Chapter Seventy-Three: Flames Devour the Celestial Pavilion

Where great rewards are offered, there will always be those brave—or perhaps desperate—enough to claim them, even at the risk of death. Everyone present had witnessed Ding Li’s ferocity, but they understood all too well what the bare-chested man’s shout—“the next pleasure barge will be his”—truly meant. It promised not only endless prestige, a grand three-courtyard mansion in the precious real estate of Fuxu Town, but also daily feasts of wine and meat, and a dazzling array of wives, concubines, and servants.

Thus, a handful of men, undaunted by fear, charged forward. Even if they knew they might be struck down by Ding Li’s blade in the next instant, they pressed on. Some, though felled, still struggled to rise and rejoin the fight, only for Ding Li to finish them off without mercy, leaving them to crash to the ground in bitter defeat.

Faced with such relentless, fearless attackers, Ding Li ceased to hold back. Every strike of his blade was aimed to kill; each swing sent another opponent sprawling. Any who survived with even the faintest breath were quickly dispatched, or else kicked aside as Ding Li forced a bloody path forward.

In just a few strides, seven or eight hired thugs had fallen beneath his blade. Behind him, the bare-chested man breathed heavily, his eyes growing bloodshot. Losing the Yunxiao Pavilion would be bad enough, but if the body count continued to rise, Master Hua above would never let him off lightly.

Nervous and uncertain, the bare-chested man stared fixedly at Ding Li’s back. Ignoring the pain in his hands, he gritted his teeth and gripped his heavy-backed saber once more. Narrowing his eyes, he slowly raised his arm. When it was fully extended, he arched backward, a sudden glint flashing in his bloodshot gaze. He waited for Ding Li’s back to be completely exposed, then hurled the heavy saber forward with all his might, fingers releasing as the blade spun toward Ding Li.

The evil wind whistling behind him was warning enough; Ding Li didn’t need to look back to know he was in danger. But this inner corridor offered little space to dodge. In a split-second decision, he slashed at the two men before him, forcing them back, then twisted his body, hurling his own blade into the air. Before the two airborne weapons could collide, Ding Li dropped, arms over his head, curling himself tightly and launching himself toward a nearby window.

The solid wooden window shattered beneath his charge, spraying splinters everywhere. Yet, no splash followed—no sound of someone falling into the water. The crowd exchanged puzzled glances. A few at the front rushed to the broken window, two of them craning their heads outside, baffled—after all, just beyond the window was Little South Lake. Why hadn’t Ding Li fallen in?

“Watch for an ambush!” The bare-chested man shuddered, the first to sense something amiss. He cried out in warning, raising his arm to stop his men, but it was too late, and the distance too great.

Inside the pleasure barge, the thugs saw their two companions, still inside the window, suddenly convulse. Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, both were dragged outside without any effective resistance, their cries echoing as they vanished.

With two heavy splashes, the men hit the water.

Clinging to the outside of the pleasure barge, Ding Li paid no attention to the chaos behind him. He hauled himself upward in a single movement, his muscular legs appearing in the window, sending the thugs inside stumbling backward in alarm. Only then did a few recover their wits, howling as they swung their blades at the two legs perched on the sill.

But in a blink, the legs vanished. Dangling upside-down outside the second-floor window, Ding Li grunted, then swung himself up with a burst of strength. Smashing the wooden window with a backward elbow, he ducked inside.

“He’s on the second floor! Quick, stop that madman!” the thugs below shouted.

But none dared pursue him upstairs. The fire was growing ever fiercer, especially dangerous for a vessel built entirely of wood. Chasing Ding Li to the upper deck meant facing both his blade and the flames—a prospect few could stomach, even for the bare-chested man’s promised rewards. No one wanted to rush into a burning inferno, certain of death, least of all by fire.

“Put out the fire! Save the ship!” someone suddenly shouted. Before the bare-chested man could respond, the thugs had scattered, seizing on the excuse to douse the flames rather than chase Ding Li. After all, saving the ship was a legitimate and necessary task.

