Chapter 871: Won't Obey? Then Let the War God Jialan Eat You

The Buddha-viewing Terrace was the first place in this bay to greet the sunrise, but it was not simply a scenic viewing platform — it was a religious site.

It was called the Buddha-viewing Terrace because every morning, as the sun slowly rose from where the mountains and sea met in the distance, the seawater below the terrace glittered with golden light, as if bathed in the radiance of the Buddha.

Fabian walked slowly up onto the Buddha-viewing Terrace. On the broad platform, Yanshou and several others stood shoulder to shoulder at the far end, with a dozen or two sturdy men spread out on either side.

Sure enough, these men looked much like Yanshou, dressed in the same splendid yet sturdy-looking clothes.

Er, for the convenience of seafaring, none of them wore their hair tied up; all had shaved their heads clean like monks — what later generations would call a buzz cut.

Fabian hesitated for a moment, because he realized that if he walked over with his men like this, these twenty of Yanshou's kinsmen could surround him.

But soon Fabian smiled. He had three hundred men; the other side had only twenty.

Who ever heard of twenty men surrounding three hundred?

"Once the warships are finished, I will slaughter every last one of you monsters from beneath the sea!" Fabian said with a smile as he walked toward Monk Yanshou, but he was muttering softly under his breath.

Hmph, this fool still believed that Monk Yanshou was a spirit creature from the bottom of the sea.

Because he had sent men far, far out to sea to explore, and apart from their own dwelling place, there were no islands or land to the west at all, so these people could only have come from beneath the sea.

"Master, your disciple Fabian has returned. We have once more attacked and destroyed the towns of two wicked men who refused to convert to my Buddha.

This time I have come back to ask Master to prepare three months' provisions for three thousand men for your disciple, so that our territory may grow even larger, and we may spread the will of my Buddha to even farther places."

Fabian spoke these words in Chinese, no different from a true man of the Central Plains, even carrying a slight Wu-Yue accent picked up from Monk Yanshou.

And it seemed that Monk Yanshou was not only Fabian's master, but in practice the chief logistics manager of this embryonic military empire.

"What a pity, truly a pity." Zhao Hutou looked at the tall, long-faced barbarian chieftain before him and said with some regret.

It was indeed a pity. To have learned Chinese to this level so quickly, and to be a local native chieftain — if the man had been a bit more disciplined, he would have made an excellent assistant. But now, he was about to be killed by Zhao Hutou's own hand.

The cold words had barely faded when Zhao Hutou suddenly drew from behind his back a wooden single-shot crossbow already strung and ready. Without the slightest hesitation, he immediately pulled the trigger, and at the same time yanked hard, pulling Monk Yanshou behind him.

However, Fabian truly deserved his reputation as a hero among the natives. The moment Zhao Hutou's hand moved, he sensed the danger, and as the crossbow aimed at him, he dodged behind the guard at his side.

'Thwack!' The unlucky guard never even understood what had happened before the bolt pierced straight through his chest and abdomen. His lungs immediately began leaking air, and his mouth heaved violently like a bellows.

"Truly a pity!" Zhao Hutou shouted again with regret.

He tossed aside the wooden crossbow and swiftly formed a battle squad with four armored soldiers beside him, all from the Hanshan Capital. Two long spears, one miaodao saber, two longbows — the killing began at once.

Fabian felt his fury shoot straight to the top of his head in an instant. He was utterly enraged — he had three hundred men!

Three hundred of the mightiest warriors in the tribe, and these people numbered only twenty or so. How dare they come to kill him? This was naked insult.

'Clang!' Fabian drew the bronze sword at his waist. He had obtained this sword after killing a noble from the south, and it was incomparably sharp.

With it, Fabian had cut through countless enemy weapons and slain countless warriors of other tribes. In his understanding, it was the most durable and sharpest of divine weapons.

This tribal lord, already considered a remarkably wise leader among the natives, let out a great shout, raised the bronze sword high, and thrust it at the detestable fellow who had shot at him with that strange great bow.

Fabian could almost see the man's fate already: the long sword in his hand would be cut in two by Fabian's own blade, and then his body would be pierced through.

