Chapter 740: Barbarian? Your Whole Family Are the Barbarians

"Kunlun slave, you fucking want to turn traitor, is that it?"

The scar-faced man roared, and of course he recognized Murong Yanchao, because Master Cixian could be counted as one of the main forces behind this upheaval.

This was no idle claim, because the place where Master Cixian had mainly preached before was actually Khitan territory.

Most of those monks under Shulu Ping who opposed and slandered the Six Dharma Sect on the steppe were disciples Master Cixian had taken in Khitan.

Cao Yancun knew that on the steppe it was not only the Zubu people waiting for Zhang Zhao; he knew it through Master Cixian's line as well.

Even within the Buddhist establishment of the Central Plains, among the many temples that had joined with Cao Renzun and were preparing to rise up, there were plans to elevate the widely renowned Master Cixian afterward, to oppose Zhang Zhao's identity as the Wushangtian.

Didn't you, Zhang Zhao, say you had gone to India to protect the Dharma? Then let an eminent monk from India personally expose your lie.

That was why Master Cixian knew where Cao Yuanzhong was imprisoned, and in which room Luo Yu'er's family members were held.

Naturally, Murong Yanchao, as the guard beside Master Cixian, was also known to many people.

Though the crowd did not know he was the world-famous Yan Kunlun, they had without prior agreement given him the nickname Kunlun Slave.

Murong Yanchao was furious enough that smoke seemed to pour from his seven orifices; these Kunlun-slave features — small eyes, pockmarked face, dark skin, curly hair — had made Murong Yanchao suffer contemptuous looks from childhood on.

Once he grew up, if an ordinary person called him Yan Kunlun, that was enough to make him kill; to say nothing of directly shouting "Kunlun Slave" — that was even more provoking than calling An Lushan a barbarian whelp to his face.

At once, Murong Yanchao let out a strange cry, took one great stride forward with his right foot, and like a shifting shadow arrived directly before the scar-faced monk.

The scar-faced monk had not expected Murong Yanchao to come so fast; before he could even draw his hengdao saber, the wrought-bronze mace, carrying a whistling wind, had already swept across at him.

The scar-faced monk could only desperately duck his head, trying first to avoid being struck in the head, but his ducking might as well not have happened, because this first mace strike from Murong Yanchao was a feint — the real killing blow was his left hand thrusting straight at the chest.

With a crisp "thud," the seven- or eight-jin wrought-bronze mace, which also had a conical head, thrust into the chest much like an iron spear.

The scar-faced monk let out a miserable scream and staggered back several steps, the intense pain making his consciousness blur.

And at that moment, the mace swing that had just been Murong Yanchao's feint strangely curved around, turning into a blow descending from the sky.

The scar-faced monk had armor, but no iron helmet on his head; Murong Yanchao's merciless strike to the crown directly split his skull open, red and white spraying all over the ground.

All of this seemed to take a long time, but in reality it was completed in an instant.

Afterward, Murong Yanchao, like an activated war machine, moved his powerful body with extreme agility, leaping and bounding; the seven- or eight-jin wrought-bronze maces in his hands seemed as light as twigs, and the burly fake monks around him were beaten one after another into bloody pulp.

This was the strength of a peerless fierce general!

It must be known that historically, before fierce men of the generation of Gao Huaide and Zhao Kuangyin had matured, Murong Yanchao was one of the three "ten-thousand-man foes," ranked alongside Huangfu Yu and Fu Yanqing.

Even surrounded by the iron cavalry of the Khitan Pishi Army, Murong Yanchao could come and go freely.

Although this fellow had too much of a gangster air about him, liked to bully the weak and fear the strong, was shortsighted, and coveted wealth and rank, once he truly brought his strength to bear, he still lived up to the terrifying title of ten-thousand-man foe.

On the wall, Helian Hailong and the several Tuyuhun Helian-clan archers he had brought were also picking off the people in the courtyard one by one.

Whether these fake monks or Cao Renzun's guards, they were either beaten to death by Murong Yanchao or shot dead by the Helian-clan archers.

