Chapter 15: Bloody Battle on the Long Street

Lu Ming’s brows furrowed as he asked, “What is it?”

“It’s a scroll, an heirloom passed down through generations of the Huang family patriarchs. Legend has it that this scroll emits a certain energy that can help one improve their martial prowess. It has always been the Huang family’s most prized treasure,” Huang Chao explained with great effort.

Upon hearing this, Lu Ming’s eyes narrowed. He pondered for a moment before speaking. “Very well. Tell me about your grudge with the Huang family, and I’ll consider whether to help you.”

Sensing Lu Ming’s interest, Huang Chao summoned the last of his strength and recounted the story of how he and the Huang family became bitter enemies.

After listening, Lu Ming sighed and reflected briefly before saying, “In that case, I’ll accept your assets and influence, and I’ll cripple Huang Zhanyi for you as vengeance. As for the rest of the Huang family, their fate rests in their own hands. Are you satisfied?”

Huang Chao’s face was filled with unwillingness, but in the end, he nodded and said, “I hate them so much!”

Immediately after, he spit out a mouthful of blood—this time, with a shattered heart among it—and died on the spot.

Watching Huang Chao’s death, so full of resentment, Lu Ming sighed inwardly. His fate had indeed been tragic: used by his family, then discarded. Anyone would be left with regret and bitterness.

But this was all Lu Ming could offer—to avenge him by crippling Huang Zhanyi. As for the family’s treasured scroll, though he was intrigued, he had no intention of seizing it by force; he’d find another way. As for the notion of slaughtering an entire family, as Huang Chao had suggested, that was entirely out of the question.

He bore no deep-seated hatred for the Huang family. If he committed such an atrocity simply for wealth, he would become a pariah. Even during his years as a mercenary, he’d never done such a thing—let alone now.

At that moment, Futuo stepped forward, bowing his head to Lu Ming, then took off his shirt and began to clean the blood from the floor. When finished, he carefully wrapped the shattered heart in the shirt and tied it at his waist. Then, lifting Huang Chao’s corpse, he prepared to leave.

Lu Ming watched Futuo’s actions and suddenly spoke. “Loyal men like you are rare these days. I’ll give you a challenge: with Huang Chao dead, others are sure to covet his territory. If you can withstand this onslaught, the territory will remain yours to manage. Any other issues, I’ll handle for you—consider it a reward for your loyalty.”

Hearing this, Futuo bowed deeply, cradling Huang Chao’s corpse, and left in silence.

He had no interest in Huang Chao’s wealth or influence. If he could hold onto the domain Huang Chao had worked so hard to build, it would at least bring some comfort to his spirit in the afterlife. This was the last thing he could do for his master.

From the moment Lu Ming killed Huang Chao with a single punch, Futuo knew that Lu Ming was a true powerhouse. In the world they lived in, debts were always repaid; if you killed, you had to be prepared to be killed. Though he felt sorrow and anger at his master’s death, he did not blame Lu Ming.

His hatred was reserved for the Huang family, who had stood by and let Huang Chao die. He’d witnessed firsthand how much his master had given for the family. Now, to see him so callously abandoned—he could not accept it.

Carrying Huang Chao’s corpse, Futuo returned to the Apex KTV, placing the body in a secret chamber. From the wall, he took down the Great Tang Blade—a weapon that had always been Huang Chao’s favorite. It was a two-handed sword, as tall as a man, its blade gleaming coldly, sharp and imposing.

This sword had been custom-made for Huang Chao in the style of a Tang dynasty blade, forged with modern techniques. During its first trial, it had cleaved a sturdy horse in two from head to tail—a testament to its sharpness.

With the massive blade nearly his own height, Futuo entered Huang Chao’s office and sat in his old chair, waiting in silence.

Night deepened. The moon hung high overhead.

It was already past eleven, yet tonight, Chang’an Avenue was eerily quiet.

Usually, this was the most bustling time on the street—bright lights, lively crowds. But tonight, not a soul was in sight, and a chilling aura of imminent violence hung in the air.

The clock on the wall struck midnight. Futuo rose and left the office.

Outside, more than thirty burly men stood, each gripping a machete, their faces solemn as they waited for the coming battle.

Gazing at them, Futuo said, “Seeing you all here brings me solace. Huang Chao did not teach you in vain. Tonight, whether we live or die, let fate decide.”

“Swear to defend Master Huang’s honor!” the thirty men roared as one, following Futuo out of KTV and into the middle of the street.

Like Futuo, they were all orphans, bullied and abandoned, taken in and raised by Huang Chao. Over the years, their bond had become that of father and sons.

