Summoning the Peak of the Three Kingdoms

Chapter 2990 Qingzhou Unrestricted Fighting Tournament (Part 2)

Chapter 2987 Qingzhou Unrestricted Fighting Tournament (Part 2)

The firelight flickered in the night wind along the long street, illuminating the scene of Qin soldiers confronting believers as if it were a ghostly realm.

Seeing the crowd who refused to retreat even at the cost of their lives, Zhang Baiqi frowned. He remembered Zhang Liang's order—no weapons should be used against unarmed opponents.

"Up the stick."

The two words were squeezed out from between Zhang Baiqi's teeth, and they stood out clearly on the street.

"call……"

The Qin soldiers uniformly picked up their standard batons, which gleamed dimly in the firelight. They were three feet and three inches long, as thick as a child's arm, made of hardwood, with the tips wrapped in thick linen soaked in tung oil.

This is the "Awakening Cudgel" specially commissioned by Zhang Liang, intended for punishment rather than slaughter.

As the Qin soldiers charged into the crowd with their clubs, their eyes gleamed with an almost frenzied green light.

In their eyes, these people standing in front of them were not people, but living, walking bounties.

"Don't let the prize money slip away!"

Someone shouted, and three hundred men pounced on them like wolves and tigers.

The three hundred Qin soldiers, in groups of three, charged forward and began to strike the believers with their clubs. The first blow would instantly tear the skin and flesh.

"what--"

A piercing scream rang out, but it was immediately followed by a second, a third blow...

The shadows of the sticks fell like raindrops, and blood and flesh flew everywhere.

Screams, cries, and pleas for mercy mingled together.

Even Zhang Baiqi, a veteran of countless battles, found it hard to bear watching. But what truly horrified him was not the bloody scene, but the curses and insults hurled at the Qin soldiers as they fought.

“You damned people from Qingnan, you eat our grain from Qingbei and then rebel against us. Did my mother feed all the wheat she saved last year to you bunch of ingrates?”

A sergeant with a full beard was beating and cursing, swinging his stick with great force. The believer at his feet was a thin, middle-aged man who was being beaten until he curled up like a shrimp, but gritted his teeth and didn't utter a sound.

"Why do you have to get beaten up when you can live a perfectly good life? You're such a spineless bastard!"

Another young Qin soldier kicked the believer in the lower back, then smashed his knee with a stick, the sound of bones cracking clearly audible.

"Speak! Quickly say 'The Ming Cult is an evil cult,' say 'I voluntarily withdraw from the Ming Cult,' or I'll beat you three hundred more times!"

"Will you talk or not? Quickly say I'm from the Great Qin, and I won't hit you anymore."

Roars, curses, the dull thuds of clubs striking flesh, the cracking of bones breaking, the agonizing cries of the dying… all these sounds mingled together, weaving a hellish symphony in the air above the long street west of Linzi.

Zhang Baiqi stood in the middle of the street, the firelight casting flickering shadows on his ashen face. At first, he didn't quite understand why the soldiers were getting angrier and angrier, but as he listened, he understood the grudges behind their curses—

This was the pent-up hatred between the North and South that had been building up for over a decade, finally erupting on this day through violence.

The 10,000 Qin soldiers that Zhuge Liang assigned to Zhang Liang were mostly from northern Qing, and the Qin soldiers from northern Qing seemed to harbor resentment towards the people from southern Qing, and they were particularly ruthless, killing people with the full force of killing.

They are all from Qingzhou, and may even be related, so why do the Qin soldiers from Qingbei hate the people from Qingnan so much?

The reason is actually quite simple: there has been a long-standing grudge between the north and south of Qingzhou.

The division of Qingzhou into north and south began during the Yellow Turban Rebellion and has lasted for more than twenty years.

In the past twenty years, Qingbei was initially in a state of fragmentation among warlords, until the Qin Dynasty took control and distributed land and reduced taxes, and the lives of the people of Qingbei gradually improved.

But what about Qingnan?

First, Huang Chao massacred cities and seized territory; then Zhu Tianpeng implemented the policy of prioritizing military action; and then Zhu Di imposed harsh policies and heavy taxes, even forcibly requisitioning grain and fodder in preparation for war. Regardless of who was in charge, they continued to wage war against Qingbei.

Therefore, in the eyes of the people of Qingbei, the people of Qingnan are not only not living a good life themselves, but also constantly hindering their own good life. So the suffering of the people of Qingnan is naturally considered to be "self-inflicted".

