Chapter 3: Bald Thief? Your Old Man, That's Me

So this Lady Cao Sanniang had been abducted, and from the look of it these Uyghurs were a band of traitors besides. Zhang Chao shook his head inwardly. A woman carried off by seven or eight men with ill intentions — her fate was grim indeed!

"To marry a daughter of the Cao family, one must be well versed in the classics, learned and courteous, and devout in reverence to the Buddha. You, Zhai Tongjin, neither read books nor believe in the Buddha — by what right would you marry a daughter of the Cao family?

Moreover, the Zhai family has indeed rendered service to the state, but the Zhai family is not you alone, Zhai Tongjin, and you are not even of the Zhai main line."

Lady Cao Sanniang still wore that utterly unruffled look — flat words, flat expression, as if the Zhai Tongjin before her were nothing but a stone.

Zhang Chao, for his part, could not help slapping his forehead. We're fish on the chopping block, and she still goes provoking them — what kind of move is that?

"Can't marry a Cao daughter? Fine! Today your old man will just take you, then sell you off to the herders of Yizhou. Let's see how high and mighty you Cao women stay then!"

Sure enough, Lady Cao Sanniang's utterly indifferent manner and the faint disdain she let slip instantly shattered this Uyghur called Zhai Tongjin.

Cursing as he went, he drew the short blade at his waist and flicked aside Lady Cao Sanniang's veil. Zhang Chao looked over curiously too — but the next second he froze again.

Brows like distant hills tinged with indigo, eyes like autumn waters rippling.

Skin like peach blossoms smiling, form like a willow swayed by a light breeze.

The willow swayed by a light breeze Zhang Chao did not get to see just then, because Lady Cao Sanniang was still seated — but the other three he did see.

From her voice and bearing at first hearing, this was plainly a mature woman; otherwise she would not have been bold enough to come over and take Zhang Chao's hand.

But now, seeing the lovely face behind the veil — cheeks with a touch of baby fat, a delicate nose and cherry lips, peach-blossom eyes naturally tinged with a hint of red that even when angry seemed to be sending out alluring glances — she looked just like a young maiden.

Zhang Chao at the stove, the Uyghur behind him watching him and Shanniang cook, and Zhai Tongjin, who had lifted Lady Cao Sanniang's veil — all three of them stood stunned. In the glow of that peerlessly beautiful face, even time itself seemed to slow!

No one knew how long it was before Zhai Tongjin, his knife-hand already aching, drew a long breath like a drowning man gulping fresh air.

"They say Han women are the loveliest and most pleasing, and seeing one today proves it true. She's already whelped a child, yet she's still like a maiden of sixteen. Murong Changdao, that bumpkin, had fine fortune! But a short-lived wretch with no luck to enjoy it — now it falls cheap to your old man."

At those words Zhang Chao was even more shocked — not, of course, by Zhai Tongjin's undisguised lust. A joke — who wouldn't be stirred after abducting such a goddess of a woman?

What shocked Zhang Chao was that this Lady Cao Sanniang, who looked no more than eighteen or nineteen, had already been married, and even had a son.

One had to remember this was ancient times! He still didn't know what dynasty it was, but there certainly weren't any of the industrial cosmetics and technical means of later ages for preserving youth. Even a wealthy household's food, clothing, and daily goods couldn't compare with later times. To be this well preserved under such all-natural conditions could only be described as heaven's special favor.

Her face flushed red, Lady Cao Sanniang could at last no longer keep her composure. Her veil had been lifted, lewd words spoken, her dead husband insulted, and now it looked as though even her chastity might not be preserved. This feeling of being utterly unable to resist was more than most people could bear.

Though tears had not yet rolled down her face, her reddening eyes and rapidly heaving chest still revealed the violent turmoil in her heart.

"You dog! You rat! My father will not let you go! My elder brother will surely catch you and cut off your dog's head!"

Uh... Lady Cao Sanniang was still pouring oil on the fire!

"Hahaha! And now? Who's coming to save you? Where are the Caos? Why don't you ask this bald thief here — see if he's one of the Cao family?"

Bald thief? Zhang Chao blinked, then realized the "bald thief" meant him. Are you fucking sick? What did I ever do to you?

"You pig-dog barbarian, how dare you!" That wasn't Zhang Chao cursing — it was Shanniang beside him. The little girl shrieked and hurled the fire striker in her hand straight at Zhai Tongjin's head.