Cao Renzun's soul nearly fled his body; scrambling and crawling, he tried to flee into the meditation room in the courtyard, but Helian Hailong, quick of eye and hand, loosed an arrow that struck Cao Renzun square in the thigh.

The old man screamed miserably, clutching his wounded thigh, rolling on the ground in agony.

Only when the enemies in the courtyard had been cleared did Cao Yuanzhong appear from outside the gate.

These three days had tormented him badly as well; though he had not been tortured, he had been allowed only one bowl of cold gruel a day to stay alive, and after three days he could already be described as haggard and gaunt.

"You damned thieving barbarian! The Cao family has been ruined by you!"

Cao Yuanzhong looked at Cao Renzun, his eyes nearly blazing with fire.

During these three days, he had carefully thought the matter through, and immediately discovered what was wrong.

Historically, Cao Yuanzhong was a capable man who, following his father and elder brother, could paper over the declining Guiyi Army regime for more than thirty years without incident.

He realized that this upheaval, which could have been avoided, had been brought about jointly by his good son-in-law Sage Zhang and the pig-brained uncle before his eyes.

Cao Yuanzhong truly did not know whether this nameless fury was stirred up by Cao Renzun or by his good son-in-law Zhang Zhao.

Cao Renzun looked at Cao Yuanzhong, his throat twitching; he had wanted to open his mouth and beg for mercy, but that one phrase "thieving barbarian" had deeply wounded Cao Renzun.

In an instant, he forgot the danger before him, and even the leg pierced by the arrow seemed not to hurt so much.

He spat a thick gob of phlegm viciously at Cao Yuanzhong. "Base slave! If we had not taken you in back then, your ancestors would have starved to death long ago! You're the fucking thieving barbarian! Base slave! Base slave!"

Cao Renzun cursed with all his might, and Cao Yuanzhong was so startled he involuntarily stepped back, because he suddenly felt that even with an injured leg, Cao Renzun might still leap up and give him two great slaps.

Watching Cao Renzun in this state, even that cold-blooded killer Murong Yanchao suddenly felt a trace of sympathy rise in his heart.

Once upon a time, he, Murong Yanchao, had been cursed to his face like this as Kunlun Slave, cursed until he wished he were dead.

Fuck, I'm just a bit darker-skinned and have curlier hair — how the hell am I a Kunlun slave?

"Cao Sanlang, you base slave! I'll make you die here among these bird-men!" Cao Renzun glared venomously at Cao Yuanzhong, his fury having completely overwhelmed his reason.

Amid his furious cursing, Cao Renzun suddenly pulled a cylindrical object from his robes, then with lightning speed lit it.

"No!" Cao Yuanzhong roared and lunged to grab it, but it was too late.

"Whoosh — bang!" The firework in Cao Renzun's hand shot into the sky, then burst in brilliant bloom, while he laughed maniacally on the ground.

Murong Yanchao was stunned for a moment, then understood: the thing's purpose was to alert their accomplices outside.

"No!" Murong Yanchao jumped up at once. "There may be more than a hundred of their accomplices in Daxingshan Temple — what do we do now?"

Murong Yanchao looked at Cao Yuanzhong and could not help a note of reproach. Couldn't you have cursed him about something else? You had to call him a barbarian — now look what happened!

Cao Yuanzhong was also breaking out in cold sweat. He waved his hand. "Go to Master Cixian's place. There are still dozens of detained Cao-clan sons held there; we can hold out for a while."

As he spoke, Cao Yuanzhong looked at Murong Yanchao again and said, "No! We can't all go. Someone still has to get out and report. Who can break through?"

Murong Yanchao rubbed his head in frustration, stripped the inner armor from the scar-faced monk on the ground and put it on himself, then thrust the wrought-bronze maces into his back.

"Lord Cao, I will certainly be able to fight my way out."

"Good! Then go to the Baqiao Inspection Office and have Inspector Chen of Baqiao bring men at once to the rescue!"

As he spoke, Cao Yuanzhong pulled off his boot, cut it open with a dagger, and with a clink a golden tablet fell out.