In addition, during the twenty years that Qingzhou was divided into North and South, the people of the North and South of Qingzhou fought many times, and both sides suffered heavy casualties. Therefore, the two sides naturally had a long-standing grudge.

Furthermore, Qingnan was abandoned by Zhu Di, so after the Qin Dynasty conquered the three prefectures of Qingnan, not all of its resources were taken away, but at least 80-90% were taken away.

Now, all the supplies for Qingnan are provided by Qingbei, and all the people of Qingnan depend on the people of Qingbei for sustenance, yet they still dare to rebel, which further fuels the discontent of the Qin soldiers in Qingbei.

"Back when the Yellow Turban Rebellion marched south, it was the powerful local gentry of Qingnan who, together with the imperial army, blocked us in Licheng for three months. My elder brother died in that battle!"

An old soldier cried as he hit the stick, each strike carrying ten years of hatred.

“When the State of Qi was founded, merchant caravans from the south came to sell grain. They would exchange one bushel of millet for three sheepskins from us! My father would go hunting in the mountains during the dead of winter just to get some food…”

"After Zhu Ming occupied Qingnan, he sent small groups of cavalry north to plunder every year. Three villages in my hometown of Chang County were burned to the ground, and my mother and sister..."

Resentment is building up, and hatred is brewing.

On the surface, the Qin army in Qingbei was disciplined and obeyed Zhang Liang's orders without question.

But deep down, the idea that "we people of Qingbei work hard to farm and raise soldiers, and you people of Qingnan not only don't appreciate it, but also rebel repeatedly" has long been deeply ingrained.

So at first the situation was under control, but as the fighting went on, the Qin soldiers from Qingbei became increasingly enraged and their attacks became more and more reckless.

When the stick falls, it is no longer a punishment, but an outlet for venting.

A young believer, after being struck by the first blow, knelt on the ground, trembling as he raised his hands: "I renounce the church! I renounce..."

"boom!"

The second blow landed squarely on his mouth, shattering his front teeth and sending blood and saliva spurting out.

He wanted to shout "I am a Qin person", but when he opened his mouth, he could only make a "ho ho" sound, and he could not even speak properly.

"Who told you to say it now?"

The Qin soldier who was hitting him grinned maliciously, muttering as he swung his club, "I haven't had my fill of beating him yet."

As he spoke, the third blow came crashing down on his head.

The believer fell to the ground, twitched twice, and then remained still.

"Tsk, how come it's so easy to beat?"

The Qin soldier kicked the corpse, spat, and turned to look for his next target.

At this moment, Zhang Liang's "three-strike method" was long forgotten by the angry soldiers, who automatically replaced it with: one strike to the leg to prevent escape, two strikes to the mouth to prevent begging for mercy, and three strikes to the head to prevent resistance.

In an instant, the long street became a battlefield.

Fifteen hundred Ming Cult followers writhed and screamed under the blows of three hundred Qin soldiers.

Some people ran away with their heads in their hands, shouting, "I am a Qin person!"
Some people knelt down and begged for mercy, crying out, "I quit the church, I quit the church!"
But there are many more who, even when treated so brutally, even when beaten bloody and broken, still grit their teeth and don't utter a single word.

Zhang Baiqi stood in the middle of the street, looking at the bloody and bizarre scene, and for a moment he didn't know what to say.

"General."

Just then, the lieutenant leaned over and whispered, "If this fight continues, many people will die. I'm afraid something bad will happen."

"The governor said so."

Zhang Baiqi stared at a middle-aged man who was beaten to the point of near death but still refused to speak, and said indifferently, "Anyone who doesn't submit is a cultist, and they deserve to be beaten to death."

As he finished speaking, the man breathed his last, dying without uttering a word.

He was a tough guy, what a pity.

The thought popped into Zhang Baiqi's mind, and he immediately looked up towards the direction of the Qi Prince's mansion, where it was brightly lit. He knew that Zhang Liang must know everything that had happened there.

"Keep fighting."

Zhang Baiqi withdrew his gaze, his voice calm and even, and said lightly, "Fight until nightfall, fight until they remember who they should kneel to, who they should believe, and who they should... be on this land."

The shouts and curses along the street gradually subsided, leaving only the muffled thuds of sticks striking flesh and the continuous screams and wails.

Most people would be caught and beaten before they could escape the streets, but since there were only three hundred Qin soldiers, many people managed to escape the streets and then wander into alleys or the homes of familiar relatives and friends for refuge.

