Chapter 7: Metamorphosis

The battle between Hu San and Marshmallow, though it seemed lengthy in the telling, was in truth over in an instant. The palm strike that, in Marshmallow’s eyes, gathered a haze of murderous intent appeared entirely unremarkable to all others. Moreover, as the two combatants drifted away from the main fray into the darkness, the strange events surrounding Marshmallow went wholly unnoticed by the gathered martial artists.

All they saw was Hu San unleashing a palm strike, then thrusting forward with his sword, sending the seemingly invincible Marshmallow crashing into the undergrowth, dead at last. Of course, much of this was the result of their own imaginations; after all, who could accept the truth—that Marshmallow had dissolved into a wisp of black mist?

No matter how it happened, Hu San emerged as the final victor. He exhaled, still shaken, his mind replaying the moment he had transformed into a monstrous fish and struck out. Yet, try as he might, he could not recapture that uncanny sensation now. Even though imitating the trajectory of that strike still produced a formidable blow—enough to count as a unique technique—it could not compare to the true might of that earlier attack.

“Well, greed knows no bounds. To be alive is blessing enough,” he consoled himself, halting his fruitless attempts at imitation and christening the move “Bird Strike.” Bird Strike gathered all his strength into a single blow; at his current level, one use left him utterly drained, needing rest before he could fight again. Thus, he resolved to use this technique only with utmost caution.

“Who exactly was that man? Things are unlikely to end so simply. No matter—survival is all that matters now. If I don’t make it through this ordeal, nothing else means anything.” The memory of Marshmallow’s eerie abilities sent a shiver up Hu San’s spine, but his attention was soon drawn to the crowd, where a longbow-wielding bandit caught his eye.

He bent to pick up the small black sword—once so strange and menacing in his hands, it now seemed drained of all vitality, radiating only a chill. With no answers forthcoming, Hu San slipped it into his sleeve. It was, in effect, his very first true weapon. Judging from the battle, the sword was certainly a treasure; even if it held no special properties, it was sharp enough to slice cleanly through stone, as witnessed when it fell from the sky and split a sharp rock in two.

As for any reckoning to come, Hu San was too burdened already to care; his only concern was surviving Longbow Zhang’s looming threat. With Marshmallow’s defeat, the already precarious position of the Tianya stronghold grew ever more desperate. When Hu San, having rested, returned to the fight, the tide turned swiftly and decisively.

It was not long before the Wolfheart stronghold’s bandits completed their encirclement of the Tianya forces. The moment the Death Judge was struck in the chest by Mohe, the outcome was sealed.

In the end, the battle closed with a pyrrhic victory for Wolfheart. Out of roughly a hundred bandits, more than thirty lay dead and over twenty wounded. Of the hundred-plus attackers from Tianya, all perished save for the vanished Marshmallow.

Under Mohe’s command, the surviving bandits set about clearing the battlefield—finishing off wounded enemies and, if any of their own were beyond saving, putting them out of their misery as well.

The next order of business was collecting spoils and tallying merits. These bandits, not much different from common soldiers, required both martial skill and battlefield merit to advance. In this chaotic region, “merit” meant one thing: heads taken in combat.

When the count was done, all eyes turned to Hu San with newfound respect. A rough tally put his kill count at ten, not including the havoc he wrought at the fringes of the fight or the defeat of Marshmallow, second only to the Death Judge himself.

Though Hu San still appeared outwardly incapable of violence, none dared underestimate him now. Even Longbow Zhang, who had once wished to flay him alive, concealed his hostility in front of the others.

With this battle, Hu San had secured his place among the bandits, carving out a niche for himself in the ranks. Yet to think all his troubles were ended would be folly—if anything, they had grown more severe. There was still Longbow Zhang’s determination to eliminate him, and the suspicion of the other elite bandits.

Most troubling of all was the attitude of the Third Chief. By rights, Hu San should have been promoted to squad leader and granted his own weapon. In that case, Longbow Zhang would have had to proceed with far greater caution. But, come time for rewards, the Third Chief withheld all honors on the grounds that Hu San was not yet officially part of their ranks. Not only was he denied promotion, he received not so much as a weapon.

His only consolation was a generous share of meat during the subsequent feast, enough to sate his gnawing hunger.

Beside a blazing bonfire, the burly bandits sprawled about, each clutching a wine jug and tearing hunks of meat from the roasting carcasses. At a lonely corner sat two youths—Hu San and Lin Hu—who had survived the slaughter together.

They stuffed their bellies with unknown game, replenishing both hunger and strength. After a while, Lin Hu, holding a slab of fatty meat, patted his distended stomach with a sigh. Never in his life had he eaten so much meat. He wished his belly were as big as a water jar, but reality was unforgiving—a boy of twelve could manage only a couple of handfuls before being full.

In truth, from his current vantage, Lin Hu no longer felt the bandit’s life so unbearable. If it meant meat every day, why mind being a bandit?

Hu San, meanwhile, was like a bottomless pit, swallowing piece after piece. In just a short time, he had devoured over twenty chunks—perhaps fifteen pounds or more—yet showed no sign of stopping, all the while monitoring the changes within his body.

At some point, he realized that eating meat produced a subtle warmth inside him, instantly restoring his exhausted body. More importantly, this faint current seemed to strengthen him, body and limb.

Thus, Hu San ate both to fill his belly and to chase this new vitality, not to mention the unprecedented taste.

The Third Chief, though outwardly indifferent, felt a measure of sympathy for the unfair treatment Hu San received and ensured he had all the meat he wanted. By the time Hu San alone had consumed two-thirds of the wild game, the feast finally ended.

Lin Hu glanced at the newcomers sitting on the grass nearby, their eyes filled with envy as they watched the feast. Even from a distance, he could hear their stomachs rumble.

He sighed inwardly. Though he felt a pang of pity, he dared not speak up; he knew too well how he’d come by his own good fortune—he was in no position to interfere.

Looking again at the bandits feasting nearby, Lin Hu could not help but feel indignant on Hu San’s behalf. He muttered, “Brother San, the Third Chief’s actions are really unfair. If not for this, you’d be leading your own squad by now, with some real authority.”

“These matters are at the chief’s discretion. We risk our lives as we should—why dwell on rewards? Besides, the chief’s actions are fair. We haven’t truly joined the ranks yet. To receive rewards now would be improper. Say no more of it.” That was Hu San’s reply. He was no naïve child like Lin Hu; their ordeal had forced him to mature by leaps and bounds.

Though the phrase “walls have ears” was unknown to him, Hu San understood the principle well enough. Having witnessed Marshmallow’s powers, which he believed to be those of a true martial artist, he was all the more wary and envious of such strength. He did not believe for a moment that their whispers could escape the Third Chief’s notice.

In truth, Hu San was quite content with his reward. Had he been made squad leader, Longbow Zhang would have been more cautious, making it harder to resolve their conflict quickly. In that case, their battle would drag on—a dire prospect for the outnumbered Hu San. Like Longbow Zhang, he preferred a swift resolution, lest future troubles multiply.

“This young man is shrewd—if he survives, I wouldn’t mind promoting him myself,” thought the Third Chief. Hu San’s caution had not gone amiss; the chief’s keen hearing easily picked up their words, and Hu San’s prudence earned him good marks.

After a brief rest, the group set out again. The newcomers, still hungry despite their aching feet, dared not utter a word after the bloody ordeal. They pressed on in silence, causing far fewer problems than before.