"This is the spare golden seal of the Provincial Defense Commissioner. With it you can order the inspectors throughout Guanzhong to mobilize the Captains, constables, and the rest of the inspection offices."

Murong Yanchao stared blankly at the golden seal in his hand, which carried a strong odor; judging by the smell, it had probably been worn inside Cao Yuanzhong's shoe the whole time.

"Like father-in-law, like son-in-law — both the same damned sort."

Murong Yanchao muttered something, then deliberately made a racket as he charged out the door. In no time he had drawn the attention of several bandits, and right after came the sound of their screams.

"What about this old wretch?" Helian Hailong helped Cao Yuanzhong up and made to leave.

Cao Yuanzhong glanced at Cao Renzun, whose face was deathly pale and whose blood was pooling across the floor.

"Kill him!" Cao Yuanzhong thought for only a second before making his decision. There was no way he could let Cao Renzun live. If this fool fell into Pei Yuan's hands, there was no telling how many people he would drag down with him.

Never overestimate Pei Yuan's morals or underestimate his ruthlessness — that man was no soft touch!

Hearing this, Helian Hailong took his short blade in one hand, and amid Cao Renzun's terrified gurgling, hauled up the last surviving elder of the ren generation of the Cao family. Then he drove the blade hard into his heart, and for good measure gripped the hilt and churned it viciously, making sure he was dead beyond any hope of revival.

Luoyang, the Divine Capital. The office of the Six Gates Patrol Bureau of the Divine Capital.

"So, you little brat, you've come to take me hostage?"

Cao Yanming, dressed in loose silk casual clothes, was sprawled in a wide armchair like a lump of glutinous rice dumpling.

The thing had been sketched out by Zhang Zhao and refined in design by Cao Yanming. After a few had been made, poor Sage Zhang had barely gotten to enjoy them before they all went to Cao Yanming's benefit.

"Hey! Sixteenth Uncle, don't put it so harshly. Your nephew is here to invite you out to take charge of a great undertaking. This is a grand good thing for our Cao family. Doesn't Sixteenth Uncle want to be enfeoffed as a king or something?"

The speaker was a burly, yellow-haired man of the zong generation of the Cao family. He had been serving as a deputy commander in the Six Gates Patrol of the Divine Capital, and it turned out he had long since been won over by Cao Renzun.

He had now come up with a band of men, claiming to invite Cao Yanming to take charge of the great undertaking, but in truth he meant to seize Cao Yanming and make him trick open the gates of the Purple Tenuity Palace in the Divine Capital.

Cao Yanming was so angry he laughed. Right in front of his yellow-haired nephew, he took out the thing with its thick barrel — what Sage Zhang called a hand cannon — and then, like a man fiddling with a toy, loaded the powder, loaded the ball, and set the match.

The yellow-haired nephew smiled contemptuously. This Sixteenth Uncle of his just never knew how to attend to proper business. A grand founding general, yet he spent every day fooling around with a bunch of craftsmen in that worthless Heavenly Works Institute, and even now he still couldn't stop playing with the damn toy in his hands.

If it were him, he'd have grabbed power and money at once, and enjoyed fine wine, beautiful women, fine horses, ornate carriages, and rare delicacies to his heart's content.

After a long while, Cao Yanming finished loading the ball and even checked whether the powder was properly tamped, then a gratified smile appeared on his face.

"Being enfeoffed as a king is wonderful! I was just worrying that I lacked a bit of military merit to get a kingship, and here you've delivered yourself to my door, dear nephew. Truly a filial child."

The yellow-haired nephew felt a little uneasy at Cao Yanming's smile, but he failed to catch the meaning in Cao Yanming's words. He forced out a few dry laughs.

"If Sixteenth Uncle thinks so, that's wonderful. Then come out with your nephew now."

"Who said I was going out with you? I only need your head — plus this thing in my hand — and that will be enough to get me a kingship." As Cao Yanming spoke, the muzzle slowly lined up with the yellow-haired nephew's chest.

He didn't dare aim at the head; that would be too obvious. The fool might not have seen other things, but he had certainly seen the powder-spray of a pear-blossom lance.

