Chapter Seventy-One: The Broadcast of Infamy

Zhou Zhi furrowed his brow lightly, putting on a look of deep contemplation. After a long pause, he forced an awkward smile and said to Liu Hui, “Forgive me, but I truly cannot accept your offer.”

He spoke simply, offering no further explanation.

The lively and harmonious atmosphere was instantly dampened by his words, leaving an awkward silence. There was no helping it—when it came to refusing to join their group, the more one tried to explain, the more suspicion it aroused, risking discord among Liu Hui and his men.

However, Liu Hui was a shrewd man, and he genuinely admired Zhou Zhi’s courage. He quickly laughed and said, “Since you have no desire for this path, I won’t force you, brother Zhou Zhi. Ha!”

Though he spoke with a smile, his tone was unmistakably tinged with regret.

He paused, then became solemn. “Now that we’ve met, we’re brothers for life. That’s the kind of man Liu Hui of Nanzhuang is! Once I recognize a brother, I’ll follow him to the ends of the earth, even unto death. If you ever need my help, just say the word. I, Liu Hui, will face any danger without hesitation.”

He spoke generously, and his words were sincere.

Though Liu Hui was a ruffian, he had his own aura and sense of loyalty. Meeting Zhou Zhi today, he found himself truly impressed.

Zhou Zhi hurriedly stood, offered Liu Hui a deep bow, and said, “Thank you, Brother Liu Hui.”

“Haha! Zhou Zhi, you’re too polite!” Liu Hui replied heartily.

He then turned to the man beside him—Zhang Dong, who had earlier fawned over Zhou Zhi—and said, “Zhang Dong, tell our worthy brother about the one who hired us this time.”

Zhang Dong, around thirty, had a pale face and thin lips, and was especially glib. He explained in detail:

Seven or eight days earlier, a Daoist named Qingyun sought out Liu Hui, asking him to lead men to destroy Zhou Zhi’s vegetable greenhouse. The Daoist was generous, promising thirty taels of silver if the deed was done—ten taels in advance, the rest upon completion.

Destroying a poor peasant’s greenhouse was a trivial task for Liu Hui and his crew. That such a simple matter could earn them thirty taels was tempting indeed, and they readily agreed.

Furthermore, the Daoist instructed Liu Hui and his men to keep the matter secret, especially from the Chen family’s patriarch, Master Chen Zonghe.

Even without being told, Zhou Zhi had already guessed the mastermind. Who else but Chen Wenju would resort to such base and despicable acts?

Chen Wenju’s malice toward him had never waned, and the Daoist Li Shun was now involved as well.

Damn it! It seemed time to teach Chen Wenju another lesson, or else he’d never have a moment’s peace.

Zhou Zhi suddenly smiled, lifted the wine jar and took a sip of the rough wine, then cupped his hands to Liu Hui and said, “Brother Liu Hui, there’s actually something I must trouble you with. Could you look into the background of this Daoist Li Shun for me?”

Liu Hui immediately responded, full of enthusiasm. “A small matter! Brother Zhou Zhi, you shall have your answer in a few days.” Such was Liu Hui’s temperament—once he recognized and respected someone, there was nothing he would not do for them.

Niu Desheng, in a sycophantic tone, said, “Young Master Zhou, that brat Chen Wenju is always so arrogant, and his servant Dog Wang is just as cocky. Why not let Brother Liu Hui and his men pay a midnight visit to the Chen household, stir up some trouble, and let them have a taste of hardship?”

He was only emboldened to speak thus; in truth, he wouldn’t dare to actually make trouble at the Chen house.

Everyone knew the Chens were wealthy and well-connected with the county authorities. If they made a scene there, the officials would surely pursue the matter. As mere country ruffians, they would have to retreat before the law.

Unexpectedly, Liu Hui took his words seriously. In his gruff voice, he said, “Just give the word, brother Zhou Zhi, and tomorrow I’ll take men to smash up Chen Wenju’s house.”

Ruffians of Liu Hui’s stature were no longer afraid of the wealthy. The Chen family was among the richest in Baiyue Village, but in the grand scheme of Gaochang Town, there were many such households.

Zhou Zhi smiled and waved his hand. “That won’t do, Brother Liu Hui. I’ll have to deal with the Chens sooner or later, but I intend to do so openly and honorably. There’s no need for violence and thuggery.”

Liu Hui was taken aback, but then he laughed. “Very well! As you wish, brother.”

They drank and ate, chatting and laughing for the better part of another hour. By then, it was nearly dawn. Liu Hui, Niu Desheng, Liu Wa, and the others bid Zhou Zhi farewell and departed.

After seeing them off, Zhou Zhi added more firewood to the stove in the greenhouse, then curled up in his bedding to rest his eyes.

At daybreak, Zhou Zhi, limping, tended to his greenhouse, and then sat down with a book, reading slowly.

He knew he had to seize every moment to study. He had already finished reading and memorizing the “Mencius” and “Doctrine of the Mean.” Now he was tackling the “Book of Documents,” a grand classic, though it contained fewer than thirty thousand words. Being an ancient text, it was replete with archaic characters and obscure sentences, so Zhou Zhi read it more slowly, striving to understand and internalize each line before committing it to memory.

That morning, he managed to memorize another three thousand characters before putting the book aside and stretching his limbs.

He was exhausted; after last night’s fight, he had barely slept, but his body was still able to endure. He was just about to leave the greenhouse to check on the house when, unexpectedly, his sister, Zhou Luyun, arrived early, carrying a food box.

Zhou Luyun knew how hard Zhou Zhi had been working lately, so she rose early to feed the horse and prepare food, then came to help him.

The moment she entered, she caught sight of the large, red-stained patch on Zhou Zhi’s thigh and exclaimed in alarm, “Little Zhi, what happened? How did you get hurt?”

He couldn’t let his sister know about the violent brawl last night, so Zhou Zhi forced a bitter smile and said, “I was chopping wood last night, it was very dark, and I accidentally struck my own leg with the axe. That’s how this happened.”

He even waved his hand helplessly to complete the act.

Zhou Luyun was half-convinced, half-doubtful. She anxiously came closer to check his injury. Fortunately, it was already bandaged and showed no fresh bleeding, so she simply scolded him tenderly, “You must be more careful, Little Zhi. In weather this cold, wounds don’t heal easily.”

“It’s nothing. I’m strong and healthy; I’ll be fine in a few days. See how worried you are.” Zhou Zhi replied with a mischievous grin.

He had managed to keep the fight a secret from his sister, but not from the rest of Baiyue Village. Word had somehow gotten out that Zhou Zhi had single-handedly fought Liu Hui and his gang from Nanzhuang, and had bested them all. As a result, Zhou Zhi had earned a new nickname: “The Cold-faced Butcher.”

No one expected that the once honest, taciturn Zhou boy—who had suddenly become clever and capable—was also a fierce fighter, unafraid of death. In no time, Zhou Zhi’s “notorious” reputation spread rapidly throughout the countryside.