Chapter 113: Court and Martial World

After these days of labor reform, I, Ouyang Feng, have deeply reflected on and Jiantao ed my actions over the past decades. Due to the deeply ingrained bandit habits I developed since childhood, I have committed countless heinous crimes against the people. The specific crimes are as follows... After undergoing labor reform and ideological education by the People’s Government, I have fully recognized the enormity of my crimes over these decades, and I have no objection whatsoever to the People’s Government’s decision to sentence me to death.

When Qiu Chuji witnessed Ouyang Feng seated on the tribunal platform, having abandoned his former arrogance and cruelty, earnestly and sincerely making a self-criticism, his inner shock was overwhelming, beyond words. Could this really be the same Ouyang Feng who once ruled supreme and struck terror into the hearts of all? His eyes betrayed deep confusion and disbelief.

“How did you manage this?” Qiu Chuji asked Zhang Chu’an curiously.

Though Ouyang Feng looked utterly broken, he was never the type to submit to physical torment.

“Didn’t he say that after these days of labor reform and ideological education, he finally realized his errors?” Zhang Chu’an replied coolly.

Qiu Chuji gave him a look that plainly said, “You expect me to believe that?”

“Why not give him a dignified end, young man?” Hong Qigong asked, his expression sorrowful.

Watching Ouyang Feng, once one of the Five Greats, now standing on the stage like a beaten old dog, tail wagging and begging for mercy while being cursed by the crowd, Hong Qigong felt a chilling sense of kinship in misfortune.

“Why should I give him dignity? Because he’s one of the Five Greats? Because he’s a martial arts patriarch? Then what about the people he killed? What about the men whose wives Ouyang Ke seduced? What about those his servants casually murdered?”

“Old Master Hong, I respect you not because you’re one of the Five Greats, but because for over a decade you’ve upheld justice, leading the Beggar’s Sect against the Jin. I want every martial artist under heaven to know: even if you’re one of the Five Greats, we can still force you to stand on this stage, confess your crimes, face the people’s judgment, and be punished by law.”

Zhang Chu’an spoke with ironclad certainty, his voice radiating unwavering resolve, as if every obstacle before him were but fleeting clouds.

Seeing the tension between them, Qiu Chuji hurried over to mediate: “Old Master Hong, why quarrel with Chu’an over Ouyang Feng, a heartless brute? Chu’an, you too—Old Master Hong only—”

“Enough,” Hong Qigong cut him off abruptly.

Hong Qigong stepped slowly toward Zhang Chu’an, his eyes like twin sharp blades piercing straight into Zhang Chu’an’s pupils. Their gazes locked in midair, as if engaged in a silent duel.

Time seemed to freeze; everything around them blurred.

Finally, Hong Qigong drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, breaking the stillness. He shook his head helplessly, his voice tinged with bitterness: “This old beggar admits he cannot match you.”

Once, he was merely a beggar, elevated to leader of the Beggar’s Sect by his master’s favor. After becoming leader, his mindset subtly shifted; after the Huashan Sword Contest, it changed further. The East Heretic, West Poison, South Emperor, and Central Divine were his equals—but from then on, the Beggar’s Sect members became his subordinates, no longer his peers.

Yet this young man has never changed. No matter how hard the path, he still walks it with his original heart intact.

Before the eyes of all, the West Poison, Ouyang Feng, was publicly executed—a sight that shook the entire martial world. Once a fearsome tyrant whose brutality had terrified countless martial artists, he now met such an end, truly heartbreaking.

After the execution, the once-boiling martial world fell into a brief silence. All factions reined in their arrogance, daring not to provoke trouble again. They knew Ouyang Feng’s fate was a warning: any challenge to the Revolutionary Army would be met with severe punishment.

The martial world now seemed gripped by an invisible force, everyone choosing caution and silence. Those who had once allied with Ouyang Feng became like birds frightened by arrows, fearing they might be next.

Though the martial world had calmed, the imperial court stirred again—not for lack of reason, but because Western Xia had launched a large-scale offensive against Mongolia. The Jin army stationed along the Western Xia-Mongol border immediately reported the news of Western Xia’s troop movements to the Jin Emperor.

With two vassal states preparing for war, though the Jin secretly rejoiced, they still had to send envoys to inquire.

Two explosive pieces of news were presented before them.

The first: the Tatar tribe had unified the entire Mongolian steppe.

This news struck like a thunderclap, reverberating through every corner of the Jin court, sparking endless turmoil. To the Jin, a fractured, infighting Mongolia had always been their ideal—only such a Mongolia served Great Jin’s interests.

The Jin court well knew a united Mongolia would be a dire threat. To protect their own interests, they had long incited infighting among Mongol tribes, hoping to plunge this mighty people back into chaos.

Yet who could have imagined that Mongolia had achieved unity against all odds?

The unifier? The Tatar tribe, which had been crushed two years prior.

At that time, the Tatars had no more than twenty thousand troops—how had they annihilated all other tribes and unified Mongolia?

When they saw the weapons in the Tatars’ hands, their doubts vanished instantly. They finally understood. These weapons were terrifyingly powerful—so potent they defied belief. A simple pull of the trigger could pierce iron armor four hundred paces away, as if all defenses were but paper before them. The sheer force and precision of these weapons left everyone stunned.

Seeing such power, the Jin immediately mobilized troops while sending envoys to both sides. They negotiated with Western Xia: propose a joint campaign against Mongolia, threaten them into surrendering these weapons—or else Jin and Western Xia would jointly crush Mongolia.

In response to Jin’s threats, Nie Huaishang first entertained the envoys with a meal, then cautiously proposed conditions: if weapons were surrendered, Jin must guarantee Western Xia would withdraw and never attack Mongolia again.

Second, after surrendering the weapons, could Jin provide compensation—grain, salt, iron tools?

He also promised Mongolia would annually tribute cattle, sheep, and slaves, and requested Jin grant them a princely title to govern Mongolia. Seeing Nie Huaishang’s compliance, the Jin found room to negotiate, and their troop mobilization slowed—moving hundreds of thousands of soldiers required immense logistical preparation.

Besides, Western Xia’s army would bear the brunt of fighting Mongolia—they had no need to rush in.

If they could gain benefits at the negotiating table, why send a massive army?

As time passed, they found Nie Huaishang weak. With Western Xia continuously advancing into Mongolia and Jin tightening trade blockades while assembling troops, their demands at the table grew ever greater: reduce Mongol troop numbers, permit Jin to cull Mongol populations.

Eager to secure more gains for Jin and safeguard their own future, the negotiations dragged on for three months without resolution.

But in the third month, something happened.