Chapter 831: Ten Camps Linked in Formation

Xu Han grew two lotus leaves from his body and flew toward the underground city, carrying Zhang Wanlong.

He thought the Waizhou Society was guarding against the dandelion, but he still underestimated Qiao Yi.

The Waizhou Society changed its route—they didn’t attack Bai Nian County, but headed straight for the underground city.

But the key question is: where did this route come from?

The Waizhou Society had a path to Baiji County; this was known to high-level cultivators in Puzhou, but when did the Waizhou Society open a road to Huantu Island?

Xu Han couldn’t find the reason, and now wasn’t the time to ponder it—he didn’t know how much longer Qiu Zhiheng could hold out.

Qiu Zhiheng held needle and thread and sewed up the wound on his own chest.

The shore was littered with corpses, many of them farmers who had come to the port to exchange soil, and many dockworkers who hadn’t yet set sail, but most were Qiu Zhiheng and Liao Zihui’s subordinates.

Zuo Wugang dragged Zhen Jincheng out of the pile of dead bodies; Cao Zhida checked him and found he still had breath.

They carried Zhen Jincheng to a broken boat on shore and placed a jar of water and a box of biscuits beside him.

“Old Zhen, if you wake up, figure out how to survive. If you can’t make it, figure out how to leave.” Zuo Wugang pulled out a dagger and placed it beside Zhen Jincheng, then returned to the shore with Cao Zhida.

Qiu Zhiheng contacted Luo Zhengnan, who was leading the Wu Zui Army toward the shore; Juanzi and the others were bringing the Royal Guard toward the port.

Liao Zihui said: “I still have a few Wu Zui Army officers under me—I’ve called them over. Though the Wu Zui Army isn’t under the Guanfang Hall’s command, these officers have experience—if you don’t mind—”

Qiu Zhiheng shook his head: “What’s there to mind now? As long as we can hold back the enemy, any method is fine—the Wu Zui Army is under your command.”

Flags rose from deep beyond the sea surface—this was the outpost signaling; enemy warships were approaching.

Liao Zihui picked up the steam jet gun; he’d never seen the Dangkou Army, but he’d studied their records: “We must hold at all costs—no matter what, we can’t let the enemy reach shore. Once the Dangkou Army establishes a foothold on land, the Thousand-Man Force Array will be complete, and we won’t be able to fight anymore.”

Qiu Zhiheng opened his pocket watch, first checking the time, then staring at the photo on the back cover—it showed bamboo and the child.

He stared at his wife and child for a long time, then closed the watch cover.

“Old Zuo, how many of us are left?”

Zuo Wugang turned back and glanced—there weren’t many; about thirty still capable of fighting remained.

Liao Zihui also asked: “Old Tang, how many of us are left?”

Deputy Director Tang Huanjie was shoveling coal into the boiler; he hadn’t heard Liao Zihui’s question. Liao Zihui didn’t ask again—if even Tang Huanjie was shoveling coal, how many could possibly be left?

“I’m about to retire,” Liao Zihui opened the jet gun’s valve, gripping the trigger, “I still want to go to Xiaoyao Wu and sing. Old Lin, have you ever heard me sing? I sing beautifully, and I dance well too.”

Lin Fujiao stood on shore, wiping a wound on his face, then took a piece of fruit candy from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

Liao Zihui had never noticed Lin Fujiao’s habit before, but today he saw Lin Fujiao had eaten dozens of candies: “Why do you love candy so much?”

“Eat more sweets, you’ll have good dreams,” Lin Fujiao closed his eyes—a warship appeared on the sea surface.

That ship was from Lin Fujiao’s dream—it could fight, but no one could say how long it would last.

It carried a radio transmitter, constantly sending telegrams; this transmitter’s signal could only be received in dreams—Lin Fujiao was using it to call for help.

At this moment, Zhao Lanmeng was racing toward Santou Cha.

Li Banfeng also received Qiu Zhiheng’s message—he wished he could rush to Santou Cha right now.

