Chapter Seventy-Five: You Should Stay Too

“Third Brother.” When Mu Chen saw Zhou Mo lying down, he stopped fighting with the group of soldiers and quickly ran to Zhou Mo, pulling him into his arms.

“Third Brother, don’t scare me, don’t scare your brother.” Mu Chen had only known Zhou Mo for two days, but Zhou Mo had always called him “Brother Mu Chen” with affection.

Mu Chen gently laid Zhou Mo down beside Baozi, then turned to look at the more than one hundred soldiers before him, his eyes growing even colder and more murderous.

He pressed his middle finger to his lips, bit it until it bled, and began to draw talismans upon the copper coin sword with his fresh blood. In moments, the talismans were complete. Mu Chen shouted in a commanding voice, “Holy Weapon of Maoshan, unsheathe your blade!”

No sooner had he spoken than the blade of the copper coin sword bristled with jagged barbs, glinting with a ghostly light. Mu Chen, sword in hand, charged once more into the mass of soldiers.

Zhou Mo, all this time, had been fulfilling the duties of a hospitable host in place of Zhou Yi. Clever as he was, Zhou Mo had already befriended Mu Chen. Now, seeing Zhou Mo fall to a bullet, Mu Chen’s heart was filled with urgency.

“Xun Feng, kill them for me—leave not a single one alive!” Bloodshot veins instantly crawled across Mu Chen’s eyes; he was truly enraged. To kill is to shorten one’s own lifespan, whether by direct or indirect means, and such a massacre would demand a steep price. Xun Feng was now a force of slaughter.

Xun Feng, merely a spirit conjured from a weapon, moved with a speed like the wind. Wherever it passed, a soldier would fall, each one dying in the same grisly way—their throats torn out.

But there were too many soldiers. One spirit alone could not withstand over a hundred armed men.

Two gunshots rang out. One bullet struck Mu Chen in the chest. He turned to look at Zhou Mo and Baozi, but could hold on no longer, and collapsed slowly to the ground.

The other bullet hit Xun Feng in the leg. Xun Feng’s speed was what made it so deadly among the crowd, but with its forelimb wounded, it could no longer inflict harm on the soldiers.

A practitioner of martial and spiritual arts could easily take on ten ordinary people, might barely hold against a hundred-strong army with a group of ten, but if a thousand practitioners faced ten thousand troops, the outcome would be beyond doubt.

Baozi’s skin was scorched and cracked from the fire, and his inner energy could only keep him alive, not heal his ruined flesh. Both Mu Chen and Zhou Mo were bleeding out from gunshot wounds, unable to continue fighting.

Wu Qian was being hauled away by two soldiers. She broke free for a moment but didn’t get far; once the fighting ended, she was captured again.

The soldiers, seeing the thirty or so bodies of their fallen comrades, especially their captain, were overcome by sorrow and rage. These men from the northeast, all in their thirties, wept openly.

Yet, there was no one to pity these men. More likely, people would scorn them as deserving their fate.

“Brothers, may you rest easy on your journey. I, Liu Dapao, will avenge you—bring our brothers’ bodies home.” Liu Dapao, the deputy commander of the unit, now took charge after the captain’s death.

“Liu, what should we do with them?” a soldier whispered in Liu Dapao’s ear.

“Take them with us. Tomorrow, send them to the capital.”

“But those three are on the verge of death—their wounds keep bleeding. I fear…” The rest of his words went unsaid, though the meaning was clear: They might bleed out before reaching the capital—maybe not even make it to Erdaohe Town. Should we bandage them?

He dared not say more, for fear of a severe reprimand.

“If they die, so be it. If not, they’re lucky.” Liu Dapao spoke through gritted teeth.

The soldiers were about to leave when a long, piercing shout echoed from the south: “You beasts, not one of you is leaving!”

It was Zhou Yi. He had rushed nonstop from Shenyang, and upon reaching Baishan Village, was shocked by the scene before him.

He hurried to Zhou Mo and Baozi, checked their injuries, then quickly lifted Mu Chen and laid him beside Baozi.

Drawing the Lihuo blade from his waist, he hurled it with force. It flew straight at the soldier pressing down on Wu Qian. In a flash, Zhou Yi was there, retrieving the blade and plunging it into another soldier’s chest.

Gathering up Wu Qian and Xun Feng, he placed everyone together. “Wait for me. I will avenge you—all of you.”

“Yi…” “Second Brother…” Mu Chen and Zhou Mo saw Zhou Yi arrive. Their lips twitched in a faint smile, and their voices were weak and hoarse from blood loss.

“Don’t leave me—I’m scared,” Wu Qian cried, throwing herself into Zhou Yi’s arms.

“Be good. Wait for me,” Zhou Yi said with a bitter smile, comforting her.

He turned to face the remaining soldiers, a cold smile curling his lips. Rising into the air, he gritted his teeth and chanted a sacred incantation.

“In the shadowy depths, within yin and yang and the five elements, spirits of chaos blight the world and bring disaster to mankind. Thunder God of the Nine Heavens, Puhua Tianzun, Wen Zhong, heed my command: summon divine thunder to destroy all evil, let clarity return to the human realm. By the urgent decree of the Mysterious Dao!”

As Zhou Yi finished the incantation, divine thunder gathered above, but hesitated to strike—for the targets below were not demons but men. Only those guilty of great evil would be smitten by heaven’s thunder, and these soldiers could hardly be called such.

Seeing the thunder hold back, Zhou Yi cursed the heavens. “If heaven’s thunder will not strike, then I will do it myself—slaughter every last one of them!”

The thunder lingered a moment longer, then dissipated.

Zhou Yi narrowed his eyes and sneered. “Since heaven will not judge you, I will.” Only now did the soldiers think to run, for Zhou Yi’s deeds had already surpassed the limits of their understanding.

He had flown through the air and called lightning from the sky. The soldiers were so stunned by the sight, they forgot to flee.

Liu Dapao was the first to react, screaming, “Run!” His voice was bordering on hysteria, for the pressure Zhou Yi exuded was beyond anything they could endure.

“Think you can still run?” Zhou Yi now had but one thought: to slaughter everyone before him, to butcher them in the most primal way.

With a sweep of the Lihuo blade, an arm fell to the ground. With his left hand, Zhou Yi finished the job with a dagger—the soldier’s head was severed.

Next, the second man, the third…

In the space of a breath, ten had died, all in the same way—their heads parted from their bodies.

The remaining fifty or so soldiers, seeing Zhou Yi’s ruthless methods, were paralyzed by terror. Perhaps it wasn’t that they forgot to run; in the face of such overwhelming fear, the most basic human instincts can simply vanish.

“Amitabha.” A Buddhist chant sounded from afar. The newcomer was Xu Hua. “Buddha is merciful. Lay down your blade, commit no more sin,” he said as he arrived, floating above Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi gathered his energy and met Xu Hua’s gaze. “You bald donkey, are you here to stop me?” His voice was cold, a chill that pierced even the heat of July.

“Lay down your blade, and become a Buddha this instant,” Xu Hua intoned softly.

“Lay down my blade? I’ll…” Zhou Yi’s words were cut short by the crack of a gunshot.

He thought the shot was aimed at him, but when he turned, he saw smoke curling from the barrel of the hunting rifle in Zhou Mo’s hands. Turning back, he saw Xu Hua—blood pouring from a wound in the center of his chest.

Zhou Yi laughed coldly. “Bald donkey, you’re not leaving today, either.”