Chapter 57 Disgusted

Page 1/3

The Pole Star Spear, Luo Song, was a master. The Supreme King, Lu Mingyue, was defeated by Sui general Zhang Xutuo in the thirteenth year of the Great Dynasty. If not for Luo Song risking his life to hold back Zhang Xutuo's formidable subordinates, Luo Shixin and Qin Shubao, Lu Mingyue would likely have perished at Zhu'a. To escape alive from the combined assault of Luo Shixin and Qin Shubao speaks volumes of Luo Song's peerless skill with the spear.

In terms of martial prowess, though he was not quite as gifted as Qin Shubao, the gap was not wide. Even in a world crowded with masters, Luo Song could barely squeeze into the ranks of the top-tier warriors. Yet he never sought refuge with any other rebel king, nor did he pursue promotion or fame—even the notorious flesh-devouring Demon King, Zhu Can, would not tolerate his character.

Luo Song was extremely lustful—a trait not unusual for men of his era. But his tastes were particularly depraved; he favored married women, a classic pursuer of forbidden fruit. Worse still, he preyed only on wives of acquaintances, never strangers. Even his lord Lu Mingyue’s concubines weren’t spared. Perhaps only Lu Mingyue could endure Luo Song placing such a humiliating crown upon his head.

After Lu Mingyue’s defeat and death, Luo Song became a wandering soul, and, with no other choice, sought shelter under the Star-Picking Sect as an assassin. His first assignment was to assassinate Chen Ying. In fact, before Chen Ying even arrived at West County, Luo Song had already caught up with him. Yet he didn’t strike immediately, preferring to wait in secret for the right opportunity.

When Chen Ying was recruiting soldiers in West County, Luo Song enlisted directly, becoming a squad leader under Zhang Huaiwei of the Second Honor Division, Third Honor Regiment. When he discovered Chen Ying was completely unguarded, he thrust his spear at him.

Luo Song was confident; the attack was sudden. Not just Chen Ying—even Qin Shubao would have had no chance to dodge under such an unexpected assault.

But as the blade of Luo Song’s spear drew less than half a foot from Chen Ying’s chest, Luo Song realized Chen Ying’s face betrayed no surprise, only a calm as deep as ancient waters.

“Something’s wrong—this is a trap!”

One look at Chen Ying’s expression and Luo Song knew he was in trouble. No one could remain so composed in such a situation unless they had already anticipated an assassination and laid a web of traps.

Otherwise, Chen Ying could never be so calm.

A metallic clang rang out, sparks flying.

Chen Ying’s face suddenly turned deathly pale, as if struck by a speeding locomotive; his organs felt ablaze with pain.

“Damn it!”

Clutching his nearly numb heart, Chen Ying cursed, “Damn, what strength!”

Luo Song was surprised as well; his hook-and-sickle spear seemed to strike a steel plate, screeching as it slid off Chen Ying’s armor. At the same moment, five cold flashes shot toward him.

He didn’t need to look to know—they were sleeve arrows. These weapons were essentially miniature crossbows firing short bolts, barely nine inches long, less than a foot. Short bolts meant weak draw, with a maximum range of fifty paces and an effective killing distance of just ten to twenty paces.

Those five cold flashes, arranged like plum blossoms, blocked nearly all escape routes. Luo Song had no desire for mutual destruction with Chen Ying; he quickly rolled aside, dodging the vital points.

Yet his arm suddenly went numb—a bad sign.

Page 2/3

Just then, Liang Zan flicked his hand, scattering a cloud of white powder in the air.

“Despicable!”

The sudden burst of powder made Luo Song shut his eyes tight. Quicklime was dangerous; even a speck in the eye could cause blindness or at least immediate loss of vision. As Luo Song closed his eyes, five of Chen Ying’s personal guards threw a net over him.

Luo Song struggled, but the net only grew tighter the more he fought.

After a long moment, Luo Song stopped. He realized the net was made of the finest cow sinew and bristle, as thick as a little finger—impossible to break with brute force alone.

The battle continued; the lingering cloud of quicklime slowly settled.

