Glorious Tales

Chapter 0001: The Earth Temple

Amidst a torrential downpour, a lightning bolt snaked across the dark night sky, vanishing as abruptly as it appeared. A deafening clap of thunder followed, shaking the heavens and earth and echoing across the desolate land.

Yang Ning opened his eyes. After taking stock of the scene before him, he made an unshakable decision—he was going to intervene.

Problems solvable by fists, he believed, shouldn't trouble one's intellect unnecessarily.

The scene in front of him kindled his fury: three or four burly young men were ruthlessly beating a disheveled, ragged man. The victim cowered on the ground, shielding his head, completely unable to fight back.

Yang Ning wasn't one to oppose brawling—in fact, he rather enjoyed the feel of his fists landing on an opponent. But what he couldn't stand was the strong bullying the weak. Anyone who dared to ruin his mood would inevitably pay an even heavier price.

“Stop!” Yang Ning roared, his voice aimed to seize the upper hand through sheer intimidation.

However, his shout lacked the dominance and might he had imagined; it was feeble and weak.

Even so, the yell achieved its purpose. The aggressors halted, turning to look at him in unison.

Only then did Yang Ning notice that the assailants were not much better dressed than their victim. Filthy and unkempt, their tattered clothes made them look like beggars.

“You... Little Weasel?!” One of the young men, whose mop of hair resembled an old-fashioned rocker's, stared at Yang Ning, swaying unsteadily on his feet, his face a mask of shock.

Yang Ning felt an unusual weakness in his body, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it. He simply said coldly, “If you're a man, fight one-on-one. What's the point of ganging up on someone?”

The rocker-haired youth sized up Yang Ning, then sauntered forward with a grin. “You're not dead?” He reached out a hand as if to pat Yang Ning on the shoulder.

The moment the hand reached for him, Yang Ning instinctively grabbed the youth's wrist, twisted it behind his back in one swift motion, and pushed down hard on the youth's arm. A crisp “c***k” rang out, accompanied by a piercing scream.

Yang Ning smirked coldly. Hand-to-hand combat was his forte, and dislocating someone's arm was hardly an effort for him.

The rocker-haired youth collapsed, clutching his limp arm, sweat dripping from his forehead as his face turned ashen.

Seeing this, two of the other men armed themselves with wooden sticks and cautiously approached Yang Ning from either side.

Yang Ning chuckled softly. Spotting a wooden stick near his feet, he kicked it up and caught it deftly in his hand.

With a fierce cry, the two men swung their sticks at Yang Ning.

Yang Ning sneered, his stick moving like lightning. Years of military training had honed his ability to turn any object into a weapon. Though his body still felt weak, he didn't consider these two opponents a challenge. If he had been at full strength, he could have easily taken them down barehanded.

Now armed, he had no intention of yielding.

With two sharp“thuds,” he deflected their attacks, sidestepped smoothly, and delivered a heavy punch to one man's face. Simultaneously, he lashed out with his leg in a scorpion-like kick, striking the other man in the groin. Both men fell, one clutching his nose as blood gushed out, the other writhing in agony on the ground.

Yang Ning shook his head. The lack of skill in his opponents left him utterly disappointed.

He turned his gaze to the last man, who was still clutching his stick but standing frozen in place.

Yang Ning pointed his stick at the man and said, “Your turn. Come on.”

Moving around had surprisingly made him feel more invigorated.

The man looked at his fallen companions, his grip on the stick trembling. Suddenly, he dropped it and forced a nervous smile. “Little Weasel, I... I don't want to fight you!”

“Little Weasel?” Yang Ning was startled. This was the second time he'd heard that name. “What Little Weasel?” He took a step forward, still holding the stick.

The man hesitated, fear evident in his eyes, and stammered, “Little Weasel, I... I didn't come up with this plan. It... It was all Monkey's idea!” He pointed to the rocker-haired youth, still clutching his dislocated arm.

Yang Ning glanced at the so-called Monkey, frowning. He looked down at his own clothing, and his expression darkened.

He had wondered why these men were so poorly dressed. Now he realized his own clothes were in even worse shape—ragged and filthy, exposing large swaths of grimy skin.

He surveyed his surroundings. The dimly lit space was enclosed by crumbling walls, with a flickering fire in one corner. Rainwater dripped through the thatched roof, creating puddles on the ground.

Damn it!

Yang Ning concluded he must be dreaming, though the vividness of it was unsettling.

