The crimson moon, the brilliant vermilion of blood—in this night nearing dawn, one soul might never greet the sun again.

Scar's blade moved without thought; Scar's man had lost all reason. By the time Zhou Huan moved to intervene, the tip of Scar's knife had already plunged deep into the chest of the supposed 'Big Brother,' spraying a pillar of blood across Scar's face.

"Damn it, the old bastard has plenty of blood; one stab and this much sprays out." Scar then kicked the man before him, ripping the knife free from his sternum. He casually wiped the blade back and forth across the sole of his boot. "If I were younger, I wouldn't have let him live this long." Having spoken, Scar staggered into the mountain temple, then pointed at the seven or eight corpses littering the floor. "Brother Zhou Huan, help me clean this up. Big Brother owes you one; I'll cut you in for a larger share once this is done." Scar immediately dove into the dry straw, his whole body smeared with gore, yet he could sleep soundly—a testament to the man's ruthless nature.

Zhou Huan was speechless. In the preceding scene, he truly couldn't have stopped the action. By the time he regained his senses and rushed out, Scar had already put the first few men down; Zhou Huan hadn't managed to lay a hand on them. Now, Scar was asking him to clean up the mess. Even without the request, Zhou Huan felt obligated to handle the bodies properly, to offer a final send-off, lest he violate the ethics of a true Shoushi (Soul Master).

The two petty thieves, stunned by the display, stood frozen, their faces spattered with blood—all courtesy of Scar's ministrations. When they realized Zhou Huan was beginning to move the corpses, they remained stock-still, beads of sweat rolling down their faces, their mouths trembling with words they couldn't form.

"You two, come lend a hand. All these men are dead, and their bodies are already growing cold. Help me dig a large pit behind the temple; I intend to bury them." Zhou Huan deliberately assigned the task to the two simpletons. Trembling, they helped Zhou Huan excavate a large grave behind the mountain temple. The task exhausted the two youths; they were soaked in sweat, their shirts and trousers entirely drenched—perhaps half that perspiration was born of sheer terror.

Zhou Huan performed the proper rites, burning paper offerings, and then guided the souls of the deceased. He alone picked up the shovel and began filling the earth over them, murmuring, "Your fate decreed this calamity. Do not blame Zhou Huan for failing to block the blade for you; I did my best. Now, I send you off. May your journey be smooth, and if fate allows in the future, I will ensure your bones are properly laid to rest together."

Afterward, Zhou Huan and the two thieves watched the crimson moon as they returned to the mountain temple to sleep. The four slept until full daylight. The bloodstains on the ground were starkly visible, the only change being the overhead crimson moon had yielded to the red sun. The midday sun was not harsh; after all, winter was approaching, and the northeast experienced its chill much earlier than other regions, meaning the sun offered little warmth.

Scar rose, stretching languidly, working out his arms and twisting his waist. He turned to check on Xiao San and Xiao Si; they were still deep in slumber, likely kept awake by fright from Scar the night before. When he looked back at Zhou Huan, Scar startled, then tentatively called out in a soft voice, "Zhou Huan, you... what are you doing?"

Zhou Huan had not slept the previous night. After clearing the scene, he had sat cross-legged on the dry straw, regulating his breath. Indeed, if one truly entered meditation while sitting thus, the rest gained was far superior to mere sleep. Hearing Scar's call, Zhou Huan answered softly, "Brother Scar, to kill so many people last night and yet wake up so early—Zhou Huan truly admires you. I genuinely wonder, why must you kill? Can it not be avoided?" Zhou Huan's tone carried a slight edge of reproach.

Scar bristled at the implication. He immediately stood up and shouted, "You insolent brat! How dare you speak to me like that? Believe it or not, I'll take you out with one stroke..." As he moved to draw his blade toward Zhou Huan's neck, he felt a crushing blow land squarely on his chest, sending his entire body flying sideways.

"What—Ah!" Scar staggered, scrambling and crawling over the two thieves before tumbling outside the straw bale. When he finally got a clear look at Zhou Huan, the latter was already standing outside the hay pile, his fist still extended. Zhou Huan's eyes, not fully open, were locked onto him with fierce intensity.

Zhou Huan chastised him, "You butcher! Aside from casually slaughtering the weak, what else can you accomplish? I didn't stop you yesterday because I was momentarily merciful and trusting, believing you wouldn't strike so ruthlessly. Who knew you would kill all seven?"

"You good-for-nothing! Before Scar Grandpa can hand out your reward money, you dare to rebel?" Scar was still belligerent. He struggled up from the ground, intending to lunge at Zhou Huan again. But when he saw Zhou Huan's leg already raised, poised to strike just as he went for his knife, Zhou Huan's foot, carrying a sharp wind generated by the kick, was already closing in on his throat. This forced Scar to halt. Sweat trickled over his deep facial scar, and the killing intent vanished from the knife in his hand. He calmed himself. "Zhou Huan, uh... no, Master Zhou, show mercy with your foot. I have my burdens too. If I didn't kill them, they would have brought more people back to kill us."

Seeing Scar's reaction, Zhou Huan lowered his foot. "From this moment on, you are forbidden from brandishing that broken knife unless absolutely necessary. If you kill the devils (guizi), I won't stop you. But if you kill Chinese people, watch out, or I won't hold back." Zhou Huan spoke with undeniable authority this time. He knew that without asserting dominance, he couldn't keep Scar in line, and only then would the two thieves beside them keep their mouths shut and dare not utter another word against Old Cripple Huang.

Scar wiped his sweat. His demeanor toward Zhou Huan had noticeably softened. Though his ferocious face couldn't completely conceal his ingrained brutality, he was certainly less unreasonable and vicious than before.

"Master Zhou, I've prepared some tools here. We'll take them, and once ready, we'll head straight for Old Cripple. He must have more items there. We'll proceed according to our original plan; what do you think?"

"Fine. Do as you planned." Zhou Huan wasn't truly interested in grave robbing; he only wanted to see exactly what tomb these young men were targeting. After all, that entire burial ground was surrounded by Japanese minefields and military camps. If it had remained untouched for so long, it certainly housed nothing but lonely, restless spirits.

As planned, the four left the mountain temple. Scar washed the bloodstains from his body at the small river and carefully rewrapped his weapons. They had to go through a token body search upon entering the Japanese tavern, as the kitchen steward there was Chinese. Scar had often done dirty work, fighting and killing for the steward over the years, and had frequently given him favors. Thus, as long as he heard there was money to be made, the steward would obey without question, even secretly assisting during the search. For this arrangement, Scar had earned the nickname 'Money String' (Qianzhuànzi).

Zhou Huan and the others returned to Old Cripple Huang's house. Upon entering the courtyard, they saw the old cripple leaning on a cane, a cloth bundle slung over his back, and a bulging pair of items tucked into his belt. He gestured toward the back courtyard, and with a clatter, a horse-drawn cart emerged, driven by a man who looked like a local farmer.

"Scar, you truly can sleep late. The sun is already up; aren't we starting too late?" Old Cripple Huang asked directly upon seeing Scar.

Scar only offered a faint smile. "Relax. When has Scar ever let business slip? Follow me; we'll proceed as arranged yesterday."

And so, the five of them—now a party of five—swaggered toward the Japanese tavern with their carriage.

The tavern was located in the county seat Zhou Huan had visited previously. The sign was not large, but it was a primary hub for local Japanese activities, seeing a constant stream of Japanese patrons daily.

As the carriage halted before the tavern entrance, two men dressed in black, pistols holstered at their hips, rushed over. Upon reaching the carriage and seeing Zhou Huan and his group, they immediately drew their weapons and shouted, "Get out of the cart!"