Chapter Forty-Nine: Be a Good Person in the Next Life
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Many thanks to Journey for 2000 points, Duke Panda for 600 points, Sunny Smoky for 100 points, and Years Wasted in Books for 100 points for their regular support. Deep gratitude to the friends of Dao Lord and the Dao Lord Corps for their extraordinary firepower.
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The story rewinds a few moments. When these villagers were driven by the bandits, fleeing in panic to the gates of the Western County town, they still hoped to find refuge inside the city walls. Yet, reality proved far harsher than their expectations.
Within the Western County town, there were no stationed government troops. The only armed defenders were the sixteen local braves under County Constable Shen Rusong’s command, and thirty-six officers from the water and fire patrols. These mere fifty-two men were willing to open the city gates and let the villagers in to escape.
Unfortunately, Constable Shen Rusong was not the authority in Western County. He was but a constable, while true power rested with County Magistrate Guo Kaizhen. Guo Kaizhen, wielding the authority of a county lord, not only forced Shen Rusong to close the city gates but also ordered him to seal the gate with sand and stones.
Helpless, Shen Rusong could only obey Magistrate Guo’s commands. For the time being, the Western County town was safe. But outside, more than a thousand villagers found themselves with no way forward and no way back.
Perhaps the bandits, seeing through the town’s weakness, slaughtered the defenseless villagers with abandon.
A mother sought to protect her young child, shielding the child beneath her frail body. Yet, a blood hole the size of a wine cup marred her back—a sharp spear pinned both mother and child to the ground, extinguishing all hope.
A robust man puffed out his chest, trying to stand as the last hope for his parents, wife, and children. Yet a sharp blade cleaved his chest, exposing pale, terrifying bone; his beating heart, like an engine without oil, gradually fell silent.
A despicable coward pushed his companion toward the bandits’ blades, hoping to trade his friend’s life for his own. But the vicious bandits hesitated not for a moment; they chopped off his arms, and as he writhed in agony, an arrow pierced his throat, ending his suffering…
Blood—thick and heavy—pooled into streams, dyeing every inch of land before the Western County town red. The closer to the walls, the more congealed the blood became, forming rivulets that flowed into the moat, turning its waters a strange crimson.
This place had long become hell on earth—no, even hell could not capture the horror, bloodshed, and suffocating atmosphere.
Corpses—innumerable commoners lay dead—from the reception pavilion to the city gates, the straight official road was painted with sticky blood. Scattered limbs, dismembered organs, torn from their owners, covered the ground.
The air reeked with a nauseating stench of blood; wounds lay open, exposing rolled skin, pale yellow subcutaneous fat, dark red muscle, glistening bones, and viscous fluids dripping from severed limbs. Death, vivid and real, assaulted Shen Rusong’s not-so-steady nerves.
Shen Rusong closed his eyes in pain, unable to bear the sight of the villagers’ tragic plight below.
But even with his eyes closed, those scenes of unspeakable carnage assaulted his mind, filling him with remorse, uncertainty, and confusion.
“To die as county constable, unable to protect the people, to witness bandits slaughter the innocent and do nothing—how can I face Heaven or the Emperor above, or my elders and kin below? What use is living?” Shen Rusong suddenly drew his blade, pressing it to his neck, ready to end his life.
Suddenly, a powerful hand grasped the blade at Shen Rusong’s throat.
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“Constable Shen, look!”
Shen Rusong opened his eyes and saw a black line appear on the horizon. As time passed, the line grew thicker and larger.
At last, three banners unfurled in the wind, emblazoned with bold white characters on black: “Army Commander Chen,” “Governor of Shizhou Chen,” “General of Ningyuan Chen.”
“We’re saved! We’re saved!”
“Imperial reinforcements have arrived!”
“Thank Heaven, long live the Emperor!”
“Victory to the Great Tang!”
Cheers erupted, voices so loud they soared to the heavens.
Chen Ying was at the forefront, charging straight toward the rampaging bandits.
Zhang Shigui swallowed hard. “That pretty boy’s got guts!”
At that moment, Chen Ying cursed inwardly. He had no idea why his normally docile bay horse suddenly went mad, carrying him headlong into the enemy ranks.
All notions of military tactics, strategies, and formations were useless now.
Caught off guard, Chen Ying could only bellow, “Kill every bandit!”
The soldiers paused in surprise, but Chen Ying was already a hundred paces ahead.
Liang Zan, alarmed, shouted, “Whoever’s not afraid of death, follow me!”
The bandits, gleefully slaughtering villagers and looting their corpses—even hacking gold teeth from their jaws—were suddenly startled by the thunder of hooves. In their line of sight, a lone rider charged directly at them.
Chen Ying, shaken at first, quickly regained his composure. The situation was beyond saving; regret was futile now.
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Chen Ying raised his blade, targeting a bandit leader. With the momentum of his charging horse, he sliced lightly—an enormous head tumbled to the ground, spraying warm blood over Chen Ying.
Drenched in blood, Chen Ying entered a trance-like state. His blade danced, striking down five bandits in quick succession.
Seeing Chen Ying’s ferocity, the bandits were terrified.
Just then, Zhang Shigui rode into the fray. Whirling his lance, he swept it in a strange arc—the shaft and blade together—sending three or four bandits flying backward as if struck by a charging rhinoceros. Their chests caved in, and they gasped their last breaths.
“Run for your lives!”
“Get out while you can!”
“Mother save me!”
The bandits were thrown into chaos. The soldiers of the Second Merit Corps, having overcome their initial confusion, charged like tigers into the flock, slashing left and right, scattering hundreds of bandits.
Seeing Chen Ying’s arrival, the villagers, once resigned to their fate, suddenly found hope. Their courage grew; some grabbed fallen weapons, some swung fists, and others simply bit at the bandits in desperation.
Chen Ying had intended to shout for surrender, promising mercy to those who laid down their arms. But witnessing the bandits’ animalistic cruelty, only one thought remained in his mind: “Kill them all!”
“Don’t kill me! I surrender!” One bandit, sensing the tide turning, dropped his bloodied weapon and fell to his knees, raising his hands.
Chen Ying didn’t spare him a glance. He lifted his blade and cleaved—the huge head soared skyward.
“Next time, be born a better man,” Chen Ying said calmly.
By the time the First Merit Corps, Second Merit Corps, and Archery Corps infantry arrived at the battlefield, the fight was nearly over.
Chen Ying’s bay horse finally ceased its madness, collapsing into exhaustion, no longer wild. Chen Ying shouted, “Leave a few alive—I need to question them!”
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