Chapter Eleven: Who Can Truly Comprehend the Warmth and Chill of the Human World

Who can truly know the warmth and coldness of the world? Wu Hong did not simply stand quietly in place; instead, he planted his feet firmly in a bow stance, knees bent, and began to test his strength against Manman right where they stood.

“Look over there! Who is that man? He’s actually challenging that big oaf in a contest of strength, and it seems like he’s actually holding his own! That’s incredible! Who is he?” Someone who had just set aside his sword and knife asked a friend nearby.

“You don’t know? Take a good look at that young man—he’s dressed as a steward, but no one’s ever heard of him before. He’s thin, his complexion sallow—must be that Hong Wu who’s become so famous over the past month. I heard he demonstrated some godlike skill in butchering an ox before Master Huang just yesterday!”

A thunderous sound shook the ground. Manman, having recovered from his initial surprise, was still determined not to lose to Wu Hong. After all, he had been the one to start the contest, and yet his opponent hadn’t even budged—how humiliating! Lifting one massive leg, Manman stomped the ground with all his might, shattering the stone beneath him.

But no matter how much effort Manman exerted, Wu Hong stood like an unmovable mountain.

Noticing the faint black aura shimmering over Manman’s skin, Wu Hong smiled, inwardly delighted at the prowess of the body-forging technique from the Sun Buddha’s True Sutra. Just in the initial “Refining Flesh” stage, without even achieving perfection, he was already stronger than this black-skinned giant!

“Come here, brother!” Wu Hong suddenly exerted his strength. Though his skinny arm showed no swelling muscle, he let out a loud shout.

Manman felt his own arm caught in an overwhelming force, his entire body losing balance as he pitched forward.

With a crash, Manman was dragged down to the ground by Wu Hong’s strength.

“Wow, Hong Wu’s strength is astonishing! He actually beat Manman, who’s at the Blood Tempering stage, using raw physical power alone! Unbelievable!”

The onlookers began to murmur excitedly. Niu Dali, in particular, was all but jumping for joy. He had known Wu Hong was strong, but never imagined he was this strong.

“You’re bullying me! I’m not playing with you anymore!” Manman rolled over, sat on the ground, and to everyone’s shock, began wiping his eyes and wailing loudly.

This sight—a hulking black-skinned man, hair like steel bristles, body as massive as an elephant, sitting on the ground bawling like a child, limbs flailing—stunned everyone into silence.

“Am I seeing this right?” one servant rubbed his eyes. When he realized it wasn’t a dream, his stomach turned and he doubled over, retching.

Even Wu Hong was dumbfounded by the display. “This—this—this—” He could not reconcile the image of this black tower of a man rolling on the ground like a tantrum-throwing child.

Wu Hong was at a loss before this mountain of a man called Manman. He almost wanted to say, “Be good, uncle will buy you a sweet,” but the words stuck in his throat.

“Manman, stop this nonsense!” Steward Zhao barked coldly from the side.

The effect was immediate. Manman sprang to his feet like a child caught misbehaving, head down in silence.

Everyone watching clicked their tongues in amazement.

“Steward Hong, Manman is just a bit childish—please don’t take it to heart. We’ll be going now.” Steward Zhao forced a smile, bowing in apology.

Wu Hong had always been the sort to return respect tenfold for every measure given, and truthfully, he hadn’t taken offense at Manman’s rudeness. In fact, he found a certain fondness for this black tower of a man.

“Steward Zhao, you’re too kind. Manman and I were only sparring; there’s nothing improper about it.”

After some polite exchanges, Steward Zhao left with Manman in tow.

By now, the sun was high and bright, and the crowd of martial artists dispersed to their own affairs.

Niu Dali led Wu Hong on a few more rounds of the Huang residence, after which they returned to the slaughterhouse.

As he walked, Wu Hong reflected on the changes that had come over him in the past month—so great that even he could scarcely believe it. Unwittingly, he found himself outside the gates of the Huang residence.

He wandered down the bustling street, unchanged from days past, until he saw a beggar on the roadside.

He still had some spare change in his pocket. Perhaps now, he no longer cared for such small sums, but he remembered that just a month ago, he had despaired over the price of a single steamed bun. Compassion welled up in him.

“Sir, please, have pity! Spare me some food or a few coins—I haven’t eaten in three days!” The beggar, seeing Wu Hong approach, knelt to beg.

Wu Hong crouched down and saw that the beggar was in fact a frail little girl, her face smeared with dirt, hair a wild tangle. Yet her eyes were pure, though tinged with fear.

Wu Hong smiled gently. “Little sister, why are you begging on the street? Here, take this. Keep it safe, and find a new place to live.”

Moved by the purity in her gaze, so unlike those beggars who feigned misery for profit, Wu Hong’s heart ached. He tossed five taels of silver into her bowl—a sum that could support an ordinary family for months, a fortune for a beggar.

The little beggar girl, hearing Wu Hong’s gentle words and seeing the large silver ingot in her bowl, was struck speechless. Her bright black eyes brimmed with tears. “Big brother, you’re a truly good person!”

Though her voice was barely audible, to Wu Hong it sounded like music from heaven.

