Chapter 823: No Mercy for Broken Hands and Crushed Feet, Follow the Vines to the Lair

Chen Yan crouched in front of the shattered wooden crate and flipped the Horizontal Blade over.

The forging mark at the tip of the hilt had been ground with an iron grinding wheel two or three times; the surface no longer showed any characters, but the very shallow groove beneath the grind marks could not deceive his eyes.

The mark was not the Da Zhou Military forging bureau's standard three‑horizontal‑one‑vertical insignia.

It was a curved line ending with a hook.

Qi State.

The forging specifications exclusive to the Qi State army.

Chen Yan's thumb rubbed back and forth over that curved line twice, the pressure of his finger leaving a white imprint on the wooden surface of the hilt.

He tossed the Horizontal Blade onto the ground, rose to his feet, and his gaze swept toward the rows of wooden crates behind the blockhouse still being moved by laborers; his voice squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Hongye, go kick open the row of crates behind."

Hongye's figure darted forward, her boot tips consecutively kicked over three crates; after the crate boards shattered, the contents clattered and rolled across the ground.

Arrowheads, spear tips, blade blanks, and even half‑finished iron armor plates—each piece's forging specifications bore the same curved‑line ending pattern.

Chen Yan walked to Hongye's side, bent down to pick up a fine‑steel arrowhead, and spun it twice on his fingertip.

"Qi State's specifications, Qi State's standard."

He clenched the arrowhead into his palm, and the bone at his knuckle emitted a faint "click‑clack."

"These brutes take Xiazhou's iron ore and forge weapons for Qi State."

His voice was low, almost flat, yet the Beiwei Dead Guards beside him each felt a fine layer of cold hair rise on the back of their necks when they heard the words.

Duyanlong was held aside by two Beiwei Dead Guards; his two tendon‑severed hands dangled at his sides, blood still dripping, but his attention was fixed entirely on Chen Yan's face.

He saw something ten times more terrifying than when he had just cut his wrist.

That thing was not anger; anger is hot, burning with fire and impulse.

The thing on Chen Yan's face was cold, cold to the marrow, cold enough that Duyanlong felt as if he were standing beside a tomb being opened.

Chen Yan turned his head to look at him.

"Who ordered these weapons?"

Duyanlong's teeth chattered twice, and his voice, forced from his throat, carried a heavy, sobbing tone.

"I don't know, I truly don't know; these matters were arranged by the big boss, I'm just a runner collecting tolls."

Chen Yan stepped before him, the rib of his folding fan pressed into his collarbone hollow, pushing down half an inch.

"Where is the big boss?"

Duyanlong jabbed his chin twice toward the stone blockhouse in the center of the valley.

"It's inside the blockhouse, on the second floor."

Chen Yan withdrew the folding fan from his collarbone hollow, turned, and cast a glance at the blockhouse.

At the blockhouse entrance, twenty to thirty knife‑wielding bandits had gathered; they had been watching from a distance, and now, realizing the newcomers were hostile, each drew their blades, shouldered their spears, and blocked the entrance completely.

Immediately, a piercing bugle blast rang out from the top floor of the blockhouse.

Chen Yan's eyes narrowed slightly.

The sound ricocheted through the valley, echoing layer upon layer, like a wolf whose tail had been stepped on, howling.

On the slopes flanking the valley, the bandits who had been grinding knives and roasting meat in small groups stood up at the sound; their weapons were held in perfect order, and they swarmed from all directions, converging on the open ground before the blockhouse with a rustling rush.

One hundred, two hundred, three hundred.

By the time the fourth blast ended, the open ground before the blockhouse was densely packed with people, roughly four hundred and a few more.

The Beiwei Dead Guards beside Chen Yan pressed their hands to their hilts; sixteen of them automatically contracted into a tighter circular formation, encircling Chen Yan at the center.

Hongye stood to Chen Yan's right, her right hand already resting on the hilt of the short sword in her sleeve, the pads of her fingers touching the cold steel, her breathing so even that no fluctuation could be heard.

The blockhouse's main gate was pushed open from inside.

A hulking man nearly six feet tall strode out, carrying a fine‑steel long spear, a black tassel tied to its tip fluttering in the wind.

The man's face bore an old knife scar running horizontally from the left eyebrow corner to the right cheek, splitting his visage in two; the left half's skin was slightly lifted by the scar, giving the impression of a perpetual sneer.

His stride was unhurried yet steady, the spear's tail dragging sparks across the stone slab floor.

He stopped twenty steps from Chen Yan, the spear's tail striking the ground with a muffled thud.

"What road's cargo dares to run wild on my turf?"

Chen Yan snapped the folding fan open in his palm with a crisp "pop" and fanned it.

"You are Xuelang?"

The hulking man's scarred face deepened its perpetual sneer by three degrees.

"Do you know me?"

