C8 The Heir of the Tiger Clan

Ethan woke up in a daze, hanging from the ceiling of a bright, spacious hall. An eerie, unfamiliar dirge played in the background. Nearly a hundred people bustled about, and a massive iron cauldron stood at the front of the hall, piled high with firewood beneath it.

His body tingled with numbness. The gunshot wound on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, but a dull, throbbing pain lingered. Ethan strained to turn, trying to see what was behind him, and the rope twisted his body around and around. He felt like a top. As he spun, he saw a huge portrait on the wall—a fierce man with sharp, intelligent eyes. Two elegiac couplets hung on either side of the frame. Left: A hero of his time, living by honor and revenge. Right: A warrior for eternity, bold and unyielding. Banner: The Heavens envy genius.

"Damn." This had to be the gang leader he’d killed when he jumped. He was actually quite handsome. The Heavens envy genius? Does that make me the Grim Reaper? Ethan thought. A man dressed like a shaman paced the hall, barking orders—an absurd sight, a grown man in a bright red robe. Everyone else wore black suits and ties, the stereotypical gangster look from movies. The spinning made Ethan dizzy. A young boy, about seven or eight, spotted him and giggled, walking over to stare at him in curiosity.

"Hey, kid. Help me stop spinning, okay? I’ll buy you candy when I get down!" Ethan begged, desperate for any help.

"Okay, uncle!" the boy agreed cheerfully—then he reached out and spun Ethan harder. As he whirled, Ethan saw Li Yizhu. And he saw the Russian woman...

"What a little devil! Kids these days are so cruel! Like father, like son!" Ethan muttered. He made a mental note: China’s education system needed serious reform.

The hall was lined with colorful funeral wreaths. Ethan sighed—he’d even have to borrow someone else’s wreaths when he died. The dirge stopped. The man in the red robe stood at the front of the hall and shouted.

"The sacrifice begins! Everyone, silence!" The hundred people fell quiet, gathering neatly in the front hall, their eyes fixed on the altar of the dead leader. Li Yizhu stepped forward, dressed in a crisp white suit. "Thank you all for coming to my father’s funeral. My father fought beside you all his life, and I thank you for your care after his passing. I bow to you all." He bowed deeply.

"Now, Master Zhang will lead the sacrifice. Play the music..."

The man in the red robe danced to the dirge, his large frame moving with the lightness of a young girl. He chanted in a language no one understood, his movements growing faster and more frantic, as if he would fly away at any moment. The gangsters below bowed their heads in solemn respect. Suddenly, the shaman stopped, his eyes glowing with an eerie light.

"The Heavens bore all things and nurtured man; man has nothing to offer in return." His voice was hollow, magnetic, not of this world.

"I sing for the Heavens, I dance for the Heavens—may the Heavens bless us. All men honor me, and I honor the blue sky." He danced again, and the gangsters below stared in a daze, joining him in the strange dance.

In an instant, the entire hall was dancing—a bizarre, unsettling sight. Ethan felt an overwhelming sense of fear. An unknown power surged through his body, and he felt an irresistible urge to dance (if he hadn’t been tied up, he would have). After a long time, everyone stopped, their faces a mix of excitement and terror.

"The Tiger Clan has existed for thousands of years. We stand side by side with the Dragon Gang, blessed with the power of the gods. The Tiger Clan will live on for eternity. Though we are only 283 strong, we all possess the power of the gods. We will honor our great leader with the Clan’s sacred ritual..." Li Yizhu’s voice was hollow, matching the shaman’s.

"Clan members! Facing our enemy, strike him with your fists... pour your hatred, your anger... into his body... We will eat every inch of his flesh, drink every drop of his blood..."

Ethan’s fear grew. He knew now he’d offended more than just a gang. He’d never been afraid of anything in his life, but today he was filled with an inexplicable unease. What did this strange clan plan to do to him...

Li Yizhu was the first to step in front of him.

"Mr. Ethan, you should feel honored. We have not held this sacrifice in nearly a hundred years. Though we are only 283 strong, we are the most powerful people in the world—besides the Dragon Gang. You are lucky. We will offer your soul to the Heavens, your flesh and blood to warm our clan’s hearts, to replenish our sacred power."

