Chapter 430: Zhan Seng and He Ping
He Ping swung his staff, unleashing a brutal slaughter behind the stockade wall.
Though he wielded only a staff, without the keen edge of a blade, it did nothing to diminish his lethal efficiency. One strike caved in a skull, another snapped a neck, a third thrust brutally into the groin—
Every move was savage, vicious, and utterly deadly.
Seven or eight hardened bandits, scrambling over the wall one after another, were struck down with a single blow or two, their vital points crushed, leaving them irrevocably dead.
The villagers behind him were terrified!
They never imagined that the usually amiable Master Zhan Seng, transformed into He Ping, could be so horrifyingly ruthless when provoked.
Someone cried out, "He Ping? Could it be *that*... *that* He Ping?"
"The Man-Eating Salt Owl, He Ping!"
"My heavens."
"Seriously? Holy hell!"
In the span of a few hurried exclamations, every bandit who had breached the stockade was thoroughly dispatched by He Ping. Ten or so corpses lay scattered around him, faces smeared with blood and gore. For the moment, no one dared to press the attack. It was then that a flicker of awareness returned to He Ping's eyes. The bloodshot fury slowly receded, giving way to the clear black and white of a normal gaze.
He tilted his head, glancing around. "What just happened? This poor monk seems to have blacked out for a moment. So many people died here in an instant? You mustn't do this! We should harbor compassion, even if they are bandits. We must prioritize their redemption. Amitabha! Shan zai! Shan zai!"
The crowd was speechless.
"He seems to have turned back into Master Zhan Seng."
Two young monks cried out, "Master, more bandits are climbing over!"
Zhan Seng spun his head sharply. Just then, a bandit leader vaulted over the wall and dropped down. He swung his staff, and in just a few moves, swept the bandit to the ground, pinning him with a foot. "Benefactor, lay down your butcher's knife..."
Before he could finish his sentence, a farmer rushed forward with a hoe and smashed the bandit leader's head to a pulp.
Zhan Seng blinked. "This karmic sin of killing... it wasn't committed by me, was it?"
The villagers wiped cold sweat from their brows. "No, no, Master! It wasn't!"
"Quick, over here! We can't hold them!"
Someone yelled. On another section of the stockade wall, seven or eight bandits had already come over, and the villagers, armed only with farming tools, couldn't stop them, scattering in all directions as they were chased.
Zhan Seng shot forward. "Lay down your butcher's knives!"
Wielding his staff, he single-handedly confronted seven or eight bandits. Unwilling to kill, he couldn't unleash the full power of his staff, refusing to use any lethal moves. He was immediately at a disadvantage, finding himself in precarious situations as the bandits pressed their attack.
A young monk shrieked, "Master, your face is bleeding!"
In the heat of the moment, Zhan Seng reached up and touched his face. His hand came away covered in blood. "Huh?"
His eyes flashed red again. "Who? Who the hell dared to draw *my* blood?!"
Haven't you heard the name of He Ping, the Man-Eating Salt Owl?
He Ping struck without mercy, every move a kill-shot. One swing of his staff burst a bandit's head. With a reverse sweep, he thrust the staff into another bandit's eye socket, sending the eyeball flying out—a truly gruesome sight.
Amidst a flurry of staff-blurs, all seven or eight bandits crumpled.
With no one attacking him for a brief moment, his eyes returned to their normal color. Zhan Seng looked around. "Tsk, how savage! You killed them so brutally their eyeballs popped out? This sin is far too great. Amitabha! Shan zai! Shan zai! This poor monk must recite scriptures for you to help resolve this karma..."
The cavalry battalion still hadn't moved. The troopers were frantic, constantly glancing towards the stockade wall. "General, the stockade is in distress! Are we still not attacking?"
"No hurry!"
Lao Nanfeng said, "It looks dangerous, but there's no real problem. Not many bandits have climbed over the wall, and our men are still holding steady."
The Gao Family Village forces truly couldn't match his composure.
In previous battles, the Gao Family Village forces always played all their cards at once. This was their first time under a commander like him, holding back such a powerful hand as the cavalry, confusing the troopers.
Lao Nanfeng insisted, "Wait a little longer!"
As he waited, the main body of the bandit army began to advance.
Seeing the fierce fighting at the stockade wall, and with no more flintlock rifles or hand grenades being used, Old Zhang Fei felt the time was right. He could commit all his main forces.
He was no longer young, not the type of leader to personally lead his hardened bandits in a charge. Instead, he preferred to command from the rear, positioning himself far back at the start of battle so he could easily escape if the front lines collapsed.
Only when he was certain of victory would he lead his main force forward.
This careful prudence had allowed him to survive three years in the chaotic late Ming dynasty. He had been defeated by government forces multiple times, yet always managed to escape.
Now, seeing his bandits continuously scaling the stockade wall, he felt certain of victory. It was time for his main force to move up. Otherwise, if the vanguard plundered all the provisions, his own personal guards wouldn't be pleased if they received little share.
"Advance!"
The large bandit contingent pressed forward...
Just then, Lao Nanfeng's spirits lifted. "Cavalry battalion, prepare to charge! You two by the gate, listen up! The moment I shout 'Open the gate,' pull it wide!"
The cavalry troopers' morale soared!
Simultaneously, a large vessel sped across the river, rushing towards them.
The cannon ship is here!
The captain of the ship, a retainer from Bai Family Fortress belonging to Bai Yuan, was a man who loved a good spectacle. With a flair worthy of the Bai family, he personally adjusted the bow cannon, aimed it at Old Zhang Fei's main formation, and burst into laughter. "I learned the art of archery from my master, so I am one-sixth of a gentleman too!"
"Fire!"
The sailors on board roared in unison.
The five cannons on the warship's port side, along with the bow cannon, fired simultaneously...
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The cannons thundered.
Old Zhang Fei's contingent, which had just begun its advance, immediately became the primary target of the cannon fire. After all, the bandits at the front were already scaling the stockade wall, so the cannons couldn't risk hitting their own allies. Old Zhang Fei's forces, however, were approaching from the rear in neat, dense formations, making them an easy mark.
Cannonballs rained down into Old Zhang Fei's main formation, tearing through the bandits with gruesome force, scattering flesh and bone. The army's ranks instantly dissolved into chaos.
Old Zhang Fei was dumbfounded.
He had clearly sent men to watch the warship depart, seeing it disappear miles downriver before he launched his attack. How could it have returned so quickly? This shouldn't be possible! It should have taken at least several days to come back.
"Damn it, I've been tricked!"
Old Zhang Fei realized it then: they had been playing him. The black smoke that rose before the battle must have been the signal to recall the warship.
With this ship back, the cannons would fire relentlessly. And the vessel also carried those strange riflemen, capable of accurately eliminating his bandit leaders from hundreds of paces away—truly formidable.
These two factors were a massive blow to morale.
While the cannonballs didn't kill a large number of men, the blow to morale far exceeded the actual casualties.
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