Chapter Ninety-Two: The Mountain Summit

This time, the forces mobilized to besiege the Burning Body Martial Hall included two deputy generals and three assistant generals, each from different divisions—some from the naval camp, some from the Hong Family Army, others transferred from the northern forces, and some dispatched directly by the Ministry of War. It was precisely because the factions behind these men had reached an understanding that they were able to unite without hindering each other or pulling in opposite directions.

“Cao Ying is so proactive, already rushing to the front lines. No wonder—he’s the son of the Vice Minister of War, far more conscientious than us mud-legged folk,” Hong Jiguan said with undisguised sarcasm. He hailed from the Hong Family Army, backed by Marshal Hong, the Crown Prince’s tutor. A mere Vice Minister of War couldn’t bully him.

“Brother Hong, keep your voice down. Aside from the Vice Minister’s son, there are two seasoned veterans from the Northern Camp—none to be trifled with. Be careful not to attract their attention,” Hu Yun replied with a bitter smile.

Hong Jiguan sneered, “Now that the southern lands are dripping with wealth, everyone wants a piece. I always heard those northern brats like to kill innocents for false merit. Well, I’ve witnessed it firsthand—the first blaze produced a rebel. The Burning Body Martial Hall’s reputation is legendary in Guangdong; they’ve been labeled rebels for over a decade without ever revolting. But the moment these northerners arrive, rebellion erupts?”

Hu Yun shook his head. Hong Jiguan, once a bodyguard in Marshal Hong’s camp, was notorious for his righteous fury, and the Hong Family Army was famed for their love of the people. Naturally, he couldn’t stomach such sordid affairs.

The booming of cannons continued, shaking the earth with a sandy rumble. Hu Yun sighed, “No wonder, coming from the Ministry of War, they have their ways—three iron cannons to suppress a crowd of civilians. Who knows how many will die after this battle?”

“I heard,” Hong Jiguan mused, “that Cao Ying was promoted by taking credit for another’s achievements. That poor fellow was from the Burning Body Hall, wasn’t he? Looks like this brat is ruthless indeed.”

Hu Yun and Hong Jiguan, one a naval deputy general, the other a vice captain from the Wendeng camp, were both locals who had fought side by side against pirates in their younger years. Their camaraderie meant nothing was off-limits in conversation.

“The two from the north—whether they’ve seen grain battles, I can’t say—but their martial prowess is extraordinary. Their soldier’s killing fists must be honed to the level of iron sinew and blood-soaked combat. If it came to single combat, few in our camp could match them,” Hu Yun remarked.

“Just a couple of good seeds to put up a show. I’ll admit northerners excel on horseback, but when it comes to fistwork and training power, we southerners are unmatched,” Hong Jiguan sniffed. He was renowned for his martial skills, his Hong Family Fist fierce and unrivaled, paired with his family’s blade techniques—he held others in contempt.

Hu Yun couldn’t help but shake his head; some things were hard to explain. He recalled the mysterious silver guards trailing the imperial envoy—surely the court’s deployment was not so simple.

“Hmm, the cannon fire is dwindling,” Hong Jiguan said, listening intently.

Just then, a flag-bearing junior officer ran over, his face oddly anxious. “General Hong, General Hu, something’s wrong—the iron cannons have malfunctioned!”

“What, a burst barrel? Those cannons are Cao’s responsibility—if they blow, he’s paying for it.”

“No, not a burst. Someone cut them in half—with a blade!”

“What?” The two exchanged incredulous glances. These cannons were the Ministry’s latest model, forged entirely of refined iron. How could anyone chop them in half? To leave a mark would be impressive enough; a blade breaking would be far more likely.

“It’s true—two cannons, both severed in one stroke,” the officer said anxiously. “And another thing—General Cao was captured alive by the rebel!”

---

“Captured alive—”

Hu Yun, seasoned and cautious, was about to ask more when Hong Jiguan could no longer contain himself. He drew his blade, donned armor, mounted his horse, and rode off, cursing, “Damn it, that Cao brat really is an idiot!”

…

Kou Li could accomplish the feat of chopping cannons—an act so outrageous it defied imagination—for two reasons: first, striking a cannon differed from mortal combat between martial artists, allowing him time to prepare and unleash the ultimate blade technique; second, the Child’s Fish-Line Blade was exceptionally sharp. Though not literally able to cut iron like mud—a claim found only in tales, as that sharpness transcends metal—it was a demon blade, exhibiting a strange transformation at the moment of impact.

