Chapter 81: New Firearm Technology

That’s the man who destroyed the bandit stronghold!

Li Yan immediately formed a hypothesis.

The massacre at Gu Shui Village now revealed its general outline.

The Lu family were refugees who fled from the capital; their background was far from ordinary, and more crucially, they carried a priceless painting.

This object was undoubtedly extraordinary, so someone in the capital ordered the gathering of martial elites from Guanzhong and Qilu to jointly raid them, even staging a village massacre as cover.

Moreover, those scheming for this object were not just one faction.

Lu’s concubine was a Yanmen demoness who acted as an inside agent, seized the painting amid the chaos, while this old man followed closely behind, unleashing venomous snakes to kill the bandits.

Had it not been for his fortuitous discovery, he would have been utterly baffled.

So many lives lost—this painting must conceal a great secret!

Of course, none of this mattered to Li Yan.

The key was that middle-aged man—he was unquestionably an Xuanmen master!

If he unleashed the rooster-snake, no one present could escape.

Thinking this, Li Yan subtly moved closer to Sha Lifei while forming the Yang Seal, trying to sense what other arrangements the man had made.

Suddenly, the middle-aged man sensed something and turned his gaze toward him.

Can this guy detect spiritual techniques?!

Li Yan’s heart leapt—he dared not move again.

He was certain now: this was the most formidable sorcerer he had ever encountered; even Luo Mingzi would be no match.

Meanwhile, the scar-faced youth had also moved.

The constables, threatening with bows and crossbows, had fully enraged him—he let out a low roar and charged forward, club raised.

“Fire!”

Guan Wanchui gave the order without hesitation.

He was certain these two were of illegitimate origin!

Moreover, the opponent had openly admitted to flaying and exterminating entire families—anywhere this was done, it would be a case worthy of submission to the Ministry of Justice.

Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!

Three crossbow bolts shot out with a whistle.

Crossbows, compared to bows, each had their strengths and weaknesses.

A master archer was naturally superior and a treasure to any faction or yamen, but such talent combined with years of training was rare; crossbows required less skill, had higher accuracy, and greater killing power.

Against ordinary martial artists, crossbows were more suitable, hence their standard issue among Da Xuan’s constables and patrol officers.

At such close range, few could dodge.

Yet the scar-faced youth showed no fear—he raised his club in his right hand, parried left and right, and with two thuds, deflected both arrows.

This level of vision and reflex was no ordinary martial artist.

Even more astonishing, his left hand didn’t idle—he reversed his grip, using a technique like a seizing silk-hand, and snatched the final bolt mid-air, then leapt upward, twisted his body, and hurled the arrow with a whistle toward Zhou Pan.

The entire sequence flowed like water—clean, precise, seamless.

Pah!

Zhou Pan—who was he?—simply raised his hand, caught the bolt aimed at his brow, squeezed hard, and with a crack, snapped it in two, tossing it aside, his eyes flashing with menace.

Then he pushed off with his legs and shot straight out of the hall.

Though using the same Monkey Leap technique, Zhou Pan executed it with far greater brilliance.

High in the dense forest, atop cliff edges, monkeys often leapt and played—so the saying goes: “A thousand monkeys leap among the osmanthus trees, peering through a sliver of sky,” revealing their extraordinary agility.

Zhou Pan’s leap unleashed hidden power from his legs—his entire body shot upward like a spring, launching him clean out of the hall.

Monkeys leap to climb branches, leaning forward and extending their arms.

Zhou Pan did the same—instantly, he crossed the steps and met the scar-faced youth face-to-face, his right claw slashing toward the youth’s face.

The timing of this strike was flawless.

The youth had a weapon, but it was useless against him.

If he reacted slowly, Zhou Pan would gouge out his eyes or smash his skull with a single palm.

If he blocked, Zhou Pan could seize his arm or weapon and apply his joint-seizing, tendon-dislocating grasp to immobilize him instantly.

Zhou Pan favored the second option.

Why? Because the wandering physician stood right there.

Though he had no spiritual techniques, his martial intuition was sharp—he too sensed the threat from the middle-aged man, and seizing the youth would make him a perfect hostage.

Both sides moved with lightning speed—in the span of a breath.

Those in the hall also realized the youth’s skill—he moved with effortless hidden force, nearly at the peak of Anjin.

But against Zhou Pan, he was no match.

This old monkey was a Huajin master—his force and spirit were unified; when fighting, he seemed casual, yet within lay profound depth, like flowing water—round when meeting round, square when meeting square, all centered on the word “transform.”

No matter how strong an Anjin master’s force, it could be effortlessly neutralized.

Yet facing Zhou Pan’s claw, the youth showed no fear—he dropped low, tucked his chest, and exposed his back to Zhou Pan.

What strange technique was this?

The back was a vital point—Zhou Pan could shatter the spine with one palm.

No martial artist trained like this—was he just asking for death?

Those in the hall were stunned; Zhou Pan’s face turned pale.

He was close—he saw clearly: the youth’s back was swollen and square, like a hunchback, but shaped deliberately—it clearly concealed some mechanism.

A sense of danger surged through him, but Zhou Pan was still airborne, unable to change direction—he could only cross his arms to guard his vital points.

But it was too late.

The youth had secretly hooked his sleeve’s ring-pull and yanked hard.

Boom!

A thunderous explosion filled the air with smoke, and a storm of needles flew out—the youth had indeed hidden a mechanism beneath his back: iron plates below, springs loaded with needles above, and a small amount of gunpowder that blasted thick smoke.