Now that their master was dead and others sought to seize his territory, how could they allow it?

At that moment, crowds appeared at both ends of the street, surging forward, weapons in hand—hundreds in all.

“I’ll take the west. You head east,” Futuo instructed simply.

Without hesitation, the thirty men turned east, charging into the oncoming throng.

A savage grin flickered across Futuo’s otherwise impassive face. Raising the Great Tang Blade, he charged into the fray in silence.

“Kill!”

“Slaughter them all—Xijing City will be ours!”

“Huang Chao, you’re finally dead—my time has come!”

“Once the Apex falls, Xijing will belong to us, Shoutian King!”

Futuo recognized the men of Zengtian King and Shoutian King. The two ringleaders themselves were somewhere amid the crowd—and they were his targets.

The air rang with the clash of metal and the sickening crunch of blade meeting bone.

No one could stand before Futuo’s blade. He paid no mind to the swords and knives slashing at him, focused only on killing.

In moments, he was covered in seven or eight wounds, but more than a dozen enemies lay at his feet, nearly all cleaved in two.

Silent as a machine, Futuo seemed to feel neither pain nor fear; his cold eyes never wavered.

As his wounds multiplied, so too did the corpses piling around him. Gradually, the attackers began to falter, terrified by Futuo’s madness.

“Don’t be afraid—he’s at his limit! Attack! After tonight, you’ll want for nothing!” Zengtian King shouted from within the mass.

He knew this was a golden opportunity. With Huang Chao suddenly dead, he and Shoutian King had immediately sealed off Chang’an Avenue in perfect synchrony. All they needed was to wipe out Futuo and the most loyal of Huang Chao’s men, storm the Apex KTV office, and the mountain that had long oppressed them would vanish—they could finally rise.

No matter how ferocious Futuo was, no matter the casualties, there could be no retreat. Once Futuo was dead, it would all be over.

On one side, Futuo fought with reckless abandon, trading injury for injury, life for life. With overwhelming momentum, he slaughtered his enemies by the hundreds.

On the other, the thirty loyalists clashed with the hundreds of Shoutian King’s men. In the first rush, five or six fell, but the rest held their ground, covering each other and fighting back fiercely.

By now, Futuo’s vision was filled with nothing but enemies. Anyone before him, he struck down without hesitation. His own wounds meant nothing to him—Huang Chao had saved his life. He would die for him without regret.

He had no idea how many wounds he bore—only that his strength was fading and his sword growing heavier.

Suddenly, a saber thrust into his back at a vicious angle, punching through his chest. With the last of his strength, Futuo spun and struck. His blade nearly split his assailant in two.

Blood blurred his vision. He no longer cared who had stabbed him; it didn’t matter anymore. He could no longer lift his sword.

“Huang Chao, I’m coming to join you,” he murmured in his heart, using the Great Tang Blade to support himself as he stood in the street, eyes drifting closed.

And just as he closed his eyes, he thought he saw a lazy figure approaching him…

…

In the top-floor office of the Apex KTV, Lu Ming sat in the executive chair, his legs crossed atop the desk, gazing at the four bodies neatly laid out before him.

One was Futuo; the other three, Huang Chao’s most loyal men.

He had been napping in his shop, but Futuo’s actions kept bringing memories of his old brothers to mind—men who had once followed him with the same unwavering loyalty, willing to die for him.

In the end, he could not suppress his feelings. He came to Chang’an Avenue and witnessed the battle.

By the final moments, more than half of Wentian King’s men lay dead or wounded, their morale shattered. Wentian King himself launched a sneak attack on Futuo, but Futuo—using nothing but his flesh—managed to pin down his blade and cut him in two.

Elsewhere, only twelve of Huang Chao’s diehards remained alive, and Shoutian King’s men were in a similar state, morale broken. Shoutian King was forced to join the fight himself.

The diehards, seeing Shoutian King appear, launched a suicidal assault, besieging him without regard for their own lives.

Life for life.

At the cost of nine more lives, they finally hacked Shoutian King to death, and the three remaining loyalists were barely clinging to life.

With both leaders dead, the rest looked at the blood-soaked street and the unyielding figure of Futuo, and finally fled in terror.

At that point, Lu Ming carried Futuo and the three surviving loyalists from the field of corpses to this office.

Futuo’s entire body was mangled, his flesh flayed open by massive wounds. The gash across his chest had nearly severed him in two; his blood had long since drained away. The other three were in similar states.

Lu Ming frowned, seemingly lost in thought.

At last, he shook his head, then used his thumbnail to slice open his index finger. He walked over to the four men.

“Whether this is fortune or calamity—your fate is in your own hands.”