Chaos begins when one joins a martial arts school

Chapter 6 Return to the Village
The next day, early in the morning.

After getting up, Yang Jing practiced the Mountain-Crushing Fist in his room for half an hour before leaving the courtyard.

Instead of going to Chengpingfang, where the Sun Family Martial Arts School was located, he headed south out of the city.

Yuhe County administers nine townships, among which Wazi Township is located about thirty li southwest of the county seat.

Yang Jing is now practicing martial arts, so he is physically strong and fast on his feet. He can get back much faster than he did by oxcart.

After leaving the city gate, we headed southwest along the official road.

The wild grass on both sides of the official road had grown past ankle-deep. The wind swept dust across the road, swirling up a few withered yellow leaves and also carrying the faint cries from afar.

Along the way, Yang Jing saw many refugees. Most of them were dressed in rags. Some carried tattered bundles on their backs, while others carried simple bamboo baskets. Inside the baskets were sallow-faced children, shrunkenly moving forward step by step, their eyes as empty as a dusty, dry well.

"There are more refugees now."

Yang Jing frowned.

The world is getting more and more chaotic.

Two weeks ago, when he returned to the city from Wazi Township, there weren't as many migrants on the road.

Judging from their accents, Yang Jing figured that most of these refugees must have come from Caozhou in the west.

"I wonder what's going on with Father and Uncle now?" Yang Jing's heart sank.

In order to earn more money, my uncle Yang Guang and my father signed up to join the local militia and went to Caozhou with the grain transport trucks. There has been no news of them since.

As Yang Jing was pondering this, a commotion suddenly arose ahead.

Three masked men wielding short knives sprang out of the woods by the roadside and blocked a group of refugees pushing wheelbarrows.

The cart contained only half a bag of moldy brown rice, but the men's eyes gleamed with malice. They kicked the cart over, scattering the rice all over the ground. Immediately, some refugees rushed forward to gather the rice into their arms, but the masked men kicked them away.

The driver was a middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes, ready to fight to the death. He had just raised the carrying pole when a knife slashed his arm, and blood instantly stained his tattered sleeve. He fell to the ground in pain and could only watch helplessly as the three masked men snatched away his last bit of food.

Yang Jingyuan stopped in his tracks and watched as the robbers disappeared into the woods after looting the goods. The refugees on the road either lowered their heads and walked away quickly or walked around them from a distance, and no one dared to make a sound.

There wasn't even a decent patrolman in sight, let alone any government officials.

Yang Jing didn't meddle in other people's business. Although he was now considered a martial artist, he hadn't yet developed his full strength and wasn't much different from ordinary people.

If you rashly intervene to defend someone else, you might end up losing your own life, since those three masked men are all carrying knives.

Yang Jing has a large family to protect, so he naturally wouldn't do anything "chivalrous" without being sure of his abilities. That's the domain of great heroes and masters, and he's far from that level yet.

Yang Jing continued on his way, keeping his head down.

Besides the smell of dust, there was also a faint, almost imperceptible, stench of blood in the wind.

Yang Jing quickened his pace, trying to avoid the groups of refugees and the corpses and signs of fighting along the roadside.

The road beneath my feet was full of potholes, I couldn't tell if they were made by wheels or by countless feet.

An hour after leaving the county town, Yang Jingcai finally returned to Yangjia Village in Wazi Township.

Along the way, Yang Jing could feel the scrutinizing gazes of some people, but he had been practicing martial arts for a long time, especially in the last half month, which was nothing short of crazy training. His physique was much stronger than that of ordinary people, let alone compared to the sallow-faced and emaciated refugees around him. Even though he was wearing coarse cloth and short clothes, he could not hide the strength contained in his body. The muscle contours of his shoulders and back were faintly visible under the cloth.

Even those with ill intentions abandoned their plans upon seeing Yang Jinghou's imposing physique and confident stride.

"Yang Jing is back?"

"Xiao Jing."

"Xiao Jing is truly a martial artist; his physique is much stronger than any of us farmers."

"I've heard that many martial arts practitioners look strong, but they're actually just dead muscle. Xiao Jing, let your auntie touch your body and see if this is dead muscle."

