Chapter Thirty-Seven: General Zhenwu's Majestic Might!

The power of the mushroom proved highly effective on Xi Feng Simeng. Even with his body gravely wounded, in his mind he was still locked in battle with the wolf pack.

Driven by a warrior’s instinct, Xi Feng Simeng, after violently smashing through all obstacles in his path with his long spear, managed to escape the ruined garden, breaking free from the terrifying control of the Wolf King.

Standing under the broad daylight, facing an ocean of wolves before him, Xi Feng Simeng had no time to even pull out the axe embedded in his face. With the greatest speed, he charged into the pack. He did not know if he could break through the encirclement, only that if he failed to charge now, he would never again have the courage to do so.

Fortunately, without their king, the wolves here were easily scattered. Blood and flesh flew as the pack broke and fled, finally opening a bloody path before Xi Feng Simeng.

Zhao Feng, his legs trembling, barely managed to raise his long blade as he watched the burly man slaughter his way down the street toward him, nearly succumbing to despair.

From the first moment he laid eyes on this man, he knew this must be the one who killed Madame Hua. But the man had gone mad, rampaging through the imperial city streets like a demon god.

The people fled swiftly—especially when they saw a man with an axe embedded in his face, dragging a long spear and roaring. The effect on clearing the street was immediate.

The soldiers patrolling the city’s edge could not simply run away. They shouted for the wounded giant to surrender, but he was hardly intimidated. His spear whipped up waves of blood among them. The squad leader, who had just been bellowing orders, now suddenly found a gaping hole in his neck. In despair, he tried to staunch the wound, but blood spurted through his fingers.

“Trip rope!”

Zhao Feng shouted. Four constables, each holding an end of a rope, flanked the man from a distance. As the rope caught the giant’s legs, they swiftly crossed and switched places in pairs.

At the same time, two more constables leaped from rooftops, spreading a large net, attempting to ensnare the man as if with a fishing net.

This was their standard method for capturing dangerous criminals. It was almost always effective, especially since the net was lined with tiny hooks—once caught, escape was nearly impossible. It was the constables’ foolproof weapon against notorious gangsters.

Zhao Feng never imagined the giant would hurl his spear. Not until the weapon pierced his own chest, dragging him forward toward the giant, did he feel a flash of regret for his reckless actions.

His body, pinned by the spear, crashed into the net, which wrapped tightly around his lifeless form. He hit the ground, blood pooling out like a burst waterskin.

The giant flexed his arms, dragging two of the constables bound by the rope toward him. With lightning speed, he yanked the axe from his own face, splitting open one constable’s skull. With his now free hand, he clamped onto the other constable’s face, driving two fingers deep into the man’s eyes.

Xi Feng Simeng felt an unbearable thirst. He seized the captured constable, tore open the man’s neck, and drank greedily from the spurting blood.

“Monster!” shrieked the remaining constables, who fled in terror, vanishing in moments. At the same time, all the townsfolk who had been peeking from behind doors darted away at once, clutching their wives and children and cowering in their beds.

The capital had known peace for a hundred years. Never had it seen such a fiend—not only murdering in broad daylight but also drinking human blood. The citizens of Imperial Avenue were left utterly petrified.

After sating his thirst, Xi Feng Simeng’s head throbbed in agony; the pain in his left eye was indescribable, and his wrists and ankles were numb—every movement felt like a luxury.

His right eye gradually cleared; the desolate snow mountains faded into bustling streets. He could hear the footsteps of armored soldiers approaching—heavy, relentless.

He knew he’d been tricked—outwitted by a mere child. The thing he wanted most at that moment was to hack that child to death.

Forcing himself upright, staggering, he set off once more toward the ruined garden.

***

“Xiao Fu, Xiao Ling, and Xiao Huo all need to go to school. But if we don’t fix their household registration, they’ll never get into the county school in Kaifeng, let alone the regular academies, much less the National Academy. Even money won’t help,” said Little Qiao, scratching her head in frustration.

Tie Xinyuan smiled, “That’s a small matter. Have you forgotten we have a General of Martial Valor at our side?”

Little Qiao glanced at the fox, who was enjoying a massage from the other children, his head wrapped in bandages, and couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, he really does look a bit like a general.”

“The fox is our General of Martial Valor—it’s officially recorded in the Song’s Ministry of Personnel. The Yang family’s Yang Wenguang is said to have thirty household troops; why can’t our fox have a dozen children as his own retainers?”

“So what, we’ll have to pay taxes to the fox from now on? Fox, I’ll give you a piece of meat a year as tribute, how about that? Hahaha!”

Little Qiao found her own words amusing and burst out laughing.

Suddenly, Tie Xinyuan frowned, motioning for the children in the cellar to be silent. Everyone listened closely. Outside, someone was roaring in fury. Dust drifted down from the ceiling; who knew what kind of madness was happening out there.

“Didn’t that man already leave? Why is he back?” someone whispered.

“He won’t survive,” Tie Xinyuan said. “If he could have escaped, he’d be long gone. He must have nowhere left to run, so now he’s hell-bent on killing us for revenge.”