When the sticks first smashed open the wooden door of the house, this punishment, originally intended for Ming Cult followers, began to gradually slide towards the brink of getting out of control.

Lijia Lane.

Li Laosi huddled behind the stove, trembling like a leaf as he listened to the increasingly close cries and footsteps outside.

He was also a member of the Ming Cult, and ten days ago he had received a land deed from Zhang Liang. He was extremely grateful to that "General Ren Gong," so he refused the Ming Cult's summons.

But tonight, when a group of Ming Cult followers covered in blood broke down his courtyard gate and collapsed in the main room, he knew that disaster was coming.

"Brother, we're all followers of the Ming Cult, please have mercy and let us hide."

The leader was a young man whose left shoulder was a bloody mess from being hit with a club. He said with a look of fear, "Those Qingbei people among the Qin soldiers are too ruthless. They beat anyone they see..."

Before he could finish speaking, the courtyard gate was kicked open.

Three Qin soldiers rushed in, their clubs still dripping blood.

The leader was a sergeant with a fierce face, surnamed Zhao, from Le'an, Qingbei.

After glancing at the five or six people huddled together in the main room, Sergeant Zhao grinned: "Run? Where do you think you're going?"

"Sir, Sir!"

Li Laosi scrambled out, kneeling on the ground and kowtowing repeatedly, "I am a law-abiding citizen, these people have mistakenly entered my home, I will drive them away right away..."

"A law-abiding citizen?"

After a cold laugh, Sergeant Zhao pointed at the sun and moon pattern on Li Laosi's shirt and asked, "Is the Liangmin Society a member of the Ming Cult? Does the Liangmin Society harbor traitors?"

"Misunderstanding, misunderstanding, I have already left the Ming Cult."

"You quit but you're still wearing this uniform? Do I look like an idiot to you? Beat me up!"

After saying that, Sergeant Zhao swung his baton without hesitation and struck down. In an instant, Li Laosi's cries, the believer's screams, and the crisp sound of breaking dishes mingled together.

Upon hearing the commotion, Li Laosi's wife rushed out from the inner room to protect her husband, but was struck on the back with a stick. Unable to retaliate, she could only take the beating along with her husband.

This is just one of the tragedies unfolding simultaneously in seventeen alleys in western Linzi.

The stick, which was once a tool for "punishing those who betrayed the party," has become a weapon of indiscriminate violence.

Because of fear, because of anger, because of the hatred between North and South that had been building up for more than 20 years, and even more so because—they were blinded by rage.

When the first Qin soldier kicked open the door of a civilian's house, he may have had the thought of "searching for cult members" in his mind.

But when they saw the homeowner's terrified eyes and heard the children's cries, something was ignited.

"There isn't a single good person among the people of Qingnan!"

A young Qin soldier smashed a rice jar, scattering golden millet all over the ground, and cursed, "You eat our grain and rebel against us!"

"My sister was kidnapped by bandits from the south!"

Another Qin soldier overturned the dining table, yelling, "I'll kill you all! I'll kill you all!"

Violence, once unchecked, will multiply on its own.

Believers hiding in their homes, neighbors who take in believers, and even ordinary people who are just a little slow to open the door... all become victims of the beatings.

Faced with these out-of-control Qin soldiers from Qingbei, ordinary people could only endure it, since the cost of resistance would be far greater.

But there is a limit to patience, so some people choose not to endure it anymore.

Crossroads.

More than a dozen strong young men gathered in the backyard of the restaurant. Some of them were Ming Cult believers, but others were ordinary craftsmen, farmers, and peddlers.

Upon learning that their family members had been beaten and their house had been vandalized, their pent-up resentment finally erupted.

"I found out that the ones who did this were Qin soldiers from Qingbei. Those bastards were incredibly ruthless. Zhao Tiechui's house was smashed up, and his mother was hit with a stick and is still lying there coughing up blood."

"Wang's door was also kicked down, and her eight-year-old son's leg was broken by the door. Qin soldiers went in and searched the place, and even stole twenty taels of silver."

"They're not soldiers, they're bandits! They're robbers!"

In the center of the crowd, Zhou Dachui, the restaurant owner, held a fire poker, his eyes bloodshot. His son had gone out to buy medicine in the evening and hadn't returned yet. His waiter said that when he came back, he ran into Qin Jun, a corporal.

"Fight them."

