Chapter 127: Chapter Fifty: This Hand…… Truly Grand

Except for a few frail women, everyone moved in unison, rushing toward Chen Zheng.

Our purpose is the same: to save Chen Zheng beneath the threat of this strange flying sword.

"Get out of my way"……

Contrary to everyone's expectations, the tottering Chen Zheng erupted with an unprecedented aura under the threat of the flying sword.

He shoved everyone aside, his hunched body leaping up again; like an enraged king of beasts, Chen Zheng threw another punch at the oncoming silver sword.

Again came a thunderous boom; after their clash, the flying sword fell once more, while Chen Zheng spat blood repeatedly, retreated dozens of steps, slammed into the stone wall, and bounced back to the ground.

"Brother Zheng……" Fan Wuchang's eyes reddened as he struggled to run to Chen Zheng's side.

Blood-soaked Chen Zheng wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, gave a grim smile: "I'm fine. Father said, the people of East Mausoleum, as long as we stand, we will never be knocked down; as long as we stand, our blood will boil, fiercely cutting down any invading rabble with our fists…… Right now, I haven't fallen; I can still stand; I…… haven't lost"

Chen Zheng gritted his teeth; despite the difficulty, he staggered to his feet, his face pallid, his body covered in blood, yet his eyes still gleamed with a captivating light; even in defeat…… he remained that man who stood tall and firm.

The situation is now dire; we are like fish on a chopping board, beasts trapped in a cage, about to be minced by the butcher's hand any moment.

Despite the perilous situation, everyone present, including Silijing, showed not a trace of fear on their faces.

All we can say is that Chen Zheng gave everyone the confidence to find life in desperation. Standing beside this blood-soaked man, each of us felt a profound sense of safety.

The humming sound resonated again within the secret passage; this faint, almost inaudible noise made my expression shift.

"Hurry, this flying sword is under someone's control; as long as the sorcerer lives, it cannot be defeated." I hurriedly walked toward Chen Zheng's back and twisted the mechanism on the rock wall.

With a clatter, the heavy stone door slowly opened, letting light into the dark passage.

No one dared to hesitate; they hurriedly helped Chen Zheng and Dong Yumin flee outward.

Pangzi was the last to emerge; after everyone else had left, he twisted the mechanism, then performed a lazy donkey roll, barely slipping out through the gap beneath the stone door.

Once the stone door shut, the strange flying sword's retreat was completely cut off; only then did everyone's hearts ease a little.

Outside the secret passage lay an unnamed small hill; not far away was a stream about two meters wide. Fan Wuchang and Yuan Qiu helped Chen Zheng along, while Pangzi, Silijing, and the others each took a side holding Dong Yumin, sitting on rocks to rest briefly.

"Ah Chang, are your injuries better?" The moment we escaped, Chen Zheng anxiously asked about Fan Wuchang's condition.

At this moment, Fan Wuchang's clothes were ragged, torn to shreds, looking exactly like a beggar by the roadside.

On his chest and back, faintly visible were wounds crisscrossing like tree roots; especially on his shoulder, a scar about two centimeters long jutted out, deep enough that even the bone was faintly visible.

Fan Wuchang forced himself spiritedly; despite his pallid face, he managed a faint smile and shook his head at Chen Zheng: "Brother Zheng, I'm fine; are you okay?"

Chen Zheng suddenly let out a desolate sigh, gazing at Fan Wuchang for a long while, patted his shoulder, and after a moment was left speechless, choking with emotion.

"Nothing…… I'm fine! You forgot, we fought how many battles in the Golden Triangle, in Vietnam; those foreign devils heard the news and trembled, hearing the name of our East Mausoleum they'd immediately retreat three feet! This little injury, to me…… what is it?" Chen Zheng suddenly burst into loud laughter, his laughter bearing an arrogant disdain for the world.

Everyone fell silent; even though I had a thousand doubts, I uttered not a word. Even Yao Yirong, who usually fears chaos, remained unusually silent. We all sat quietly to the side, gazing at Chen Zheng and Fan Wuchang, that pair of brothers-in-arms, for a long time without speaking.

This is a play; its two clumsy protagonists performed a false script with vivid liveliness, moving everyone. One is a half‑owned underworld tycoon of Aomen, the other a dreaded night specter on the martial path. Both bore grievous wounds, yet they forced out feigned smiles, comforting each other with: "I'm fine."

Speaking lies, what should have been a false smile instead moved people to tears.