"O Tiger God, I honor you—grant me your power..." Li Yizhu roared, throwing a punch that sent Ethan spinning again. The punch held a strange, unearthly power. Ethan felt like a thousand snakes were writhing inside him, and he spat out a mouthful of blood.

One by one, every clan member did the same. Ethan wanted to cry. What kind of clan was this? What kind of sick tradition? 283 punches—he’d be turned into a pulp.

The Russian woman stepped forward, a smile on her lips. "My lovely baby, we meet again. I’ll miss you. My father is a Tiger Clan member, my mother is Russian—the woman you killed. My name is Eve."

"Damn. Eve." Ethan thought the name was an insult.

"Hey, kid. You wanted to die in a creative way? The Tiger Clan will make your wish come true!" Tiger sneered, malice in his eyes.

...

Ethan spun in the air, flying back and forth. The 200-odd punches were agony. Suddenly, he thought of his dead master, of the Ascending Dragon Fist he’d taught him. The way of the ascending dragon is to rise at the peak, to live forever, to be immortal—those were the mad Taoist’s exact words.

"Fuck it. I’ve got nothing to lose. Even if it doesn’t save me, it’ll ease the pain." Ethan muttered the Ascending Dragon Fist mantra under his breath. A searing current surged through his brain, and a warm glow rose in his lower abdomen. The current and the glow collided, dragon and tiger swirling inside him. Ethan felt the unknown power the clan had poured into him clash with his own, a storm raging in his body—thunder and lightning, fire and water. A deafening boom echoed in his head, and blood spurted from his seven orifices—but an indescribable sense of peace washed over him, his body wrapped in a soft, warm light.

Li Yizhu stared at him in astonishment. The man had taken over 200 punches, bled from every orifice—and yet he was not only alive, but seemed invigorated. Unbelievable.

The shaman shouted. "Light the fire... sacrifice to the Heavens..."

Ethan’s heart sank. He stared at the massive cauldron... the fire blazed beneath it, the water inside boiling furiously...

"Bring the Saintess! Open the altar!" the shaman hollered. A naked woman was carried in, her body pale and perfect, her curves stark against the hall’s cold stone floors—a grotesque sight.

"What are they doing?" Ethan couldn’t fathom this strange clan.

The shaman laid the naked woman on the altar, his claw-like hands caressing her face, chanting incantations. His hands moved down her face, her neck, her chest. Everyone in the hall watched with devout eyes. Ethan saw the woman’s face.

"Icy!" he screamed.

"What the hell are you doing, you sick freaks..." he roared, terror gripping his heart. He had no idea what fate awaited Icy...

No one paid him any mind. The clan members stared with mad, fevered eyes. The shaman’s hand stopped on Icy’s chest. His body shook violently, and Icy’s body shook with his. Suddenly, her chest burst open. A beating, bloody heart lay in the shaman’s hands...

Ethan’s mind went blank. Tears fell silently from his eyes...

"Icy is dead." The world spun around him. The lovely nurse was gone, killed without a single moment of awareness. The woman who’d pulled him back from death again and again was gone. Ethan had grown used to opening his eyes in the hospital and seeing his angel, had come to think of her as family...

"You motherfucking bastards! You will all burn in hell... I will kill you all... kill your god... kill every last one of you..." Ethan screamed, his voice hoarse with rage. The 283 clan members stared at him with strange eyes, but no one moved to stop him.

The beating heart slowly melted into blood in the shaman’s hands, dripping into the altar’s bowl—turning the wine red...

Each Tiger Clan member drank the wine mixed with Icy’s blood. They grew even more mad, their eyes glowing with an unearthly light. Ethan’s heart bled. His tears dried up. He hated the world...

His clothes were torn off, and he was thrown naked into the boiling cauldron. Ethan finally understood the cauldron’s purpose. The fire blazed on, the water boiled furiously...

Ethan thrashed in the cauldron, destined to become soup to feed the Tiger Clan. He refused to die like this. He had too much left to do...

The scalding water seared his skin, but Ethan’s mind grew calm. Clouds of steam surged into his body, solid and tangible, merging with the power inside him. He felt no heat, no pain. He had never been so peaceful. He could hear the beating of every heart in the hall, not a single drop of sweat on his brow. He felt one with the fire, one with the water, one with heaven and earth. He heard the earth’s heartbeat, felt the peace of the world. It was like a perfect sauna.

