Chapter 100: Whose Fate Is It?

"It is widely rumored in the pugilistic world that you are inextricably entangled with the Blue Lotus Demonic Cult. You were once the top disciple of the Qilian Mountains; the Qilian Sect, being one of the four major righteous factions, has always stood in direct opposition to the demonic cult. By all rights, you should harbor a deep hatred for them. Yet, you have been colluding with them in secret—you are hardly the upright gentleman you claim to be. A man like you—how could you say such things? Could it be that your three years in hiding have somehow altered your character?"

The tone was dripping with mockery, even bordering on sarcasm. Han Tanyi felt a genuine sense of awkwardness. He had always been this person, merely misunderstood by others, but he knew that at this moment, no amount of explanation would be heard. It was better to leave it be. He curled his lips slightly: "As the saying goes, the words of one about to die are sincere. With your skills, there is no way I could escape this place today. Though the 'Drunken Madman' can hardly be called a saint, he treats me as a friend, and I have no wish to implicate him at such a time. I suppose this will be the final comfort of my life."

As he spoke, Han Tanyi’s gaze drifted inadvertently toward the Drunken Madman, as if seeking to find in the other man’s face the solace he had just spoken of. At that moment, the face partially obscured by disheveled hair still wore an expression of disbelief. While this caused Han Tanyi a flicker of disappointment, his heart felt no sense of wrongness. Indeed, though he was known as a madman, he was ultimately just an ordinary man. Life and death are great matters that one cannot easily avoid, and in the face of such circumstances, surely no one could maintain an air of pride.

"You think of him, but he may not necessarily think of you. Oh, Han Tanyi, why must you be this way?" The voice from the eaves responded. However, the tone had shifted, carrying a hint of a sigh, as if she finally understood the man’s heart. Perhaps spurred by these words, the Drunken Madman, who had been standing frozen, suddenly turned his body. He looked toward the roof, his spirit surging with boldness as he shouted: "Since he treats me as a friend, I treat him as a friend! If you truly wish to kill him, you must first get past me! People call me a madman, so today, I shall be mad for once. I know your martial arts are formidable and that we are no match for you, but to share in life and death—it is worth having lived as a man in this world!"

The words were spoken with such fervor that anyone hearing them would surely be moved. The person on the roof was no exception; there was a sudden, brief pause, and the entire surroundings grew deathly quiet. Han Tanyi did not know how to respond. In his heart, he did not truly want the Drunken Madman to live and die by his side, but to beg for mercy now would seem like looking down on him, something he could never bring himself to do. Thus, he could only respond with silence, though his eyes retained a lingering look of gratitude.

"If I were you, I would not speak so lightly of death. To be born into this world is to walk this path. If not for others, then for the sake of those who care about you, you should live freely and unreservedly. That is a life truly worth living. To live for others—you are far too foolish!"

Another distinct voice rang out. If the Drunken Madman had found the previous tone unfamiliar, he recognized this one immediately. The shock that had not yet dissipated from his heart intensified. It was Qiu Shiniang, the proprietor of the Tianxiang Pavilion. Though she was mysterious and no one knew her origins or why she had come to this frontier city, the Drunken Madman had always viewed her as a mere merchant, someone devoid of martial arts. Yet, in this light, he realized she not only possessed martial arts but that her skills were far superior to his own.

"I always thought I was the best at acting and hiding, the 'Drunken Madman' who never gets drunk. Now I see that there is always someone better. Master Lao was one thing, but to think you, Shiniang, have hidden so deep. It seems you are the true 'madmen,' and I am but a drunken clown. Today, I have truly learned a lesson!"

There was a slight rustle on the eaves, and two figures landed in the courtyard. They stood one in front of the other, making no move to come closer. Whether due to the chill of the Four Seasons Wine or the impropriety of standing bare-chested, Han Tanyi reached out and pulled on his discarded clothes. His blacksmith’s habits meant they were not pristine, but as he donned them, the face beneath his disheveled hair seemed to take on a new, solemn dignity—perhaps the true face of Han Tanyi.

He pushed the door open and stepped out without hesitation. The courtyard was pitch black, typical of the night, and he could only dimly perceive the two figures. Qiu Shiniang, being a native of the northern deserts, was tall, and even compared to a man like Han Tanyi, she stood her ground. The person in front of her, however, was smaller and more delicate—clearly a woman from the Central Plains. For some reason, the silhouette seemed hauntingly familiar.

"Thank you for the Four Seasons Wine. It is truly a peerless vintage, worthy of its reputation. To drink something so wonderful before my death—it is worth it. Do what you must!" His words were devoid of pretense. As he stepped out, the Drunken Madman followed, standing behind him. Though he remained silent, his stance was clear: if his previous words were mere pride, he had now truly resolved himself.

"I have always tried to escape things," the Drunken Madman said, "but wine is useless. The more you try to forget, the deeper it becomes, and the more the heart suffers. I never thought I would find an effective method today: once dead, one remembers nothing and feels no pain. Brother Han, I must thank you. To have a friend like you makes it all worthwhile. Do it!" He stepped forward until he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Han Tanyi, both ready to face death.

"Since you are so eager to die, I shall grant your wish. A fine pair of brothers—at least you will have company on the road to the underworld!"

With incredible speed, the delicate figure lunged forward. The wind, already strong, seemed to accelerate as she moved. Qiu Shiniang remained still, as if content to let the woman handle it alone. Indeed, there was no exaggeration in her confidence; even if Han Tanyi had been prepared, he would have struggled to gain any advantage. In an instant, the tip of her long sword rested against Han Tanyi’s chest. Perhaps it was the darkness, but the tip was skewed slightly to the right.

Had she pushed a few inches further, it would have pierced his heart. But she stopped. She showed no immediate intent to take his life, and her hand, holding the sword, trembled slightly. The Drunken Madman was bewildered—how could someone so swift be unable to hold her sword steady? The only explanation was hesitation. Yet, if she hesitated, why strike at all? He could not fathom it. Then, the woman spoke, her words even more perplexing:

"If you truly want to die, no one can stop you. But have you ever considered that when your master’s sword pierced your body in this very spot, you were already a dead man? This life you have lived since—is it still your own? Do you not feel a shred of desire to cherish it for the sake of the one who saved you?"