Chen Yan closed the folding fan, pointed toward the row of crates he had kicked open behind him.

"I don't know you, but I, the Duke, know your business."

A curve lingered at the corner of his mouth that Xuelang could not read.

"Qi State's Standard‑Issue Weaponry, forged from Xiazhou's iron ore, then shipped out along this trade route— the profit must be sizable, right?"

Xuelang's pupils narrowed, and the shaft of his long spear tilted slightly.

"Who on earth are you?"

Chen Yan gave no answer; his hand retrieved from his cuff a palm‑sized object, its material jet‑black, oval in shape, its surface etched with intricate patterns.

It was a specially made ringing arrow.

He clipped the ringing arrow's tail onto the ring on his right hand, his index finger resting on the launch pull‑ring.

Xuelang stared at the ringing arrow for a breath, and the cold sneer on his face vanished.

"Brothers."

His voice suddenly rose to its highest pitch.

"These people have seen something they shouldn't have; none of them can go out alive!"

Over four hundred brutish bandits answered the shout in unison, brandishing swords and spears, and surged toward Chen Yan.

Chen Yan yanked the trigger of the resonant arrow abruptly.

A piercing howl that could tear a eardrum burst from the head of the resonant arrow, wrapped in white smoke that shot straight into the sky, drawing a clear white plume across the autumn afternoon's blue heavens.

The howl echoed through the valley three times.

Before the third echo fully faded, thunderous horse‑hooves erupted along the ridges surrounding the valley.

Three Hundred Riders.

Gao Jiong led three hundred Ti Cavalry over the ridge line from four directions at once; the black herd of horses flowed like four rivers released from gates, pouring down the slopes, raising dust that blocked half the sky.

Each rider on the horses bore a fully‑strung crossbow, and the iron bolts on the arms reflected a dense, chilling glint in the sunlight.

Xuelang's complexion turned ash‑white the instant he saw those Ti Cavalry.

He recognized them.

Dark‑red sleeve insignia, jet‑black soft armor, and the waist badge on each waist bearing a forged blue‑eagle pattern.

Mingjing Office.

"Ti Cavalry! That's the Ti Cavalry of the Mingjing Office!"

Someone in the crowd shouted that cry, and the formation of over four hundred bandits broke into three disordered sections on the spot; a few on the outermost edge began to retreat.

Gao Jiong's horse charged to the edge of the valley; he pulled the reins, the hooves kicking up a spray of stones, and his voice erupted from the depths of his throat.

"Mingjing Office Ti Cavalry, by order of the Pillar of the State, encircle and suppress the Iron Wolf Gang! Those who discard weapons and kneel are spared death; those who stubbornly wield blades are to be slain without mercy!"

The moment the words "Pillar of the State" landed, Xuelang's body shivered.

His gaze snapped toward the young man in a moon‑white robe standing beside the carriage, still holding a folding fan.

"You… you are Chen Yan?"

Chen Yan snapped the folding fan shut with a crisp click against his palm.

"I, the Duke, give you a chance to choose: kneel, or die."

Xuelang's pupils dilated to the limit, and the scar at the corner of his mouth twisted into a feral snarl as his facial muscles convulsed violently.

He did not kneel.

He chose the Third Path.

The Chang Qiang flew from his hand, screaming through the air straight toward Chen Yan's face.

A short sword of crimson leaf slipped from his grip in the same breath.

The finely forged short sword spun half a circle in the air, crossing the Chang Qiang three feet in front of Chen Yan; the blade brushed the spear shaft, altering the spear's trajectory, shifting the tip two inches, whizzing past Chen Yan's ear and embedding itself three inches deep into the carriage side panel.

The short sword then continued along its original path, flying outward.

The blade's tip pierced Xuelang's right forearm; the tremendous penetrating force drove him two steps backward, his back slamming into a supporting wooden post at the watchtower entrance, the portion of the blade emerging from his forearm embedding deeply into the post, pinning his right arm to it.

Xuelang let out a howl even more mournful than the one‑eyed dragon's, reaching with his left hand to grasp the short sword lodged in his right arm; his fingers, upon touching the blade, were sliced open, and blood trickled down his fingers.

At that moment, Gao Jiong's crossbows fired in unison.

Three hundred crossbows released simultaneously, iron arrows pouring down like a black storm from all directions, covering the outer ring of bandits on the vacant valley floor.

The screams merged into a cacophony; the outer bandits fell like wheat cut by a sickle, row after row collapsing—some shot through the thigh and knelt, some hit the shoulder causing them to drop their knives, and many, frightened by arrows skimming their scalps, tossed their weapons and collapsed on the ground.

After the first volley ended, fewer than half of the bandits remained standing on the empty valley floor.

