Chapter 333: The Five Thunder True Art

"Enough, enough—chopping it too fine makes it hard to clean up," the officer shouted.

Only then did his soldiers stand up, pull out towels, and wipe the fresh blood from their blades.

The officer said, "Clear the bodies out."

Zhu Changqing at least had an intact corpse, so moving him was relatively easy.

The Guard Commander, however, had his feet, fingers, and other parts scattered all over the floor.

The officer said, "Pick them all up. Clean it thoroughly."

"Yes." The soldiers crouched down and gathered up the body parts and bits of flesh.

Never mind Liu Ergu and her husband—even the two captured prince's guards who saw this were so terrified they retched dryly.

After the bodies were carried away, the officer had his men shovel in clean sand from outside and sweep Liu Ergu's house clean, since there were still two pools of blood on the floor. Liu Ergu hurriedly said, "I can take care of these things myself."

The officer looked at his own men—each one covered in blood, looking perhaps even more frightening than the blood on the floor—so he nodded in agreement, walked out, and casually closed the door behind him for them.

Liu Ergu hugged her husband, weeping tears of joy. The two had only cried for a moment when another knock sounded at the door.

Liu Ergu and her husband, along with her elderly father, all froze stiff, not daring to breathe.

Liu Ergu mustered her courage and asked, "Who is it?"

A voice from outside said, "I'm from the Great Xia New Army, here to deliver firewood. There's also some rice, cloth, and other goods, plus a bit of meat—left outside the door. Remember to come get it." With that, the soldier's footsteps faded into the distance.

Liu Ergu's father, having been through such scenes before, opened the door and brought the firewood and other items inside.

Qiao San leaned in for a look and exclaimed in surprise, "So much firewood!"

Liu Ergu wiped her tears and said, "Stop staring. Let's clean up the house first!"

With the Prince of Huai dead and the prince's household assets divided up, Raozhou City was completely unsealed. Though still under military administration for now, the common people could finally come and go freely and resume their normal lives.

Lin Qian also abolished the Huai Prince's imperially granted firewood-gathering lands, allowing commoners to go up the mountains and cut firewood.

The Huai Prince's firewood lands covered an entire mountain called Changshan, located south of Raozhou Prefecture, within Yugan County.

Because of the policy protections, the people had not been allowed to harvest there illegally, so the mountain's forests were lush and firewood was abundant—enough to meet the needs of Raozhou and several surrounding counties for a short time.

At the same time, the inventory of the Huai Prince's estate was drawn up. It fell far short of the Prince of Jingjiang's holdings, and compared to the Prince of Fu or the Prince of Chu, it was like a small witch before a great one—but set against an ordinary household, the wealth was still staggering.

The property list was so long that ten sheets of paper couldn't hold it all.

Lin Qian said to Zhang Moye, "Wasn't this Prince of Huai supposed to have a good reputation? Where did all this wealth come from?"

Zhang Moye didn't know. The army staff officer said, "The current Prince of Huai, Zhu Changqing, did indeed have a decent reputation, but the several princes of Huai before him were all beasts unworthy of the name.

The second Prince of Huai, Zhu Qiquan, lent money at usurious rates, seized civilian farmland, and monopolized lake shores, fishing grounds, and mountain forests.

The third, Zhu Yourong, forcibly seized common women, with a particular fondness for stealing brides. Whenever any family held a wedding, he would snatch the bride into the prince's mansion for three days, which led to Raozhou no longer daring to hold weddings in daylight."

Lin Qian sighed and said, "This is the evil of the system. An institution that raises vermin like this would turn even a good man into a bad one. For a Zhu Changqing to emerge as such an anomaly is truly rare. Give him a proper burial."

"Yes." Zhang Moye thought for a moment and asked, "With the rites of a Prince, or...?"

Lin Qian asked, "How is a Prince buried with full rites?"

The army staff officer said, "A Hanlin scholar must write the eulogy, the posthumous-title text, and the tomb inscription. Within the enfeoffed domain, there must be days of butchering bans, mourning dress, and wailing visits. There's the cemetery grounds, the number of tomb chambers, the burial goods..."

"Even in death he won't let people have peace!" Lin Qian angrily slammed the property list onto the table.

The army staff officer wisely shut his mouth.

Lin Qian said, "All ceremonial rites are waived. Not a single burial good goes in. Considering his decent reputation, piling up a grave mound and erecting a tombstone is more than enough to honor him."

