THE HUNTER OF DARKNESS

Fang An

“Fang An, clean the stables immediately. After that, drain the bathing trough and refill it until it’s full!”

The order came from a 22-year-old man, his chin lifted and both hands on his hips with arrogance.

Behind the young man stood two others of similar age, both wearing sneers on their faces, mocking Fang An with condescending laughter.

Kneeling before the three of them was a 21-year-old young man, clutching his stomach in pain. His white clothes were stained with dirt, and a footprint mark was visible on the back of his robe.

Fang An said nothing, his head bowed. His jaw clenched, and his fists tightened around the fabric of his clothes. He wanted to retaliate against the man in front of him, but his parents’ words echoed in his mind.

“Can’t you just give me orders without hitting or kicking me, Zhang Wuji!?”

“Hahaha… Are you upset because I beat you up?” Zhang Wuji lifted his chin even higher. “Don’t forget, Fang An... You’re a disgrace to the White Eagle Sect! Your crippled father and your mother’s odd appearance have already dragged this sect’s reputation through the mud,” he sneered.

Fang An’s fury flared. His eyes turned red, and rage filled his mind. He nearly stood to strike Zhang Wuji, but again, his parents’ faces flashed in his thoughts, cooling his wrath like cold water on burning coals.

“Do it now!” Zhang Wuji shouted as he landed another kick on Fang An’s stomach.

The young man curled up on the ground, hands wrapped around his gut. He let it happen—enduring it so Zhang Wuji wouldn’t beat him further. Fang An had sworn to his parents never to fight back against those who insulted him.

“A-alright, Zhang Wuji… I’ll do it,” Fang An replied softly.

“Remember this! The White Eagle Sect belongs to my father. If he finds out about this—or anything that’s happened before—you won’t live to regret it!” Zhang Wuji threatened.

“A-alright… I won’t say a word to your father.”

But even after three kicks, Zhang Wuji wasn’t satisfied. He launched a fourth kick, this time to Fang An’s solar plexus. Blood trickled from the corner of his lips.

“Let’s go,” Zhang Wuji said smugly.

He and his two friends walked off, grinning with satisfaction. They didn’t care how many times they had kicked or punched Fang An. As long as they didn’t hit his face, Zhang Wuji believed his father would never find out.

“Father, Mother... how long must I keep pretending to be weak? How long!?” he screamed in his heart.

Slowly, the young man rose to his feet and used his inner energy to heal the pain in his body. His eyes followed Zhang Wuji and his cronies as they walked away.

After taking a deep breath, Fang An turned and walked toward the horse stables at the back of the sect compound.

It had become his daily duty to clean the stables and refill the large communal bathing trough. For two years, ever since his parents enrolled him as a student in the White Eagle Sect, these chores had been his alone.

Fang An never complained about the hard labor. He performed it willingly, for the good of the other students.

But he couldn’t help but wonder: why, after two years in the sect, had Yun Xia never trained him—when the very reason he came was to study martial arts?

Two days later, Yun Xia summoned Fang An to his private room. Seeing this as a rare opportunity, Fang An decided to ask the elder directly about his future in the sect.

“Fang An, starting tomorrow you no longer need to clean the stables or fill the bathing trough. From now on, your task is to gather firewood in the forest,” Yun Xia announced.

Fang An forced a smile. His hope of being allowed to train was dashed. Just when he thought he was being freed from menial chores, another task was waiting.

“Very well, Master. Um… May I ask something?”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s just that… I’ve been here for two years, Master. Why haven’t you taught me any martial arts?”

Yun Xia smiled knowingly. He had expected the red-haired youth to ask.

“Fang An, the truth is… I don’t know how to teach you. In terms of martial ability, you’re already beyond me.”

Fang An raised an eyebrow. How could Yun Xia possibly know he possessed martial prowess? He had never once displayed it at the sect.

“You don’t need to know how I found out. What matters is—I will never teach you anything.”

“It was my parents, wasn’t it? They told you! Am I right, Master?” Fang An pressed.

“Enough. Go gather firewood.” Yun Xia dismissed him.

Fang An sighed. He nodded and turned to leave, a hint of bitterness in his heart. As he stepped out, he passed Zhang Wuji, who was just entering the room.

Zhang Wuji’s eyes narrowed. Why had Fang An been meeting with his father? Suspicion stirred in him—worried that Fang An might report his mistreatment.