"Wretched slave girl, asking for a beating!" But she had barely risen when Zhai Tongjin, with one slap, sent the young, bean-sprout-thin Shanniang sprawling to the ground.

"Thieving dog-slave! You'll get a taste of your old man's prowess soon enough!"

But though his words were filthy, Zhai Tongjin did not immediately act, seemingly still holding some misgivings. Just then the millet rice finished cooking. Smelling the fragrance, Zhai Tongjin grinned smugly, turned around, and looked at Zhang Chao.

"Little bald thief, aren't you going to serve your old man his rice?"

Fuck your mother! Bald thief? I'm your old man!

Zhang Chao was angry now too. The discomfort of transmigration had largely faded. He actually didn't want to provoke these Uyghurs — after all, there were eight of them and only one of him. Though Lady Cao had helped him several times and was a pitiable beauty, it hadn't reached the point where Zhang Chao would throw his life away for her.

But!

But! This dog of a barbarian had been cursing him from the moment he entered the cave temple — "bald thief" this, "little bald thief" that. And from every sign, these fellows were no good people; they certainly had no intention of letting him go either.

At that thought Zhang Chao surveyed the situation in the room. There were eight Uyghurs, six in the main hall. Here there were only Zhai Tongjin and the one barbarian watching them to keep them from tampering with the food. The watching barbarian held a Tibetan knife; Zhai Tongjin had only a short blade in his hand. This could be fought!

Zhang Chao was no pushover. In truth he was more like an ancient man living in the modern age, because before transmigrating he'd been a muscle-bound tough who could fight in full armor, forge his own armor, seek out martial arts masters both at home and abroad, and eat protein powder and plain boiled chicken breast as his daily fare.

"Ah! Ah! No!"

Zhang Chao acted as if Zhai Tongjin had frightened him, staggering back several steps, nearly falling, his face full of terror. Seeing Zhang Chao like this, Zhai Tongjin and the watcher behind Zhang Chao both burst into mocking laughter.

Zhang Chao silently counted to three. He looked as if he were staggering, but in fact he was backing toward the Uyghur watching from behind.

'Thud!' The moment he got close to the barbarian, Zhang Chao suddenly raised his right foot and stamped down hard — with such force that it rang out like a drumbeat.

"Ah! Aiya!" The Uyghur on watch let out an earth-shaking shriek. Zhang Chao's right foot had slammed down onto the five toes of his right foot.

Ordinary people of this era had no leather shoes or thick padded cotton shoes. Even in this kind of winter, all they had was a pair of thin cloth shoes, at most stuffed with a bit of straw or rags inside.

So such thin shoes could not lessen the force of the blow at all. Add to that the cold weather — the Uyghur's toes were already aching from the frost — and under the fierce stomp, his toes felt as if they had been crushed to pulp.

As the saying goes, the ten fingers are connected to the heart. The searing pain left nothing in his mind but agony; he even forgot to draw his weapon.

The Uyghur was screaming, but Zhang Chao was moving. He thrust his hips backward, knocking the screaming Uyghur off balance, then spun around and drove his right hand upward in a rising elbow strike.

'Bang!' The Uyghur took a heavy blow to the chin. His head snapped back, and the screaming stopped abruptly.

Immediately after, Zhang Chao threw a straight punch that landed precisely on the still-dazed Uyghur's face. Blood and spittle flew!

Then he twisted at the waist, using the power of his hips to spin half into the air. His wide monk's robe fluttered as his elbows lashed down like whips at the Uyghur. Beneath the flying hem, two thick, powerful thighs were revealed.

This was the most classic Muay Thai move — the butterfly elbow flurry. Tremendously powerful, and one he had practiced year-round, landing every strike precisely on the Uyghur's head.

These were blows thrown in fury, with no restraint whatsoever. In just a few seconds the four-hit combination was complete. The smug grin hadn't even left Zhai Tongjin's face before the Uyghur on watch collapsed like a heap of mud.

Lady Cao Sanniang, her tears not yet dry, gaped in astonishment, and then her face lit up with the radiant joy of one snatched from the jaws of death. In a daze, she seemed to see a mighty Buddhist guardian deity — fierce yet graceful in his boxing, striking with such elegance!

It had to be said, the moves Zhang Chao had just displayed were extremely beautiful to watch. Of course they were — weren't so many people in later ages fans of Muay Thai precisely because its moves are fierce and powerful, with immense destructive force yet highly spectacular to watch?

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