Lin Qian picked up the gift list again: "All of the Huai Prince's property—including land deeds, field deeds, house deeds, and the like—is to be boxed and sealed, with guards assigned to watch over it. Once Raozhou gets its Prefect appointed, it will be dealt with then."

Relying on the military to distribute firewood, rice, oil, and salt was, of course, no problem.

But distributing land to the people involved six counties under Raozhou Prefecture, plus one attached county, with countless villages and households—who gets more, who gets less, every bit of it requires careful consideration.

Having the army haphazardly divide land would cause major chaos. This was delicate work that absolutely required civil administrators to handle.

When Guilin was taken earlier and the Prince of Jingjiang's lands were divided, it took over a year.

"Yes." Zhang Moye acknowledged, then hesitated a moment before saying, "Your Majesty, in the past few days we've discovered something strange in the city. A children's rhyme has spread widely: 'The north wind rises, the red sun tilts; the autumn wind blows chill, the cold cicada cries.' All the Ming officials say this is a prophecy—an omen that the Mandate of Heaven lies with Great Xia." Lin Qian sneered dismissively: "Nothing but superstition. And using children to spread it—truly detestable!"

Zhang Moye said with righteous indignation, "That's what I said too. Still, at least these words prove the Mandate of Heaven is with Great Xia."

Lin Qian shook his head: "What is the Mandate of Heaven? The people's hearts are the Mandate of Heaven. The people's hearts must be won by doing real things for the common folk, not by deception. In times of upheaval, the people already suffer enough—spreading superstition is a crime deserving of death! Have the Raozhou garrison forces keep watch on this matter and report any news immediately." Zhang Moye acknowledged the order.

Feudal superstition was enormously harmful—not to mention devouring wealth, dissolving society's productive forces, weakening the army's fighting strength, and crippling Great Xia's younger generation. Even for the regime itself, it was a double-edged sword. Prophecies and rumors could raise a regime, and they could just as easily topple one. The classic example was the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom.

Now the folk saying "The north wind rises, the red sun tilts" could be interpreted as "Profound Xia shall rise, Red Ming shall fall."

But in the future, couldn't it be interpreted as "Great Qing shall rise, Great Xia shall fall"?

If the north wind could be twisted to mean Profound Xia, why couldn't it be explained as Great Qing? The character Qing even has the three-dot water radical, and the Qing really were in the north—they seemed to have an even stronger water attribute.

Though the Jianzhou barbarians still called themselves the Great Jin for now, given Hong Taiji's cunning, changing the state name was only a matter of time.

Historically, the most famous prophecy of the late Ming was "The Eighteen Sons shall wield the divine vessel." People of the time interpreted "Eighteen Sons" as the character "Li," hinting that Li Zicheng would establish a new dynasty.

That prophecy was also exploited by internal factional strife—some claimed that Li Zicheng's general Li Yan was the true "Eighteen Sons" of the prophecy. Li Yan consequently fell under suspicion and was ultimately executed, weakening the rebel army's strength.

Lin Qian had no intention of repeating Li Zicheng's mistake.

Unfortunately, Raozhou was still under military administration, and the army was inherently unsuited for the delicate work of investigating rumors. For now, soldiers could only keep watch. Once Jiangxi's civil administration was established, they could properly hunt down rumors and break superstition.

Zhang Moye continued, "Your Majesty, now that the Raozhou matter is settled, shouldn't we dispatch troops? The forward scouts reported this morning that traces of Chen Ping'an, the Earth-Leveling King, have been found in the Fuliang County area.

That bastard was originally active around Hukou, probably trying to flee to Huguang or South Zhili. But since the Yangtze River route was sealed off by us, he slipped around us while we were attacking Raozhou City."

Lin Qian said, "You decide how to march."

"Good." Zhang Moye had been waiting for exactly those words. He immediately ordered the vanguard to give chase, with the main army departing the next day.

Just as they were building the tomb and burying the Prince of Huai in Raozhou City—

The Celestial Master and his son had already arrived at Fuliang County, a place that prospered exceptionally due to its proximity to Jingdezhen.

But recently, as the front line had pushed near the county seat, and with rumors that the Earth-Leveling King Chen Ping'an was roaming nearby, the townsfolk were gripped by panic. Many shops had closed their doors, and the city gates only opened for four hours around noon each day.

The Celestial Master and his son arrived outside the city walls at dawn, when the gates were not yet open.

Zhang Yingjing spotted a tea stall not far from the city gate and said, "Celestial Master, let's go get some breakfast. We haven't had hot food in a long time."

Zhang Xianyong shot him a glare and said, "Every bite and every sip is part of cultivation. With such heavy worldly desires, how do you expect to become an immortal?"

Zhang Yingjing said aggrievedly, "Isn't our Zhengyi Sect not supposed to be so particular about that?"

Zhang Xianyong frowned, about to lecture him, when he saw a child by the tea stall kicking a shuttlecock while singing a nursery rhyme: "The north wind rises, the red sun tilts, the autumn wind blows chill, the cold cicadas cry..."

Zhang Xianyong took off his straw rain cape, walked over, crouched down with a beaming smile, and said, "Young friend, this poor Daoist greets you. That nursery rhyme of yours is truly lovely—where did you learn it?" Zhang Xianyong was around fifty years of age, with hair half black and half white, and a kindly, benevolent face.

But his parents had told him that there were many bad people around lately, so the child cautiously grabbed his shuttlecock and fled to the tea stall—apparently he was the stall owner's child.

Seeing this, Zhang Xianyong said to his son, "Never mind, let's have breakfast at the tea stall."

Zhang Yingjing's face lit up with joy. He walked over, picked a seat, and called out to the stall owner for two bowls of noodles.

While the stall owner was cooking the noodles, Zhang Xianyong took the opportunity to ask him about the song.

The stall owner kept working without pause and said casually, "Oh, that came from the city. It was first sung by Immortal Zhang."

The Heavenly Master father and son exchanged a glance, and Zhang Yingjing said in a low voice, "So it's here after all!"

Zhang Xianyong then inquired about the situation of Immortal Zhang.

The stall owner said, "Heavenly Master Zhang came to Fuliang County two months ago. He's a true immortal with real magic—with him around, we don't have to fear the bandit soldiers of King Leveler. Alright, here are your two bowls of noodles."

Two steaming bowls of plain vegetarian noodles were set down on the table before the Heavenly Master father and son.

The two had dressed in ordinary clothes for this trip to avoid drawing attention, and the stall owner didn't know they were men of the cloth. The tea stall was crude and only had vegetarian noodles to offer. Zhang Yingjing had been on the road for five or six days straight, eating dry flatbread every day and sleeping in abandoned temples. The smell of the noodles made him unable to wait—he grabbed a pair of chopsticks and stuffed a mouthful in. Also at the tea stall was a middle-aged man waiting to enter the city, who looked like an out-of-towner. Upon hearing this, he said, "King Leveler? Wasn't he already wiped out?" The stall owner came over with a kettle to refill their water and said at the same time, "I don't know about other King Levelers, but Chen Ping'an is still alive and well."

"Who is this man?" the customer pressed.

The stall owner said, "Rumor has it he was originally a tenant slave of the Zou clan of Anfu. When the slave uprising began, he was the first to raise troops, and he slaughtered the entire Zou household. Later he captured Anfu County, and his power grew greatly..."

Among the customers was an old man who had fled as a refugee. He cut in, "That one's from the Wild Ox Window gang—they burn, kill, loot, and plunder at Hukou, utterly devoid of conscience. I fled here as a refugee myself. I heard the Leveler bandits are heading south again. Your stall is outside the city walls—you'd best be careful."

His daughter-in-law said, "Father, say a little less."

"What, can't I even curse them now?" the old man grumbled discontentedly, though his voice grew much quieter.

The out-of-towner said, "Wasn't this Chen fellow in Ji'an? How did he end up running to Hukou?"

The stall owner was clearing away bowls and chopsticks when he heard this and said, "When Governor Zhu campaigned south to Ganzhou, he wiped out a batch of his followers. Chen then took the remaining men and fled to northern Jiangxi, where he built up his strength again."

Zhang Yingjing muttered to himself, "Being able to make a comeback—he must have some real skill."

Zhang Xianyong glared at his son and said irritably, "Mind your tongue."

The refugee old man snorted coldly and said, "What skill? Skill at press-ganging able-bodied men? The Great Xia army has already reached Raozhou—who still listens to him? If he isn't press-ganging conscripts, he's looting and plundering. How else would he have managed a comeback?"

