The rain seemed to have eased somewhat, though the night remained pitch black, impossible to judge the hour by sight alone.
The lookout on watch gave the alarm, and shadows closing in from outside immediately loosed crossbow bolts. The rain had fallen too long — both bowstrings and bolts were soaked, and their aim went wide. The bolts struck the wall with a splat. The watching swordsman ducked behind a collapsed low wall. “What friends do we have out there…”
“Ha! You rebel scum, surrender quickly — under this whole sky, where would you find friends left!”
Inside the ruined temple, everyone threw their damp cloaks back on. The two children woke with a start and began to cry in fright. The moment they made a sound, Yu Hezhong rushed over to cover one child’s mouth, while his wife held the other close. “Don’t cry, don’t make a sound, good, good…” His heart was filled with terror, but his face remained composed.
Yan Yunzhi pushed through the crowd — the young monk was nowhere to be seen. Jin Chenghu nearby gave her a look and said quietly, “Young Hero Sun went out the back. Get ready — I’ll go stall them.” With that, he slipped out toward the front of the temple.
A moment later, his voice rang out. “This is Jin Chenghu of Twin Lotus Mountain’s Great Tiger Stronghold in Hedong! My chief followed Zhou Tong in the assassination attempt on Nian Han — a righteous man! You little clowns dare chase us here? Tired of living?”
“Heh, Zhou Tong, is it! Compare him to our Peerless Grandmaster, Sect Leader Lin, and the outcome’s far from settled. Your days are numbered — and just so you know, our Pillar of the Nation is Ying Baiyan, one of the Twin Dragons of Heluo! The old master himself is not far off — will you not surrender now?”
“Big talk, though we’ll see how tough your bones really are. Still, I am curious — in weather like this, how did you manage to catch up to us?”
“Ha! Old Ma the Fourth, ‘Roadfinder,’ of Caizhou is right here! Wherever you go, there’s no escaping us!”
As the two sides exchanged a few more words, though the figures in the darkness gradually became visible, those inside the temple could already tell that the enemy’s men had probably not yet fully surrounded the place.
Under the black night, the enemy closed in through the forest, but another figure was also moving stealthily among them, staff swinging, striking straight for the back of the head — in the blink of an eye, four or five men who had drawn near were struck down into the mud. But shortly after felling the sixth, that figure, on the ground, let out a strained warning cry!
“F—”
“Kill—”
The men surrounding the front of the temple charged at once, while Yu Hezhong, Yan Yunzhi, and the others had already slipped through a gap at the rear of the temple into the woods.
The slaughter resumed. The group made their way down the slope toward a deserted village below. Yu Hezhong, carrying a child, stumbled and fell while running; struggling back up, he checked that the child was unhurt, then gritted his teeth and pressed on. Among those around him, even skilled swordsmen occasionally slipped and rolled in the mud.
Behind them, in the forest, more commotion echoed through the rain — some men tumbled down the steep slope, crashing against rocks, groaning in pain.
Ding Shu and his wife, hand in hand, fell into a mud-flooded ditch. Yu Hezhong, running nearby with one arm around a child, tried with his free hand to help them, attempting several times, until Yan Yunzhi came from the other side to assist, and together they hauled the two up onto the grassy slope beside them. Hearing the pursuers’ voices closing in from behind, Ding Shu, dragging on Yu Hezhong’s arm as they ran, said, “During the Bianliang assembly, that Ying Baiyan is fierce in skill and vicious in temperament — if we can’t escape this time, I beg you, Brother Yu, help me… give my wife and me a quick death…”
Yu Hezhong shook his head hard, flinging off rainwater. “Don’t lose heart now, Brother Ding, don’t say such things — I… I have connections in the upper ranks of the Chinese Army, they… even if they truly catch up to us, they won’t dare go too far, don’t worry…”
Even as he said “don’t worry,” he felt no real confidence in his heart. Beside him, Ding Shu gripped his arm even tighter, gasping for breath. “Ha… ha… The weight of the tripod, the contest for the deer — such struggles are never so… so gentle… Brother… Brother Yu, I’m truly glad you joined the Chinese Army… I… I know that on this journey north, you’re prepared to set aside life and death… You and I are not worth much, but that intelligence — it must… it must reach the southwest. Zou Xu… Zou Xu has gone mad, he means to do something monstrous, it’s about to happen — the black banner… if the black banner doesn’t rise, what becomes of the common people—”
Yu Hezhong shook his head, thinking to himself, when did I ever set aside life and death? Having received Li Shishi’s counsel, he had gone north beyond the pass with Yan Daolun to persuade various factions, and had achieved some modest success. Once that matter had concluded, he had learned the whereabouts of his wife and children and of Ding Shu, and had come to Caizhou — reckoning that since Liu Guangshi’s death was less than half a year past, Dai Mengwei and her circle, still needing to consolidate control over the Central Plains and paper over the peace with all sides, would give him a window to quickly bring his family back to the southwest.
Who could have known that upon arriving, Ding Shu would tell him he had uncovered a great secret, and had gathered a band of martial-world men intending to flee south — and upon seeing Yu Hezhong arrive, had simply put him forward as their leader. Yu Hezhong, having followed Yan Daolun for several months, had fortunately picked up a bit of the art of putting on appearances, and constantly recalled Li Shishi’s manner in the southwest, forcing himself through it without disgracing the reputation of the southwestern Chinese Army — but inside, terror was boiling in him, and he felt he was nearly at his limit.
He even found himself calculating — if things turned truly bad, could he surrender, and perhaps, on the strength of being Li Shishi’s friend and an old acquaintance of Ning Liheng, still find some use here — at the very least, avoid severe punishment.
On the other hand, he also recalled Li Shishi’s warning as he left the southwest — the one time she had spoken to him with utmost severity: if he betrayed them, she would see him dead.
Rushing down the grassy slope, ahead lay a stretch of dark, deserted village — after the Central Plains had fallen more than once, such abandoned villages were countless along every road — they fled along a dirt path that had nearly vanished from disuse. By now the eastern sky showed the faintest trace of light. The group rushing down the slope collided with Jin Chenghu and several others already locked in combat; a staff-wielding figure moved through the fray, and nearly every clash left an enemy either felled or driven back. His steps were swift, and he’d dash far off again immediately, striking and tearing at the pursuers one blow at a time.
In this rain, the Cinnabar Palace Guard’s crossbows, firearms, fishing nets, and lime powder were all useless. The young monk fought with everything he had, and it looked almost as though he alone had surrounded a great host of pursuers. But he was still young, and no one could say how long such intense output could last. The men on the other side, thoroughly rattled, fought him with visible timidity and instead pressed toward the fleeing group, someone screaming hysterically, “Tangle with him, hold him back—”
The fleeing group gradually neared the deserted village. As one of the swordsmen ahead stepped into the ruins of the village, he suddenly shouted, “Watch out—” Before him, a figure abruptly emerged — a burly man, his long blade sweeping sideways, cutting the swordsman down and sending him flying. Before he even hit the ground, figures appeared atop the nearby earthen walls and cast down a fishing net to trap him — a net studded with iron barbs and hooks that sank into his body in an instant. He screamed in agony, the scene ghastly and gruesome.
The moment the net caught him, the men above began hauling the ropes taut, dragging him backward. At that same moment, Yan Yunzhi leapt through the air and, with a few swift movements, cut one of the ropes. She landed and moved to slash the other rope as well, but the burly blade-wielder laughed and closed on her like a shadow.
His blade slashed toward her; Yan Yunzhi shifted her stance three times in the blink of an eye, yet still couldn’t dodge it, and could only cross her sword to block with all her strength, her body rolling back to absorb the blow at the same time.
With a crack, one of her short swords twisted and flew from her grip, the flesh at the base of her thumb split open, and her body rolled several times through the mud, a dull pain flaring in her chest. The burly man laughed and swung his broadsword down onto the netted swordsman, who let out another agonized scream, blood soaking his whole body — even if rescued now, the rest of his life was likely ruined.
But the dim rain offered no room for hesitation. More swordsmen closed in around them. Yan Yunzhi gritted her teeth and, sword in her left hand, tried to press into the deserted village to strike down the hounds hidden within — but the Cinnabar Palace Guard’s men were already emerging steadily from that direction.