A young man roared, "Let's teach these people from Qingbei a lesson and let them know that we people from Qingnan still have guts!"

"Yes, let's give it our all."

More than a dozen sticks and farm tools were raised, and anger was burning.

No sooner had he finished speaking than two Ming Cult followers came running over, crying and shouting as if they had seen a ghost. Chasing after them were Zhao Wuzhang and one of his Qin soldiers.

Seeing this, the dozen or so strong men, armed with various "weapons," slowly surrounded the group, revealing angry faces.

Seeing this, Corporal Zhao knew that a major battle was about to break out, and he quickly pulled soldier Chen San away.

"It's troublesome."

Sergeant Zhao gritted his teeth and said that he had chased the two believers through four alleys, and when he came to his senses, he realized that he had become separated from the main group.

What's worse, in order to run faster, he left his weapons behind, and now he only has a stick in his hand.

"Ten, more than ten..."

Soldier Chen San's voice trembled slightly: "Sergeant, a wise man doesn't fight a losing battle. Let's retreat."

"withdraw?"

Corporal Zhao spat and said fiercely, "If we retreat in the face of just a few civilians, what about the dignity of our Qingbei Army?" "But...but they outnumber us..."

"What good are a lot of people?"

Corporal Zhao growled, his eyes fixed on the approaching crowd, and said in a deep voice, "Listen, Chen San, if you back down now, your father, your mother, and your whole family will be talked about behind your back back in Qingbei."

Soldiers scared away by civilians? That's utterly shameful!

After saying this, Corporal Zhao took off his helmet and assumed a fighting stance.

Spurred on by Zhao Wuzhang's words, Chen San's trembling lips stopped shaking, and he shouted fiercely, "Come on, you scum from Qingnan!"

The crowd stirred as soon as he finished speaking.

"beat!"

Someone shouted, and more than ten people surged forward like a tide, swinging sticks and beating them.

They had no martial arts training, and their movements were chaotic and disorganized, but they outnumbered each other and were driven by a fierce determination to fight to the death.

Seeing this, Sergeant Zhao did not retreat. Instead, he rushed towards the first person and, just as the opponent's wooden stick came down, he turned to the side and thrust the stick out like a venomous snake, hitting the opponent squarely on the forehead.

"what--"

The man immediately clutched his forehead and collapsed to the ground.

The second and third men pounced at the same time. Zhao Wuchang swept his stick across, hitting one man in the back of the knee, and then thrust the stick head into the other man's abdomen.

Amid screams, the two rolled to the ground.

But that's just the beginning.

More than six people rushed out from the left alleyway, and seven more from the right, instantly trapping the person in a crowd.

As for Chen San, after knocking down two people in succession, he was hit on the shoulder with a stick, but he endured it and hit the other person on the head with a backhand, causing him to kneel on the ground, bleeding profusely.

With just a stick, Zhao Wuzhang and his companion took on more than a dozen men on the other side.

Although the other side had a large number of people, they had no strategy and just rushed forward in a swarm.

In contrast, Zhao and his comrade either stood back to back, covering each other, and aimed their sticks at vital points.

Corporal Zhao was in charge of the front, his stick flying like the wind, hitting someone with every strike. Although Chen Sangou was injured, he was young and vigorous, with a high health bar, and managed to hold the rear.

When another squad of Qin soldiers, chasing the fugitive, passed by this road, they saw that the street was filled with cries of despair, with more people lying on the ground than there were. Only Zhao Wuzhang and Chen Er were still standing, supporting each other.

"Impressive! No wonder you're from Zhao Family Village."

"Stop talking nonsense and come help. I can't move all these people."

The situation where Sergeant Zhao took on more than a dozen people and ultimately defeated more than twenty was ultimately a very small minority, but the situation of one person taking on multiple people was quite common.

As darkness fell, on the city tower of Linzi.

Zhang Liang stood by the railing, gazing into the four directions of the city, east, west, south, and north. The night wind blew his wide sleeves, making them flutter.

Behind Zhang Liang, Fan Zhongyan, Xin Qiji, and Feng Yunshan stood with their hands at their sides, the three silent like statues.

The screams from the west and east of the city had gradually subsided, but those from the south and inside the city still lingered, sounding particularly jarring in the soon-to-be-silent night.

"How many people died?" Zhang Liang suddenly asked.

After a moment's hesitation, Fan Zhongyan replied, "Two quarters of an hour ago, I received a report that another fifty-seven people had died, bringing the total to four hundred and ninety-three."

