Chapter 191: Crushing

As his body moved, Bai Lang had already drawn his sword and gripped the iron truncheon; left hand iron truncheon, right hand waist knife, like a tiger's claws and fangs he killed his way into the crowd. This sort of no‑capital lending trade, Bai Lang really has done plenty of it these past two years; now it's merely another time he spots profit and wants to pull a job—plus he actually remembers the crux of this tale, his curiosity to see what scripture it is naturally exists as well.

You say a tribe of several hundred thousand would oppose the Qing court over a hand‑copied religious scripture? Unless someone wrote it personally, Bai Lang simply doesn't believe it. "Splitting the nation is splitting the nation, merely wearing a religious skin." Bai Lang has always disliked such people; feeling disgusted is normal.

Of course, the escort team indeed having some fine horses is also a reason; these people surely have silver on them, perfect for replenishing—anyway they often help the Tartars, so killing them is no matter. The key point is Bai Lang's hands are itchy; he wants to kill.

A flash of the blade sent heads and half‑bodies flying; a flash of the iron truncheon turned that weasel‑headed, beady‑eyed escort who shows no mercy into a pile of mangled flesh—in the blink of an eye Bai Lang had broken through, leaving only the man bearing the red bundle alive before him; the rest were already broken corpses.

Bai Lang's killing aura was ferociously extreme; even if the escorts themselves were wicked men who had killed many, they had never seen such slaughter. The torch‑bearers lost all courage, unable to run, merely collapsing limp on the ground. The tiger in Bai Lang's heart, aroused by blood‑qi, leapt and roared, for a moment leaking the aura of battlefield carnage.

Bai Lang holds the post of Junior Protector of the Crown Prince of the Ming Dynasty, a rank earned by his lone‑handed breaking of formations and killing with blade and spear—what fierce general's killing energy! Legend already had him answering the White Tiger Star Lord; now even a trace of that aura leaking out is more than these petty escorts and torch‑bearers can withstand. Thus the escort, seeing his brothers slain, felt no fear, merely stood dumb‑struck as Bai Lang severed his head with one blow.

It's a pity that a named character from the book was thus killed anonymously by Bai Lang. Having killed the escort, Bai Lang had no intention of harming the torch‑bearers; he merely glared, and instantly those men found strength from somewhere, scrambling away while throwing their assorted weapons to the ground.

Bai Lang opened the bundle to find a scripture; its twisted, illegible characters he could not read at all. He flipped the book back and forth, saying, "If you don't idolize idols, why worship this scripture? Better to sever your roots and be done with the pretense!" Having spoken, he clapped his palms together, crushing the scripture in his hands; when he opened them, white ash drifted everywhere.

Bai Lang again searched the corpses for silver; as he felt about, horse hooves sounded. The two riders, seeing the several corpses on the ground and the escort wagon parked aside, halted. Bai Lang had just about finished his search, idly flicked his hands, took out their waterskins to wash, and simultaneously lifted his gaze to the two riders.

On the horses were a Daoist and a commoner. The Daoist bore a long sword, his face pallid, full of infirmity, with only his right arm; the left sleeve of his Daoist robe was bound at his waist. The other was a camel‑driver, his attire exceptionally bright. Bai Lang naturally knew who they were; he'd forgotten their specific names, but he clearly remembered they were the leaders of the Red Flower Society.

At a glance, his tiger's might showed; the escort's horse, the two leaders' mounts, and the wagon's horses and mules all snorted, showing signs of going limp. "Hey, was it you who killed these people?" the Daoist didn't speak, but the camel‑driver opened his mouth, his words full of apprehension.

The Zhenyuan Escort Agency is a major northwest escort bureau, famous on the northern green‑wood roads; now that its escort personnel have been killed like this, it's no trivial matter. If the brothers of the jianghu saw this, they'd likely rally under the name of Chief Escort Wang Wei Yang, the one known as 'Weizhen Hebei', and lend a hand.

But who would dare help now? Bai Lang didn't speak to the two leaders, merely waving his hand to indicate they could do as they pleased—the problem is he's practically blocking the road; how much courage would they need to simply pass by him? Yet these two, bold and skilled, merely nodded and rode past him on horseback, though each gave Bai Lang a deep look, as if trying to etch his appearance into memory.

Bai Lang gathered the silver, yet still chose no horse—he saw the mount was nothing special, and the donkey was sturdier. So he rode the donkey leisurely forward, effectively falling in behind the two leaders.

After walking on a bit farther, Bai Lang heard camel bells; at first he didn't know what the sound was, thinking it might be the pendants on a warhorse. Soon he saw the camels—northern camels are commonplace, and now that the Qing has pushed its borders outward, camel caravans have become even more ordinary in the north.

On those camels rode men with high noses, deep-set eyes, and faces full of beards, their heads wrapped in white cloth and waist‑slinging curved blades; there were not fewer than twenty‑odd camels, naturally mixed with twenty‑odd horses. Before the caravan arrived, a foul stench drifted ahead—whether from the camels or the people, Bai Lang couldn't tell, but he wrinkled his nose.

These people came quite fast; Bai Lang moved his donkey aside, pinching his nose to let them pass first—he knew their identities, but at this moment he had no mind to kill. Most of the time Bai Lang is actually a gentle good person, not caring about minor differences in status.

Suddenly his eyes brightened: a woman in yellow robes rode a green horse, trotting lightly and gracefully past. The maiden's beauty bore a heroic spirit, her radiance dazzling—truly lovely as plum blossoms bursting through snow, spirited as autumn sweet‑grass touched by frost, cheeks flushed, rosy light reflecting on a clear pond, eyes bright, moon shining over a cold river. The above is Bai Lang copying from the original; he wondered why, upon seeing this maiden, such an obscure line would come to mind.

"Emerald‑feathered yellow robes… wait, what's this woman's name? She has a sister called Princess Xiangxiang—I do recall what Kasili is? Could it really be that a faint fox‑odor becomes fragrance? After all, the foul fecal mercaptan, when heavily diluted, is perfume ingredient…" Bai Lang muttered to himself, yet he merely glanced and then left it at that.

On the contrary, the maiden lifted her head to glance at Bai Lang several times; even the men on the camels gave him more looks, and a middle‑aged big‑bearded one laughed and said a few words to her—Bai Lang, of course, didn't understand, merely feeling her face flush a bit when she heard, then she shot him a glance.