Having said this, the old man pointed into the distance and said, "Ten li in that direction is the Chang River, and downstream is Raozhou Prefecture. I hear the Great Xia army has already taken the prefectural seat. We're preparing to go and throw in our lot with them. You should go early too, so you don't get caught by the bandit soldiers. Once the Great Xia army has cleared out the bandits, then you can come back." The stall owner smiled calmly and said, "No worries—Immortal Zhang has divine power. He won't let the bandit soldiers run rampant."

The middle-aged man nodded and said, "Right. I've heard people say that Great Xia is in league with the Jianzhou barbarians, and they also have connections with the rebels in the southwest. When it comes down to it, this king and that king are all the same breed. None of them are as efficacious as Immortal Zhang of Mount Longhu."

"Absurd!" Zhang Xianyong cursed inwardly. He slapped his chopsticks down on the table and angrily stopped eating.

Zhang Yingjing was also furious and said in a low voice, "This traitor is using our Mount Longhu's reputation to swindle people!"

The purpose of their trip was precisely to catch this "Immortal Zhang." The man's real name was Zhang Xianyao, a cadet branch relative of the same lineage as Zhang Xianyong. The office of Heavenly Master had always passed down through the direct line alone, generation after generation. The cadet branches harbored resentment, and many had left the sect to go out and swindle people.

Just as the Ming-Xia dynastic transition was underway, Zhang Xianyao thought he had found his opportunity—he wanted to win the trust of the King of Xia, obtain an official appointment, and seize the position of Heavenly Master for himself. To this end, he had deliberately composed that prophecy disguised as a nursery rhyme, all to win the King of Xia's favor.

Setting aside who should be Heavenly Master, this very business of fooling the world, currying favor, and manipulating schemes was enough to make Zhang Xianyong despise him. It also besmirched the reputation of Mount Longhu, which was why he had come down the mountain with his son, tracking him all the way here.

Although Zhang Xianyong didn't know exactly what trick this "Immortal Zhang" was using, it was certainly some kind of charlatan's deception that had won over so many people. So he pretended to be curious and asked, "Shopkeeper, you make Immortal Zhang sound so impressive—what real abilities does he actually have?"

The stall owner said mysteriously, "He can summon wind and rain, and call down thunder. Impressive or not?"

"How exactly does he summon it?"

The stall owner formed a sword seal with one hand and gestured on the spot: "Like this, like this—and then heaven and earth instantly flash with lightning and rumble with thunder, and before long the wind and rain come pouring down."

Zhang Xianyong asked again, "When does Immortal Zhang ascend the altar to perform his rites?"

The stall owner said, "Aiyo, there's no set schedule. Sometimes he does it every three days, and sometimes he won't perform for half a month."

A look of understanding appeared on Zhang Xianyong's face. He took out paper and a brush, wrote out a list, and instructed his son, "Send word to your fellow disciples. Have them find the items on this list, and be quick about it—I suspect Immortal Zhang will be performing his rites within the next few days."

Just as Zhang Xianyong had predicted, two days later the weather turned overcast, and Immortal Zhang ascended his altar to perform the rites. Nearly the entire town of Fuliang County turned out—the common folk surrounded the altar in layers upon layers, and the surrounding roads were packed so tightly that not a drop of water could pass through.

Zhang Xianyong and his disciples, disguised in plain clothes, also made their way to the front.

On the altar, Immortal Zhang wore a Shangqing hibiscus crown on his head, donned a ritual star robe, and held a bowl of purified water in his hand as he walked around the altar. With every step, he dipped his right ring finger into the purified water and flicked it into the air three times, all while murmuring incantations under his breath.

This step was called "purifying the altar and sprinkling holy water"—the first step of orthodox ritual procedure.

What followed—the visualization of deities, the pacing of the celestial dipper, the forming of hand seals and chanting of incantations—was all equally flawless. These rituals were extremely complex, passed down over thousands of years, and not a single step could be wrong. They were utterly different from the shamanistic performances of ordinary street charlatans.

Since Zhang Xianyao was trained in the Heavenly Master Mansion, what he had learned was naturally exact in every detail.

The common folk around him saw his movements were proper and convincing, and all were won over, holding their breath in reverence below the altar.

After a long while, Immortal Zhang picked up the Five Thunder Command Tablet and struck it forcefully against the incense table, producing a loud crack.

Then he abruptly raised the Seven Stars Ritual Sword and pointed it at the sky.

This step wasn't in orthodox ritual procedure. Zhang Yingjing said, "Here it comes!"

They heard Zhang Xianyao give a great shout: "Heaven's Response of the Nine Realms, Thunder's Sound Universal Transformation! Hear my summons, descend at once! By imperial command!"