Someone laughed loudly. “Fourth Master Ma, with you here, these small fry really can’t escape Caizhou.”
This “Roadfinder” Ma the Fourth was one of the local men of Caizhou, most familiar with the roads nearby — far more so than the guide the fleeing group had chosen this time.
The burly blade-wielder swung his sword a few more times, driving back two men, then easily cut down another, laughing. “Fourth Master Ma earns great merit this time.”
Someone behind cupped his hands. “Thank you, Lord Ying — it’s only our proper duty, how could we dare shirk it.”
This burly, blade-wielding man was Ying Baiyan, one of the so-called Eight Pillars Upholding the Nation of the Cinnabar Palace Guard. He had a younger brother named Ying Bailong; after the fall of the Central Plains, the two of them had scraped out a living around Bianliang, carving out their own territory through formidable skill and ruthlessness. At this Bianliang assembly, the two of them had each secured a seat among the Eight Pillars — among the most prominent of the rising new powers within that group.
The moment he appeared, the fleeing group felt the terrifying gap in strength. As the Cinnabar Palace Guard closed in from all sides, several swordsmen, shielding Yu Hezhong and the others, kept retreating, driven toward a low-lying area beside the road.
Amid the fear and retreat, Ding Shu gripped Yu Hezhong’s arm, only shaking his head. “The Central Plains have come to this, the Central Plains have come to this…” He and Yu Hezhong were close friends; in truth, back in Bianliang, he too had once been a talented, spirited young man — but with the fall of the Central Plains, his three children had all died during the flight. His wife, beside him now, arm in arm with him, did not say a single word, her lips pressed tight.
Yu Hezhong’s heart pounded wildly, his eyes filled with desolation.
Ying Baiyan’s blade technique was formidable; the swordsmen who charged him did not dare act rashly. He advanced with his blade, laughing. “Will you still not surrender?” Then, with a wave of his hand: “Lads, bring out the bird-catching net!”
At his command, several men behind him unfurled a great net, spread five zhang wide, studded all over with clinking iron barbs and hooks. Anyone caught in such a net could only imagine the ghastly result. Ying Baiyan said, “You’re all just birds!”
One swordsman shouted and charged forward; Ying Baiyan’s long blade twisted and cut him down, then stepped on his head, grinding it into the mud. Ying Baiyan laughed. “He’s lost his nerve. What about the rest of you?”
The huge net closed in on them. At that same moment, through the dim sky, a figure broke through the sheet of water, staff trailing behind, and arrived with a crash. It was the young monk, who had been fighting his way through from behind — seeing the ambush here, he had rushed over at once. Now his staff swung at Ying Baiyan, who laughed loudly and countered with his broadsword; the two exchanged several blows in the blink of an eye.
Ying Baiyan called out to those around him. “So this is the one I’ve been most curious about this whole trip — ha, the Four-Foot Lecher, Sun Wukong, out doing chivalrous deeds lately. I wonder where your elder brother, the Five-Foot Lecher, is now… I’ll clean up a lecher today, and once it hits the newspapers, I suppose I’ll have done a service for the people!”
The young monk exchanged a few blows here, then rushed toward the men holding the fishing net nearby. Ying Baiyan followed behind, directing his men. “Hold formation, lads, don’t let him through… take a good look at him, all of you — young as he is, to have skill like this, he must be the one among this bunch with the deepest family training, trained up by who knows what master… what a pity, today, he’s going to suffer…”
Through the rain, the young monk moved like lightning, but Ying Baiyan’s blade-light cut in from behind, and the men ahead were now on guard. Caught between the weapons closing in, he failed to break the fishing-net formation and instead rolled several times through the mud, dodging Ying Baiyan’s blade in an increasingly desperate scramble.
Ying Baiyan laughed loudly as the net formation advanced. Yan Yunzhi cried out, “Little Sun, go now! Once you’re gone, find him for me—” She trailed off there, no longer sure what else to say.
Someone nearby screamed, “Ahhhhhh—” It was Yu Hezhong, shrieking hysterically, the cry born purely of terror. Ying Baiyan laughed on, and the next moment, Yu Hezhong, his voice nearly breaking into sobs, shouted at the top of his lungs: “The Chinese Army does not retreat—!”
