A person sacrifices himself to become a saint in a chaotic world of martial arts.

Chapter 162 Collection

As night deepened, the moonlight, like water, poured onto the bluestone pavement of East Street in Qingyuan County, creating a layer of light silver frost.

A group of people is approaching at high speed.

The torchlight flickered in the night wind, casting long and short shadows of the group that twisted and shifted on the walls on both sides of the street.

The rapid hoofbeats pounded the flagstones, sending sparks flying that carried far in the quiet night, startling a few dogs into barking.

The leader was a middle-aged man, burly and strong, riding a large chestnut horse with his back ramrod straight.

The firelight illuminated his face, revealing a square face with thick, sharp eyebrows and eyes that gleamed in the light and shadow, like two cold stars in the dark night.

He was dressed in a black, close-fitting outfit with tightly bound cuffs and a long sword hanging at his waist. The bronze ornaments on the scabbard swayed gently with the rise and fall of the horse. He was none other than Zhao Zhijing, the second-best fighter in the Iron Palm Clan.

He is at the mid-stage of the True Qi Realm and has mastered the Iron Sand Palm technique, firmly ranking among the top ten experts in Qingyuan County.

"The leader has ordered that we must make sure Su Bai knows tonight that Qingyuan County is not under the control of the Zhenfu Division." Zhao Zhijing rode his horse, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority.

He looked straight ahead as he spoke, his chin slightly raised, his chiseled profile appearing particularly cold and hard in the firelight.

Behind him, more than thirty members of the Iron Palm Clan followed closely.

These men were the gang's elite, each with sharp eyes, wielding swords and carrying short axes at their waists. The sound of their horses' hooves was uniform and carried an aura of menace.

They were on duty in the gang when they suddenly received orders from the gang leader to rush to the Blood Blade Gang and bolster the morale of the Zhenfu Division.

To boost morale.

To the Iron Palm Gang members, these three words meant to intimidate and threaten them, to let those arrogant constables know that there were some places they couldn't touch.

"Master Zhao, will we really have to fight this time?" A member of the gang rode forward and asked in a low voice. He was a young man in his early twenties, with a somewhat boyish face, and his hand holding the knife was slightly tight.

Zhao Zhijing glanced at him sideways, a faint smile playing on his lips, a smile tinged with condescension: "Make a move? You think those people from the Zhenfu Division would really dare to?"

He paused, then looked away, his tone tinged with disdain: "The Golden Knife Alliance affair was nothing more than Su Bai taking advantage of a moment when no one was looking. That old codger An Chen was careless, and Jin Tangjing was careless too, which is why that kid got the benefit."

Now that the Blood Blade Gang is on guard, Liang Yan is no pushover. We're only going to give Chief Liang some support and make Su Bai back down.

The young gang members nodded repeatedly, their tension easing and replaced by expressions of relief.

He glanced back at his companions, who had also heard what Master Zhao said, and their tense shoulders gradually relaxed.

Yes, those constables from the Zhenfu Division usually only bully small vendors. When they encounter a tough opponent, they all cower faster than anyone else.

Although a new chief inspector has arrived this time, how much ability can a mere lad in his early twenties possibly have?

The procession continued onward, passing through several streets and alleys, the sound of horses' hooves echoing through the empty streets.

A night breeze blew by, and the willow branches by the roadside swayed gently, casting dappled shadows on them.

We're getting closer and closer to the Blood Blade Gang's headquarters.

However, when they turned the last street corner and saw the scene ahead, Zhao Zhijing's pupils suddenly contracted, as if he had been pricked by a needle.

The torches still burned brightly in front of the Blood Blade Gang's headquarters, illuminating the entire street as if it were daytime.

But the people holding torches had changed their clothes.

It was no longer the cyan short-sleeved shirt of the Blood Blade Gang, but the black official uniform of the Zhenfu Division.

The public uniforms gleamed with a dark, somber light under the firelight, like congealed blood.

In the open space in front of the gate, hundreds of Blood Blade Gang members knelt in a row, their heads bowed and backs bent, like a row of crops that had been hit by frost.

All around were the garrison officers holding swords, standing ramrod straight, their blades gleaming coldly in the firelight, their faces bearing an expression they had never shown before—not the usual timidity, but excitement, a surge of passion, the triumphant air that only comes with victory.

Some people had a wide smile on their faces, some had chests bulging as if they were about to burst, and some had veins popping out on their hands as they gripped the hilt of their knives, as if they were trying their best to suppress something.

On the gatepost, a thick-backed broadsword was nailed there, the blade deeply embedded in the wooden post, with only half of the blade protruding outside, buzzing and vibrating in the night wind, emitting a faint metallic tremor.