But the Peddler blocked Li Banfeng via Yuan Miaoping: “Brother, this is war. You chose Suihuangyuan—you must stay in Suihuangyuan. Don’t meddle in affairs elsewhere, and don’t even try.”

The Peddler sent Ayi to reinforce Santou Cha; before Ayi arrived, whether Qiu Zhiheng and the others could hold out depended entirely on fate.

The driver lowered his voice to Li Banfeng: “No wonder I felt Santou Cha was more dangerous than here—Qiao Yi’s move was too sinister. Suddenly attacking the underground city—who could withstand that?”

“Our side’s situation is much better. This camp doesn’t have many men—we burn their grain, then run. They won’t catch us.”

It wasn’t easy for Che Wushang to say this—the fully armed Tufang soldiers weren’t easy to fight. The driver had this confidence because the Tufang soldiers weren’t prepared for battle—most wore civilian clothes, not even armor.

Li Banfeng hid in a snowdrift, observing the enemy camp.

This was the first occupied camp they’d found; Tufang soldiers differed clearly from Shang nationals.

Shang nationals had diverse forms—birds, beasts, flowers, fish, insects, workshops, machines—all kinds of life forms. Tufang nationals’ forms were more uniform, mostly beasts. This camp held over a thousand; Li Banfeng estimated two hundred resembled deer, three hundred resembled oxen, three hundred resembled pigs, and the rest were unusual—some looked like bears, some like tigers; these beast-like individuals held higher status.

The highest-status were still the three-headed ones—just like in Shang.

The camp was built beside water, next to a frozen lake; soldiers were breaking holes in the ice to draw water and fish.

The driver was still searching for the granary’s location when Yuan Miaoping said: “Burning the granary alone is pointless. I bet the enemy camp has plenty of traps—granaries are critical, so they’ll be heavily guarded.”

“What’s the point of fearing traps?” the driver puffed his chest. “No matter who built them, they can’t hurt me.”

Yuan Miaoping pushed back her bangs: “If you’re that capable, it’s even better. Look—aren’t there about a hundred people drawing water?”

Li Banfeng counted roughly—it was mealtime across all camps, and indeed about a hundred people were drawing water.

Yuan Miaoping said: “Take me to the lake surface. I’ll give them a real shock. This’ll need a lot of electricity—give me all your batteries. Don’t be stingy.”

Li Banfeng carried Yuan Miaoping to the lake surface; thanks to his Zhaixiu talent, the Tufang soldiers didn’t notice them.

Yuan Miaoping winked at the projector; it cast a projection that concealed her.

Li Banfeng took batteries from his personal dwelling and connected them to Yuan Miaoping.

Yuan Miaoping extended two wires from beneath the TV and plunged them under the ice.

Gurgling bubbles rose from the ice.

Worried the power wasn’t enough, Yuan Miaoping unfolded the battery panels on her back; with decent sunlight, she charged while discharging.

Beneath the ice, large schools of fish flipped belly-up, many floating near the ice holes.

Soldiers drawing water saw the ice holes filled with fish and rushed to scoop them into buckets. Soon the buckets were full, and they ran back to call others to come catch fish.

Originally about a hundred people drew water; now two or three hundred had rushed out.

The soldiers were thrilled—they hadn’t brought food; the passage was reserved for troops and weapons, so grain was bought in Huangtu Town. They rarely got fish soup; today’s bounty was too good to miss.

Everyone was focused on catching fish when Yuan Miaoping unleashed full power—the water temperature spiked, the ice cracked violently, and with a thunderous boom, all soldiers on the ice plunged into the lake.

These were elite Tufang soldiers; they weren’t panicked by this—they just fell in water? Swim to shore. Some even kept catching fish while swimming.

Yuan Miaoping hovered midair, the two wires still in the water; she increased the current. Soldiers in the lake trembled violently, paralyzed.

Soldiers drowning in the water were clearly dying; those on shore panicked—some rushed into the water to rescue, others ran to the camp to report.