When the villagers saw Yang Jing, they all spoke to him warmly.

Once Yang Jing was out of sight, someone scoffed, "What's the use of practicing martial arts? Their family used to be one of the wealthiest in the village. Look at them now, selling cattle and land to support his martial arts training. What have they become?" This statement was met with agreement from some and opposition from others.

Under the poplar tree at the entrance of the village, several village women sat on stools chatting.

Yang Jing was unaware of what others were saying about him. He quickly walked along the village road to his front door.

"Ok?"

Yang Jing was slightly taken aback when he saw the scene in front of his house.

Grandmother Qin and mother Liu Cuiling were brushing something in front of the courtyard gate.

The mother stood on tiptoe, vigorously wiping the door panel with a rag, while the grandmother, hunched over, swept the dirt off the doorstep with a broom. Both of them were moving rather hastily, and fine beads of sweat appeared on their foreheads.

"Mother, what are you doing?" Yang Jing asked, frowning. As he got closer, he smelled a pungent stench, a mixture of the fishy smell of excrement from the dry toilet and the stench of the soil.

"Jing'er is back?"

Grandmother and mother, who were standing in front of the courtyard gate, turned around and saw Yang Jing. They quickly put down their brooms and wet rags and walked towards him.

Yang Jing bypassed his mother and grandmother and walked to the courtyard gate.

There were several dark stains clearly visible on the gate, as if someone had splashed them on forcefully. My mother probably wiped them for a long time, but only managed to remove some of the grime, leaving behind ugly marks.

"Mom, Grandma, what's wrong?"

Yang Jing's voice turned somber, and his gaze swept over the filthy door panel before him, his heart suddenly tightening.

The mother paused, hurriedly hiding the rag behind her back, forcing a smile: "It's nothing, it's just that some stray dog, who knows which way it's looking, rubbed some dirt on the door. Your grandma and I will wipe it clean."

Grandma nodded in agreement, coughed twice, and said, "Yes, yes, there are many stray dogs in the countryside, it's alright."

But her hands, which were sweeping up the filth on the ground, were trembling slightly.

"How could a stray dog ​​throw shit this high?" Yang Jing stared at the shoulder-high stain on the door, his tone carrying an undeniable force. "Who did this?"

The mother opened her mouth to speak.

Yang Jing waved his hand to interrupt, and looked at his honest and upright grandmother, Qin, who would never lie in her life, "Grandma, you say it."

Qin's lips moved, her eyes darting away, not daring to look at him. After a long while, her eyes reddened, and her voice was trembling with sobs, "Jing'er, don't ask anymore. Let's bear with it for now. Your grandfather has already gone to find your uncle. Let's sell those two acres of good land in the north of the village to Master Ning."

"Endure?" Yang Jing's eyes narrowed slightly, his fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white, and a surge of anger rose from his chest, making his temples throb.

"Jing'er?" her mother, Liu Cuiling, asked worriedly.

"Mom, I'm fine."

Yang Jing shook his head, his expression quickly calming down. Then he snatched the rag from his mother's hand, dipped it in water, and vigorously wiped the door panel.

The stain smeared on the cloth, making the stench even stronger, but the pressure he applied to the cloth only increased.

"Cui Ling, go tell your sister-in-law that Jing'er is back, and ask her to bring the dog over. We'll stew it tonight," Grandmother whispered to Mother.

That night.

The Yang family's house, in the main room.

The group sat around an octagonal table, on which sat two steaming bowls of dog meat.

Grandfather Yang naturally sat in the main seat, with his uncle Shi Yunlin and Yang Jing on his left and right sides, respectively.

Yang Jing looked at the dog meat on the table, then glanced at his cousin Yang An, whose eyes were red-rimmed, and his hand under the table involuntarily clenched into a fist.

This dog, named Heizi, was a good guard dog. It had been raised at my uncle's house for many years. The day before yesterday, Feng Lei brought some people to the village and kicked Heizi against the courtyard wall, killing it instantly.

Auntie waited for Yang Jing to come back before she stewed the meat, so we had dog meat to eat tonight.

(End of this chapter)