"Brother Zheng, let me check your injuries!" Pangzi placed his hand on Chen Zheng's pulse to assess his condition, but Chen Zheng shoved him away abruptly.

"My affairs, I know them myself." Chen Zheng smiled, shook his head, his cold eyes sweeping over everyone, then said slowly: "I'm poorly educated and not good with words, but I will remember today's kindness."

Chen Zheng's words were brief, unadorned; a man of true mettle used the simplest language to express his feelings.

"Let me see Yumin……" The gravely injured Chen Zheng struggled over to Silijing's side and gently took Dong Yumin from her hands.

Gazing at his sleeping wife in his arms, Chen Zheng's cold eyes flickered with an indescribable tenderness; he reached out to caress Dong Yumin's face, but stopped just before his hand touched her.

After rubbing the blood on his hands vigorously against his clothes several times, he then tremblingly resumed the caress.

"Ah Yumin, this time we've walked into a dead end. They all want me dead, want me to step down from my position as the dragon head of East Mausoleum." Chen Zheng clung tightly to Dong Yumin, regardless of whether she could hear him, murmuring to himself: "Do you know? Actually I don't want to contend with them; they just keep forcing me, again and again driving me to a dead end. I constantly strengthen myself merely to protect my brothers and protect you."

Chen Zheng's pale hand gently stroked Dong Yumin's face, filled with endless affection.

"Mmm……" In her coma, Dong Yumin seemed to hear Chen Zheng's words; her long eyelashes twitched twice, and she slowly opened her eyes.

"Ah Zheng……" Upon waking, Dong Yumin flung herself into Chen Zheng's arms and burst into panicked tears.

"Don't leave me, don't abandon me; even if we die, let us die together. Please, don't let me live alone—I'm afraid……"

Dong Yumin merely clung to Chen Zheng, giving vent to her panic and unease.

"Don't cry, don't cry, everything's passed…… good, don't cry" Chen Zheng kept patting Dong Yumin's back, comforting her, but she was truly frightened, just repeatedly murmuring: "Don't leave me, don't abandon me" and similar words.

Seeing Dong Yumin's panicked face dispelled all my doubts. Though I'm not usually suspicious, I trust my intuition; the sense of danger Dong Yumin gave me earlier had lingered like a cloud over my heart.

But at this moment, that hint of caution and doubt vanished as Dong Yumin flung herself into Chen Zheng's arms; a person's expression can be feigned, but the eyes never lie.

The very first glance she gave Chen Zheng after waking from her coma—flustered and tense—already fully showed how important he is to her.

Therefore, she would never harm Chen Zheng.

Then who, stopping at nothing, seeks to harm Chen Zheng unto death? Is the mastermind truly only the Downhill Tiger of the Fierce Tiger Gang? Or did the Downhill Tiger reach some agreement with them? And what is that "thing" Chen Zheng previously hinted at?

Grasping this lock of hair, half gray‑white, half jet‑black, my mind teemed with doubts, yet wracking my brains I could find no clue.

"Sister‑in‑law, you and Brother Zheng, rest assured—we've escaped the secret passage and are now safe." At that moment, Yuan Qiu stepped forward to console the bewildered Dong Yumin.

"Safe? I'm not so sure…" Pangzi's face grew grave; he pulled from his bosom a copper‑coin sword only a few inches long, stood up, and eyed the empty, quiet hilltop with full alertness—this pocket‑sized sword being one of the magical implements he usually carries.

Everyone looked in the direction Pangzi was staring, but saw nothing but trees and weeds.

But I, who knows Pangzi all too well, am certain this isn't baseless; I therefore sprang to my feet, anxiously asking: "Pangzi, what's happening? Is there some situation?"

Pangzi said nothing, merely pointing grimly at the mountain ahead.

"Something is coming over there."

As Pangzi's words fell, a sudden tramping of footsteps echoed from a nearby hilltop, the vegetation shaking incessantly; the steps were resonant and forceful, like soldiers marching in orderly, rhythmic unison.

Everyone rose to their feet, nervously gazing at the hilltop; in an instant, one shadow after another appeared within the dense forest.

Countless Guan Erges—no, they were countless paper figures leaping down from the hilltop, with silkworm‑brow eyebrows, faces like dried jujubes, resembling the Martial Saint Lord Guan Di; each wielded a Green Dragon Crescent Blade, their steps uniform, murderous intent surging as they charged toward us.

Gazing at the paper figures surging up like a swarm of insects, everyone's faces involuntarily changed, while I sucked in a breath of cold air.

"Such a hand…… truly grand……"