---

Three hours later, a 21-year-old youth with pale skin, narrow eyes, and white hair ran breathlessly through the endless forest.

His clothes were soiled with mud in several places. His muscular frame—built from years of manual labor—was covered in bruises, as if he had just been beaten.

Fang An kept running, ignoring the blood seeping from his feet.

Behind him, Zhang Wuji and two of his friends were in hot pursuit, shouting his name as they ran.

“Stop running, Fang An! You weakling!” Zhang Wuji yelled.

Fang An paid them no mind. He kept sprinting without looking back. But then his foot caught on a tree root and he tumbled hard, rolling through the undergrowth until he landed face-first in a small muddy puddle.

“Hahaha! I told you not to run, weakling! Now look at you—wallowing like a pig in the mud,” Zhang Wuji taunted cruelly.

“What have I done to you, Zhang Wuji? Why do you and your friends beat me every time we cross paths?”

“I told you yesterday—you and your crippled father are a disgrace to this sect! I won’t stop until you’re gone from my father’s sect!” he barked.

Fang An clenched his mud-soaked fist. If not for the vow he made to his parents not to use martial arts, he would’ve beaten them long ago.

Another kick struck his stomach. He curled up again, groaning. Zhang Wuji and his cronies laughed heartily at his suffering, then walked away, proud of their cruelty.

When they were gone, Fang An stood and looked at his mud-covered body. In the distance, he heard the soft murmur of flowing water. He dashed toward the sound, hoping to wash away the filth.

His footsteps rustled dry leaves and parted thick grasses. At last, he found a small, clear stream.

Smiling, he stripped and leaped into the water, naked and free.

But before he could even rinse his clothes, a voice rang out—high and desperate.

“Help! Someone help me!”

Fang An froze. Without hesitation, he put on his filthy clothes and focused on the voice, closing his eyes to better pinpoint its direction.

Then he sprinted toward it.

About 50 meters away, he saw a young woman in fine clothing, wielding a short sword. She was surrounded by four thuggish men, their faces twisted with lust.

Two dead bodies lay nearby, drenched in blood. Three horses grazed lazily in the grass.

“Hahaha! I love feisty girls. I’ll enjoy it even more when my mighty crow defiles your purity,” said one, wearing a green headband.

“You’re right. Of all the girls we’ve taken, this one fights the hardest. Even knowing it’s useless, she still resists,” sneered another, his eyes locked on her torn blouse, which revealed part of her chest.

Fang An quickly looked away. His eyes had accidentally seen more than they should. But his father had taught him to protect a woman’s dignity, not exploit her body.

“Aren’t you ashamed, treating a woman like that? Or were you four not born of women, but of beasts?” Fang An said, stepping forward.

He scanned the area and picked up a thick branch, about the size of a big toe.

The four men turned to see a white-haired youth holding a stick.

Their fun interrupted, rage boiled in their veins. Especially since their challenger looked like a dirty, ragged boy.

Even the noble-looking girl glanced toward Fang An.

“Get lost, brat! You’re interrupting our fun!”

“Leave now, or you’ll end up like those two!”

Fang An chuckled, pointing his stick at them. “And if I refuse, you filthy beasts?”

“Bastard! You’ve got a death wish!” the green-banded man roared. He slashed the girl’s sword from her grip and grabbed her from behind.

“You three—kill him!”

The girl struggled, but her efforts were futile. One blow to the back of her head rendered her unconscious.

The other three advanced on Fang An with drawn blades.

“Come on then,” Fang An twirled the stick before him.

“Idiot! You think a stick can beat swords? You must be mad.”

“Am I? Or are your minds already replaced with beasts’ brains?”

“Die, scum!”

One slashed at Fang An’s stomach, but with a simple sidestep, he dodged it. He countered quickly, striking the man’s sword so hard it flew from his grip.

“Aargh!” the man cried out, his hand numb, eyes wide in disbelief. The others froze—none had seen the speed of Fang An’s move.

“Bastard!” the green-banded thug snarled, dropping the girl and charging.

His blade sliced air—Fang An had already dodged sideways. But he couldn’t counter yet; the other two pressed in with follow-up attacks.

Fang An slipped past one strike and deflected another with his stick. He spun and aimed a kick at the green-banded man’s neck—but aborted the move when a blade came for his ribs.

He dove to the ground, narrowly avoiding a fatal cut, then flipped back to his feet, catching his breath.