Soon, three or four hundred more soldiers emerged from the camp, carrying ropes to rescue.

Few soldiers remained inside the camp. Li Banfeng looked at the driver; the driver gritted his teeth, grabbed his wine gourd, and slipped into the camp amid the chaos.

The driver hadn’t boasted—he was right; the camp had many traps, especially around the granary, where Tufang soldiers had set heavy defenses.

But the driver didn’t trigger a single trap, nor did the granary guards spot him—he moved fast and steady, reaching the granary without incident.

The wine gourd emptied its contents into a mist of alcohol; the driver struck a match—fire instantly engulfed the granary.

The driver set the fire and bolted. When the Tufang soldiers saw the granary burning, chaos erupted—some rushed to rescue, others to extinguish the fire; many stood frozen between camp and lake, unsure where to go.

Those unsure where to go needed guidance—Li Banfeng showed them the way.

He pierced his fingertip; blood dripped to the ground. An invisible boundary spread silently from his feet, soon surrounding the Tufang soldiers.

The boundary stretched and contracted; large numbers of soldiers collapsed from wounds. Some realized something was wrong and rushed toward the armory to prepare. Li Banfeng summoned over a hundred shadows, killing anyone they encountered. In moments, over two hundred men lay dead at Li Banfeng’s hands.

Tufang elites clearly lagged behind Totem Army and Dangkou Army, but they retained basic combat discipline. One unit of two hundred soldiers, amid the chaos, formed a proper formation, donned armor, and armed themselves.

Though Tufang weapons were inferior to Shang’s, they were far superior to ordinary arms—each suit of armor wrapped every finger tightly.

Tang Dao struggled to pierce the armor; it was also embedded with crossbows, shearing blades, and various weapons.

Most crucially, Tufang soldiers had high individual combat strength. They couldn’t match Totem Army, but they were far stronger than Dangkou Army. They understood techniques; though they had no formal Dao sect, each soldier possessed one or two formidable skills, capable of fighting alone without formations.

Since they’d fight hand-to-hand, this wasn’t ideal for the driver. Yuan Miaoping’s electric power was nearly depleted and couldn’t help. The rest depended entirely on Li Banfeng.

Li Banfeng recalled the Tiangan shadows, used Duanjing to cut through the enemy formation, then led the Dizhi shadows to launch repeated strikes across the divided enemy units.

After many battles, Li Banfeng realized the techniques created by Wulu were highly deceptive.

Many thought techniques like Dongben Xizou and Zhi Ju Yexing were useless—barely worthy of Yunshang techniques.

Against a master, they were indeed weak—but in mass combat, they were invaluable. Li Banfeng used Dongben Xizou repeatedly to knock down waves of enemies without feeling fatigue.

When enemies fell, the shadows immediately finished them off—efficiency rivaled Tapo Wanchuan. Dongben Xizou also had a fast initiation, making it hard for enemies to defend against.

Several enemy soldiers resembling tigers kept shifting positions, attempting ambushes.

These tigers were the best fighters in the unit, specialized in killing enemy commanders—this was one of the Tufang Army’s most effective tactics.

But Li Banfeng wasn’t fooled. All soldiers with unusual appearances or gear were marked by Zhiju Yexing—wherever they moved or stood, Li Banfeng saw them clearly. Whenever the opportunity arose, he dispatched shadows to eliminate them.

Soon, the two hundred enemy soldiers were wiped out; the scattered remnants were crushed directly by the personal dwelling.

Over fifty three-headed soldiers escaped the camp thanks to their special armor. Li Banfeng chased them down, killed fifty, left a few alive, netted them, and locked them in the personal dwelling.

The glove was puzzled: “Boss, where did you get this net?”

Li Banfeng said: “Didn’t you get it from Tu Yinghong? Didn’t I use this net to bring Lin Dexing home?”