The words brought memories flooding back—of his own youth as the eldest son of Prince Wuwei. Because he could not practice martial arts, he had always been ridiculed by others. He had responded by adopting the role of a notorious wastrel in the capital, hiding his inner fragility behind a mask of extravagance. He had never committed truly wicked acts, but womanizing, bullying, gambling—he had done all those things. And now, to be called a good person by a little beggar girl, he felt a sudden pang of emotion. How hard it was to judge right from wrong in this world! People judge so easily, based on a single moment, never seeing the whole.

Madam Zhao, wife of Prince Wuwei and one of his three principal wives, had cared for Wu Hong after his own mother died in childbirth. She had raised him with the utmost devotion—until one day, for reasons unknown, everything changed.

Wu Hong shook his head. That one phrase from the beggar girl had stirred so many memories. He felt old. He said to her, “Little one, I am no good man. I’m just a bad man who beats up other bad people.”

With that, Wu Hong stood and walked away.

The little beggar girl watched him go, her eyes shining with hope.

Wu Hong did not pause, leaving Huangyun Town behind until he reached a ruined temple. The place stirred his heart, for he had lived there for quite some time.

The door creaked open as he pushed it. To his surprise, the dusty old tables and chairs within seemed recently tidied. Could it have been his master? Wu Hong was startled.

“Master!” he called loudly, but received no answer.

He muttered to himself, “So, he must still be living here. How shameful that I’ve spent a whole month enjoying myself at the Huang residence and forgotten the old master who sold me the Sun Buddha’s True Sutra!”

Wu Hong’s heart swelled with gratitude and anticipation at the thought of seeing his teacher again. If they met, he would surely kneel and knock his head in thanks.

Searching the ruined temple for clues, he found much of the floor swept clear, as if by hurried hands.

“Did more people move in after I left? Is my master among them?” He puzzled over this but found no answer, and so decided to wait. If people were living here, they’d surely return to sleep at night.

Finding the wait tedious, Wu Hong began to practice the Sun Buddha’s Nineteen Forms, spending several hours at it. He found his body-forging technique had reached a bottleneck. If he saw his master later, he would ask for guidance.

“How much did you get today, Little Black?” Just as Wu Hong was about to resume his practice, voices drifted in from outside the temple.

He quickly hid behind the Buddha statue.

“Damn it, so little? Do you take me for a beggar? No food for you tonight!” A middle-aged man’s coarse voice rang out, punctuated by the sounds of blows and kicks. The victim dared not cry out, only stifled groans.

“Brothers, bring those crippled brats in!”

With a crash, the speaker kicked open the temple door. A disheveled adult beggar entered, followed by many others. Two men carried each crippled child into the temple.

From his hiding place, Wu Hong watched with horror as pairs of adult beggars carried in disabled children—none looked older than ten. Each child was deformed: some missing legs, others arms, some with faces ruined beyond recognition.

The disabled children were set on the ground, each with a look of terror and suppressed tears, bodies trembling.

There were also some healthy boys, no older than ten, who followed the adults inside.

Wu Hong recognized one familiar face among them—the little beggar girl from earlier, her expression now full of fear.

The beggar leader was also familiar: he was the same man who had bullied Wu Hong on the roadside, snatching coins from his bowl and claiming to be a leader of the Beggars’ Guild.

“Time to collect, brothers!” the beggar chief cried excitedly. The adult beggars rushed to the crippled children, snatching up their begging bowls to rifle through the coins.

“Search carefully! Don’t let them hide anything on their bodies, either!” barked the leader. His men frisked the children thoroughly, afraid any might be keeping something for themselves.

“Boss, this girl’s got something!” one of the beggars called out, having found the girl clutching her only pocket with both hands.

The chief’s face first lit up with glee, then darkened in anger. “So, you’ve got the nerve to keep money from me?”

The little girl struggled, but she was no match for grown men. They pried her hands away and snatched the silver from her bag.

Wu Hong was furious, but held himself back, wanting to see just how shameless these beggars could be.

Seeing the large silver ingot, the beggar chief could barely contain his excitement. “Brothers, there’ll be wine and meat tonight!”

The little girl, full of grievance, recalled Wu Hong’s gentle smile. “My brother isn’t a good person—he’s a bad man who beats up bad people.” His words echoed in her ears. These beggars were all wicked, but she had no strength to resist.

The beggars, elated, sent their men out to buy food and wine. Soon, they were feasting and drinking, ignoring the crippled children who could only watch with hungry eyes.

After several rounds of wine, one beggar asked, “Boss, what about the ones who can still move?”

“Tiger, how many times must I tell you? Those kids we snatched from elsewhere—break their legs, break their arms, whatever it takes. That’s how they gain pity on the streets! Don’t make me repeat myself!”

Tiger, his face savage and his eyes glinting like a cat’s in the dark, said, “Boss, what about that little girl who tried to hide money? What do you want to do with her?”

“Tiger, are you stupid? Do you think I’m talking for my own amusement?” the chief slurred, clearly drunk.

“Boss, that’s not what I meant. It’s just—brothers have been with you a long time, but can’t afford the brothel, and we haven’t had a girl in months. We’re so frustrated…” Tiger leered at the girl, and the other beggars joined in his licentious laughter.

The children, overhearing the adults’ open discussion of their grim fate, were all terrified. The little girl’s face was full of despair.

A thunderous crash sounded. “Beasts!” Wu Hong, having heard enough, seized his hammer and smashed the Buddha statue to rubble with a single blow. The sound was deafening as thunder. Wu Hong stood, radiating purest Buddhist light, like a Bodhisattva descending to relieve suffering, and leapt before the crowd.