Chapter 26: Flowers Bloom in a Hundred Ways, Spear and Spear

Chen Banzhu reacted to the warning by instantly retreating two steps.

But he could only retreat those two steps.

After those two steps, he felt his chest go hollow, his entire body drained of strength.

A bloodline appeared from his right abdomen to his left shoulder, and with a wet spurt, a large spray of hot blood erupted.

His blood pressure plummeted, causing instant unconsciousness.

Chen Banzhu’s final thought was to clench his right hand tightly, crushing the snuff bottle in his grip.

BOOM!!!

Inside his right hand, it was as if a firework rocket had exploded, shooting out a red smoke over a foot long.

Chu Tianshu’s earlier sword draw had been the fastest burst of speed from his right arm, killing the opera troupe’s leader in a single strike.

When the sword pointed to the heavens, not a drop of blood marred it, yet the blade still hummed faintly, his fingers still tense with residual force.

As the red smoke shot toward him, Chu Tianshu raised his left hand and blocked with his umbrella.

It was like a giant firecracker detonating in midair.

The bamboo frame and oil-paper umbrella shattered instantly, exploding into flying shards.

Amid the scattered paper and bamboo splinters lay a peachwood sword scabbard.

Chu Tianshu pushed with his left palm, driving the scabbard into the tip of the red smoke.

All the talismans on the peachwood scabbard flared bright at once; the red smoke slowed drastically, revealing at its tip a shape resembling a swallow no larger than a thumb.

Neither metal nor jade, neither wood nor stone, its color and form looked as if it were a swallow-shaped pattern forged from a heap of rust-red iron filings.

This was the “Red-Tailed Swallow” of the Wu Chang Method!

The black swallow cuts through water; the red swallow cuts through blood.

To cultivate this “Red-Tailed Swallow,” Chen Banzhu had once in Jingcheng sought out ten executioner’s greatswords, each used for over ten years.

He performed the Wu Tong opera, collecting the blood-rust and resentful qi from the blade edges, nurturing them in a crystal vial.

When the Red-Tailed Swallow first took shape, on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, within the Zi hour, he slit the throats of all ten executioners, feeding it blood to sharpen its edge.

Over the years, the Red-Tailed Swallow had killed countless people; had the troupe leader still lived, he could have guided it with perfect finesse, always striking at weaknesses.

Its agility and sharpness were nearly akin to the legendary Flying Sword Art—though its range was limited.

Now, the Red-Tailed Swallow was reduced to nothing but a bloodthirsty, savage instinct.

The tip of the red smoke struck the peachwood scabbard; its wings flared, refusing to evade, and charged forward with full force.

BOOM!!

The peachwood scabbard shattered as well; the red smoke, now shortened by more than half.

Chu Tianshu jerked his left hand away and slammed his right downward—his movements so tight and rapid, his arms seemed like a spinning windmill.

The sword hilt was also made of peachwood, inscribed with talismans.

Chu Tianshu’s downward strike landed squarely on the Red-Tailed Swallow with the hilt.

The Red-Tailed Swallow let out a piercing bird cry and instantly disintegrated.

Chen Banzhu’s corpse finally toppled backward.

The rest of the opera troupe, filled with shock and rage, surged forward to attack.

The fastest among them was Liu Si Niang.

She spun like a blooming lotus, her skirt the broad petals, suddenly gliding out from the corridor.

In the span of five to six meters, she was upon him in a flicker.

Chu Tianshu’s vision was filled with the rapidly shifting colors of her costume, yet his sword struck without mercy.

One slash to cleave the lotus leaf, aiming to split her vertically.

The man named Zhou had spoken much that day at the tavern, but Chu Tianshu and the others had not fully believed him.

That night, Master Ma cast a spell, releasing all the sparrow spirits to seep through every crack, carefully probing, burning incense and sitting motionless, using the sparrows’ eyes to observe from within his mind.

He saw that this troupe was indeed rehearsing the dark arts of the Wu Tong opera.

And in the rear courtyard’s side rooms, they weren’t hiding just one Meng Xiao Bao—they were hiding over twenty children.

The oldest were no more than ten; the youngest, perhaps only three or four, all drugged into a dazed, silent stupor, locked inside large iron cages.

The martial actors delivered meals; judging by the bowls, they fed them only once a day—an obscure martial arts medicinal gruel to keep them alive.

Outwardly they appeared respectable, singing of loyalty, filial piety, and virtue; secretly, they kidnapped children and treated them like livestock.