Normally, such cowardice would have enraged the bare-chested man, who would have broken a few legs or thrown some into the lake to cool off. But now, seeing his men panicked and the dead and wounded around him, he acquiesced. He realized that even with a pincer attack, Ding Li had escaped, and his own injury left him no match. Better to preserve his forces and face Master Hua’s wrath another day than to throw everything away and perish here.

Upstairs, Ding Li was oblivious to the changes below, nor did he care what his enemies were planning. He remembered his purpose: to set the fire and destroy the ship.

Unconcerned with the chaos beneath him, Ding Li went about his work on the second floor, tossing burning brands wherever he went. Perhaps because of the previous disaster at Caiyun Pavilion, or maybe simply due to slow business tonight, there weren’t many guests on the second floor. When a frightened patron emerged from a room to investigate, he pointed at Ding Li with a mix of terror and outrage. “Are you mad? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Get out! If you want to live, leave now!” Ding Li shot him a cold glance, his ‘goodwill’ clear in his warning. Not trusting the man to heed his advice, he threw the rest of his burning sticks at the man’s feet. The terrified guest screamed, shouted a warning to the others inside, and bolted for the stairs. “Run! There’s a madman trying to burn the ship! Run!”

The rooms on the second floor, never as well-insulated as the upper VIP levels, quickly filled with thick smoke. Whether it was the shrill warning or the choking haze, doors began to fly open. Guests glimpsed Ding Li, methodically setting new fires, and though baffled by the scene, their priority became escape—no one wanted to die for a meal.

As the guests rushed past, Ding Li made no move to stop them. It was as if he alone occupied the entire second floor. After making a circuit of the deck, he finally glanced down the stairs, watching the thugs below scramble about with buckets of seawater, their former arrogance replaced by sweat and panic. He curled his lip in disdain, muttered a curse under his breath, grabbed two more blazing sticks, and strode up to the third floor.

He had missed the spectacle of Caiyun Pavilion’s destruction, but now, as he reached the third floor, he was greeted by a scene reminiscent of that ill-fated pleasure barge’s VIP section: more than a dozen young women, trembling and huddled together. Terror deepened in their eyes as Ding Li appeared, a few unable to stifle their screams.

The shrill wails felt as if they would burst his eardrums. Ding Li frowned deeply—not at the noise, but at the realization of a grave oversight.

Burning the pleasure barge and destroying Master Hua were, in Ding Li’s mind, obligations—tasks entrusted to him by his benefactor, Zhang Mingzhi, and ones he accepted as his responsibility. Besides, Ding Li had always regarded Master Hua as a villain.

But now, faced with these young women, he hesitated. If they were here on Master Hua’s pleasure barge, they were unlikely to be women of reputable families. Yet Ding Li understood that, barring dire circumstances, no woman would willingly choose such a life, especially one that traded her body.

Moreover, Ding Li was not a bloodthirsty man. With the fire raging below, the second floor fully ablaze, and the stairway crackling with flames, escape by the stairs was impossible. Yet he could not leave these women to perish in the inferno. Frowning, he barked, “Shut up! If you want to live, be quiet!”

Perhaps it was Ding Li’s delivery, or perhaps the smoke-blackened face made him look all the more fearsome, but his command only prompted more screams.

Glancing back at the fire dragon creeping up the stairs, Ding Li clenched his jaw and strode forward. He raised his hand and slapped the nearest woman, holding back some of his strength, but still leaving five red marks on her cheek, a trace of blood at the corner of her mouth.

The room fell silent. No one dared cry out now. All eyes, wide with terror, fixed on Ding Li. Their bodies trembled, as if he were the very judge of the underworld, holding their fates in his hands.

“If you want to survive, you must do exactly as I say!” Ding Li shouted. Behind him, flames licked at the stairwell; tongues of fire danced across the floorboards, hissing like serpents and sending their deadly warning. Though anxious, Ding Li kept his face calm, issuing his command with unwavering authority.