Chapter 202: Official Commencement

Bai Lang gave the pursuers no time to act; he was too lazy to torture them and simply knocked them all dead with a punch and a palm. "Come to think of it, we have met before; last time you said you would kill me but you ran away, which made someone's words not count that once; this time I keep my word." Bai Lang slammed his fist into the ground and smashed a certain young master's skull. When the people behind arrived, the leaders and the preachers present had already been cleanly slain.

"Next, kill Zhao Hui and the like, then we should go from south to north to crush the Tartars and finally chop Qianlong's skull." Bai Lang wiped his hands with a white robe and said to himself. He straightened up and scanned the surroundings, "I don't see Princess Xiangxiang, but I caught a glimpse from afar yesterday, so it's not that I've never seen her. Never mind." Bai Shaobao gave the Chief a meaning‑laden glance, "Marrying a foreign woman is always a romantic tale in stories; I think you'd make a fine Zhan Guard."

"I am Chen Jialuo, not a Zhan Guard," the Chief protested, but Bai Lang only laughed, "No offense, no offense; I'm about to go kill the Tartars, will you go?" Bai Lang glanced at the sky, "It's still early, but today's killing was quite enjoyable. So I'll sleep and go tomorrow." He looked at the despondent girl in the emerald‑feather yellow shirt, "Killing her whole family in front of someone is indeed more tragic… but there are many tragedies in this world; not many more than hers alone."

Bai Lang stepped in front of Huo Qingtong, lifted her chin with his finger, and said, "If you want revenge against me, draw your sword now; if you cannot, then come with me." Bai Lang was already ready to kill the female slave before him at any moment, and though it was a pity such a beautiful woman would die, he had already said, "Many people die in these times; not many more than her."

It seemed she still had no intention of dying—perhaps that is the custom of the steppe tribes. The girl in the emerald‑feather yellow shirt dropped her sword, and Bai Lang ignored her, busily selecting a tent. The Hezhuo tribe's tents within the main camp were rather lavish, and the people had brought plenty of lamb, dried fruit, and even wine. "How nice, the doctrine says we may not drink wine made from grapes—I think that's the rule—so here we simply have plain Central Plains baijiu…"

He built a fire, seared lamb, boiled dried fruit with rice, and brewed fragrant milk tea—he set aside the baijiu for later. Bai Lang ate by himself, and at that moment a woman sat beside him, slicing the lamb with a silver knife. "Looks like you've come to terms," Bai Lang thought, perhaps she was serving her enemy with revenge in mind. The heads of the Red Flower Society had already left; who knows if they'll join tomorrow's battle.

Fully fed, Bai Lang fell into a deep sleep in the tent; his Internal Force surged spontaneously, causing the muscles under his skin to tremble slightly. This was a preparation—if anyone tried to assassinate him, they would meet an automatic counter‑strike. In the end no one attempted it, not even the girl in the emerald‑feather yellow shirt, who simply slept on her side—she would certainly follow Bai Lang the next day to kill Qing soldiers, otherwise she could not face herself.

The next day, the Qing army camp rang with drums, and everyone watched Bai Lang take the field. His robe had been patched, but his war crown was unharmed. This time Bai Lang entered the battle unarmed; the bare‑fisted man rode his horse toward the Qing camp. Behind him rode a masked woman on a yellow dappled horse, a long sword slung at her waist.

Bai Lang wrapped his arms around, held no reins, and drove the horse forward with his legs alone, charging toward the Qing camp—then he was met with fire‑arms and cannon fire. Unfortunately, the Qing troops, like the late Ming soldiers, blasted away from a distance, filling the air with smoke. Cannonballs and bullets rained down, but they were still about six or seven zhang away. Bai Lang's chest thumped, he extended his palm to catch below— a lead ball slipped into his hand without even tearing his clothing.

The warhorse under Bai Lang's hips was frightened, so Bai Lang abandoned the horse and stood his ground. "Whoa… this is the Qing fire‑arms camp?" A fist‑sized lead sphere rolled slowly before him. Smoke filled the camp gate, obscuring everything, and Bai Lang shifted his body sideways; after Huo Qingtong gave up her horse, she clung tightly to him. Such a camp is suitable for confronting a large army, but against martial‑arts masters its effect is indeed limited.

At night it's indeed hard to prevent martial‑arts masters from infiltrating, but Bai Lang forced his way in broad daylight—his movement was far faster than the Qing troops' internal redeployments. In the time it takes to sip tea, he faced a camp wall defended only by a few scattered archers and some sword‑and‑shield men. No matter how high the wall was, Bai Lang lifted a foot and cleared it. He kicked to the sides, clearing the defenders, and leapt down into the Qing camp.

Once inside the camp it was simple: charge the central formation. He was alone—now there were two of them, a small target that could not be surrounded. No opponent stood before Bai Lang; he could kill at will, rushing straight toward the central camp—of course Huo Qingtong followed behind him, yet she could not even land a single kill on a Qing soldier.

Today's Qing soldiers lack the ferocity of the late Ming troops, and these guys are mainly from the Green camp, never willing to fill a commander's blade. Letting the commander go first is possible, but holding the enemy steadfast is unlikely. So after Bai Lang killed fewer than thirty men, only a handful of Qing soldiers remained in front of him—basically those who had charged in head‑first.

In this situation, the Qing troops' remaining strength far exceeded that of the Hezhuo tribe, and bizarrely Zhao Hui and the like were not in the camp early on—Bai Lang had only killed a deputy Dutong… "Truly cunning, fine, you're lucky—though it's hard to say whether it's good or bad." Bai Shaobao laughed three times and left.

He's had enough of the Tianshan north and south; now he will swiftly head south to Liangguang, where Bai Lang will begin his planned campaign against the Qing. As for the Red Flower Society's absence today, Bai Lang doesn't mind—he already knows their rebellion scheme, which merely relies on the Chief's elder brother and the emperor's treason. He doesn't know that Qianlong was already the emperor; even if the treason succeeded he'd still be emperor, and the chance of failure far exceeds success, so why take the risk…

Compared to plotting treason against the emperor, killing all witnesses and silencing mouths is a far simpler and easier option.

And the Chief actually trusts Qianlong—one has to admit the Red Flower Society's skill at grabbing straw is truly unparalleled…