Journey to the West: Starting with the True Lord of the Pure Land

Chapter 428 Even Thieves Have Their Code of Honor, and a Heart Full of Chivalry

The fog had dissipated along the long street, and the sky was clear and bright.

The leading armored soldier scrambled to his feet, covered in dust, his helmet askew, and pebbles embedded in his armor plates, looking utterly disheveled.

He was both shocked and annoyed, secretly resenting the sudden gust of wind that startled the horse, and feeling even more humiliated in front of others.

Overwhelmed with shame and indignation, the dark dough turned green and then red, then red and then green again.

Looking around, the pedestrians who had fallen earlier had already scattered, but the boy who had been knocked down was still sitting on the ground, unable to get up for a while, trying to hold back his tears.

The soldier's anger flared up. He strode forward, grabbed the boy by the back of his collar, lifted him up, and shouted sternly, "You little brat who doesn't know what's good for him!"

"By charging recklessly, you have startled the imperial cavalry and delayed the king's orders. What is your punishment?!"

His voice was like thunder, his face was ferocious, and his hot breath sprayed onto the boy's face, making him look like a fierce and evil god.

The boy was so frightened that he trembled all over, his lips trembled but he couldn't speak. He only knew that he was afraid he had done something terrible, and tears welled up in his eyes.

The surrounding pedestrians and vendors had already retreated far away, all with their heads down and eyes turned away, no one dared to approach, and no one dared to make a sound.

Occasionally, a bolder individual would steal a glance, but would immediately lower their head in a panic, fearing that the armored soldier would see them and bring trouble upon themselves.

The only sounds along the entire long street were the clatter of horses' hooves and the soft clatter of armor; it was eerily quiet.

As the fog dissipated and the sky brightened, Chen Jiao, having already used an invisibility spell to conceal his immortal form, stood with his hands behind his back, observing with cold eyes.

Before he could make a move, a thin figure staggered out from the outer edge of the crowd, seemingly still hungover. His legs were unsteady, and he mumbled "Excuse me, excuse me" incoherently. But he went straight into the lead soldier who was holding the boy and had his back to the outer edge!

The leading armored soldier was caught off guard and lost his balance from the sudden impact. He groaned, his grip on the boy loosened, and he stumbled forward two steps.

Taking advantage of the moment, the boy slipped away from the soldier's grasp like an eel, tumbling and crawling into the gaps in the crowd of onlookers, disappearing in a few moments.

The person who hit the man was the same thin young man who had been stealing the items earlier.

He was completely drunk, repeatedly bowing and slurring his words, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, sir! I drank too much and was blind. Please forgive me, sir!"

As he spoke, he seemed to trip over a pebble, and his body swayed, causing the armored soldier to stumble as well, almost losing his balance.

The armored soldier, already burning with rage, was further enraged by the repeated disturbances. He slapped the soldier across the face, cursing, "You bastard! You're asking for it!"

This palm strike, carrying the force of the wind, was truly fierce.

The young man slightly shifted his body, narrowly dodging the palm strike. In a moment of drunken revelry, two fingers, like a dragonfly skimming the water, touched the copper buckle at the young man's waist and withdrew in a flash, so fast that it was almost imperceptible.

"Sir, please calm down! Please calm down!"

The young man grinned and stepped back two paces. "Don't stoop to my level. If you delay the king's mission, I can't afford to offend you—"

The remaining soldiers, who had just gotten up, gathered around, their eyes gleaming with ferocity.

The lead armored soldier was enraged, his face turning ashen. With a clang, he drew half of his sword, its cold gleam reflecting off his ferocious expression: "Fine, very well! Today I'll take your drunkard's head back to report!"

The armored soldier's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his killing intent palpable, the blade reflecting the sunlight, its cold gleam blinding.

The young man was still slightly drunk, but his eyes were narrowed, his five fingers were quietly clenched in his sleeve, and his feet were neither too far apart nor too far apart, showing signs of lightness and agility.

Just then, the armored soldier showed a respectful expression, as if he had heard some noise. Then his expression changed slightly, and his ferocious look subsided a bit.

He shoved his half-drawn sword back into its sheath, then glared fiercely at the young man who was still feigning drunkenness but whose eyes had cleared somewhat. He then growled at his colleagues, "Let's go! Don't let this scoundrel delay our time!"

The others dared not disobey, and they all sheathed their swords and mounted their horses.

The young man paused for a moment, not expecting the other party to give up so easily. His face returned to its playful expression, and he bowed deeply, saying, "Thank you for your magnanimity, sir! Please take care, sir—"

The soldier lashed out with his whip in disgust, striking empty air, and cursed, "You filthy killer, get out of here!"

The young man hurriedly nodded and bowed, then turned to slip away, but his foot seemed to stumble again, and he bumped right into two armored soldiers who were comforting their mounts.

The three of them collided violently, horses neighed in alarm, armor clanked, and they were met with a barrage of angry curses.

"You blind, murderous bastard!"

"Are you looking to die?"

"You're blind as a bat!"

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! My legs aren't very strong—"

The young man mumbled accusations, but before the soldiers could even scratch him, he was already as slippery as a fish. He used the impact to retreat, his feet moving swiftly. With a few quick turns, he blended into the still-flowing crowd on the street and disappeared without a trace.

Only a few armored soldiers remained, cursing and swearing, resigning themselves to their bad luck. They then straightened their saddles and horses, tidied their armor, and left dejectedly.

Four riders galloped up outside the palace.

Four armored soldiers dismounted, their armor clanging, and hurried towards the palace gate.

As they reached the corner of the palace road, the leading armored soldier instinctively reached for his waist, only to find his hand empty.

His expression suddenly froze, his steps halted, and his hands frantically searched his belt and the inside and outside of his armor.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

After a moment, he let out a long sigh of relief, took out a snow-white jade slip about an inch long and translucent from the inner pocket of his body, examined it carefully in the sunlight under the eaves, and seeing that it was intact, he felt relieved and carefully put it back in his bosom.

Then, anger surged up again.

"You bastard!"

The leading armored soldier's temples bulged with veins as he gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath, "My purse is gone!"

The other three also changed color upon hearing this, and stopped in their tracks, each patting themselves down.

After a flurry of activity, only one person's purse remained; the rest had vanished without a trace.

The cold, hard stone bricks in the palace reflected the grim expressions on the three people's faces.

The purse contained not a fortune, but rather the remainder of his monthly salary, plus some essential odds and ends.

The four men exchanged glances, recalling the chaos on the long street, the drunkards' collisions, and the young people's laughter—

Suddenly realizing what had happened, all four of them turned pale with anger, but the person had already vanished, leaving them helpless.

The lead soldier clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking, his eyes darkening, and forced out a few words through clenched teeth: "You damned thief—"

Don't let me run into you again!

"That bastard must have tampered with it when he hit the person!" an armored soldier roared. "That jade slip—"

"Nothing happened with the jade slip."

The leading armored soldier interrupted, his face ashen, "Money is a small matter; the king's command is paramount. We must quickly hand over the jade slip to the Immortal Master; that is the proper course of action."

He paused, then muttered under his breath, "Go back and admit your mistakes. Don't make a fuss, or you'll just become a laughingstock."

The person has vanished without a trace, and there is no way to track them down.

Although the four soldiers were annoyed, they dared not delay any longer and were about to hurry off to report back.

Deep within the palace walls, the wind chimes on the eaves tinkled, their sound both mocking and laughing.