Lin Dexing was Yao Lao’s mortal enemy. When Xu Han defeated the Lüshui Bow, he’d wounded Lin Dexing severely, and Li Banfeng had used this net to bring him home—Glove remembered this clearly.

But that net had long been discarded.

“Boss, how stinky was that net? Would I dare keep it?”

Li Banfeng examined the net in his hand—it wasn’t the original one.

This net could expand or shrink at will, vanish when pressed into the palm.

Indeed, the Wanshi Ruyi technique had improved further.

Back at the camp, the driver finished off the Tufang soldiers still alive after falling into the lake. Yuan Miaoping unfolded her battery panels to recharge quickly. Li Banfeng returned to the personal dwelling, released the captured officers, and interrogated them one by one.

After nearly ten minutes of questioning, the officers revealed everything. Li Banfeng had Tong Lian dispose of the corpses, marked their positions on the map, and hurried toward the next camp.

According to the officers’ confessions, the Tufang Nation sent ten camps—largest had over eight thousand, smallest had only five hundred. Each camp had different duties; they planned a coordinated surprise attack within two days, each camp fulfilling its role, aiming to crush the Suihuang Iron Cavalry and seize the entire Suihuangyuan in one stroke.

Eliminating these small camps meant little. Li Banfeng studied the location and troop deployment of the largest camp and said to the driver: “We need more help.”

The driver had thought of the same:

“I’ll go back to town and bring Hai Chi Laoche. Old Qi, I was right to come to Suihuangyuan—fighting alongside you never leaves me at a disadvantage!”

In Huangtu Town, the driver picked up Hai Chi Laoche and brought along the He, Ma, and San Ying Men clans. The Lu, Chu, and Baihua Men clans stayed behind in town.

Hong Ying and Jiu’er followed Hai Chi Laoche to meet Li Banfeng; together they arrived at the largest Tufang camp.

The camp held over eight thousand men, equipped with the finest weapons and the most formidable warriors.

After studying the camp layout, Xiang Hongying devised a clever tactic: “Che Wushang, you feign defeat first, then lure the enemy into the ambush.”

Che Wushang immediately protested: “Why should I be the one to feign defeat? It’s dangerous, humiliating, and brings no glory.”

Xiang Hongying explained patiently: “Your feigned defeat must look real—they won’t spot a flaw.”

Li Banfeng brought out over a thousand sets of armor collected from the previous camp.

These armors were clearly too large; Li Banfeng had the Bodyguards and Copper Lotus adjust them as best they could, and everyone barely managed to wear them, preparing to take down the largest camp.

Jianren Gang, Huai’en Village.

Qiao Yi, inside a peasant’s house, reviewed the report from San Tousha and was dissatisfied with the overall progress: “Still no capture of the underground city?”

Nian Shangyou explained: “The People’s Market and Earth Market are holding out, but the Sea Market has been fully taken.”

Qiao Yi shook his head slightly: “Since you sent the naval force, taking the Sea Market was expected. Yet the port remains unsecured, and the Quhuo Camp has no role to play.”

Inform the naval commander: seize the port within three days. Inform the Quhuo Camp commander: seize the underground city within five days after taking the port, and seize San Tousha within ten days.”

Nian Shangyou quickly wrote the reply, encrypted it with candlelight, and immediately sent it via candle smoke to the underground city.

“Lord, Tufang State still hasn’t responded; the battlefront in Suihuangyuan remains unclear.”

Qiao Yi wasn’t worried about this: “Tufang State will surely take Suihuangyuan. The Demon Lord has long planned there; public sentiment is already decided. Li Qi thinks he can reverse the situation overnight—that’s pure fantasy.”

Inform the Third and Fourth Armies: they may advance.”

Nian Shangyou feared he’d misunderstood: “Lord, are these two armies you mentioned here?”

Qiao Yi frowned: “Of course not these troops. These forces remain stationary for now; we’ll decide when the time is right.”

The Third Army heads to Moxiangdian to trap Qunyingshan between two fronts; the Fourth Army goes to Xindi to reclaim old debts with interest, striking straight into Puluozhou’s heartland.”