Sure enough, seeing Cao Yanming point an iron tube at him, the yellow-haired nephew laughed three times. With both hands he tore open his robe, revealing the ring-linked armor and heart-protecting mirror he wore underneath.

"Sixteenth Uncle, your nephew and the lads behind him came specially armored. You don't even have a short blade in your hand, and you think you can kill your nephew? Hahahaha!"

"Hahaha!" Cao Yanming laughed loudly too.

"There are too many fools in this world. Who gave you the courage to act recklessly before a true god who commands the great Dao of heaven and earth?

Go die, you ignorant piece of filth!"

Bang! A tremendous explosion rang out. From the thick barrel burst a brilliant tongue of flame. Black powder burned and smoke billowed upward. Cao Yanming's fat face was blackened by the soot, but he smiled with particular delight.

The yellow-haired nephew staggered back several steps, as if a great iron hammer from the void had struck him full in the chest. He felt he could not draw breath, as though something had bored into his chest.

In terror, he looked down. A huge hole had appeared in the sturdy ring-linked armor. The armor plates around it were shattered and deformed. Blood mixed with shredded flesh poured out as if vomiting forth.

Heaven and earth began to spin. The yellow-haired nephew raised a trembling finger at Cao Yanming. He desperately wanted to say something, but he could no longer speak.

"Captain!" Several men behind the yellow-haired nephew screamed and made to rush forward.

Bang! Bang! The hand cannons in Qingfeng's and Qingxu's hands fired as well. Two more men dropped at once. The remaining two armored soldiers screamed and fled out the door.

Cao Yanming also hurried backward. Reloading a hand cannon was too troublesome; there was no way to fire again in a short time. But he still had a "big treasure!"

Furious howls rang out. The accomplices of the yellow-haired nephew whom Cao Yanming had personally shot dead surged forward in a mob — no fewer than twenty or thirty of them.

But when they kicked open the door, they were astonished to find that Cao Yanming and his two companions had not fled. Instead, they stood behind a strange, enormous tube, grinning at them eerily.

Boom! An even more terrifying sound erupted. Flames lit up the small study of the Patrol Bureau office. In the dazzling firelight, a massive ball the size of a human head hurtled forth with violent speed.

The first burly man struck did not even have time to grunt before he was blasted into pulp. The armored soldiers behind him fared no better — anyone so much as grazed suffered broken bones and snapped sinews.

These men had been packed close together when they charged in, and the study was small. They had not even had time to spread out after entering before they took the blast head-on. The carnage was easy to imagine.

But Cao Yanming and his men did not fare well either. They had underestimated the cannon's enormous recoil. They had not piled up earth-filled sacks around it, but merely made a wooden base and weighed it down with a few stones.

As a result, when it fired, the ball did go out, but the barrel also flew into the air. This cannon barrel weighing several thousand jin spun through the air, carrying with it a sky full of stones large and small and splintered wood. It was a terrifying sight beyond words.

Qingfeng and Qingxu scurried about like two panicked hamsters, but Cao Yanming did not. He actually walked forward at the very first moment.

Looking at the severed limbs, broken arms, and even pulp covering the ground, Cao Yanming reached down and picked up a completely deformed steel plate — evidently one embedded in cloth-faced iron armor — and could not stop tears from streaming down his face.

"Qinghe, Qingzheng, Qinglin — I didn't lie to you. Your old man succeeded!"

Cao Yanming had originally had five direct disciples, but Qinghe and the other two had long since given their lives. The surviving Qingfeng and Qingxu were also covered in scars.

Even he himself had nearly been blinded in an experiment two years earlier. To this day, the right side of his face still bore the scar left by that terrible explosion.

And over four years, among the disciples, apprentices, and even craftsmen under Cao Yanming, the fallen numbered not merely three, but a full twenty.

Outside the door, five or six rebel armored soldiers who had survived by luck stared at Cao Yanming, who stood amid rising smoke and flying shreds of flesh, tears streaming down his face, like a demon god.

Without any prior agreement, they let out several screams, their courage utterly shattered, and fled scrambling and crawling away.

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