The red silk on the hilt of the knife fluttered, like flowing blood.

Inside the courtyard, two corpses could be vaguely seen lying on the ground.

By the firelight, one could see a burly figure dressed in a short blue shirt, with limbs outstretched and motionless.

Zhao Zhijing's expression changed instantly, as if he had been punched in the face.

"This—" The young gangster beside him stared wide-eyed, his eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets, and he could barely speak. "How is this possible?"

Zhao Zhijing didn't speak, but simply tightened the reins and stared intently ahead.

too fast.

From receiving the news to arriving, it took no more than half an hour. What can you do in half an hour? You can drink a pot of tea, eat a meal, or walk a few blocks—

But in that short half hour, the Blood Blade Gang was finished.

Liang Yan is dead.

Liang Yan, who had run rampant in Qingyuan County for twenty years, Liang Yan, who was at the peak of the mid-stage of the True Qi Realm, Liang Yan, who even Zhao Zhijing had to call "Brother Liang," is dead.

And he died so quickly.

Zhao Zhijing took a deep breath, trying to calm his expression. But his hands involuntarily tightened their grip on the reins, his knuckles turning white, his bones protruding, and the veins on the back of his hands bulging like earthworms.

Footsteps could be heard coming from behind.

They are from the Wei family.

Wei Mingyuan, the third master of the Wei family, arrived with more than a dozen servants. These men were carrying sticks, and some of them were carrying lanterns, so they seemed to have come to help.

But when they saw what was in front of them, they all froze on the spot, their expressions incredibly varied. Some opened their mouths wide, some stared wide-eyed, some took a step back, and some dropped their sticks to the ground with a "thud".

Next up was the Wu family.

Wu Shixun, the fifth master of the Wu family, arrived slowly on horseback with seven or eight men.

He originally didn't want to come, but he couldn't resist the patriarch's urging, so he had no choice but to take a few people with him to make a token appearance.

He was riding a horse, holding a wine jug in one hand, with a lazy smile on his face.

But when he reined in his horse and saw the scene in front of the Blood Blade Gang, his smile froze on his face, as if he had been frozen.

His hand holding the wine jug trembled, and the amber-colored wine spilled onto the horse's mane, but he was completely unaware.

Then came the Wan family and the Xie family.

The man from the Wan family was Wan Youcai, the second manager of Wanchuntang, who came with several employees. He was wearing a long gown and carrying an account book, clearly having just been pulled out of the accounting room.

He stood on the street corner, looking ahead, the color draining from his face until it turned ashen.

The person who came from the Xie family was Xie Yulang, the third young master of the Xie family, accompanied by several guards.

This was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in fine clothes, with a handsome face, holding a folding fan in his hand. He had originally come to join in the fun.

But at that moment, the folding fan in his hand snapped shut, and he froze on the spot, his leisurely demeanor vanished, replaced by shock.

The last to arrive were the members of the Chamber of Commerce Alliance.

The Chamber of Commerce representative was Zhou Fulai, the manager of Zhouji Cloth Shop, who was accompanied by two accountants.

He was a fat man in his fifties, always smiling and greeting everyone with a beaming smile.

He was sent by the president of the Chamber of Commerce, supposedly to give the Blood Blade Gang some support and let the Zhenfu Division know that the Blood Blade Gang has powerful backers.

He had planned to just stand there for a bit, shout a couple of times, and then come back to sleep.

But now, standing on the street corner, looking ahead, his smile froze, and his fleshy face stiffened inch by inch, as if someone had grabbed his throat.

Several groups of people, nearly a hundred in total, stood on the street corner, unable to move forward or backward.

No one spoke, no one moved.

Only the crackling of torches and the mournful sound of the night wind could be heard.

Their gazes passed over the constables of the Zhenfu Division, and over the kneeling Blood Blade Gang members, landing on the two corpses inside the door.

Although they were far away and couldn't see who it was, they recognized the thick-backed broadsword nailed to the doorpost.

That was Liang Yan's knife. The blade was broad and thick, the back of the blade was heavy, and the hilt was wrapped with red silk. It was Liang Yan's weapon for twenty years.

In the entire Qingyuan County, he was the only one who used such a knife.

Liang Yan's knife is here, but where is Liang Yan himself?

The answer speaks for itself.

Zhao Zhijing withdrew his gaze from the doorpost and slowly swept it over the people around him. He took in the expressions of Wei Mingyuan, Wu Shixun, Wan Youcai, Xie Yulang, and Zhou Fulai.

Shock, fear, and hesitation.

Wei Mingyuan took two steps back, staggering and almost tripping over the hem of his robe. His face was pale, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening in the firelight.

