Chapter Nine: A Show of Force (Part Two)

The demonic monk stared intently at the woman who had slowly stepped into his field of vision. She was clad in a night-walking suit that clung tightly to her exquisite, curvaceous figure, revealing only her sharp, elegant face. Under the moonlight, her skin was as fair as fine porcelain, radiating an almost unreal sense of fragility, as if she would shatter at the slightest touch.

The monk dared not show the slightest negligence. At the entrance of the post station, the Daoist Li had been pinned to the ground by a sharp blade within only a few rounds. Though the demonic monk was vicious, he was also extremely cautious. The water-parting daggers that had nearly grazed him moved with a speed and sharpness that defied imagination. The demonic monk had failed to even track An Miaotong’s movements.

The first drop of blood had already fallen to the ground.

"Who on earth are you?" the demonic monk asked, feeling a mixture of shock, rage, and fear.

Who was An Miaotong? In Guiyang City, everyone knew her as the secretary to the young commander Yun Zheng, effectively acting as his chief of staff. But few knew that An Miaotong was, in truth, Yun Zheng’s blade in the night.

A secretary, formally known as a Chief Clerk, served as a confidential assistant in charge of practical affairs. Li Shanchang, a founding father of the Great Ming Empire, had started his career as a Chief Clerk. This did not mean that An Miaotong was a desk-bound civil servant far from the battlefield. Her true position in Yun Zheng's army was that of an adjutant, but since the Ming official hierarchy lacked such a designation, she had to be reported as a secretary to draw her pay. Whether or not they were short of money was one thing, but whether or not they drew their salary was a matter of attitude. If Yun Zheng openly admitted he could support his own troops, it would imply he possessed an army outside the control of the imperial court.

Regardless of whether it was an attack, defense, maneuver, or parry, every move was defused by An Miaotong with effortless grace. The demonic monk’s complexion grew increasingly grim. The fifty-second drop of blood had now fallen to the ground. The monk’s body was covered in dozens of wounds, large and small, none of which were fatal. Several times, An Miaotong had the opportunity to send him to the afterlife, but at the very last second, she would shift her blade, carving away only a thin, cicada-wing-like sliver of flesh.

At this moment, she even had the leisure to pause and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Her expression remained cold and detached, yet this delicate gesture was a profound provocation to the monk.

*(Could it be that this woman is performing the punishment of 'Lingchi' on me?)*

A flash of ruthlessness crossed the monk’s eyes. His hand moved slowly toward his waist and back; the crossbow hidden beneath his robes was his final trump card. It was a "flower-adorned" crossbow, a standard-issue weapon of the Song Dynasty army. Compared to the Zhuge repeating crossbow, this model was compact, easy to carry, and perfect for martial arts skirmishes. To the demonic monk, this crossbow was not just a hole card, but a symbol of power—if not for his alliance with the Chen chieftain, how else would he have obtained such a contraband weapon?

*(I cannot defeat you in close-quarters combat, but how will you withstand my secret technique that can strike an enemy ten paces away?)*

As the demonic monk was plotting, he saw An Miaotong calmly pull from her bosom a silver wheel-lock pistol, exquisitely crafted and engraved with intricate magical runes. The monk’s smile froze on his face.

"The Commander once told me a story," An Miaotong said serenely. "There was a line in it: 'Hesitation is defeat.'"

A crisp "bang" suddenly rang through the air, as shocking as a thunderclap.

"Of all the martial arts in the world, only the enchanted pistol is unbreakable."

A bullet infused with mysterious magic tore through the air, striking the monk’s chest with pinpoint accuracy. Though it missed his vital organs, it left a horrifying wound.

*(I'm going to die!)*

The monk was terrified, but he saw An Miaotong pull out another one from her bosom. Frightened out of his wits, the monk fled without a second thought.

The wheel-lock pistol originated from the Western land of Deutschland—also known as the Holy Roman Empire—and was once prohibited for export by the Emperor. Compared to the widely used matchlock guns, the wheel-lock pistol began to stand out on the battlefield due to its unparalleled convenience. However, its sophisticated and complex design created a barrier to widespread adoption. For ordinary soldiers with limited financial means, equipping such a high-end pistol was nothing more than a pipe dream. In that era, the pioneers who ventured to the Far East were mostly from the lower nobility or common families, and they could hardly afford the burden of high-end weaponry like wheel-lock pistols. Thus, only a very small number made their way to the Far East. Those few that did reach the Ming Empire were quickly bid up to astronomical prices. Therefore, owning such a delicate pistol was a symbol of wealth and connections in itself.