This time, Nian Shangyou understood.

After writing the military orders, Nian Shangyou presented the spy’s intelligence to Qiao Yi: “Wuyouping reports that Shiba Lun enjoys great prestige in the army. What if he moves first?”

Qiao Yi laughed: “If Shiba Lun advances first, our forces will rest and wait, and we can annihilate his entire army.”

Shangyou, don’t wish for such luck. The enemy’s every move is under the Peddler’s control. Don’t expect the Peddler to slip up. To win this battle, you must rely on my planning.”

Nian Shangyou stepped out of the peasant’s house, glancing toward Shengxian Peak, then toward Wuyouping.

Even he couldn’t tell which direction Qiao Yi would advance.

Murong Gui lay in the pavilion hall, wrapped in blankets, staring up at the clouds.

Yesterday, Murong Gui received word from Zhou Badou: the enemy might attack Qunyingshan directly from Shengxian Peak.

If Qunyingshan falls, Moxiangdian is doomed. How long could this Willow Garden even hold out then?

Murong Gui turned to the Brush Scholar: “Can you still fight?”

The Brush Scholar had just filled a sheet of white paper. He glanced at Murong Gui and replied: “Hmph!”

Murong Gui flew into rage: “I’m discussing serious matters with you!”

As they were about to argue, cracks appeared on the frozen lake.

The Brush Scholar turned pale: beneath the lake lay an entrance—Ge Jun had once used it to break in and nearly seized Moxiangdian.

Later, the Peddler sealed it shut. Now, changes on the lake’s surface meant someone had reopened it—who had such power?

“Keep writing!” Murong Gui signaled the Brush Scholar not to move. He threw off the blankets, picked up his Judge’s Pen, walked to the lake’s edge, and stared silently.

The ice cracked repeatedly; the water lifted floating ice, sending ripples across the surface.

The ripples grew violent, forming a whirlpool at the lake’s center. From its heart rose a hundred-foot-wide island—bare rock, no grass, no life. The Bloodfang Demon stood at its center, grinning, two sharp fangs exposed, watching Murong Gui.

Behind her stood four men, their skin, clothes, and hair all the same ashen gray. Amid floating ice, they looked like four stone statues beside the Bloodfang Demon.

Murong Gui fell silent, then spoke slowly: “You are the Four Masters of Shi Xiu.”

The Brush Scholar was astonished.

To him, these four stone-like men were indistinguishable—how could Murong Gui identify them?

The Bloodfang Demon nodded: “Sharp eyes. From now on, serve me. Officially, you remain the local deity of Moxiangdian; the local qi remains yours—as long as you don’t interfere with me.”

“Fine!” Murong Gui agreed instantly. “Come closer. Let’s make a pact.”

The Bloodfang Demon smiled at Murong Gui: “I’m a straightforward person. Don’t trick me.”

“I won’t trick you. Come here!” Murong Gui waved her forward.

The Bloodfang Demon glanced back. One of the Shi Xiu threw a stone. It exploded before her.

“You lie!” The Bloodfang Demon licked her fangs. “I hate being deceived. I could’ve spared you.”

Murong Gui turned his Judge’s Pen. The lake’s clear water suddenly turned as black as ink.

It was ink—this ink was Murong Gui’s weapon.

This was his domain. He was still within his own body—this was the finest body in all of Literary Cultivation.

Even if the Bloodfang Demon hated him without cause, Murong Gui had grounds to fight today.

The ink surged from the lake, weaving into a rain of ink that flew toward the Bloodfang Demon.

The Bloodfang Demon stood still. The Four Masters of Shi Xiu leapt into the air, shielding her from the ink.

Their gray bodies turned pitch black. Murong Gui touched the tip of his pen—the ink seeped rapidly into their bodies.

He knew Shi Xiu had thick skin and could endure punishment—but these four were already dead. These were puppets. If soaked in ink, they’d become his puppets.