The survivors watched their comrades rolling on the ground, watched the Ti Cavalry on the surrounding slopes reloading crossbow bolts, watched the chief still howling, nailed to a post at the watchtower entrance, and spun their knives and spears in their palms twice before they clattered to the ground.

They knelt.

One after another, they knelt.

Gao Jiong dismounted, strode to Chen Yan's side, his iron armor clanking, and slammed a knee heavily onto the broken‑stone ground.

"Pillar of the State! Shuyi is late!"

He bowed his head extremely low, his voice tinged with an uncontainable guilt.

"The Mingjing Office's Hidden Agents are spread across twenty‑eight counties, yet they missed such a massive smuggling‑weapon den; Shuyi is negligent, Shuyi should die!"

Chen Yan lowered his head, looking at him.

"You truly deserve death."

Gao Jiong's body froze for a heartbeat after those four words landed.

Chen Yan tapped his finger lightly on Gao Jiong's shoulder armor.

"But the death sentence can be spared; the living penalty, no mercy."

His hand withdrew from Gao Jiong's shoulder armor and pointed toward the kneeling bandits on the ground and the laborers bound with iron chains.

"Separate all living mouths for confinement; one person per tent, and forbid them from communicating with each other."

His voice dropped another half step.

"I, the Duke, need to know the name of every link on this smuggling chain—from the miners, to the haulers, to the forgers, to the exporters, and the backers behind them."

His gaze landed on Xuelang, still nailed to a post at the distant watchtower entrance.

"Start with him."

Gao Jiong punched his chest armor, stood up, and his voice roared toward the Ti Cavalry behind him.

"Move! Separate everyone for detention; those whose mouths can't be forced open, present the weapons and let him choose himself!"

The Ti Cavalry surged into the valley like a tide, the clatter of iron chains and handcuffs resonating throughout the gorge.

Half an hour later, Gao Jiong emerged from the stone room on the watchtower's lower level that had been temporarily turned into an interrogation chamber.

Blood stained his hands, but not his own.

His complexion grew three shades uglier than before he entered, not due to the brutality of the interrogation, but because of what the interrogation yielded.

Chen Yan sat on a large stone outside the watchtower, the folding fan resting on his knees, leafing through a stack of account books recovered from the watchtower's second floor.

Gao Jiong walked up to him, handed over a Bamboo Silk Scroll stained with blood, and lowered his voice to a level that only the two of them could hear.

Pillar of the State, Xuelang has arrived.

Chen Yan took the Bamboo Silk Scroll, glanced over it, and his finger stopped at the first name on it.

Gao Jiong's breathing grew three beats slower.

Negotiation Dushui He Lanhu.

He clenched his jaw, and the blue vein at his temple pulsed twice.

The Yuwen family's Old Troops, led by an old veteran who had fought the world alongside the Grand Preceptor, command the most elite Three Thousand Provincial Soldiers of the Negotiation Office, and have been operating in western Xiazhou for almost ten years.

Chen Yan turned the Bamboo Silk Scroll to the second page, where densely written entries recorded the time, quantity, destination, and the recipient code of each smuggling transaction.

His finger brushed the last line of text, which bore a number that made the corner of his mouth twist slightly.

The total smuggled iron ore amounts to 370,000 jin, finished weapons twelve thousand pieces, all flowing into Qi State's western military towns.

He folded the Bamboo Silk Scroll, placing his palm over its surface.

Three hundred seventy thousand jin of iron is enough to arm twenty thousand troops of Qi State.

Gao Jiong clenched his fist, and his knuckles clicked a series of "ka‑ba" sounds.

Pillar of the State, He Lanhu is deeply entrenched in the army; the three thousand men under him are old soldiers who have followed him for years. If we rashly move against him and the news leaks…

Chen Yan stood up and stuffed the Bamboo Silk Scroll into his bosom.

Leak the news?

He turned his head to look at Gao Jiong, the curve of his mouth stretching into a line that sent a chill down one's spine.

He already has no news left to escape.

His finger pointed toward the direction outside the valley.

Gao Jiong, the men with you must turn this old nest upside down; every ledger, every weapon, every piece of evidence, not a single hair may be missed, all to be sealed and recorded.

Gao Jiong punched his Chest Armor.

Chen Yan flipped onto the captured black horse beside the carriage, and the reins twitched sharply in his hand.

This Duke will go meet that Old General He Lanhu.

His boot heel struck the horse's belly, the black horse let out a long neigh, its four hooves flailed, and it charged toward the official road outside the valley.

Hongye drew the short sword from the tower's column, wiped a smear of blood on his lapel, flipped onto another horse, and followed closely behind.

Gao Jiong stood at the tower entrance, watching the dust‑vanishing silhouettes of the two riders, his lips moving slightly.

Send word to General Lu Ming: five thousand Heavy Armor Infantry must immediately leave camp, seal off He Lanhu's garrison, not a single ant allowed to crawl out.