Chen Ying looked at Luo Song, whose eyes blazed with fury, and sighed, “A noble soul, yet a thief—how tragic!”

“Despicable scoundrel! You’ll die a wretched death. Kill me, torture me, do as you please. If I so much as blink, I’ll call you father!”

“Hmph!” Chen Ying shook his head, half laughing, half exasperated. “Enough, I don’t have the means to produce a son as big as you!”

He turned to Liang Zan: “The battle’s urgent—he’s yours. Once this fight is over, we’ll have our fun at leisure.”

A wicked smile crept across Liang Zan’s face.

“Still so tough? Let’s see how tough you are!” Liang Zan drew a sharp knife from his thigh. “I’ll cut your tendons first, see how you act then!”

“I’ll kill you—!”

Luo Song let out beast-like howls.

It was fortunate Liang Zan had earlier noticed someone tampering with Chen Ying’s warhorse, planning his murder. After conferring with Chen Ying, they quietly prepared. For his own safety, Chen Ying wore thirty-six pounds of bright, forged armor, and had Tang Liuniang carry the sleeve arrows.

Though Tang Liuniang was slim, her constitution was remarkable; she possessed extraordinary endurance. She could carry thirty-eight pounds of sleeve arrows, wear twenty-two pounds of armor, and move as if unburdened.

Liang Zan only frightened Luo Song—he did not sever his tendons, but instead locked him in sixty pounds of shackles. If Luo Song could still escape, Liang Zan would have nothing more to say.

…

Page 3/3

The battlefield fell silent. Pang Qidi’s rebel forces slowly withdrew, breaking contact with the Second Honor Division’s spearhead. Of course, this was only a temporary lull.

On the city walls, Pang Yu and the surviving troops of Shizhou held their breath, eyes wide, cautiously observing the strange events unfolding below.

The recent battle seemed almost miraculous, leaving them incredulous. It was as if the rebel soldiers were seized by an invisible power, standing frozen as Tang troops slaughtered them.

When had they ever seen such elite Tang soldiers?

When had they ever seen the fierce Qiang wolf soldiers so utterly routed?

Yet the battlefield—especially the heaps of corpses and the wounded rebels clutching bloody wounds, groaning in pain—made it clear this was no dream, but stark reality.

No one had counted the rebel casualties, but Pang Yu could tell that in just that quarter-hour of slaughter, at least three to four thousand rebels were dead or wounded.

He had joined the Tang not long ago. Judging by the uniforms and banners of these reinforcements, they must be troops from the Six Guards of the Eastern Palace. Could it be that the Tang’s finest forces were stationed in the Eastern Palace?

Yet Pang Yu’s confusion paled beside Pang Qidi’s. Losing three or four thousand men was nothing to him; at Shizhou’s gates, he had already lost more than twenty thousand. But most of those losses were mere cannon fodder; their deaths meant little to him.

“Those not of my clan are always alien at heart”—this saying was not unique to the Han. In Pang Qidi’s view, whether Tibetan, Liao, or even Han bandits who had joined him, all were outsiders, their hearts ultimately alien. But the Qiang were the core.

Of the more than forty thousand rebels, less than thirty percent were Qiang. Discounting the old, weak, and sick, no more than six thousand could fight. Yet in just fifteen minutes, over a thousand of these were lost.

Pang Qidi had never intended to carve out a kingdom—he only sought to plunder and then withdraw. Defeat was inevitable; if it came at the hands of Qutu Tong, Yin Kaishan, Li Jiancheng, or Li Shimin, he would accept it. But to fail before a little-known Palace Guard Captain, Chen Ying, was a humiliation beyond measure.

He felt as if he’d been pummeled by a street thug—his fury was indescribable.

Chen Ying was not even a major official in Tang. Though he held the rank of fifth-class General of Tranquility and Palace Guard Captain, the Tang had not yet reached its peak. Of the 663 prefectures nationwide, Tang already had more than 160, and Chen Ying was but one among them.

Pang Qidi was furious, vowing to tear Chen Ying limb from limb. While Pang Qidi regrouped his troops, Chen Ying was rapidly reorganizing his formation, bracing for even fiercer combat ahead.