Even if these children were rescued, several would likely suffer permanent damage, too broken to grow up properly.

Chu Tianshu had already decided to kill Zhou the previous day.

But after hearing Master Ma’s report that night, his hatred for the troupe surged past Zhou’s, completely overtaking it.

At this moment, his sword slash tore through the air with a sharp, metallic whistle.

The lotus-petal skirt split instantly—but missed the woman’s body.

As the skirt tore, Liu Si Niang kicked the blade with her foot.

When performing, she wore a small iron shoe over her front foot, painted and patterned to look like wood, but forged of hardened iron.

The tip of her foot struck the blade with a sharp metallic clang.

Chu Tianshu’s blade flew from his hand, spinning upward and hurtling high into the air.

True, only the blade had flown free—the hilt remained in his grip.

Chu Tianshu’s expression changed slightly; he clenched his fingers and crushed the hilt.

What spilled from his fingers was not hard wood splinters, but a fine powder, as if the wood had been hollowed out by insects.

The earlier collision between the hilt and the Red-Tailed Swallow had indeed destroyed the spirit.

But the peachwood hilt had been corroded and hollowed, leaving only a brittle shell that still appeared intact.

Liu Si Niang had anticipated this; she kicked the blade away and dropped sharply, aiming to crush Chu Tianshu’s instep.

Chu Tianshu stepped back; her iron toe struck only the ground.

As the bricks cracked, her foot rebounded with greater speed, kicking toward his chest.

The torn skirt flared like a peacock’s tail; Liu Si Niang pressed forward relentlessly, her feet shifting in rapid succession, forcing Chu Tianshu into a steady retreat.

The others in the front hall had now also rushed out.

They were already familiar with the opera’s choreography, each carrying weapons used in Wu Tong performances—blades, instruments, all deadly.

Especially the martial actors near the gate—they burst forth like tigers descending a mountain, rushing to surround and kill Chu Tianshu.

Just then, the sky suddenly darkened.

A figure leapt down from the eaves of the mansion’s main gate.

He dove like a hawk, crossing the shadow wall and the great water jar, entering the front courtyard, landing with both feet on the rain-slicked bricks, sliding forward.

A green bamboo pole, threaded through the mist, had its tip wrapped in thick iron sheeting, shaped into a conical spearhead.

The foremost martial actor was quick—he swung his single blade horizontally, pressing it against his neck to block the spear.

But that crude spearhead pierced straight through the iron blade and drove into his throat.

TING!!

As the sound of the blade being pierced rang out, the spear was already withdrawn.

Zhong Jinqiu flicked his wrist; the spearhead swept across the corpse’s ear, flinging it sideways and exposing the enemies behind.

Three silver blades slashed simultaneously at the bamboo pole.

The troupe’s coordination was flawless—three men struck at once, blades flashing, blinding the eye.

Zhong Jinqiu stood alone with one battered spear, spinning unbroken waves of spearflowers, parrying and pressing down.

His spear speed was so fast he held off three men at once, sparks flying constantly where spearhead met blade.

From start to finish, only the thick iron-wrapped tip of the spear met the blades.

After one full assault, the three men advanced not a single step; when their timing faltered even slightly, the spear’s conical tip flicked sideways, grazing all three throats.

The other troupe members, now enraged, shoved the three corpses forward as shields toward Zhong Jinqiu.

Zhong Jinqiu suddenly retracted his spear, then thrust again.

The long spear shot like a white snake spitting its tongue, stabbing diagonally into the crack between floor tiles.

The green bamboo bent into a full, rounded arc; the wielder leapt backward, and the bamboo snapped straight.

Zhong Jinqiu was launched forward, dodging the corpses’ charge, landing behind the lotus-shaped water jar, then kicking it hard.

The jar shattered—not from the point of impact, but exploded outward entirely, leaving only the intact base.

A great volume of water surged across the ground.

The heavy base, now struck by Zhong Jinqiu’s second kick, slid along the water, crashing into the crowd.

The crowd scattered—some dodged, others tried to kick the base aside.

Zhong Jinqiu plunged into the fray, moving as if through empty space, charging straight into the front hall.

Water spread wildly across the courtyard.

The water reached Chu Tianshu and Liu Si Niang’s battleground.

Liu Si Niang’s kick landed slightly heavier, leaving a shallow crater of broken bricks, to prevent slipping on the wet ground.

She specialized in leg techniques, rarely having both feet touch the ground at once, relying on single-foot momentum for her movements; faced with such terrain changes, her instincts grew more cautious.