“Poisonous! Retreat!”

Li Yan smelled something wrong and immediately warned everyone to fall back.

Those in the hall had never seen such a brutal tactic—they turned pale and scrambled backward; the nearest constables, too slow to react, inhaled the poison smoke and instantly turned crimson-faced, clutching their throats, coughing violently, blood streaming from their noses.

The unluckiest was unquestionably Zhou Pan.

Trained in a martial school, though he roamed the rivers and lakes, he always followed the old ways; after becoming head of the Divine Fist Association, he lived in comfort and rarely fought.

This kind of desperate, ruthless method—he’d never seen it before.

Even a Huajin master remained flesh and blood.

At such close range, nearly all the needles pierced his body.

And the poison on these needles—no one knew what kind—it wasn’t instantly fatal, but it seared the nerves like thousands of red-hot steel needles driven into his flesh.

“Ahh—!”

!.

Even Zhou Pan couldn’t suppress a scream of agony.

This scream released his inner force—and he inhaled massive amounts of poison smoke.

Meanwhile, the youth himself spat blood from the recoil, but his eyes burned with even greater ferocity—he unleashed hidden force from his legs and shot forward with a hiss, his right club thrusting out in the Sword Technique: “Chasing Stars and Catching the Moon.”

No one noticed he’d pressed a hidden mechanism on the club’s shaft.

Boom!

The strike landed squarely on Zhou Pan’s chest.

Zhou Pan was already poisoned and weakened—the youth’s blow carried hidden force; a crack of bone echoed, and Zhou Pan’s ribs were shattered.

But it wasn’t over.

The club’s garlic-head hammer sank inward upon impact, revealing a dark hole—then came another thunderous boom, and smoke billowed.

Zhou Pan stiffened, motionless.

He stared in disbelief at his chest—a fist-sized blood hole now gaped there.

“The killer: Chang’an’s Fire Ghost!”

The youth grunted, turned, and walked away.

This brutal, merciless method left everyone in the hall stunned and uncertain; though the poison smoke had cleared, no one dared pursue—they watched helplessly as the youth and the wandering physician vanished.

Thud!

Zhou Pan collapsed straight down, face dark blue, lifeless.

Zhang Shi Tong’s scalp prickled—he glanced at Zhang Yuanshang beside him. “Father, have you ever heard of such a method?”

Old Master Zhang’s white brows knitted tightly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Li Yan, however, wore a grim expression—he picked up a blood-smeared iron ball from the ground, his eyelids trembling as he muttered: “Damn it… this thing’s come out too…”

…………

“Man, you should’ve seen it!”

Sha Lifei spat as he vividly described: “Gunpowder, poison needles, toxic smoke—all killing techniques. With these, an Anjin martial artist turned Zhou the Monkey into a honeycomb!”

“Zhou the Monkey thought he was clever—bribing every faction, tricking Brother Li Yan—but never imagined he’d die at the hands of another victim.”

Wang Daoxuan sat on the kang, though awake, his face still pale—he shook his head and sighed: “The sun and moon endure because they follow heaven’s way; the four seasons transform and endure because they follow the Dao. When virtue does not match one’s position, disaster follows…”

Sha Lifei scoffed: “With the kind of men he had under him, trouble was inevitable.”

Saying this, he turned his head to the side. “Little Brother Yan, what are you looking at?”

Li Yan stared at the iron pellet in his hand, his expression grim. “Nothing. I underestimated the dangers of the Jianghu. I’ll have to be more careful from now on.”

Firearms!

He should have thought of it sooner.

Since the imperial court opened the seas, merchant caravans have roamed the waters, using cannons frequently; it’s no surprise they have firearms.

Of course, gunpowder is banned from civilian circulation, and in this world, martial cultivation thrives—ordinary firearms are no different from potent hidden weapons to Jianghu experts.

But things seem to have changed.

The young man with the scar on his face carried a device using ordinary black powder, but the powder inside the mace was far more powerful and had a peculiar scent.

Combined with weapons and martial arts, it was impossible to guard against—even Zhou Pan couldn’t withstand it.

Judging by the expressions of those present, they had never seen it before.

This suggests the new type of gunpowder has only recently appeared.

After this incident, the Chang’an Commandant’s Office sent a large contingent, even urgently closing the city gates for a full-scale search, and even Qingyangzi of the City God Temple was ordered to use magical arts to locate them.

Unfortunately, the two men had vanished completely.

From all these signs, the imperial court clearly knows about this new gunpowder—and very likely, it leaked from within, which is why they’re so alert.

If his guess is right, the world may be changing.

If firearms capable of killing a Hua Jing expert are mass-deployed by the court, their control over the Jianghu will grow far stronger.

And there’s no wall that can keep secrets forever—this weapon has already leaked; sooner or later, others will learn of it, and many things will change.

Take, for instance, the earlier rescue.

Chen Fa’s puppet used an explosive pack and sophisticated puppetry mechanisms—if it had this new gunpowder packed inside and remotely controlled, it would have been them who died in the end!

And the true killer who murdered his father—the Maitreya Sect!

Just thinking about it gave him a headache.

Seeing Li Yan’s furrowed brows, Sha Li Fei quickly changed the subject, laughing heartily: “Well, Zhou Pan’s dead anyway—we can finally sleep soundly. Let’s head back to Xianyang today!”

(End of Chapter)