“Don’t pay him any mind. The more he moves, the faster he’ll die. With wounds on his hands, feet, and face, he can’t possibly keep fighting.”

After toppling a pavilion, Xi Feng Simeng finally sat down, his chest burning as if on fire, his vision fading in and out—classic signs of blood loss.

Even as he could barely stand, the pride of a warrior made him lift his head with effort, fixing his one good eye on the general before him. “If I hadn’t been tricked, you wouldn’t last three bouts against me.”

The mounted general pulled down his visor and smiled. “Western bandit, you have killed innocent citizens. However I kill you, it will be a great merit.”

Xi Feng Simeng burst out laughing. “It’s not like I haven’t killed Song generals before. Name yourself! I am Xi Feng Simeng, Deputy Commander of the Army of Xiping, Great Xia!”

The mounted general’s grin widened. “I am Yang Huaiyu, convict soldier of the Western Water Gate, Song Dynasty. Prepare to die!”

Upon hearing that this was indeed a Western bandit, Yang Huaiyu could not restrain himself. If he could capture this man alive, his official rank would be restored—perhaps even improved.

His horse surged forward, his lance thrusting straight for Xi Feng Simeng’s left shoulder. He did not want to kill the bandit outright—an alive captive was far more valuable than a dead one.

Xi Feng Simeng parried Yang’s thrust with a single-handed sweep of his spear, using the momentum to rise to his feet. The iron spear spun in the air, then crashed down toward Yang’s head.

Yang blocked with his lance. With a dull thud, Xi Feng Simeng stumbled back two steps and sat heavily on the ground. Yang grinned savagely, stabbing his lance at Xi Feng Simeng again; he could see the man was at the end of his strength.

As Yang pressed his attack and Xi Feng Simeng defended furiously, Tie Xinyuan, watching from the wellhead, realized the situation suddenly favored him.

Yang Huaiyu, that fool—he’d spent all this time fighting from horseback and still hadn’t won. If this fellow hadn’t already been wounded by me and Little Qiao, he’d have run Yang through long ago.

***

It should have been easy: a group of armored soldiers with shields could have swarmed him. But Yang Huaiyu insisted on showing off his martial skills, oblivious to the fact that the Western bandit was inching ever closer.

“There’s still one trap left untouched,” whispered Xiao Shui, who could tell Tie Xinyuan’s intentions at a glance.

“We’ll wait until Yang Huaiyu gets himself in trouble. This spoiled brat has no idea what’s going on, but dares to rush in. If his father were here, the fight would have ended long ago.”

Sure enough, as Yang Huaiyu thought he had the upper hand, holding back his killing blow in hopes of capturing his foe alive, Xi Feng Simeng feigned weakness. Delighted, Yang stabbed his lance through Xi Feng Simeng’s shoulder.

Xi Feng Simeng grinned savagely, and instead of retreating, he surged forward, letting the lance shaft slide three feet through his flesh before kicking the horse hard in the belly. Yang Huaiyu, stunned by this unexpected move, could only hold desperately to the lance’s butt, trying to keep the bandit from seizing it.

The horse collapsed with a crash, pinning one of Yang’s legs beneath it. The lance, now abandoned, stood upright, driven into the earth.

Leaning on the discarded lance, Xi Feng Simeng laughed wildly. “Ignorant child, you dare contend with me?”

He reached to wrench the lance from his body and finish off Yang Huaiyu, but in that split second, his battle-hardened mind realized it was pointless. With the crimes he’d committed in the capital, even taking Yang Huaiyu hostage could not save him.

As he struggled to pull out his spear, a beam as thick as a man’s thigh shot from the shade of a tall willow and struck Xi Feng Simeng hard in the chest.

Blood gushed from Xi Feng Simeng’s mouth, dark clots mixed in—a sure sign his organs had been smashed.

Once he confirmed the Western bandit could no longer fight back, Tie Xinyuan finally climbed from the well, fox in arms, and approached with Little Qiao, who had been hiding in the tree.

Had it not been for Yang Huaiyu’s lance propping him up, Xi Feng Simeng would have collapsed long ago.

“Well done,” Xi Feng Simeng managed to say, before his body went limp and he fell backward onto the grass.

“Qiao, cut off his head. We’ll take it to Kaifeng Prefecture for the reward,” Tie Xinyuan said to the eager Little Qiao.

“Stop! I killed this bandit!” Yang Huaiyu shouted, seeing Little Qiao about to chop off the head with her axe.

Tie Xinyuan cast a contemptuous glance at Yang Huaiyu. “As expected, a petty man—if Little Qiao hadn’t intervened, you’d be dead already. Yet you still have the nerve to claim credit.”

Yang Huaiyu, ashamed, hung his head, but then suddenly looked up. “This is military merit. It’s not something a group of children can claim.”

Tie Xinyuan hugged his fox, pointing to the great lump on its head. “General of Martial Valor fought the villain bravely, and after three hundred rounds, felled the bandit beneath his horse.”

“Nonsense. How could a fox—”

“Enough! If the General of Martial Valor couldn’t win, doesn’t he still have his retainers?” Tie Xinyuan pointed to the group of children climbing out of the well behind him.