"Four hundred and ninety-three, almost five hundred."

Zhang Liang muttered to himself, his voice devoid of any emotion.

As for how many people were injured, seriously injured, or disabled, everyone present tacitly refrained from mentioning it, because it was certainly far more than the number of dead.

Upon seeing this, Xin Qiji took a step forward, but hesitated to speak.

"Say what you want to say."

Zhang Liang did not turn around.

"My lord, this method of fighting... is probably not a long-term solution."

Xin Qiji carefully considered his words, “Punishing cults is important, but the people of Qingnan are not beasts. Such humiliating beatings will only diminish their sense of belonging to Qingzhou after the unification of the north and south.”

"Then what do you think we should do?"

Zhang Liang turned around, his eyes as calm as still water, and asked in return, "Where in this world can you find a perfect solution? You were the one who suggested using force instead of killing, but now that the blows have been delivered, you've become soft-hearted?"

Xin Qiji opened his mouth, but in the end, it turned into a long sigh.

He wasn't being soft-hearted; he just hadn't expected the Qingbei soldiers to be so ruthless and their resentment towards the people of Qingnan to be so deep.

This made Xin Qiji see a dangerous boundary: once crossed, the so-called "punishment" would turn into "humiliation," and the so-called "reconstruction of identity" would turn into "increased hatred."

But he couldn't say this, because although Zhang Liang gave the order, he was the one who first proposed the plan.

Xin Qiji felt as if he had been outmaneuvered by Zhang Liang. He couldn't believe that someone as wise as Zhang Liang wouldn't have thought that fighting was more effective than killing. But Zhang Liang just wouldn't say it, and deliberately acted as if he was about to unleash a massacre, waiting for him to speak up before going along with it.

Wow, that's really impressive.

Xin Qiji glanced at Fan Zhongyan again, recalling the scene at the time. The other man looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated. Perhaps he was holding back at the time, and if he hadn't said it, it would have been Fan Zhongyan who said those words.

They're all cunning old foxes who cherish their reputations.

Silence spread across the city wall.

After a long while, Zhang Liang looked towards the west of the city again and slowly said, "Feng Yunshan."

"The subordinate is here."

"Go tell Zhang Baiqi."

Zhang Liang's voice drifted in the night wind, but every word felt incredibly cold.

"Death is acceptable, but it must have value. Every person who is killed must be remembered by the survivors—this is the consequence of resisting the Qin Dynasty."

Feng Yunshan bowed and said, "Yes, sir."

"besides."

Zhang Liang paused for a moment: "After dawn, tally the casualties. All the dead shall be reported as battle losses, and their families... shall be exempted from taxes for three years."

Fan Zhongyan suddenly looked up: "My lord, this..."

"Slap me, then give me a treat."

Zhang Liang interrupted him, a cold smile curving his lips: "The dead are dead, the living must continue to live. Let them know that those who obey will not be treated unfairly by Great Qin; those who disobey... this is their example."

What a clever combination of kindness and severity!

Fan Zhongyan felt a chill in his heart, but he still harbored some resentment. After all, although Zhang Liang was the governor-general in charge of Qing and Xu, he was also the governor of Qingzhou. The three southern counties of Qingzhou were destined to be integrated into Qingzhou, and at that time they would be under his jurisdiction.

Qingnan has a total population of just over one million and more than two hundred thousand households. With just one sentence from Zhang Liang, more than 20,000 people were granted a three-year tax exemption. It is conceivable that Qingnan's finances will not be very prosperous in the next three years.

You win people's hearts, but you end up getting all the trouble yourself.

Looking at Zhang Liang's profile, flickering in the firelight, Fan Zhongyan suddenly realized that this "General of the People," known for his benevolent governance, might be colder, harder, and more shameless at heart than he had imagined.

The beatings continued on Changjie Street in the east of the city, but the momentum had gradually subsided.

It wasn't that the Qin soldiers were tired of fighting, but rather that fewer and fewer believers were holding out.

Of the two thousand rebelling believers in the east of the city, less than three hundred were still standing; the rest were either dead or wounded, lying scattered on the ground.

Blood pooled on the bluestone slabs, forming streams that meandered towards the street's drainage ditch, staining the entire long street dark red.

The thousand who survived and hadn't even been knocked unconscious were all kneeling on the ground, trembling.

Before them stood Qin soldiers, clubs dripping blood from their tips.

"Say it again."