After severing two cannons, the other soldiers responded, firing arrows and bolts with abandon. Though Kou Li’s speed was superhuman, without cover, even speed could not save him.

Had he donned triple-layered armor, Kou Li might have charged through, but he wore only a simple robe. Even with mastery of the Child’s Stance, his flesh remained mortal—not impervious.

His strategic goal was nearly achieved; only one cannon remained, which hardly mattered. As he contemplated escape, a mounted martial officer barreled toward him.

Kou Li expected a formidable opponent, but found only a fool. Within three moves, he knocked him from his horse, capturing him instantly.

This officer appeared to be a ranking commander; with him as a hostage, no one dared loose arrows.

Yet this delay allowed a true adversary to block his retreat.

“So, it’s Brother Zhai. I see the official robes suit you,” Kou Li sneered. Before him, clad in iron armor with a red face, stood the long-missing fifth brother of the martial hall, Zhai Guan.

“Master Lin Xian is a remnant of the Arhat Temple, false in virtue, plotting evil. Brother, do not be blinded!” Zhai Guan said, expressionless, his massive guandao radiating murderous intent.

Kou Li glanced at him. “I’ve heard from eldest brother that your fistwork isn’t profound, but you excel in weaponry. Aside from the seventeen fist styles, our hall has three secret weapon techniques—the Grand Blade, Star-Point Spear, and Hundred Battles Method. I suppose you’ve mastered them all. An ordinary martial artist becomes twice as strong with a weapon; you become tenfold. Armored with a great blade, I wouldn’t dare confront you head-on, brother.”

With that, Kou Li twisted his blade, letting its sharp edge trace a bloody line across the officer’s neck.

“Order your men to put down their weapons.”

“Zhai Guan, quickly—put down the blade! Are you plotting to harm your superior?” Cao Ying shrieked in terror. He was sent by his father for prestige, not to die.

---

“Zhai, with so many watching, even if I offended you before, if you dare take personal revenge, my father won’t spare you. Forget about titles or rank for the rest of your life—he’ll crush you with a finger, and your parents, your woman, your son, all doomed. Drop the blade! I repeat, drop the blade!”

Cao Ying truly was a fool. At the slightest threat, he revealed his true colors, screaming hoarsely. He wasn’t entirely stupid—had it been anyone else, he might have tried to act tough. But with Zhai Guan, he feared that a single word would prompt the man to kill him on the spot.

Better to lose face than lose life.

Zhai Guan’s face turned an ugly shade, his hands trembling as he gripped the blade. With a teeth-gritting effort, he let the weapon fall to the ground.

Kou Li’s gaze flickered—not at Zhai Guan or the coward, but at the iron cannon.

Since he began his martial journey, he had slain many, but mostly in life-or-death struggles or against those whose deaths mattered little—innkeeper brawlers, blood-soaked assassins. But essentially, he was not a killer, especially not one to jeopardize the greater situation for a kill.

Unlike trespassing the naval camp, killing this officer in plain view would mark him a rebel, regardless of reality. Even Young Master Huang’s influence might not bury such a scandal.

His target was solely those three iron cannons—this was his opportunity!

“On the battlefield, who doesn’t hang their head on their sleeve? Kill him if you dare—he’s just a deputy general, the court is full of his kind!”

A voice, metallic and distinctly unorthodox, rang out. Kou Li now noticed another martial officer among the soldiers, clad in thick purple-red armor, conspicuous among the troops.

This man had green eyes, a hooked nose, and a head of curly hair—resembling a foreigner from overseas or the western regions, clearly not of Central Plains descent. Yet his footing was solid, his stance rooted, and his bearing exuded the aura of warhorses and steel, marking him as a master of the soldier’s killing fist.

“Lord Wang once said that Central Plains men lack wolfishness. If it were my tribal kin, they wouldn’t hesitate at all,” the curly-haired man said disdainfully.

“Yao Shinu, what are you trying to do? Now you’re not the young chieftain of your Adar Ergu tribe, but a vice general of the court. You can’t harm your own comrades!”

“If you won’t kill, I’ll do it for you,” Yao Shinu grinned viciously, shoulders squared, chest thrust forward—like a human beast. His feet thundered as he charged, clearly unconcerned for the officer’s life.