“Little Weasel, you... you're alive!” The battered man they had been attacking finally spoke, his bruised and swollen face lighting up with joy.

The sight of that face triggered a torrent of memories in Yang Ning's mind, scenes overlapping and flashing by in rapid succession. This man's face, though battered, became vividly clear in his thoughts.

What was going on? Where was this place?

The battered man appeared to be in his fifties, frail and emaciated, his bony chest visible through his torn clothes.

The unfamiliar surroundings and his unfamiliar body left Yang Ning bewildered. He looked at his hands—they were smaller and thinner than his own, though calloused like his had been.

Stunned, he touched his face. It was leaner, less angular, and noticeably different from the face he remembered.

His legs gave out, and he sank to the ground, his mind reeling.

“Little Weasel, are you okay?” The older man's voice trembled with concern.

Yang Ning beckoned the uninjured man closer. “Am I really called Little Weasel?” he asked, staring intently at him.

The man nodded quickly.

“Where is this?” Yang Ning demanded.

“This is the Earth Temple, on the western outskirts of the city,” the man replied.

“Earth Temple? Which city?”

“Huize City,” the man answered. “Just over a hundred li north is the Huai River. Little Weasel, you... you really don't remember? Half a year ago, you came to the city and were recruited into the Beggars' Sect by Boss Fang. You're one of us now.”

Yang Ning froze. “The Beggars' Sect? Are you saying you're all beggars?”

“And so are you,” the man replied with a sympathetic look. “We're all disciples of the Beggars' Sect.”

Yang Ning's heart sank. “Damn it! Is this... reincarnation?”

“Beggars' Sect? Little Weasel? Huize City?” Yang Ning raised his hand and pinched his own arm. The sharp pain made his face grow even more serious as he suddenly realized something.

“Reincarnation?” The man asked, genuinely puzzled. “What does reincarnation mean?”

Yang Ning responded irritably, “Don't worry about what it means. I'm asking you about that guy...” He pointed at the person still holding his shoulder and groaning, “Called Monkey, right? What idea did he come up with?”

“Ah, this...” The man glanced at Monkey, mentally weighing the strengths and weaknesses of both sides before saying, “Monkey thought you were going to die, so he forced Old Tree Bark to leave the Earth Temple. Little Weasel... I didn't agree to that, but if I didn't, he would have kicked me out too.”

“Old Tree Bark?” Yang Ning looked at the old beggar, and once again, several scenes flashed through his mind, including one where the old beggar was feeding him. He stood up and walked over to help the battered Old Tree Bark, his voice gentler. “You... you're Old Tree Bark? You've been taking care of me all this time?”

Old Tree Bark's eyes were filled with joy. He reached out to touch Yang Ning, and although Yang Ning felt uncomfortable with the old beggar touching his body, knowing it was meant out of concern, he couldn't refuse. He could feel the trembling of Old Tree Bark’s hands, his tone full of care. “Little Weasel, just waking up is enough. Heaven is watching...!”

Yang Ning wasn't concerned about heaven or whether it was watching; he only cared about his current survival situation.

“So you thought I was going to die, and in this storm, with lightning, thunder, and rain, you wanted to force this poor old man out of this shelter?” Yang Ning felt that his earlier actions had been completely justified. Looking at Old Tree Bark's bruised face, his voice grew cold. “Everyone, come over and apologize to Old Tree Bark. If he forgives you, this matter will be settled. Otherwise...!”

“No, no, it's fine... let it go...” Old Tree Bark quickly said.

Yang Ning didn't pay attention to him and pointed at Monkey, whose arm he had dislocated. “You, come here...!”

Monkey, in excruciating pain from his dislocated arm, dared not defy Yang Ning when he saw the cold look in his eyes. He slowly shuffled over to Old Tree Bark, lowering his head. “Old Tree Bark, I... I was wrong, you...!”

“What?” Yang Ning said calmly, “What are you saying? I didn't catch that.”

“Old Tree Bark, I've been heartless, I... I was wrong, please, have mercy... forgive me this time...” Monkey stuttered, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

Once Monkey spoke, the others no longer hesitated. They came forward one by one. “Old Tree Bark, we... we were just confused for a moment. Please don't hold it against us, in the future... in the future, we'll never treat you like this again...!”

Old Tree Bark was used to being mistreated, so when he saw several people kneeling to apologize, he didn't know how to react. He could only say, “Get up, it's... it's all in the past...!”