Ren Qianxing stepped to the front of the crowd and asked in a hoarse voice, "What is the Ming Cult?"

"Evil...cult..."

A few scattered sounds began to emerge.

"Speak louder! I can't hear you!"

"Cult!"

A thousand people roared in unison.

"What are you volunteering to do?"

"I voluntarily withdraw from the Ming Cult!"

"Whose people are you?"

There was a brief silence.

A Qin soldier raised his stick.

"People of Qin".

The crowd erupted in fearful screams: "We are Qin people, we are people of Great Qin!"

Ren Qianxing nodded in satisfaction. He walked over to an old man whose leg had been broken but who was still struggling to get up and squatted down.

"Old man, do you hate me?" he asked.

The old man looked up, his cloudy eyes reflecting the firelight. He opened his mouth, blood trickling from the corner of his lips, and finally managed to utter three words:
"I hate...your mother..."

Before she could finish speaking, she couldn't hold back her anger any longer and fainted.

Ren Qianxing silently stood up, patted the bloodstains off his armor, and muttered to himself, "Let him hate, it's better than death."

"Collect the team."

Ren Qianxing turned around, no longer looking at the hell on earth behind him. "It's getting dark. It's time to report back to the governor."

Three hundred Qin soldiers marched away, stepping over pools of blood.

On the long street, only the wailing of the wounded and the gradually cooling corpses remained.

On the eastern horizon, the first ray of moonlight pierced the darkness, illuminating this land that had just experienced a catastrophe.

In the moonlight, a dark banner slowly rose above the city wall of the Qi King's Palace, with a huge seal character embroidered on it: Qin.

In the cracks of the bluestone bricks beneath the flagpole, the bloodstains from last night had not yet dried, gleaming eerily red in the morning sun, like a wound that would never heal. Or perhaps, like the initial bloody imprint of a newly risen dynasty.

Ten days later, the unrest in the three counties of Qingnan was completely quelled.

Zhang Liang's "Three Sticks Method" was also fully implemented in seventeen rebellious areas, resulting in a total of more than 3,200 deaths, 2,000 serious injuries or disabilities, and 20,000 minor injuries.

Indeed, tempted by a six-month pay raise, 13,000 Qin soldiers divided into four routes and wiped out the rebellious forces in the three counties of Qingnan in just ten days.

Apart from the remaining forces of the Ming dynasty who were directly killed, nearly 50,000 people in the three prefectures of Qingnan were hit by the Qin army.

In this suppression operation, the Qin army truly integrated with the people, and enforced the law with standards, pursued people with speed, kicked with accuracy, and swung batons with force.

Six strikes per second wasn't their limit, but rather the limit that Zhang Liang could see. Any faster and the governor wouldn't be able to see them anymore.

Of course, this came at a price: five thousand more families were broken in Qingnan.

But Zhang Liang didn't care. Or rather, he did care, but chose to turn a blind eye.

Politics is never a dinner party; it's a life-or-death struggle.

He needed a completely submissive Qingnan as a stepping stone for his intervention in the Xuzhou war, even if that submission was tinged with resentment, he had already done his best to minimize casualties.

When the Qin army from Linzi set out to suppress the surrounding rebellions, Zhang Liang stood on the city wall of Linzi, watching the army marching out below, and suddenly asked Xin Qiji beside him: "Jiaxuan, how do you think the local histories, county histories, and clan histories of Qingnan will describe me?"

After pondering for a long time, Xin Qiji said expressionlessly, "I will write about how you, sir, pacified Qingnan with swift and decisive measures, making an unparalleled contribution to the Great Qin."

"anything else?"

"And... they will write about adults who are ruthless, slaughter the innocent, and stop at nothing to achieve their goals."

As soon as he finished speaking, Fan Zhongyan covered his face and smiled bitterly, because no matter how Zhang Liang was written, he would be written like this.

Zhang Liang smiled too, but his smile appeared somewhat desolate in the setting sun.

"Then let them write it."

He turned and descended the city wall, his blue robe billowing like clouds in the wind.

"The victor is king, the loser is villain; this has been true throughout history. I, Zhang Zifang... only seek to have a clear conscience."

But as he stepped down the last step, he paused slightly.

Are you truly without shame?
He has no answer to this question, nor does he need one.

Because the wheels of history have already rolled on, and he was merely one of the hands that pushed those wheels.

As for what was crushed under the wheels? That's not important.

The important thing is that the wheels keep turning forward, and always will.

(End of this chapter)