The frantic cry tore through the sheet of morning rain. Before the deserted village, everyone seemed to freeze for an instant; the next moment, the swordsmen at the front of the group — none of whom actually belonged to the Chinese Army — had their eyes go bloodshot, and with a frenzied roar they charged forward.
Yan Yunzhi charged forward too, and in that moment, the image of a certain youth — perhaps from the Chinese Army, though hardly proper in his conduct — flashed through her mind.
Ying Baiyan gave a cold snort. “The last gasp of a spent force—” He swung his broadsword, and through the rain the blade nearly cut a blow of overwhelming force. At the same instant, the young monk hurled his staff and dashed forward low to the ground.
Ying Baiyan’s blade cut a great spray of blood through the air; almost simultaneously, the young monk’s short blade thrust in. Ying Baiyan held his footing, his blade whipping back in a thunderous counter-slash. The young monk’s short blade drew a faint line of blood across his body before slipping past him, straight into the crowd on one side of the net formation.
The men there also had their weapons out, but the young monk forced his way straight through in an instant — one figure was sent flying by his blow, streaks of blood spraying through the air; some had their tendons severed and fell, others bore several gashes across their bodies.
The young monk let out a cry as well; in this single charge among dozens of men, his own strength had been drained badly, but now he finally brought out his true killing move — in an instant, seven or eight fighters were caught by his short blade, and one side of the fishing net collapsed, torn free.
For that instant, the rain-soaked air was filled with the grim glow of blood. After this single charge, the young monk cut back through the crowd again, driving straight for Ying Baiyan, shouting, “Go, all of you—!”
By now Ying Baiyan had already cut down two swordsmen, but he could read the young monk’s weaknesses. He struck with his blade while shifting his footing to avoid the short blade aimed at his vitals. The young monk’s form twisted and turned like a monkey’s, and in an instant he had drawn several bleeding lines across Ying Baiyan’s body, yet none proved fatal. In the exchange, Ying Baiyan released his long blade and instead grappled and seized with both hands, tearing and wrenching until, with a crash, he sent the young monk flying more than ten feet.
The young monk tumbled across the ground, landing at the feet of one of the Cinnabar Palace Guard men — the next instant, his short blade had already carved several gashes into the man’s chest. He rose from the ground, blood in his mouth, struggling not to let it spill and throw off his breathing. In the dim rain, Ying Baiyan advanced like a war chariot, blade drawn once more!
The young monk gathered his strength, his face twisting fiercely, preparing to thrust out what might be his final strike of this dawn.
His nature was gentle by temperament, but during his time traveling with Ning Ji, he had also seen the ferocity hidden within that “elder brother” of his. On this journey, he had witnessed enough of life and death, and now, all he had come to understand was about to be poured into this one desperate, self-sacrificing strike.
In the morning air, someone let out a soft grunt.
That single sound drowned out the rain, stilled the wilderness, and seemed to reach the ears of everyone present all at once. The next instant, a mountain came crashing down.
It was a massive figure that had appeared suddenly out of the darkness — an instant earlier, no one had seen it at all, and now it was already close at hand, scattering the falling rain in every direction. With a thunderous boom, Ying Baiyan was sent flying through the air — no one could say whether that great crash had come from the figure’s foot slamming into Ying Baiyan’s body, or from the terror of the ground shaking as it suddenly tore through the rain.
The figure had reached Ying Baiyan’s side, delivering him a simple yet horrifying front kick.
There was no technique to it at all.
Beside the road, one of the earthen houses of the deserted village collapsed with a rumble.
In the darkness, more men were still rushing forward; someone tried to swing a blade at the young monk, but the massive figure was already beside him, arms spread wide as if holding open heaven and earth, spinning in a great arc — some men flew through the air, others collapsed, one was seized and hurled into the advancing net, dragging the whole net rolling away with him…
A moment later, Ying Baiyan struggled up out of the ruins.
Everyone was stunned.
The one who had appeared in the rain — the “Peerless Grandmaster” —
Lin Zongwu.