The cauldron glowed red-hot. The Tiger Clan members stared at Ethan in disbelief. The fire had burned for an hour, and he was still alive, unharmed. The shaman’s face paled. This was a bad omen, a thing unheard of. Did the Heavens intend to punish the Tiger Clan...

The shaman dared not think further. He ordered more firewood added, then led the clan in a dance around the boiling cauldron...

Ethan’s spirit soared to the heavens. He saw flowers dancing in the wind, trees swaying gently. He saw countless soldiers charging toward the hall, dozens of elderly men with lightning-fast reflexes leading the way—their power immense...

Boom! A grenade exploded in the crowd. Intense gunfire rang out...

Another grenade landed in the cauldron. The explosion sent Ethan flying into the dead leader’s portrait. He watched as the unarmed Tiger Clan members fell one by one, saw Li Yizhu charge at him, his eyes blood-red with rage...

Hundreds of soldiers stormed the hall, armed with weapons fit for a war. The clan members fell in waves (they carried no weapons during the sacrifice)...

The elderly men had no weapons, but their movements were lightning-fast. Every punch, every kick, took down a line of men... it was a massacre...

Li Yizhu charged at Ethan, his eyes red with hatred. He knew the Tiger Clan was finished—but he would take the man who’d destroyed them with him. He could not believe the mighty Tiger Clan had fallen to this unlucky fool. Though the Black Tiger Hall had nearly a thousand men outside the clan, without the Tiger Clan’s leadership, they were nothing. He and his father—both dead at the hands of this meaningless boy.

Ethan fell to the ground with the shattered portrait. He saw Li Yizhu charging at him...

Blinding hatred fueled him, and he stood up again. A lovely girl had been killed by the Tiger Clan. A respected police officer had been killed by this smiling snake. Ethan would not let him live, even if it cost him his own life. He saw Li Yizhu’s fist swing toward him in an arc, felt the immense power behind it, the cold hand of death clinging to it. Ethan did not dodge. He did not want to. He stared at the fist growing larger in his vision, and raised his own fist, filled with infinite hatred, to meet it...

A deafening crash. Fists collided... Li Yizhu flew backward... Ethan’s body burst open—his charred, black skin peeling away, revealing a new body beneath. It was translucent, like jade, glowing with a soft, warm light. Ethan stood naked, like a newborn baby, like a god. Li Yizhu lay on the ground, his body numb, unable to move. He stared at Ethan in disbelief. He could not believe this weak boy possessed such immense power. He could not believe a man who’d been boiled alive for an hour, then blown up by a grenade, stood before him unharmed...

The shaman danced on, bullets flying around him but never hitting him. His movements were as graceful as a young girl’s. He stumbled to Li Yizhu’s side, a powerful barrier of air pushing the elderly men back, stopping them in their tracks. The soldiers who touched the barrier stumbled and fell...

The shaman danced around Li Yizhu, a whirlwind forming around him. Ethan moved, his body crackling with lightning. He threw a punch at the shaman, filled with infinite power—nothing else existed in the world but this fist. Ethan felt he could shatter heaven and earth, that he was the only one alive in the universe, that everything would end with this punch.

The shaman’s face paled. He saw the fist swing in a perfect arc into his chest, felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He smiled, and began to sing...

In an instant, the shaman melted into a cloud of blood, surrounding Li Yizhu... Ethan was thrown backward by the force, slamming into two soldiers...

The blood cloud cleared. Li Yizhu was gone. Only a bright red robe lay on the ground...

Ethan climbed to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. The two soldiers he’d crashed into lay on the ground, their brains splattered—they were dead. Ethan smiled bitterly. He’d killed again. Since he’d jumped off the building, countless people had died because of him. Maybe he never should have lived. Maybe the world would be a better place if he was dead.

The battle was over. The Tiger Clan was finished (except for Li Yizhu, who was nowhere to be found). The hall was soaked in blood, littered with limbs and broken bodies. The boiling cauldron was shattered, the firewood beneath it smoking. Ethan stood naked in the hall, feeling like he was in a dream. Everything was so unreal, yet so painfully real. He stared at the hall, more confused than ever. Did this world belong to him? He had no idea...

Ethan picked up the bright red robe and put it on, his mind blank. He followed the elderly men onto a helicopter. He knew his fate had only just begun.

The world was still in chaos...