At the post station entrance, the cold moonlight cast a veil of silver over the small station shrouded in the inky night. The station’s lanterns still flickered in the wind, revealing a touch of desolation in the silence. The station, having just undergone a fierce battle, was now filled with the scent of blood. On the ground, blood flowed like a stream, appearing shocking under the moonlight.

Yun Zheng, accompanied by Ye Xi, walked toward the slaughterhouse filled with corpses. In the distance, several of the Yun family’s servants were escorting a group of young novices who were trembling like chaff.

Just then, the situation took a sudden turn. The Daoist Li, who had been pierced through his internal organs by several blades and should have been finished, suddenly opened his eyes as if by a miracle. The servant Yun Eleven felt his heart skip a beat; before he could react in his shock, a piercing pain shot through his lower abdomen like lightning, causing him to collapse to the ground, his face twisted in agony.

After pulling the blade from Yun Eleven’s abdomen, the Daoist Li’s momentum did not wane, and he lunged toward Yun Zheng like a phantom. He felt an intuition—this man was the puppeteer behind tonight’s feast of slaughter. In an instant, the Daoist Li was upon Yun Zheng, his sword tip radiating a biting chill.

"The True Martial Qi seeks life through death," the dark-complexioned Yun Zheng sighed. "Daoist Li, I never expected you to break through your bottleneck between life and death to reach this stage. The moment of yin-yang transition is also the moment of greatest strength. Though you are wounded, it is only fair that I kill you at your peak."

External training focuses on bones and skin, while internal training focuses on breath. At this moment, as long as the Daoist Li’s internal breath did not dissipate, he was nearly immortal. What Yun Zheng did not tell the others was that he sensed a fluctuation of energy in the Daoist Li that seemed to be a "mutation of heaven and earth." The Daoist’s wounds were healing rapidly under the influence of this energy.

The Daoist Li before him would, before long, mutate into one of the Western legendary creatures like the others he had seen.

*(Does this Daoist have troll blood? No wonder his vitality is so vigorous.)*

All the servants had drawn their weapons and retreated, leaving only the calm Yun Zheng and the Daoist Li, whose robes were stained with dark blood. Ye Xi’s eyes lit up; she kicked a small stone at her feet and, pretending to be careless, raised her hand to twirl her hair, actually tracing a circle.

Yun Zheng glanced at her and immediately understood. *(Though I don't know the reason, if Ye Xi wants me to keep this hidden, she must have her reasons.)*

Yun Zheng’s longsword danced, instantly parrying the Daoist Li’s sword strike. The endless True Martial sword intent coiled around the blade, but Yun Zheng slashed through the air, instantly neutralizing it. Although the Daoist Li had the air of a fierce god and was covered in blood, he used sword techniques that countered hardness with softness, while the calm Yun Zheng maintained a focused mind, wielding a style that broke all laws and moved straight forward.

After three rounds, the precious sword in the Daoist Li’s hand clattered to the ground, snapping in two. While Yun Zheng’s longsword was forced aside, his other hand formed a sword-finger, releasing an invisible sword Qi that pierced through the Daoist Li’s eyes and straight through his skull.

In an instant, a burst of blood exploded from the back of the Daoist Li’s head. The surging sword Qi was enough to turn his brain into mush. It seemed he was truly dead this time.

At the same time, the blood-soaked demonic monk suddenly wore a look of triumph. He had fled not toward Chishui City, but intentionally deep into the rarely trodden heart of the dense forest, which had allowed An Miaotong to use the complex terrain to inflict several more shocking wounds upon him. But this was all by his design. He knew that if he fled directly toward the city, An Miaotong would either be forced by the situation to abandon the chase or would spare no cost to use lethal means to end the pursuit. Paying these costs was the price for his goal: to bury An Miaotong here.

This seemingly ordinary forest held a secret: it was a clandestine stronghold meticulously constructed by Chen Yuchong, belonging to one of the five giants of the Chishui territory—Jin Kaijia. As the clamor rose, a group of well-equipped soldiers holding torches swarmed out of the forest, surrounding the two. Most striking among them was the muscular, granite-like Jin Kaijia. He had led the troops himself, clearly attaching great importance to this matter.

"Lord Jin, you must capture this demoness! Her status under Ye Xi is extraordinary; if we succeed, it will be like severing one of Ye Xi’s arms!"

Jin Kaijia stepped forward, his mountain-splitting axe raised high and then swung down with a whistling wind, as if it could cleave mountains and rivers. This strike was aimed at the demonic monk’s neck, without a hint of hesitation or mercy.

The demonic monk’s pupils constricted, and a flash of realization came to him in the face of death: "So, there was someone else looking for Jin Kaijia."

With a "snap," his head was severed from his body, and blood gushed out, staining the surrounding earth and trees.