Chapter 842: The Cannons Fire

Xiong Laohei and Sanmao walked a stretch without seeing a soul, then spotted a gate standing open beside them and went inside. Only after entering the courtyard did they realize the house door was locked, and no one was home.

The two didn't think much of it, stepped back out, and entered a few more houses—none were occupied. By then, they finally sensed something was wrong.

Sanmao's hand brushed the gun at his back: "Fuck, why do I feel so off?"

Xiong Laohei rubbed the back of his head: "Fuck, this village is too quiet—it's giving me chills down my spine, numbing the back of my skull."

Sanmao slowly stepped back two paces: "Let's go back!"

No sooner had he spoken than a young man appeared walking toward them, carrying a hoe, his sandals caked in mud.

Seeing a person, the two exhaled deeply, looked up at the slanting western sun, and finally felt warmth again.

"Hey!" Xiong Laohei shouted, about to say more, but Sanmao pulled him to stop.

"Why'd you pull me?"

"When asking for information, be polite." Sanmao pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and smiled as he stepped forward. "Brother, how do you do?"

"Huh?" The young man blinked, then grinned sheepishly: "Hello, hello!"

Sanmao offered him a cigarette: "Brother, I've got a question."

The young man took the cigarette, glanced at it, recognized it as Zhonghua, and beamed: "What's it?"

Sanmao fished out a lighter to light it for him, but noticed the young man had tucked the cigarette behind his ear—he smiled faintly.

"I'm a friend of Zhou Andong. Where's his house?"

"You're his friend and don't even know where he lives?"

The young man asked innocently, startling Sanmao—then he turned and pointed behind him.

"Turn right at the alley entrance, then left at the next alley. His front gate has a jujube tree."

"Thank you!" Sanmao bowed politely, then asked: "Why's the village empty? Every house is locked up?"

The young man sighed: "Heavy rain last night washed away the crops on the slopes. Everyone's out in the fields now."

"Ah!" Sanmao finally understood—his heart finally settled.

Watching the young man enter a house, Sanmao and Xiong Laohei turned back.

"Did you find out?" Xiao Xiao Liuzi asked eagerly as they returned.

"We did!" Xiong Laohei gestured behind him. "Turn right at the alley entrance, then left at the next alley. His gate has a jujube tree."

Scarface waved his hand: "Go!"

One hundred and seventy men marched into the village in force, evoking the feel of traitors leading Japanese troops on a raid.

Perched on a tree were Zhao Hong and a guard. Seeing the men enter, he spoke into his walkie-talkie.

"They're in. Close the gates and trap the dogs."

No sooner had he spoken than over twenty militia surged from courtyards on both sides of the village entrance, each carrying a sandbag, plus a heavy machine gun and a mortar.

The militia rushed to the entrance, quickly piled sandbags into a crude defense line, then mounted the machine gun and mortar.

Scarface and Bucky Monkey paid no attention to what happened behind them—but the alley entrance ahead was already blocked.

Seeing the mounted machine gun and mortar, everyone froze. A few trembled so badly their legs gave out.

Fuck, is this a village or a bandit den? How the hell do they have guns and cannons?

Then they looked down at their own rifles—compared to the enemy's, theirs were just firesticks. How the hell were they supposed to fight?

"Gulp!" Bucky Monkey swallowed hard, glancing sideways at Scarface. "What now?"

"If that junk can even fire, I'll eat it." Scarface looked calm. "It's just bluffing. What's there to fear?"

He pulled his pistol from his waist. "Move forward!"

"Tatata!"

As if in reply, the machine gun spat fire—thumb-thick bullets, trailing searing air, punched into the ground just ahead of Scarface's group, kicking up dirt.

"Oh my god!"

Bucky Monkey screamed, hopping in place. Xiao Xiao Liuzi and the others panicked, spinning around to flee.

But when they turned, they saw the village entrance was blocked—the heavy machine gun and mortar, though old-looking, were well-maintained.

Under the sunlight, they gleamed with oil.

Then came a thud—followed by a piercing whistle overhead.

"Boom!"

A mortar shell exploded over twenty meters behind them, collapsing the wall of someone's front gate.

The blast wave, laced with shrapnel and fragments of stone and earth, radiated outward.

"Papapapa…"

Dust erupted from walls and ground around them; several men standing behind were sprayed with blood, screaming as they collapsed.

Scarface was stunned, face ashen, his hand shaking as he clutched his gun.

The hooligans behind saw their comrades wounded and screaming on the ground—no one moved to help. A few even pissed themselves, then collapsed onto the ground with a thud.

Zhou Andong hid behind the alley's right corner, hearing the screams—he clicked his tongue. He hadn't expected Bian Bian Zhenghe really would order the cannons fired.

Beside him, the old village secretary held his pipe, one hand behind his back, speaking calmly: "They had weapons. We had to shock them immediately. If we'd let them fight back, someone among us would've been hurt."

Zhou Andong nodded: "Right. They don't deserve mercy. We can't risk our people."

The old secretary smiled: "Exactly."

"Hey! Hey hey…"

Then Bian Bian Zhenghe stepped forward with a loudspeaker: "Drop your weapons. Raise your hands. Lean against the walls and squat down."

"Clatter clink…"

They had machine guns and cannons. Even if we had twice as many men, we'd just be walking into death.

More importantly, these peasants actually dared to fire guns and cannons—I'm not ready to die here.

Screw brotherhood. When you're winning, you talk brotherhood. Now? Talking it means suicide.

Scarface stopped struggling, dropped his rifle, and raised his hands high.

Only now did he understand how Dashan and Er Ping had been taken down. Fuck, unless you're military, no one who comes here walks away alive.

One hundred and seventy men raised their hands high, obediently squatting against the courtyard walls on both sides.

Now villagers emerged, sweeping up the "battlefield," collecting all weapons.

The old secretary turned toward the village office: "They came with over a hundred men and weapons. We fired guns and cannons. We must report this to higher-ups."

No one knew that because of this incident, Zhao Jin, who had been trapped in trouble at the provincial level, now saw a turning point.