Chapter 61

The decisive stance between the Roving Bandits and the imperial forces has already changed; the Zhang Xianzhong army, which had originally split the imperial troops in the south and could even execute a flank attack, is now almost annihilated. Even if some managed to flee with their troops, they can no longer muster sufficient striking power in this period. And the fact that Xiangyang City has not fallen means it can now shield Governor Sun's flank and secure his supply line.

Bai Lang could not stay in Xiangyang City long; soon he joined the elite troops reconstituted by Governor Deng from the former Zuo Liangyu army and headed north again, preparing to enter the front line for a showdown with Li Chuang—Governor Sun's plan is to finish the job in a single battle, eliminating Li Chuang's main force near Kaifeng. "In that case we can avoid the double‑axe chopping of trees, with the Roving Bandits and the Tartar taking turns to attack, causing the court to attend to one side and neglect the other…," any sensible court official could see at the time, making this decisive battle exceedingly important.

"If Governor Sun is defeated, the Ming Dynasty will truly have run out of fate—if they don't flee south, there will be no salvation," Bai Lang knew this naturally, because he retained some memory of the Ming‑Qing transition and knew that Emperor Chongzhen hanged himself on a crooked‑necked tree, a ruler famed for his unyielding spirit—"The Son of Heaven dies for the state, and that is also fierce."

Bai Lang thought that, to him, the Great Song and the Great Tang felt the most familiar, with the Ming Dynasty next in line—Ming's legitimacy has been rare since antiquity, and Bai Lang still regarded it highly. So serving the Ming now does not betray his heart—though deep down he would rather serve a Republic, but isn't that just a matter of a different era?

Life in the ancient martial world lasts only six or seven years, which cannot possibly offset the imprint of the twenty‑to‑thirty years of upbringing he received before the transmigration.

When heading to the appointed battlefield, the emperor's reward had already arrived; the edict's wording seemed to be penned by the emperor himself, brimming with excitement, and the signatures of the senior ministers behind it were equally thrilled—"The great bandit Zhang Xianzhong has been beheaded; is there any better news this year?" With such a fierce general, Li Chuang, the bandit leader, will likely meet his end under Governor Sun. This turmoil has plagued many provinces of the Ming Dynasty for about twenty years, and now a dawn of pacification is visible…

In fact, there had already been several such dawns before, but they were all buried under the emperor's "chaotic decree"… Bai Lang was too lazy to bother with the right and wrong of it all; after all, the blame was essentially placed on Chongzhen, so that was that.

Bai Lang didn't listen to the lengthy, ornate arguments inside; even the officials reading the edict were on the verge of crying with excitement… He only heard his own reward: "Bai Lang, for his merit, is promoted to Right Deputy Commander, General Who Pacifies the West, awarded fifty taels of silver and a hereditary thousand‑household position in the Brocade Guard." Bai Lang thought he had become a third‑rank general purely by beheading people, and that simply cutting heads to a certain level seemed quite promising.

Naturally, Zhang Xianzhong's corpse was taken away to be disposed of in the Capital. Holding two large silver ingots, Bai Lang muttered, "So the so‑called beheading of the great bandit and the smashing of the army's reward ends up being just this… Indeed, the Ming is poor; if it were the Great Tang, Great Song, or even older, a thousand gold pieces would be no problem."

The clothing, however, was given generously: a third‑rank red official robe embroidered with a tiger's patch—"A beast in robes," Bai Lang thought. Changing into the new robe, he exuded the bearing of a senior Ming general—though his face was still rather youthful, his towering stature prompted a comment, "Truly a fine man!"

At this moment Bai Lang, clad in the third‑rank military official's robe, sat in a carriage flanked by cavalry guards, heading toward Governor Sun's location. There were few people along the way, and Bai Lang's escort numbered only a hundred‑plus riders; the carriage was modest—a standard two‑horse carriage with a canopy and a soft interior, comfortably seated inside.

No incense was needed; a soft mat placed inside the carriage, along with wine and food, sufficed. Bai Lang sat grandly, drinking and eating while careful not to let the food or wine splash onto his beard. Indeed, Bai Lang's body had begun to grow a beard; the man, already a sturdy twenty‑something, now looked even more imposing, like a true general who could crush ten thousand armies.

"These beard hairs are bursting out… and it's a big beard; couldn't I grow five long strands, or be like the handsome bearded hero?" Bai Lang stroked his beard with a hint of pride; it grew so fast that in modern terms he'd need to shave daily, and an electric razor wouldn't suffice—only a manual blade would work. After a morning shave, by evening the greenish roots would already sprout, prickly to the touch.

Now Bai Lang's beard was about an inch long; at this length it no longer grew absurdly fast. He leisurely ate and drank alone in the carriage, while the outside cavalry relaxed in their guard—inside the carriage sat a figure like the White Tiger Star Lord; who would dare to touch a tiger's whiskers?

It must be said, there are always people who try to touch the tiger's whiskers. "Kill the bandits!" With that shout, six figures suddenly sprang from the grass and trees beside the road, their steps landing on trunks or underbrush, leaping toward the carriage. The cavalry reacted swiftly, drawing swords to block and slay these "assassins"—they must be assassins. As Qin Wujou, the Hua Shan "traitor," had noted, various sect martial artists had joined the peasant army, and naturally the court side also had such masters—though their skills were never the kind suited for massive formation clashes. Yet in one‑on‑one combat and close‑quarters fighting, these martial artists proved quite formidable.

Now it seems normal that these people would come to assassinate the court's pillar, Right Deputy Commander, General Who Pacifies the West Bai Lang—perhaps they were sent by the Tartar; after all, there are martial‑arts scoundrels or even entire sects from beyond the passes that have joined the Qing forces.

The court's experts reside within the Brocade Guard and the Eastern Depot, and a few are also in the Imperial Stables; in short, they all guard the palace interior. Even the wandering elite cavalry would hardly be dispatched to protect this general—especially since Bai Lang enjoys the reputation of being brave beyond ten thousand men.

The assassins moved swiftly; they dispatched the cavalry before them with little effort, easily cutting them down with swords, knives, or even fists, sending riders tumbling from their horses. The six masters leveraged the horses, attacking the carriage from six directions simultaneously. "Kill the bandits!" the shout rang, gender‑neutral, full of vigor, indicating each was a practitioner of internal force.

Bai Lang set down the wine cup at his lips, lifted his half‑closed eyes, and a faint cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth…