Chapter 600: Tiger Day, Hour of the Dragon

Xinglu had been feeling uneasy for the past few days.

As the White-haired Swordsman most trusted by the Master of Fuhu, he controlled the majority of the business at Fuhu Manor; it could be said he held a small amount of power, and his life was considered respectable and wealthy. The Master of Fuhu had gone up the mountain today, leaving the business below the mountain for him to oversee, which had granted him a few more days of freedom and leisure.

Originally, he should have been happy, but the moment he thought of the various signs appearing in the manor, he could not be happy.

Nowadays, rumors were flying in the city, which was unsettling. The Sword Guests and sword slaves in the manor were, unsurprisingly, influenced by that "rush toward freedom" gossip and were beginning to stir. This left Xinglu, as a middle-manager, caught in the middle like a sandwich.

On one hand, his life was stable and affluent, and he had no particular ambitions; having lost the drive for adventure, he thought he only had a dozen or so years of lifespan left, so why bother causing trouble?

On the other hand, he still clearly understood that he was a sword slave and knew where he had come from. Some manor supervisors, in order to curry favor with their Master, treated the sword slaves even more cruelly than the Master did, racking their brains to squeeze the servants to flatter the Master; Xinglu would never do such a thing.

He had always been kind to others, never acting like a tyrant toward the Sword Guests. If some sword slaves angered the Master, he would help by pleading for them or covering for them, keeping everyone safe, and he did not overly deduct the food and clothing of the lowest-level sword slaves, so he had good relationships with the other sword slaves in the manor.

Upon discovering signs that his own sword slaves were restless, his first reaction was to conceal it—no matter how big the matter was, if he could just hide it from the Master first, then nothing would happen.

As it turned out, while he did manage to hide it, the matter could not be quelled; instead, it grew more intense, with signs of escalating further. It left him in a dilemma where he could neither advance nor retreat. The more he thought about it, the more he regretted it—originally, the matter had nothing to do with him, but because he helped cover it up, it became his business.

If the matter were exposed, regardless of whether others succeeded or failed, would the Master let him off? Wasn't it a dead end either way?

Should I rebel too?

But... I don't really want to rebel?

He saw the Master of Fuhu off and walked back, feeling conflicted the entire way.

This conflict came to an abrupt end when he returned to his room, leaving behind only extreme terror, his hands and feet turning cold.

On his table, someone had placed a note, along with a yellow cloth strip.

He had not yet read the content of the note, but instinctively felt that something terrible was happening; his heart beat like a drum, and he hardly dared to look at what was written on the note.

After spending half a day building up his mental state, he still tremblingly reached out to pick up the note and stole a glance at it.

He saw written on the paper:

"Tiger Day, Hour of the Dragon, the sun will rise in the East.

Yellow cloth bound to the brow, the shackles are removed.

Kill our way out of Yulang, never to be slaves again!"

As expected!

Xinglu's face turned pale, his expression neither crying nor laughing: it really was this kind of letter urging people to rebel!

Moreover, this was not the kind of non-targeted flyer that one might catch in the street and quickly throw away after a glance; someone had pried open his door and placed it on his bedroom table.

It was meant for him to see; it was forcing him to choose.

No, to call it a choice—in reality, there was no choice at all.

He had been made privy to a matter that would leave him without a place to be buried if it failed, and the time, method, and other secrets were laid out before him; if he did not join, would they let him live to report it?

Someone dared to pry open his door lock, so someone would dare to pry open his head!

One could only say...

His good reputation had come in handy after all. In such matters, everyone usually had to kill someone to sacrifice to the banner before starting the uprising. If he had usually acted like a tiger's lackey and bullied everyone harshly, he would have been dragged out and hacked to death with a sword right now; dragging him into the fold was simply the brothers giving him face.

Xinglu wore a mournful face, silently calculating in his heart:

Tiger Day... isn't that today?

Dragon Hour... the Hour of the Dragon?

What time is it now? It wouldn't have already passed, would it?

Soon, he found out.

At a certain moment, he suddenly felt his whole body lighten, as if invisible shackles had been removed, and his entire being felt buoyant.

This lightness was not about physical weight, but a comprehensive ease from his Soul to his life. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, and only now that he felt it personally did he realize: so, living could be this easy?

Is this what it means to have the shackles removed?

So... the time has come!

In an instant, Xinglu's resistance to this matter melted away like ice and snow—they had fulfilled their promise first, which showed great sincerity; at least they were not some devious people merely inciting the sword slaves to their deaths with empty words.

Even if only for this moment of ease, many sword slaves were truly willing to give their lives.

It was just that Xinglu did not have that much bloodlust; he was still fearful and worried: the fear stemmed from the unknown, as he did not know what he would face once he went out. This fear made him sit withered in his room, not moving at all, as if he were waiting for death.

While he hesitated alone, human voices began to rise in his ears; at first, it was only in a few scattered places, but gradually the voices grew louder and louder, rising and falling, coming from every direction, as if the area outside the door were boiling over.

The sounds grew closer and closer, seemingly already outside the courtyard. Xinglu's desire to survive told him he could not hesitate any longer; he hurriedly and frantically tied the cloth strip around his head and rushed out the door.

As soon as he stepped out, he saw a group of people heading straight for him. A glance told him they were all white-haired—they were all familiar faces, the very Sword Guests of the manor. Judging by the number of people, probably eight or nine out of ten had come.

These Sword Guests all had their blades drawn, filled with murderous intent, looking like bandits breaking into a house. Xinglu felt anxious: although he had chosen to join, would they mistake his hesitation for refusal and kill him as a result?

When the two sides met, they paused simultaneously. The group of Sword Guests let out a cheer first, and a Sword Guest in front named Xingwang said loudly: "I knew Brother Lu wouldn't betray us! Look! He's wearing the yellow band; he's on our side!"

Xinglu managed a forced smile, wanting to explain that he had arrived late, but Xingwang stepped forward and said: "Let Brother Xinglu be the leader of our squad!" The group roared in approval.

Xinglu panicked and hurriedly shouted: "I can't, I can't! I don't have that ability; you all go ahead, I'll just follow behind you!"

Xingwang laughed: "Who else could be the leader besides you? Everyone has seen the kindness you've shown us, and everyone knows you are a reliable person; we won't submit to anyone but you!"

The crowd swarmed up and pushed him to the very front.

Surrounded by the crowd, Xinglu had no choice but to walk outward, muttering: "Don't harm me, don't harm me..."

Once they exited the main gate, they saw the street was full of people, mostly Sword Guests. The gates of every household were wide open, with people running out, coming and going, silhouettes everywhere.

Sounds of fighting erupted from some residences, and others were already on fire, with thick smoke billowing. By comparison, Fuhu Manor was already very peaceful.

Xinglu looked up and saw a large golden flag fluttering on the city wall not far away, facing the morning Sunlight, looking even more golden, bright, and magnificent.

Almost in an instant, Xinglu realized and said: "Go there! Go under the big flag!"

He was pushed to be the leader because, on one hand, people were afraid to take the lead in such matters and instinctively wanted to seek shelter, and on the other hand, his prestige was truly high; once he issued an order, everyone naturally obeyed.

The group then headed toward the outside of the city. On the way, they saw teams from other manors from time to time. These teams were organized by manor, with the larger ones having a dozen or so people, and the smaller ones having three to five.

This was basically the number of White-haired Sword Guests in each manor. Except for a very few manors, those who dared to step forward or even dared to escape had to be Sword Guests. As for the lowest-level sword slaves, even if their shackles were removed, they had no strength to run, and the Sword Guests had not paid much attention to them, so they would not let them join the team.

Not all manors had brought out almost all their Sword Guests like Fuhu Manor; the Sword Guests of some manors were not only few in number, but their clothes were stained with blood, clearly having had an internal war break out. Perhaps some middle-managers like Xinglu had not acted like human beings in the past, causing resentment, and were killed at this moment.

Regardless of how many people there are, these Sword Guest squads can be considered fellow travelers heading toward freedom, but they are highly guarded against one another and have no intention of merging squads.

In essence, they are still Sword Guests, not ordinary commoners; compared to the simple-minded notion that "there is strength in numbers," they are more accustomed to the survival laws of Wangliang Mountain: self-preservation, suspicion, and treating neighbors as dumping grounds.

Xinglu also does not want to rashly approach people he does not know, but he does not rule out joining forces with acquaintances he is close to; their squad is already quite large, and absorbing a few more people would increase their advantage. When the time comes, even if they meet that mastermind with the vast Supernatural Power, they could still fight for a place.

To choose reliable teammates, the first place he thinks of is Xianglong Manor. Xianglong Manor and Fuhu Manor are mentioned in the same breath, the manor lords are quite close, and the Sword Guests are also fairly familiar with each other. In particular, he also recognizes the manager over there and knows that person is also a man of prestige who would certainly be able to hold the squad together, so as not to be usurped by subordinates.

Thinking of this, he leads the squad to make a small detour, just passing by the entrance of that manor's shop.

From afar, he sees the shop's main gate tightly shut, with no movement at all. Xinglu is somewhat puzzled and says, "Is Xianglong Manor not participating in the uprising? Isn't that..."

A traitor?

A matter this big is not something you can just opt out of because you say so; at this time, everyone is holding back their anger, and since they are doing something that could cost them their heads, if you try to stay out of it, you are making things difficult for others, and someone will take the opportunity to vent their anger on you.

He figured out this logic the moment he tied on the yellow turban.

He feels he should still give the other party a reminder; he does not need to go to the door to explain the stakes, just wants to shout over the wall to show he meant well.

Just as he approaches, he sees the main gate open a crack, and a Sword Guest walks out carrying large and small bags.

Xinglu is surprised; he basically recognizes all the Sword Guests of Xianglong Manor, so why does he not remember this one?

Looking again at this person's expression and the way they are carrying the things, could it be...

When that person sees the people from Fuhu Manor coming over, they are unable to hide their panicked expression even more, trying to hide the things behind their back; Xinglu becomes even more certain and shouts, "There's a thief! Take them down!"

The group of Sword Guests swarms up and immediately surrounds the thief. Being fellow Sword Guests, a large number against a small number is naturally an overwhelming force.

The person's first reaction is to draw their sword, but seeing that the group of White-haired Swordsman is at least in the double digits, they are truly outnumbered; they straightforwardly drop the stolen goods to signal surrender and only shout loudly, "Everyone, look clearly, I am not a thief!"

Xinglu shouts, "If you're not a thief, then what are you? We are here doing a great deed, and you, as a sword slave, don't help, but instead stab us in the back and steal things? This is even more detestable than an ordinary thief! Cut them down for me!"

The crowd immediately moves forward; some reveal their blades to strike, while others wait to pick up the stolen goods. The man screams, "No! I'm not a thief! I'm just taking things from the dead. Those Sword Guests at Xianglong Manor are all dead, dead to the last one! The things are ownerless; can taking them be called stealing? That's called scavenging!"