Immediately he swung his sword down in a slash. In a flash of lightning, blue-white electric light burst forth from the blade, an arc of lightning flashed across, and then came a crack as a thunderclap exploded.

The crowd around was stunned by the sight, and many believers had already knelt on the spot, kowtowing without cease.

But Zhang Xianyao wasn't finished. He formed a sword seal with his left hand and slowly wiped it along the blade, then suddenly delivered another sharp slash—and again thunder flashed from the sword.

Zhang Xianyao continued swinging his sword between these moments of stillness and motion, his whole body wreathed in flashing electric light and swirling mist, as if he were riding clouds and treading mist.

More and more common folk knelt and kowtowed, and quite a few even shed tears, pressing their palms together in endless supplication.

Zhang Xianyao was feeling quite pleased with himself when suddenly a great shout came from the distance: "Your Five Thunder Orthodox Method hasn't been cultivated to mastery—watch this poor Daoist's!"

The moment the words fell, a crack exploded from within the crowd. Everyone was startled and scattered to both sides. They saw an old man holding a sword in one hand and forming a sword seal with the other, dancing the blade in a blur of sword light. He suddenly shouted loudly: "Thunder, come!"

Crack! Electric light burst from his treasured sword.

Compared to Zhang Xianyao, the old man's sword danced far faster, his movements almost impossible to follow. The faithful could only see thunderous light flashing continuously around him, with crackling booms sounding without end—an awe-inspiring display of power.

Moreover, as his sword danced, the dark clouds in the sky kept gathering, and the sky grew darker and darker.

"Crack!" Another bolt of lightning exploded from the sword blade.

Boom! As if heaven itself responded, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, thunder spreading across the wilderness.

The old man's sword dance happened to stop at that very moment, wisps of green smoke curling around the blade, as if it had truly received the thunder's power.

Seeing this, the surrounding believers all turned around, knelt, and kowtowed.

Even the auxiliary Daoists under Zhang Xianyao—the sermon chanter, the incense attendant, and others—were stunned, their gazes wavering between Zhang Xianyao and the old man. Zhang Xianyao steadied himself and squeezed out a smile: "So we are of the same path. Might I ask, fellow Daoist, how you came by my Dragon Tiger Mountain's Five Thunder Secret Art?" The old man removed his straw rain cape and hat, revealing his true face, and said calmly: "If this poor Daoist could truly summon heavenly thunder, I would have struck you dead with a single bolt long ago." "Heavens... Heavenly Master!" Zhang Xianyao's face drained of color, and he stumbled back three steps.

Zhang Yingjing had already charged up the ritual platform with his fellow disciples, subduing Zhang Xianyao and his accomplices, then seized the precious sword from Zhang Xianyao's hand.

Zhang Xianyong leapt up onto the platform, took the sword, and shook the hilt. Hearing the sound of a hard object rattling inside, he said: "Just as I thought. Your trickery is too crude—when this poor Daoist performs this so-called 'secret art,' I have no need of flint to help start a fire."

As he spoke, he threw his own sword to the ground with a crisp clang. The sword was solid throughout, with only shallow thunder-script patterns carved on the surface of the blade, and faint scorch marks along the edges of the patterns—traces of gunpowder burns.

This so-called "thunder art" was actually nothing more than coating the blade with a crackling gunpowder, made from sixty percent saltpeter, thirty percent sulfur, and ten percent realgar, with no charcoal added.

Realgar has an extremely low ignition point—when mixed with saltpeter, friction or impact alone can set it alight, which then ignites the gunpowder.

That was the purpose of the flint in Zhang Xianyao's sword, and also why, after waving it around for a while, he would stroke the blade with a sword gesture—he was actually replenishing the gunpowder. Zhang Xianyong's swordsmanship was better; he moved so fast that ordinary people couldn't see clearly, so he could casually knock against surrounding bricks, stones, and objects to spark the fire. In any case, the crackling of the gunpowder covered the sound, and onlookers couldn't tell the difference.

Sulfur and realgar both burn with a bluish flame, like flickering electric light. Combined with deliberately choosing to perform on thunderstorm days, it made the act seem even more like summoning thunder. Zhang Xianyong revealed his identity to the common folk, exposed Zhang the Immortal's trick on the spot, then told the people to go home, warning them never to be deceived again. Many of the common folk were skeptical and unwilling to leave; some called for him to release Zhang the Immortal, while others began kowtowing to Zhang Xianyong.

