Chapter 34: Secret Cannon Powder Formula

Xu Yuan exhaled a cloud of turbid qi, finally relaxing—he had been on the edge of life and death for days, his mind taut with tension.

“No Taboos” acts upon oneself, while “Eight Directions Harmful Influence” affects the opponent.

And it’s an area effect—not like fate arts, which can directly target a specific individual.

The Holy Mother made repeated wrong judgments and choices because she fell under the “Harmful Influence.”

The Holy Mother was an eighth-rank Artisan Cultivator; Xu Yuan was an eighth-rank Fate Cultivator. At the same level, the influence of fate patterns becomes distinctly apparent.

But the Holy Mother’s case was especially pronounced—another reason was her own stubborn, self-willed nature.

If she had faced a seventh-rank cultivator, “Eight Directions Harmful Influence” would have caused only one mistake during the entire encounter.

This is how Fate Cultivators fight. The reason upper-three-rank Fate Cultivators are terrifying is that they possess multiple fate patterns, able to alternate and combine them endlessly; under these mysterious influences, opponents often lose without even realizing how.

Xu Yuan reviewed his gains from the battle: the Holy Mother still had four Artisan artifacts—a pair of earpieces made of red wood and yellow brass. After fiddling with them, he understood their use and smiled: “Good stuff.”

There was also a divine crossbow—though it had no bolts, he could ask his stepmother to craft some later; no big issue.

Also, a small knife and a hammer.

These were Artisan tools—he could use the knife, and the hammer he’d take back to “honor” his stepmother.

“That’s it?” Xu Yuan was deeply dissatisfied: “You’re the Holy Mother of the Pingtian Society—this is all you’ve got on you?”

Xu Yuan patted the corpse repeatedly, checking every inch, until he suddenly noticed the Holy Mother’s feet—some people hide things under their shoe insoles.

Xu Yuan took off both shoes.

He reached inside—and the texture felt strange!

“Really something here?”

Xu Yuan tore open the shoe—sure enough, there was a hidden compartment. Inside fell a thin sheet of oil paper, as delicate as a cicada’s wing.

“Secret Cannon Powder Formula.”

Xu Yuan glanced at it and whistled: “This is the powder formula for bronze-crafted cannons! One of the Pingtian Society’s core assets is supplying cannon artillery to the Divine Machine Camp—this formula is one of their most vital secrets.”

“Their Holy Mother secretly hid a copy of this formula under her own shoe sole—hahaha, this Holy Mother wasn’t nearly as pure-hearted as she pretended.”

Xu Yuan treasured the formula as if it were a priceless treasure.

The powder used in these Artisan cannons was far more explosive than the powder used in Old Qiao’s three-eye musket.

“But…” Xu Yuan frowned at the formula: “Several key steps require an Artisan to complete—I’ll have to ask my stepmother for help.”

“But if she finds out my Golden Core is made of powder… she’ll nag me nonstop again.”

Xu Yuan tucked the formula away and tore open the other shoe—nothing hidden inside.

“This formula is enough.”

The greatest gain, however, was wiping out the entire Pingtian Society contingent—short-term, they wouldn’t come looking for him.

Xu Yuan dumped the Holy Mother’s corpse into the nearby wild grass, just as he had done with the others; it wouldn’t be long before it became a feast for malevolent spirits.

It was just past noon—there was still plenty of time to return to town today.

…

In the evening, Xu Yuan returned to town, planning to spend another night at Zhao’s Leather Shop before heading back to the city at dawn.

He kept his thick felt hat pulled low, shading most of his face, determined not to draw attention.

Uncle Rongkui sat in Zhang Asao’s tea stall, leaning against the western earthen wall, trying to shrink his bulky frame to avoid notice.

The tea stall had no building—just two earthen walls on either side, with bamboo poles stretched above, extending outward one zhang, covered with cloth to provide weary travelers and merchants a place to rest and drink.

One bowl of tea cost one copper coin.

Many travelers couldn’t afford a restaurant meal—they bought a bowl of hot tea to soak their own bread, calling it a meal.

As dusk fell, few remained at the stall.

Uncle Rongkui had waited all day—and finally saw Xu Yuan emerge from the mountains. His eyelid twitched.

The brat’s back!

He went in and came out—what did he do?

Uncle Rongkui had a suspicion, but even he couldn’t believe it.

“The Pingtian Society was well-armed…”

Not a single one returned!

For the first time, Uncle Rongkui felt a flicker of fear toward this boy.

He dropped ten copper coins, rose, and slipped into the alley beside the stall.

Zhang Asao hadn’t chased him away all day—he’d give her extra coins.

He’d been staying at Yang the Widow’s house these two days; tonight was his last, and he’d leave at dawn tomorrow.

From the tea stall to the southern end of the street, one passed through a narrow alley.

Uncle Rongkui’s nose twitched—he caught a familiar scent. He turned to check—and froze in cold sweat!

Xu Yuan hovered off the ground, already pressed against his back—he hadn’t even noticed!

He was getting old—spying on a young lad, and he’d been caught!

He didn’t realize that to Xu Yuan, the “fate” of anyone familiar who appeared nearby was like a lantern blazing in the dark.

A glint of cold light settled against Uncle Rongkui’s neck.

The cook’s neck was thick, layered with fat beneath the skin.

The cold light pressed lightly—the skin dimpled slightly, a bead of blood oozed out.

Uncle Rongkui cried out: “Don’t move! Don’t move! I’m one of you!”

Uncle Rongkui recognized the cold light—it was the Holy Mother’s small knife. She’d used it to pry open Erliang’s skull.

“So he really…” Uncle Rongkui thought inwardly.

Xu Yuan stared coldly: “One of us?”

Uncle Rongkui raised both hands, sweat pouring from his forehead, forcing a smile: “I know you don’t believe me—don’t rush, let me explain…”

"No nonsense!" Xu Yuan pressed harder—the knife sank deeper.

Uncle Rongkui hurriedly said: “I’m a Platoon Leader of the Demon-Slaying Army! I have my badge—right in my pocket—I’ll show you! I’m truly one of you! Don’t misunderstand! Keep your hand steady…”

Uncle Rongkui wanted to slap himself—he always blabbered when nervous. It was an old habit he’d never broken in decades.

Xu Yuan frowned: “Demon-Slaying Army?”

“Yes yes yes—the same one your second uncle is in!”

Xu Yuan’s face turned icy—he was about to strike: “You came here specifically for me!”

The official name of the Demon-Slaying Army was “Imperial Ming Embroidered Uniform Guard Outer Province Demon-Slaying Thousand-Household Office,” founded two hundred years ago.

At that time, the Ming Empire had just conquered Korea, but resistance flared across the peninsula—so they used “demon-slaying” as a pretext to form this force.

This Thousand-Household Office had broad duties: suppressing large-scale rebellions, hunting down remnants of the previous dynasty hiding among civilians, and casually eliminating local malevolent spirits.

Later, as the Ming Empire added provinces like “Mongol Yuan” and “Da Wan,” they followed the same model, entrusting the Demon-Slaying Thousand-Household Office to pacify regions and crush dissent.

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(End of Chapter)