Boom!

The Four Masters of Shi Xiu suddenly exploded.

Murong Gui wasn’t surprised. This must be the Bloodfang Demon’s doing—she’d rather destroy them than let Murong Gui control them.

But then, Murong Gui realized he’d misjudged.

The Four Masters of Shi Xiu hadn’t been destroyed. They still stood—only their bodies had shrunk.

The ink-soaked stone had shattered and fallen away, leaving behind fresh, pristine stone.

Next, the Four Masters’ technique stunned Murong Gui further: broken stones from the island flew to them, restoring their bodies to full size.

These weren’t puppets.

Had the Four Masters of Shi Xiu come back to life?

Murong Gui’s expression turned grave. The Bloodfang Demon waved her hand. The Four Masters activated their technique, forming a stone bridge—one end on the island, the other at Murong Gui’s feet.

“Will you come to me, or will I come to you?” The Bloodfang Demon licked her fangs and stepped onto the bridge.

He Jiaqing walked across the domain, checking the progress of land reclamation. He should’ve gone to Wuyouping long ago—Old Ku had urged him repeatedly—but he simply couldn’t leave these thirteen plots.

He summoned Shen Rongqing and Zou Guodong, giving them instructions one by one, when suddenly he heard distant shouting.

The shouting came from over ten miles away. Shen Rongqing and Zou Guodong heard nothing—only He Jiaqing heard it.

He hurried to the domain’s edge and saw a crowd of reclamation workers attacking Duan Shuqun.

Duan Shuqun shouted: “You’ve surely heard of the He family’s reputation and the Blood-Brother Alliance. We won’t withhold wages—you’ll get them within three days.”

The workers shouted back: “We don’t trust you!”

“Left three days, right three days—how many days total now?”

“This is our hard-earned money! Today, we demand silver and gold!”

He Jiaqing scanned the crowd. Some he recognized—true reclamation workers. Others looked unfamiliar—possibly opportunists.

Whatever the excuse, He Jiaqing didn’t want this to escalate. He bowed to them: “I, He Mou, swear on my honor: wages will be delivered within three days. Rest here for three days—food and lodging are on me.”

A middle-aged man stepped forward: “You can’t even pay wages—how can you promise meals? This is nonsense!”

“We don’t want to hear your lies. Fine—we’ll drop the wages. Give us the deed to this land, and that’s settlement.”

We don’t want to listen to your nonsense. Here’s the deal: we’ll waive our wages; you hand over the land deed for this plot, and it’ll count as payment in full.

Duan Shuqun’s face darkened: “Friend, watch your words. Some jokes aren’t funny.”

“Who’s joking?” The middle-aged man glared at Duan Shuqun and swung his fist.

Duan Shuqun smirked inwardly.

He Jiaqing had indeed withheld wages from many workers; some had attacked Duan Shuqun before.

Duan Shuqun had trained under He Jiaqing for years—his cultivation had reached Earth Skin Level Eight. These workers were no match.

But since they were owed wages, he couldn’t kill them—just teach them a lesson.

Duan Shuqun pivoted on his toe, dodging the punch with a dance step, then spun and shoved—aiming to knock the man down and show him the gap in strength.

Unexpectedly, the worker’s fist suddenly changed direction mid-air. Duan Shuqun’s dodge was wrong—he took the punch straight on the jawbone.

The blow caved in his cheek. He collapsed, motionless.

The worker stepped forward to kick him again—but He Jiaqing intervened, saving Duan Shuqun and slashing the worker’s arm.

The worker dodged back, smiling at He Jiaqing: “Young Master He, were you trying to sever my sinews? Your move was too slow.”

He Jiaqing glared: “Who are you?”

The worker smiled: “We’re debt collectors. This land never belonged to you. Hand it over.”

He Jiaqing asked: “May I ask your title, Elder?”

The worker replied: “I’m He Shengdong. Your great-grandfather.”

The land-clearer said: "I am He Shengdong, your great-grandfather!"