Zhang Xianyong let out a sigh. The world's people were foolish—not something he could convince with a few words. He ordered his son and disciples to escort Zhang Xianyao away from this place. As the Heavenly Master, Zhang Xianyong had no authority to take a life wantonly. Zhang Xianyao would not be executed, but he would be stripped of his Daoist registry and kept under strict watch. Just as the group reached the city gate, a flood of common folk suddenly surged in from outside the city, blocking the entire road. Zhang Xianyong and his party were squeezed in the middle of the road, unable to move.

In the crowd, Zhang Xianyong grabbed one person and asked: "What has happened?"

That person glanced at Zhang Xianyong, slightly surprised: "It's you?"

Zhang Xianyong looked at the man's face and remembered—this was the tea stall owner.

The stall owner said: "The Army of Leveling has come with their great forces! Whatever you do, don't leave the city right now—take care!"

With that, he clasped his hands in salute and merged back into the crowd.

Zhang Yingjing turned back and asked: "Heavenly Master, what should we do?"

Zhang Xianyong, honored as the Heavenly Master, was an expert at traveling the jianghu and could evade soldiers, bandits, and mutinous troops—but he still had a group of disciples following him, and they were escorting the traitor Zhang Xianyao. There was no easy way to slip away. After a moment's thought, he only said: "Let us delay a few days in the city. Yichen (Zhang Yingjing's courtesy name), go find us a place to stay."

"Yes." Zhang Yingjing acknowledged and headed toward the city's inns.

He and his father had traveled all the way here, sleeping in the open and eating in the wind—that was a cultivator's discipline, not a sign they had no money.

In fact, the Heavenly Master's Mansion was not merely wealthy—it was enormously rich. Adding up the hereditary private estates, the fields granted by successive emperors, and the incense fields of temples and abbeys, they held over six thousand mu of farmland, plus tens of thousands of mu of mountain forests, not to mention annual salaries, ordination fees, donations, and other income.

All together, though it couldn't compare to even a fraction of a prince's wealth, it was a thousandfold richer than ordinary common folk.

Zhang Yingjing had finished booking the rooms and came to call everyone to check in, when the rumbling sound of gunfire and cannons began echoing from beyond the city walls.

Compared to the tricks of sword dancing, the sound of this black powder exploding was what truly deserved to be called thunder.

A single cannon blast could send echoes rolling endlessly across the empty wilderness.

Zhang Xianyong looked around and spotted a pagoda over ten zhang tall to the southwest of the county town. He pointed at it and asked: "What place is that?" Zhang Yingjing made inquiries around the area, then said: "That is the Great Sage Pagoda of West Pagoda Temple."

Zhang Xianyong said: "Let us go take a look!"

Zhang Yingjing was full of curiosity about the battle outside the city; upon hearing this, he told his fellow disciples to check in on their own, and he led the Heavenly Master toward the Buddhist temple.

Before long, the two had climbed to the top of the pagoda. The northwest wind blew through the tower, carrying moisture and the stench of mud, pouring into their collars and sleeves, whipping their robes noisily.

The view here was excellent—one could see clearly for thirty li in every direction. Looking out, black clouds blotted out the sun, shrouding the entire wilderness.

Dozens of li west of the city, amid the hills and farmland, two forces were locked in battle.

At this distance, one couldn't make out the numbers, only that one army stretched without end, covering the entire open field, their war cries shaking heaven and earth. The other army was extremely small in number, huddled on a hill, formed into a square formation like a lone leaf in a raging storm.

Boom!

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. By the light of the thunder god's flash, one could see that the besieged army all wore dark crow-blue uniforms and held rifles fixed with bayonets. Zhang Yingjing cried out: "It's the Xia Army—they're surrounded!"

The force fighting the Xia Army must surely be the Army of Leveling.

Zhang Xianyong frowned and said: "Don't shout like that. Be steady!"

The lightning faded. Around the Xia Army's square formation, flashes of light and gunsmoke erupted, followed by dense gunfire arriving from afar.

The surrounding Army of Leveling soldiers had over a dozen men felled by a single volley; the rest who weren't hit also lost their nerve and dared not advance again.

The Army of Leveling charged several more times like this but could never break through, their morale sinking further with each attempt.

But at this moment, the air grew ever more humid, and finally, with a boom of thunder, the rain came pouring down in sheets.

Zhang Yingjing said: "This is bad!"

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen