Chapter 71: The Soldier Ruffians Raid the House

Tears still streaked Pu Yi’s face as he nodded repeatedly. “All of you, withdraw now, leave us.”
The group of soldiers, hearing the command, did not dare disobey and retreated at once.
“Leave your weapons where they are, and then you can get out of here. And you, bald monk, stay away from me,” Zhou Yi ordered again.
With Pu Yi in Zhou Yi’s grasp, no one dared to make a move. Pu Yi had only been on the throne for a single day before this disaster struck—the frail Qing court could not withstand further turmoil.
Once the crowd had dispersed, Zhou Yi finally spoke. “I have only two conditions. First, let me go, and do not allow that monk to follow me.”
With his life held in Zhou Yi’s hands, Pu Yi dared not hesitate and quickly agreed. “As long as you do not harm me, hero, I will do as you wish.”
Zhou Yi smiled faintly. “Second, I want three weapons from your palace: Heaven’s Dryness, Earth’s Vastness, and Marsh of Exchange. Give me these three weapons, and I will release you at once.”
Perhaps because he was so young, Pu Yi did not know what weapons Zhou Yi was referring to, but nodded in agreement. “Xiao Li, fetch three fine weapons for this hero.”
Zhou Yi pressed his blade closer to Pu Yi’s back. “Say the names of the weapons aloud. I do not want ordinary arms.”
Pu Yi hurriedly repeated the names, and only then did the eunuch called Xiao Li depart.
Just then, Empress Dowager Longyu hurried in. Seeing the scene before her, she quickly whispered something to Xiao Li, but as she was too far away, Zhou Yi could not make out the words.
“Bold traitor, how dare you enter the palace and attempt to assassinate the Emperor! This is a crime punishable by extermination of your entire clan. If you release the Emperor now, I may spare your life,” Empress Dowager Longyu declared, pointing at Zhou Yi.
Witnessing this, Zhou Yi felt as though he had committed a colossal mistake. He never should have tried to defy fate and help the Qing restore the nation prematurely. Here was a twelve-year-old boy, frightened to tears—how could he possibly lead his ministers and pacify the chaos?
Zhang Xun’s restoration had nothing to do with loyalty to the dynasty; he merely wanted to use the boy as a pawn to command the lords. All the palace soldiers were Zhang Xun’s men—how could an orphan and a widow stand against him? Zhou Yi was filled with regret, and vowed that if he escaped, he would kill Zhang Xun without mercy.
At that moment, Xiao Li had returned, bearing three weapons wrapped in yellow cloth.
“Stop. Unwrap the package. I want to see them,” Zhou Yi demanded, wary that the contents might not be the promised weapons.

Xiao Li halted, placed the bundle on the ground, and opened it. Inside was a long sword, its scabbard inlaid with a golden dragon, a ruby set in the hilt, and a yellow tassel hanging from it.
Zhou Yi’s heart leapt for joy. This was undoubtedly the Heaven’s Dryness Sword. As the sword of kings, the Emperor always carried it—its appearance matched perfectly.
The second weapon was a soft sword, without a scabbard or ornamentation, the blade as thin as a cicada’s wing—clearly Earth’s Vastness.
The third was not a sword, but an iron mace, four feet long, four-sided, engraved with a qilin, and set with a black gem in the handle. This was unmistakably Marsh of Exchange.
After inspecting the three weapons, Zhou Yi was elated. “Wrap them back up. You may leave.”
Once the eunuch had gone, a murderous glint flashed in Zhou Yi's eyes. He had already incurred the wrath of the Qing court; whether he released Pu Yi or not made no difference. He might as well go all the way—kill the young emperor now, and if he were to die at their hands someday, at least he would have struck first.
With that thought, he pushed the blade forward. Pu Yi screamed in agony—the blade had pierced his lower back.
Zhou Yi was bloodthirsty now, driven by all that had happened before.
Though he had survived the heavenly tribulation, as soon as he left the mountains, he had been deceived and manipulated by Zhang Zuozheng, Zhang Xun, Zuo Zhi, Ji Yulin, Ji Liang, and others.
After days of relentless pursuit by Xu Hua, a demonic fire had arisen in his heart.
All this was in stark contrast to the simple life he had known in his mountain village on Changbai. He no longer trusted anyone before him. Zhou Yi was now dangerous, teetering on the edge of collapse. He was not as strong inside as others imagined; in truth, he was fragile.
“Stop, stop now!” A hysterical cry jolted Zhou Yi back. The voice was choked with tears—whether for Pu Yi or for Zhou Yi, it was hard to say.
Zhou Yi looked up. Princess Fu had already become a weeping mess, shaking her head as she pleaded, “You can’t harm the Emperor. Please, you can’t—he’s my brother, he’s my little brother.”
Seeing her like this, Zhou Yi came to his senses. He picked up the bundle, stomped his feet, and sped eastward. The soldiers’ muskets had already been confiscated by Zhou Yi, and Xu Hua had been dismissed by Pu Yi.
Thus, there was no one left to pursue Zhou Yi. With a few leaps, he vanished without a trace.
Princess Fu watched in the direction Zhou Yi had disappeared. Her beautiful eyes were filled with myriad emotions—reluctance, hatred, entanglement—until all condensed into a single tear, sliding down her cheek.

As for what was in Princess Fu’s heart, let us set that aside for now. When Zhou Yi left the Purple Thorn City, he did not stop for a moment, determined to return home. He knew that soon the Qing court would take revenge; if they came for him, so be it, but if his family were to suffer, he could never forgive himself.
He glanced at the three weapons on his back, feeling a flicker of warmth. He did not regret offending anyone; anyone who stood in the way of his quest for the eight keys was his enemy. Yet he was weighed down by too many attachments—otherwise, he would have stormed Zhang’s residence long ago, slaughtering Zhang Xun’s entire household. He had the strength to do it.
A day later, he arrived in Shenyang, feeling a sense of unease—surely something had happened to his closest kin, or he would not feel so unsettled.
Without pausing to rest, he sped through the air day and night, intent on reaching home and making sure his family was safe. Only then could he be at peace.
At dawn the next day, Baishan Village was bustling, for once again officials and soldiers had come. The last time Qing soldiers left was when the dynasty fell, seven years before.
At this moment, Baozi, Zhou Mo, and Mu Chen stood in a triangle, surrounded by a squad of soldiers with rifles at the ready. These troops were the local garrison of Erdaohe Town, sent by Zhang Xun to arrest Zhou Yi’s family.
The previous night, the garrison commander had received a telegram from Zhang Xun, ordering the arrest of the Zhou family for treason. The captain was to take the whole family to the capital; resistance was to be met with lethal force.
The captain had been drinking when the order came, and sent a rowdy underling with a dozen thugs to the village, thinking it was just another chance to bully villagers. In those days, ordinary people steered clear of the military whenever they could.
But the captain miscalculated, for Zhou Mo was at home. Zhou Yi had taught Zhou Mo his martial arts more than a month ago; though Zhou Mo had not yet reached the Demon-Banishing realm, dealing with a dozen thugs was easy enough.
The thugs never made it into the courtyard—Zhou Mo sent them running. Knowing the soldiers would return, Zhou Mo quickly summoned Mu Chen and Baozi for help, sparing the family a great disaster.
Sure enough, at dawn, the captain arrived with his entire company, surrounding the three. They were surrounded, yes, but even fifty soldiers were no match for the trio.
But the three had a weakness: Zhou Yi’s mother was still in the house.
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