Wu Shixun's hand, gripping the reins, trembled slightly—a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor, but Zhao Zhijing noticed it. The horse he was riding seemed to sense its master's unease; it snorted and pawed the ground with its front hooves.

Wan Youcai instinctively shrank back, hiding behind several of his men, revealing only half of his pale face.

Xie Yulang's folding fan fell to the ground, but he didn't bend down to pick it up. He just stood there blankly, his lips trembling slightly.

The account book in Zhou Fulai's hand fell to the ground with a "thud," but he was completely unaware of it. He just stared blankly ahead, his eyes fixed on the ground.

The promised alliance, the promise to advance and retreat together, the promise to suppress the Zhenfu Division—all of these have now become a joke.

The Wei family only sent a dozen or so people, the Wu family seven or eight, the Wan family a few employees, the Xie family a few guards, and the Chamber of Commerce alliance two accountants. Is this what they call allies? Is this what they call standing together through thick and thin?

Zhao Zhijing sneered inwardly, but remained silent.

Because he knew that he himself was no different.

The Iron Palm Clan sent over thirty people, which seemed like a lot, but he was the only true Qi Realm expert. The others were just low-level thugs; what use would they be in a real fight?

Each had their own ulterior motives.

These four words surfaced in Zhao Zhijing's mind like a thorn, pricking him painfully. He suddenly realized that they had already lost tonight. Not to Su Bai, not to the Zhenfu Division, but to themselves.

At the entrance of the Blood Blade Gang's headquarters, the constables of the Town Pacification Bureau quickly spotted the group of people on the street corner.

They were not flustered, not afraid, and didn't even glance at it twice.

A young constable stepped forward and stood on the steps, the firelight reflecting off his face. He took a deep breath, straightened his chest, and shouted towards the street corner: "This is an official business of the Garrison Command; all unauthorized personnel, please step aside!"

His voice was loud and clear, full of confidence, echoing in the night sky with an unprecedented momentum.

Zhao Zhijing raised an eyebrow slightly.

He recognized the constable; he was an old man from the Zhenfu Division, surnamed Chen, in his forties. Usually, when he saw him, he would lower his head and walk around him, not daring to even breathe loudly.

But at this moment, the constable surnamed Chen stood on the steps, his back ramrod straight, like a spear planted in the ground. He stared directly at them without flinching, his gaze as if he were looking at a group of—unrelated people.

What's wrong?

Zhao Zhijing's gaze slowly swept over the constables of the Zhenfu Division, and he found that it wasn't just that constable surnamed Chen; everyone looked the same.

They stood around the kneeling Blood Blade Gang members, knives in hand. Some smiled, some had sharp eyes, and some had heaving chests. Their faces wore an expression they had never seen before, not the usual timidity, but excitement, the triumphant spirit of victory, and an arrogant arrogance as if they feared nothing.

His expression was like that of someone who had been starving for a long time and had finally had a full meal.

Is it because they wiped out two gangs?

Was it because he killed Liang Yan?

Or because—

Zhao Zhijing's gaze passed over the constables and landed on the figure standing inside the door with a knife.

He was a young man in his early twenties, tall and slender with a handsome face. He stood in the shadows inside the doorway, half his face hidden in darkness, with only his eyes visible in the edge illuminated by the firelight.

Those eyes were calm as still water, gazing in their direction.

Just a fleeting glance.

But that one glance stirred up an indescribable feeling in Zhao Zhijing's heart.

The feeling was like being watched by something, or like having nothing at all—an empty, aimless feeling that was more unsettling than being watched.

Zhao Zhijing took a deep breath, spurred his horse forward a few steps, and pulled on the reins. He straightened his back, raised his chin, and tried to make his voice sound steady and powerful: "Zhao Zhijing of the Iron Palm Gang requests an audience with Chief Liang of the Blood Blade Gang."

His voice was equally loud, with a hint of condescension, echoing through the night sky.

He deliberately avoided mentioning Su Bai and only mentioned Liang Yan, wanting these people to know that in his eyes, Liang Yan was the true master of the Blood Blade Gang, while the Zhenfu Division was merely an outsider.

On the steps, the constable surnamed Chen didn't speak, but just glanced back.

In the shadows inside the door, the figure remained motionless, not even blinking.

But another person came out.

Tang Dingzhen.

He was dressed in a black official robe with a long sword at his waist, and slowly walked out of the door.

The firelight gradually illuminated his face, revealing a face with strong features and a sharp, piercing gaze.

His face was expressionless, his gaze calmly fixed on Zhao Zhijing, then sweeping over the people from the Wei family, Wu family, Wan family, Xie family, and the Chamber of Commerce Alliance at the street corner.