Chapter 103: The Great Steppe War

“Although your plan this time was clever, your actions have thoroughly offended the local officials and gentry—they will inevitably expose your affairs to the imperial court, and within a year at most, your secrets will be revealed,” Qiu Chuji warned with a grave expression.

The current Song court is corrupt and incompetent, other anti-Jin organizations are loosely structured, and only the Revolutionary Army has any hope of overthrowing the Jin—so he did not want the Revolutionary Army to grow complacent because of their recent victories, even though they had already achieved considerable success.

“A year? Is a year enough?” Zhang Xiaofan declared confidently.

“Hah, looks like you’ve laid out a grand chessboard—care to tell us about it?” Qiu Chuji asked with keen interest; their actions seemed wildly erratic, yet they always succeeded—he felt that once this game was finished, the mighty Jin Empire would be either dead or crippled.

“I’d rather not say anything—after all, none of you are good at keeping secrets; one slip and you’ll spill our plans.” Zhang Xiaofan refused bluntly and stepped away under the moonlight.

Qiu Chuji and Hong Qigong exchanged glances; were their mouths really that loose? But Hong Qigong soon forgot about it, for he wanted to show off his new toy to Qiu Chuji.

“Chuji, see this? It’s called a pistol—small, easy to carry. Next time at the Huashan Duel, I’ll bring this along; then Old Poison, Duke Duan, and Huang the Mad—all together won’t be my match.” Hong Qigong held one pistol in each hand, beaming with pride.

Qiu Chuji felt a bead of sweat form; are you sure using this in combat isn’t cheating? If it’s not cheating, then I’ll get one from Zhang Chu’an too—Huang the Mad may be eccentric, but he’s proud; if I ask him, “Dare you take one of my hidden weapons?” he’ll stand still and take my shot.

But he quickly crushed that fantasy, for Zhang Chu’an had said he planned to attend the Huashan Duel too; though Qiu Chuji had only known Zhang Chu’an for a year or two, he understood one thing: you can fight Zhang Chu’an, but if you challenge him to a duel—

Qiu Chuji recalled how he’d once believed the local bully’s lies and mistaken Zhang Chu’an for a bandit, drawing his sword without hesitation to confront him.

Then he experienced the harshness of the world: a master who could rival his own teacher, yet showed not a shred of a cultivator’s dignity—he’d always ambush rather than fight fair, always gang up rather than duel one-on-one, and always bring as many allies as possible.

The moral fabric of society has decayed; ancient virtue is gone. Qiu Chuji suddenly found himself thinking of the Seven Freaks of Jiangnan—surely men like them wouldn’t use guns against opponents.

“Big brother, with this thing, why bother training martial arts at all? I’ve already decided—we’ll bring these to the Huashan Duel; then the Evil East, Poison West, Emperor South, and Beggar North will all be knocked down by us.” Zhu Cong, who had just captured Mei Chaofeng, was ecstatic.

After hearing his second brother’s words, Ke Zhen’e flushed and scolded sharply: “Nonsense! Martial duels are about skill and technique—using a pistol is cheating! Besides, this gun was lent to you by Comrade Nie—what right do you have to use it in combat?”

Ke Zhen’e knew well the power of this weapon: Mei Chaofeng and Chen Xuanfeng had formidable hardened bodies, their skin like cast bronze and iron; even blunt weapons striking their backsides caused no serious harm—yet this gun pierced them effortlessly.

Having roamed the Jianghu for years, Ke Zhen’e understood the truth: possessing a deadly weapon awakens the will to kill. What would an ordinary person do with such a thing? At best, they’d bully the weak and oppress women; at worst, they’d rob homes and terrorize the region.

According to their martial skills, even all seven together couldn’t match Mei Chaofeng—but with these guns, they captured Mei Chaofeng and Chen Xuanfeng effortlessly.

“Enough, big brother, second brother is just happy for you since you’ve avenged your father,” the seventh sister Han Xiaoying quickly interjected.

“Ah, that’s exactly why I sigh! Seven years ago, if we hadn’t quarreled with Qiu Chuji, this mother and son wouldn’t have fled to the desert. We came to rescue the loyal family’s descendants, yet now we owe them a huge debt—I don’t know how to repay it,” Ke Zhen’e sighed deeply.

“Why take it so hard, big brother? If it’s that troubling, we seven can just stay here and lend them a hand—we’re as one, and we’ll repay the favor together,” Zhu Cong declared loudly.

When the seven carried Chen Xuanfeng and Mei Chaofeng back to the tribe, the entire camp erupted in jubilation; after careful inquiry, they learned Guo Jing had led his troops to crush Temujin’s Qiyin tribe.

Although Guo Jing possessed exceptional tactical talent, he still paled beside the once-in-a-generation genius Temujin—but unfortunately, war isn’t won by commanders alone.

Although Temujin had learned much from the Revolutionary Army, applying those systems to his own tribe could have elevated its strength by a full tier—but Guo Jing gave him no time; having reorganized his forty-thousand-man army, he immediately marched against Temujin.

Guo Jing not only outnumbered his enemy, but his troops’ discipline, organization, and equipment all far surpassed Temujin’s forces.

If a commander is a driver, then Temujin is the world’s greatest driver, while Guo Jing is merely an ordinary professional—but Temujin drives a tractor, while Guo Jing drives a top-tier racing car.

No matter how skilled you are, thirty thousand poorly equipped rabble cannot defeat forty thousand revolutionary troops armed with advanced gear—Temujin’s forces collapsed quickly, and the long-established Qiyin tribe was swallowed by Guo Jing.

After leaving five thousand men behind to notify Nie Huaishang to take over the Qiyin tribe, Guo Jing led the remaining twenty-five thousand to pursue Temujin; along the way, he encountered Wang Han’s forces and attacked without hesitation.

Guo Jing launched a ferocious assault on Wang Han’s troops; in this battle, he was like a tiger descending the mountain, charging headfirst into the enemy ranks. His figure darted across the battlefield like lightning, and wherever he went, enemies fled in terror—as if he moved through a realm with no one capable of stopping him.

The Five Thunder Correct Method shone brilliantly in this battle, its power astonishing. Each time Guo Jing activated this supreme technique, thunder rolled across the sky, and five bolts of lightning struck down from above, obliterating enemy ranks. These thunderbolts were like the wrath of heaven, instantly reducing foes to dust. Under this relentless bombardment, the enemy forces retreated in disarray, utterly powerless to resist.

Wang Han’s troops, already rabble, collapsed immediately; after crushing Wang Han’s army, Guo Jing pressed forward without pause, storming into Wang Han’s tent and capturing him alive.