'Ding!' A crisp sound rang out. A long sword was indeed cut in two — but it was not the miaodao in Zhao Hutou's hand; it was the bronze sword in Fabian's.

What a joke! When a bronze weapon met this high-carbon steel miaodao, produced by the Heavenly Works Institute using folded forging, what difference was there from rotten wood?

A flash of white light, and blood burst from Fabian's chest. But he reacted extremely quickly — the moment his bronze sword was severed, he immediately chose to retreat, avoiding being disemboweled by Zhao Hutou on the spot.

At the same time, he swiftly vanished into the crowd, causing Zhao Hutou, who had wanted to keep cutting at him, to quickly lose his target.

A tall, sturdy barbarian let out a thunderous roar and swung his massive stone axe hard at an armored soldier's chest. With a crash, the axe's finely sharpened stone edge simply shattered.

The armored soldier, his face covered by a vajra mask, snorted coldly. The lighter mace in his hand lashed out, and a single blow smashed the barbarian's head open like a flower.

Zhao Siwan let out a wild cry and, with three Qihuo lads wearing double-layered armor just like him, plunged into the crowd, then swung his miaodao in wide arcs and began hacking furiously.

The double-layered armor guaranteed they would take virtually no harm. The natives' bronze swords, stone axes, and wooden spears could be completely ignored, and even stone hammers would struggle to threaten Zhao Siwan and the others, who wore cotton-padded armor over ring-linked mail.

At the same time, the miaodao, which had not been particularly effective against armored soldiers in the Central Plains, became a great killing weapon here. The blade was long enough, the lethality great enough, and it was lighter than the modao glaive glaive glaive.

One swing and a spray of blood, a chorus of screams.

This method of use had been summed up by the Eastern Expedition Army under Murong Xinzhang's command over hundreds of battles large and small.

Because enemies beyond the Central Plains could hardly achieve the freakishly high armor-wearing rates of Central Plains warriors, let alone the fifty or sixty jin of lamellar armor and ring-linked mail worn per man.

Thus the three- or four-jin (seven or eight jin total) wrought-copper maces and iron whips, the seven- or eight-jin heavy hammers, long-handled axes, and modao glaive glaive glaives that were standard issue in the Central Plains became somewhat cumbersome when facing armorless barbarians.

But the miaodao, weighing about four jin in total, with a long, sharp blade that dealt damage by slicing, was perfectly suited.

This was also the reason samurai swords became popular in Japan historically. Setting aside great pitched battles of armored spear-bearers, in ordinary village fights, a samurai sword similar to the miaodao offered no less killing power while being lighter and more efficient.

Zhao Siwan and his two companions now brought this efficiency of the miaodao to its utmost.

Back-slashing form, thrusting bayonet form, diagonal slicing, lifting slash, spinning chop, bow-stance push-cut, bow-stance thrust — the eight miaodao forms created by Zhang Zhao were fully displayed, a pleasure to watch and devastating in power.

And the barbarians' wooden spears on the Buddha-viewing Terrace were only about as long as the miaodao, while their stone hammers and stone axes were far shorter — they had no advantage at all.

For a time, the blades flashed like white silk. At the slightest contact, a weapon would be cut in two, and a man would be gutted and disemboweled.

Zhao Siwan and his two companions were like gods descending from heaven, each man alone controlling a circle seven or eight meters across, hacking the barbarians into constant retreat and collapse.

And atop the Buddha statue in the center of the Buddha-viewing Terrace, Helian Hailong and two Tuyuhun sharpshooters were firing left and right from the high ground.

They did not shoot at just anyone — only at the mightiest ones, precisely eliminating the warriors in the crowd, and soon shot down a great swath of them.

In this way, though there were only twenty-three of them, they achieved pressure from every direction.

Zhao Hutou's five-man squad formed a devastating assault team, Zhao Siwan's three were like the Great Sage Equal to Heaven burrowing into a demon's belly, and above them three sharpshooters kept firing from the sky.

Had they been facing the elite imperial guards of the Southern Tang or Meng Shu, twenty-three men, no matter how cleverly arranged, would have been doomed.

But what they faced now were barbarians still in the early stages of slave society, who could not even smelt bronze proficiently.

To these barbarians, these armored soldiers from the Great Zhou were simply too terrifying. It was like running into a skeleton-level boss right after leaving the beginner's village — you couldn't hurt it, couldn't withstand it, and couldn't run away.

Under this terrifying pressure, especially since they had already half-believed that Zhao Hutou and the others were divine envoys, the natives' psychological defenses quickly collapsed.

Quite a few were shoved directly off the Buddha-viewing Terrace, while others mustered the courage to come up and fight, but were quickly killed.

After a rapid, ferocious beating, most were left with nothing but desperate howls and wails, like a lone wild buffalo fixed in a tiger's gaze, left with only cries of terror.

The screams drew the attention of the entire population of Shanhai Fort. This small city of just over a thousand people, which nevertheless radiated influence over seven or eight thousand in the surrounding area, quickly sent at least two or three thousand people surging in from all directions.

Carrying all manner of wooden and stone farm tools and weapons, they poured toward the stairway entrance of the Buddha-viewing Terrace — and then they were stopped.

The ones blocking their way were none other than the monks under Monk Yanshou.

The monks brought out their treasured black robes. Because this tribe had no weaving skills, and naturally no mulberry or hemp either, the monks ordinarily dressed in animal hides just like the locals, and had stored their black robes away as treasures.

Yanshou's eldest disciple, Monk Fayan, stood at the very front. Dressed in a sea-green robe that looked extraordinarily majestic and precious on this continent, he led his fellow disciples in lining up in a single row, chanting the Buddha's name.

Amid the chanting of the supremely rhythmic and awe-inspiring Supreme Heaven Disaster-Dispelling and Calamity-Relieving True Scripture, the tribal natives who surged forward grew ever more numerous, yet none dared to cross past the monks to help Fapian and the others.

Instead, led by someone unknown, they slowly set down their farm tools and clubs, knelt cross-legged on the ground, and then piously joined in chanting the true scripture.

This Fapian could be considered a man of heroic mettle, able to break free of religious control and strike out on his own with the fiercest warriors of the tribe, even turning the tables on Monk Yanshou.

But these ordinary natives had no such ability. On the contrary, they could clearly feel that ever since Yanshou arrived, life in the tribe had begun to improve.

They had learned to farm, learned to sail big boats and fish, and for headaches and fevers there was divine medicine — herbal remedies — to cure illness. Nearly everyone had a house now; ramshackle as they were, they were far better than living in trees.

Thinking of this, nearly everyone lowered their heads, as if the distant screams were nothing but illusion. Some of the more devout chanted the true scripture once through, then performed a full prostration, forehead to the ground.

Monk Fayan's forehead was covered in sweat. If these barbarians truly came at them with weapons, the twenty-odd of them would be going to see the Buddha — no! To see the Supreme Heaven.

But seeing that he had cowed these barbarians, Monk Fayan's courage grew. With a light flick of his sleeve and an air of righteous indignation, he shouted in the native tongue:

"Fapian has defied the will of the Supreme Heaven and shown no respect for the divine envoy sent by the Supreme Heaven. This is a capital crime, and so they shall be cast by the divine envoy into the eighteen levels of hell, to suffer endless torment forever.

Where are the disciples of the Siming Mountain Academy? Quickly lead the pure children of the Supreme Heaven to the great parade ground!"

The Siming Mountain Academy was founded by Monk Yanshou to teach the Chinese language to the cleverest among the natives.

Had Fapian not suddenly risen to prominence, these disciples of the Siming Mountain Academy would have been the backbone of Monk Yanshou's control over this tribe.

The situation was now completely under control. Amid the sound of scripture chanting, the native believers one by one performed the great prostration, then were led away by the disciples of the Siming Mountain Academy toward the great parade ground at the center of the settlement.

It was all so surreal and eerie: on one side, heaven-shaking screams; on the other, devout worship. The screams and the chanting were separated by only twenty-odd monks, yet they seemed to belong to two different worlds.

On the Buddha-viewing Platform, the slaughter had reached its final stage. The twenty-three armored soldiers who had passed the trial of the Vast Azure Waters were still impervious to blades and spears and dealt devastating damage — not something the natives under Fapian could possibly withstand.

Their only option was to unite as one, disregard casualties, and charge forward in a rush, using their numerical advantage to knock the armored soldiers to the ground.

But they were just a group of natives close to the Bronze Age, little better than savages. How could they have such resolve and spirit?

The so-called warriors had long since lost every shred of fighting will under the threat of death and the crushing religious authority of the divine envoy.

Zhao Siwan picked up a gray wolf hat and used the wolf fur on it to wipe the blood from the blade of his Miao saber.

How many people he had just killed, he did not care in the slightest. All he knew was that no one dared to stand up anymore.

He was somewhat disappointed, because Fapian had not displayed the heroic valor of a tribal champion. He had hidden among the crowd, thrown his great gray-wolf-head hat off the cliff of the Buddha-viewing Platform, and hoped to blend in among the people kowtowing and pleading for mercy without being discovered.

But that was wishful thinking. Zhao Siwan quickly found him in the crowd. Fapian had just begun to resist when a violent pain shot through both his shoulders.

With practiced ease, Zhao Siwan pulled and yanked, dislocating both of his shoulders.

Then, standing nearly two meters tall, Zhao Siwan tucked Fapian under his arm as if carrying a chicken, and headed toward the great parade ground of Shanhai Fort.

The great parade ground was now packed with people. The natives, imitating the posture of the Han people, knelt sitting in a circle around the center of the ground.

A chorus of startled cries like croaking frogs erupted, for the natives saw Zhao Siwan, drenched in blood, nearly two meters tall, clad in fiery red cotton armor, casually carrying Fapian — whom they had always believed to be fierce and invincible — and flinging him like livestock into the center of the great parade ground.

The instant Fapian touched the ground, his legs seemed to have springs attached; he sprang into the air and tried to run.

But Zhao Siwan was faster. At the very moment Fapian's legs left the ground, he drew the mace at his waist and swept it out with ferocious speed.

Accompanying Fapian's earth-shattering scream was the sound of his kneecap completely shattering. Zhao Siwan's mace had smashed his knee to pieces.

"Trying to run?" The words that came from the mouth of Zhao the Man-Eating Demon seemed to be yin qi from the underworld itself, and a crazed smile spread across his face.

"For your sake, I haven't eaten since yesterday. How could I let you run?"

Fapian began to struggle violently, because cannibalism had not been at all rare among these tribes before Monk Yanshou arrived, and he knew exactly what those words meant.

Zhao Siwan carried Fapian back to the center of the great parade ground, and with exceptional skill made a light cut on each of his wrists, precisely severing the arteries there. Blood gushed out.

Fapian was horrified. Although his right knee was shattered and both arms dislocated, he still struggled violently.

But the more he struggled, the faster the blood flowed. Before long, he began to feel dizzy and lightheaded, his breathing quickened, and his strength began to fail.

Only at this point did Fapian feel true terror. He wanted to open his mouth and beg for mercy, but Zhao Siwan quickly had someone stuff his mouth shut.

The long dagger sliced open his chest, but not much blood gushed out, because it had essentially all been drained already.

Pale-faced, Fapian was still twitching, tears sliding silently down his face. His gagged mouth twitched again and again, as if trying to say something.

"Begin the dissection. Record the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys, and blood vessels clearly, and sketch diagrams.

This is the best opportunity. Within five years, each of you must complete at least one hundred dissections — dead, living, diseased, male, female, old, weak, strong, young — and make comparisons across all of them.

This could never be done in the Central Plains, but in Purvavideha it is commonplace. Your records will become the most precious material of the Eighteenth Young Lord, and a thousand years from now, they will be revered by all."

Zhao Hutou was terrifyingly calm. This was a talent truly raised in the new era, personally taught by the Emperor, with a vision far beyond this age.

Anatomy, for example, was proposed by the Emperor, laid down as a foundation by Zhang Shiba Lang — known as the Administrative Assistant of the Eighteen Levels of Hell, the man who had nearly scared Han Xizai out of his wits — and carried out in practice by the apothecaries of the Yin-Yang Pharmacy Bureau that Zhao Hutou had brought. In this era, it was a horrifying field of study.

