Zhou Zishu sat on the steps, downing one cup after another. Wen Kexing sat down too, abruptly reached out a hand, and snatched his wine cup. Slanting his gaze at him, he smiled, purposely located the place where his lips had just touched, and downed the remaining half of the wine. Once he was done, he even lapped at the rim of the cup, as though it had not been enough to sate him.

Zhou Zishu turned his head aside to look away from him, feeling his earlobes heat up. Smiling cheerily, Wen Kexing took his hand, and pulled it into his own embrace to warm it.

In his heart, he felt that this was the happiest New Year’s celebration that he had ever had in his life.

Chapter 54: A Rude Awakening

Night had come.

Winter had passed. It was the period where cold snaps made their occasional reappearance as the weather warmed; amongst the fresh scent of nature, a hint of chill seeped through, especially apparent close to the water.

The river, which had just thawed, flowed by silently. By it stood a man in crimson with a blood-red birthmark the size of a palm over his cheek--he was none other than the Delighted Mourning Ghost Sun Ding. His face was turned aside to monitor his surroundings closely. One of his hands was splayed open, fingers slightly curled as it hung by his side. Under the light of the moon, a lustre that did not resemble that of ordinary skin reflected clearly off it.

Out of the blue, a few dark figures barrelled towards him. Sun Ding rose into the air, and swiftly engaged in a brawl with these men clothed in black garb.

Among the ten most abominable Ghosts of the Ghost Valley, though the “Delighted Mourning Ghost”, “Hanged Ghost”, and the “Ghost of Impermanence” were at the top, this did not mean that the other villainous characters were not skilled. These people had merely put down roots in the Ghost Valley long ago; they knew how to get people on their side and quash others, and had already become forces in their own right.

While Delighted Mourning Ghost Sun Ding’s Raksha Palms were not at a level of skill that would have gone unmatched by any who came before or after him, they were, at least, a unique technique in the pugilist world of the Central Plains at present. Those who were struck died instantly within three steps. A blood-red palm print would be left on the corpse, from the front of the chest over the heart all the way through to the back. The technique was domineeringly formidable.