BOOM!!

At the same moment, Chu Tianshu seized the opening and swung his long arm in a punch, cracking the air with a sonic boom.

Liu Si Niang’s waist bent like a willow branch, her head tilting naturally to avoid the punch.

The punch was thrown and retracted instantly—but as it pulled back, it carved three bloody streaks across Liu Si Niang’s face.

The Back Strike fist proverb: Swing the punch like an arrow, retract it like a hook!

When swinging the punch, it isn’t always a fist—it might be the back of the hand striking, called the whip hand—but when retracting, it must form a claw.

Liu Siniang’s face throbbed with pain; her nerves reflexively tensed her whole body, and the muscles along her cheek visibly tightened.

The face is one of the most sensitive parts of the body; tension upon injury is inevitable.

But for a leg expert like her, this tensing on the face slowed her leg.

Just as Liu Siniang’s leg was about to kick out, Chu Tianshu intercepted it with a kick to her shinbone—another piercing pain.

Boom! Boom! Boom!!!

The next instant, Liu Siniang took three consecutive punches to her chest, neck, and forehead; her pupils dilated, and her body crashed backward.

White Ape’s Sudden Exposure—three punches, fatal!

Chu Tianshu recalled the first time he saw this person perform opera; a flicker of complex emotion crossed his face.

The Mulian Opera tells how a mother’s love for her child moved the Buddha, allowing the child to descend into hell and rescue his mother from suffering.

Yet this person before him was an accomplice in harming children, and thus condemned to hell.

Chu Tianshu’s eyes shifted; his cold gaze moved toward the front hall.

Zhong Jinqiu killed first, then charged forward, carving a bloody path—he had only eliminated about half the people in the courtyard.

The rest were terrified by the long spear; as they turned to look toward Liu Siniang, a flash of silver appeared.

The white-faced clown had a silver needle strike his face; his knife was instantly snatched away.

Chu Tianshu charged into the crowd with his blade, the sword moving with his body.

By the time he passed through the crowd and entered the front hall, every person in the courtyard lay broken-legged, screaming on the ground.

When they attacked Zhong Jinqiu, their momentum was at its peak.

Now they were still reeling, caught off-guard by Chu Tianshu’s surprise attack; their goal was not to kill, but to break legs.

Thus, the remaining people in the courtyard collapsed at the first touch, all falling to the ground.

The servants by the back hall door had long sensed something wrong; they rushed into the hall.

“Eunuch! Something’s happened up front!”

The old eunuch showed no reaction at all; one servant, desperate, grabbed him and shook him repeatedly.

“Eunuch! Eunuch!!”

The old eunuch’s eyelids remained shut; his eyeballs rolled left and right, but he did not awaken.

A thunderous crash came from the courtyard—the front hall’s wall had been smashed open by a huge hole.

Bricks and the drummaster flew backward together, crashing onto the courtyard’s opera stage.

The bald drummaster’s chest still pierced by a broken spear shaft—he had crossed his drumsticks at the moment of impact, shattering the green bamboo spear.

Two figures chased onto the stage—one holding a broken bamboo pole, the other a single-edged saber.

“Hurry!”

Zhong Jinqiu shouted, “Old Ma won’t hold out much longer—we get close, and he’ll wake from the killing intent.”

Chu Tianshu switched the saber to his left hand, swept his right hand behind his waist, and drew a revolver.

The moment the killer approached the room, the old eunuch would awaken.

But if he pulled the gun before getting close, would this still-sleeping eunuch even react?!

This revolver was the leftover weapon of that bandit chieftain—no one knew where he’d acquired it, but its caliber was large, its power even greater than the militia’s crude rifles.

With only one bullet left, Chu Tianshu planned to use it here.

With powerful muscular control, he held the gun steady, aimed at the eunuch’s eye socket, and pulled the trigger in an instant.

Bang!!

The old eunuch snapped his eyes open—but before he could move, his emaciated body was thrown backward by the impact, smashing through the chair and slamming into the wall.

His white-haired head struck the wall, then slumped forward.

Hit!

The two servants stared in terror, frozen silent.

But in a single blink, the head lifted again, twisted into a grotesque snarl.

“Who?!”

The hot bullet had been dodged by an inch at the last moment—missing the eye socket, it struck the cheekbone.

Worse, the bullet had only shattered the old monster’s skin before deforming and embedding itself in the flesh.

(End of Chapter)