night had come.

Winter had passed. It was the period where cold snaps made their occasional reappearance as the weather warmed; amongst the fresh scent of nature, a hint of chill seeped through, especially apparent close to the water.

The river, which had just thawed, flowed by silently. By it stood a man in crimson with a blood-red birthmark the size of a palm over his cheek--he was none other than the Delighted Mourning Ghost Sun Ding. His face was turned aside to monitor his surroundings closely. One of his hands was splayed open, fingers slightly curled as it hung by his side. Under the light of the moon, a lustre that did not resemble that of ordinary skin reflected clearly off it.

Out of the blue, a few dark figures barrelled towards him. Sun Ding rose into the air, and swiftly engaged in a brawl with these men clothed in black garb.

Among the ten most abominable Ghosts of the Ghost Valley, though the “Delighted Mourning Ghost”, “Hanged Ghost”, and the “Ghost of Impermanence” were at the top, this did not mean that the other villainous characters were not skilled. These people had merely put down roots in the Ghost Valley long ago; they knew how to get people on their side and quash others, and had already become forces in their own right.

While Delighted Mourning Ghost Sun Ding’s Raksha Palms were not at a level of skill that would have gone unmatched by any who came before or after him, they were, at least, a unique technique in the pugilist world of the Central Plains at present. Those who were struck died instantly within three steps. A blood-red palm print would be left on the corpse, from the front of the chest over the heart all the way through to the back. The technique was domineeringly formidable.

Though suddenly besieged late at night, he was not panicked. As though he was not afraid in the slightest, a pair of wicked palms hurtled in all directions, weaving a tight, all-encompassing formation. To him, they were mere bugs that had overestimated their abilities; before long, they fled, too weak to withstand even one blow. Yet, Sun Ding didn’t give chase, but merely bent down and rucked up the clothes of one corpse. Glimpsing the ghost mask tattooed on the waist, he scoffed coldly.

Approximately less than half a shichen later, a man appeared from behind him and walked over. He frowned, bent to look at the ghost mask on the corpse’s waist, and asked, “What happened?”

Sun Ding kept his hands back in his sleeves, swept a cool gaze over him, and said, “Lao Meng, you’re late.”

--This Lao Meng was none other than the assistant Gu Xiang had gotten to dig that day, when Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing had been deep in the enemy’s lair. As usual, he was wearing common coarse clothes of cotton and linen. When he walked fast, one could tell that the left leg of this man was slightly lame, though it was not obvious and could only be identified upon very close observation. His features were plain; if he did not have a serious expression on, he even looked a little kind. His front was covered by a large apron usually seen on pig slaughterers--just as Wen Kexing had ordered, he had really changed into a butcher’s outfit.

Lao Meng plucked the mask from that corpse’s face, squatted on the ground to turn his thoughts over in his mind for a moment, then sighed and stood. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s Xue Fang’s lackey.”

Raising his head, he saw Sun Ding staring at his large apron in interest, and explained, “I changed into this as per the Valley Master’s command. Does Sun-xiong have any opinion about this?”

Sun Ding scoffed coldly, and said, “The Valley Master? Is that unweaned brat who won’t be siring any descendants worth your scurrying back and forth to ingratiate yourself with him like a lapdog[1]?”