Chapter 183

When dealing with ordinary folk, Bai Lang showed not a trace of ferocity or cruelty; instead he directly asked the waiter, "Bring out your best dishes, and add some wine. Here, don't worry—I can pay." He slapped a silver ingot onto the table, saying, "Today I'll break the trade custom—I'll pay you first, so you won't feel uneasy, hahaha."

When the governor was killed, the news reached the Xi'an General and the Xi'an Prefect at once—it was like a bolt from the blue, a huge black cauldron suddenly landing on them, leaving the two officials completely unprepared. They naturally brought along all the Masters, officials, and soldiers, and immediately sealed off the governor's office and went in to inspect the situation.

The front courtyard was all right—just the corpses of about ten military officers who had come to see the governor and some of the guard soldiers, though their condition was quite gruesome. The Xi'an General had also seen action in suppressing rebellions; he wasn't unacquainted with corpses, but seeing people die like this was truly rare. Decapitation, broken arms, disembowelment—those were minor; the feeling was as if they'd been killed by a massive heavy axe or a siege hammer, and on some corpses it was obvious at a glance that the organs had been torn out by hand, making one want to gulp down a large mouthful of saliva.

In the rear courtyard it was far worse—corpses everywhere, and everywhere were servant girls and attendants who had fainted from fright or were huddled, screaming. The bodies of men who looked thirty or older also died miserably, as if struck by a large hammer or heavy axe, though at least their deaths were swift and clean.

The Xi'an General was all right, but the Xi'an Prefect had nearly fainted dead away—a mere scholar who had never seen such a blood-soaked scene with entrails spilling everywhere; normally he just dealt with disciplinary beatings and glanced at bloody bottoms, at most overseeing executions and glancing at a few heads. What nearly made the two officials hold their breath was naturally the pile of corpses at the rear courtyard gate; even the horribly mutilated corpse of Gesheha was bearable, but the corpse lying on the ground with its head rolled to the side, wearing the governor's robe, when several officers found the head and placed it back, everyone recognized it as the governor.

Someone also found the governor's wife's corpse, her chest completely caved in, killed by a single punch... Well, this disaster grew large. After questioning the surviving servants and soldiers on the scene, the conclusion was that a lone rebel had charged in single-handedly, slaughtered his way through the governor's office from the front gate, and finally burst out through the rear wall.

Such a mighty warrior was unheard of—even among the Xi'an General's own retinue there were a few retained experts, yet he had never seen anyone like them. After those few retained experts carefully examined the corpses and the wall blasted open in the rear courtyard, they merely shook their heads and said nothing. Pressed by the general, all they would say was, "It's absolutely impossible to match him in strength."

Everyone saw who the killer was—the huge characters written on the wall, visible even to a blind man: "The murderer is the Ming Dynasty's heir apparent's junior guardian, Bai Lang!" The two officials' faces twitched; such bold recklessness from this strongman was unprecedented, and everyone could sense from the writing an arrogant, overbearing attitude that utterly disregarded the Qing court. The writer apparently regarded the Qing dynasty as nothing more than a mud chicken and tile dog.

"Ming? Ming! Are the remnants of the former Ming rebels not yet wiped out?" the Xi'an Prefect cursed, being a Han Chinese, naturally eager to draw a clear line. After compiling the evidence, the Masters also sketched the killer's appearance—tall and sturdy, without the shaved‑head queue, his face full of fierce, bristling whiskers.

After about an hour, the Xi'an General and the Xi'an Prefect simultaneously received a report that someone had spotted a queue‑shaven rebel sitting and feasting heartily in a certain Xi'an teahouse. A few exchanged words, and they immediately confirmed that this was the rebel who had killed Governor Zhongyin.

At the order, a large contingent of troops mustered and surrounded the teahouse tight. Archers had bows in hand, matchlocks on shoulder, and even the cavalry had been deployed in the streets, determined to capture the rebel alive and subject him to death by a thousand cuts—three thousand six hundred slices. Killing officials and rebelling was nothing strange; in the Qing dynasty it was relatively common, especially in the southeast, where low‑rank clerks were often punished this way.

But killing a governor? That's frankly an exaggeration—has the Qing ever seen a provincial governor publicly assassinated in his own office since its founding? The emperor will surely be furious, and what fate awaits the two officials is hard to predict—though dismissal is certain.

For now, using the rebel's capture to slightly absolve themselves of responsibility, night had fallen, but the streets were brightly lit by torches; the teahouse's waiter and owner had already fled in haste, and through the open doors one could see the rebel seated at the table, devouring his meal. He made no attempt to hide it—his black short hair showed no regard for the rule of keeping hair but not a queue; he was just a step away from letting it grow long enough to tie into a topknot.

Even seated, the rebel's bearing was extraordinary—not to mention his full beard, dignified appearance, and tall stature; just seeing him drink and eat unperturbed amidst a crowd of over a thousand showed he was undoubtedly a "great bandit"!

Bai Lang had long since seen those soldiers, as well as their bows, crossbows, and matchlocks, but the Junior Guardian merely smirked, saying, "In the past, the Baiya La White Armored Troops, a hundred times tougher than you, were nothing more than a severed head before me; now you lot probably can't even move in three‑layer armor, yet you still dare to try to capture me?"

Bai Lang sat down at the table with the ease of a general on his horse, slowly lifting a cup of wine and drinking it, his tiger eyes lifting to look outside. The Qing troops outside felt as if heavenly lightning had struck the earth, and everyone stumbled backward a few steps, their once‑neat formation instantly breaking into disorder, with shouts and neighing—even the Xi'an General's horse nearly bolting.

Amid the bellowing of officers of all ranks, the troops began to re‑form, but the rebel trapped inside the teahouse showed not the slightest sign of using the chaos to escape; instead he remained seated at the table, merely letting out a mocking chuckle: "So‑called Qing Eight Banners—nothing more than this."

That's right—the forces now surrounding Bai Lang are the Xi'an garrison Eight Banners, not the Luying Bing. The Xi'an garrison Eight Banners are considered more capable than those in the Capital, yet to Bai Lang they appear already spent. He set down his cup, rose to his feet, and walked toward the door.

"Gentlemen, are you here to avenge Governor Zhongyin? Hey, are you the Xi'an Tartar chief? I'll ask you this: does the Xi'an arsenal have any Ming‑era Shanwen armor? If there's a first‑rank Establishing General's grade, even better—I don't like padded armor." Bai Lang rose to his feet, seeming hardly shorter than the Xi'an General mounted on his horse.

In demeanor he was in no way inferior to the Xi'an General of the highest rank; truly he bore the aura and killing intent of the Ming Dynasty's heir apparent's junior guardian, the first‑rank Establishing General Bai Lang, White Jade Pillar—even though he wore no Ming official robes.