On this side, the dissection and research were underway; once finished, the remains were tossed directly to Zhao Siwan.

Zhao Siwan, along with the two remaining Qihuo Lang — the great demons of slaughter and terror — took the pieces, skewered them on branches, roasted them briefly, added a little salt, and began feasting with relish.

As they ate, they raised cups of bile-green wine and drank down several great bowls in heroic fashion.

A gust of rank wind blew through, and the surrounding natives trembled with fear.

They had seen cannibalism before, but this — studying while eating, eating on the spot, right in front of them — they had truly never seen.

After an unknown length of time, when all the natives felt as though an entire lifetime had passed, Zhao Siwan stood up. Together with his men and Yanshou, he escorted Master Cixian onto the center of the great parade ground.

Master Cixian did not even glance at Fapian's mangled remains. Coldly, he said: "Your ancestors were originally pure children of the Supreme Heaven. It was because they committed sins that they were banished to Purvavideha.

Fapian deceived you, and so the war god Jialan of the Supreme Heaven will devour him, ensuring that he can never reincarnate.

And as for you — only by showing the utmost piety can you attain redemption!"

The eleventh year of Shaoming, 956 CE. As for the exact month, even Zhao Hutou was no longer quite sure.

All he knew was that this was the third month since they had dealt with Fapian, gathered the tribe's warriors, and marched to the southeast.

And the experiences and observations of these three months had made Zhao Hutou even more certain that in the southwest there existed a fairly powerful civilization.

But Zhao Hutou overturned his earlier inference that it could compare to the Xia dynasty, because various clues indicated that this powerful civilization could only smelt very crude bronze implements.

Never mind great cauldrons — they could not even forge long, straight weapons properly. Their agriculture, however, had a certain level of sophistication, at least far better than that of the tribe they had conquered, but it could not be mentioned in the same breath as the Xia dynasty.

"Let us build a new city right here. Our supply lines are too long. We should first scout out the exact situation, then decide whether to attack or befriend them," Zhao Hutou said to Zhao Siwan and Monk Fayan behind him.

Zhao Siwan nodded and pointed to a large island in a distant lake. "It is indeed very far — at least one thousand five hundred li from Shanhai Fort. This is the limit of what we can control.

Let us build the city on that island in the lake. Once the three-hundred-liao great ships of Shanhai Fort are completed, we can sweep away all the barbarians here."

Zhao Hutou's face showed excitement he could hardly suppress. In his eyes, Purvavideha was no wilderness, but a promised land granted to the people of the Central Plains by the Supreme Heaven.

The Supreme Heaven had personally said that this land's future wealth would be no less than that of the Middle Kingdom.

"Since these barbarians are descendants of the Yin people who migrated east, let us call them the Eastern People. And that city shall be named after the Yin-Shang capital — call it New Yecheng!"

Spring warmed and flowers bloomed. Several more months passed, and just as New Yecheng was beginning to take shape, word reached the ears of Zhao Hutou and his companions.

It was said that the powerful civilization to the southeast had been struck by a terrible plague. The living rotted all over, their bodies covered in sores, the poison sinking into their very marrow. Eyes went blind and mouths festered until they resembled evil ghosts, often wailing for dozens of days without dying.

Zhao Hutou exchanged a glance with Monk Yanshou, who had just arrived. In their eyes was not terror, but astonishment, delight, and reverence.

Then Zhao Hutou prostrated himself devoutly toward the west. "The red-plum canker sores — it must be the red-plum canker sores the Sage spoke of!"

(The descriptions of early indigenous Mexicans in the next chapter are all based on the author's speculation — just read them for what they are. There is too little source material, and much of it was destroyed by the colonizers, so the contradictions are even more numerous. Tiger can only make his own guesses and fabrications.)

Why are some readers still saying I'm going to abandon this book? (laugh-cry) This isn't the climax — it's nearing the end. Tiger has to prepare the new book first, and only then can he update. I'll do my best to update every day, with a guaranteed minimum of two updates every three days.

(End of Chapter)

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