Chapter 1350: The Calamity of the Depot Guards

When dynasties change, whether Shandong is ruled by the Zhu or the Zhao, the common folk of Jinan City do not care. The moment they open their eyes, they must worry about making a living and filling their bellies — who has the leisure to think about such things?

So no one felt the Mo family had fallen. The Mo family compound remained a place no one dared approach. Some even said the Mo family had curried favor with the Xuzhou side, earning merit by supporting the rising dragon, and were about to soar to prominence.

But having curried favor with the new dynasty, their ties with the Great Ming's officials naturally grew distant. Contact with Mo Peisheng, the secretary who had once been as close as family, had long since ceased. Instead, the clerks and runners working below — all local natives who still had to make a living here — took the initiative to visit and ingratiate themselves, making the Mo household lively once more.

Yet in the end, things had to change. For instance, wedding processions now dared to pass by the gates of the Mo family compound. Who would have dared before? If one of the Mo family's young men spotted the bride and dragged her inside for a few days, it would be a tragedy of ruined families and destroyed lives — and utter disgrace on top of it.

Even so, everyone watched with bated breath. The procession numbered over a hundred people, with a bridal sedan and gongs and drums all quite well appointed — clearly the wedding of a well-to-do family. For such a procession to pass by the Mo family compound gates, wasn't that like dangling meat past a dog's mouth? Begging to be bitten.

Unlike the anxious onlookers, the Mo family's gate guards and retainers were in high spirits. A rare treat delivered to their doorstep — a perfect chance for some amusement. As for stirring up trouble, they feared nothing. Anyone passing right by the Mo family gates was surely no family of officials or gentry. If they were, there'd be a few faces everyone recognized, or they simply wouldn't be walking this way at all.

What stirred them even more was the woman beside the sedan — in her early thirties, brimming with allure, who even cast a flirtatious glance their way. The men burst into raucous laughter. A few could hold back no longer and strode forward with a shout, claiming the other party had disturbed the Mo family's peace.

The lust-driven men had only taken two steps forward when a vague unease stirred in their hearts. But they dismissed it just as quickly, thinking: the Mo family compound is ringed with hidden sentries on all sides; if anything were amiss, a warning would have come long ago. Since all was quiet, it must be safe. At that thought, their steps quickened unbidden.

They swaggered forward just like that. Among the wedding procession were plenty of sturdy young men, yet none dared block them — they only smiled apologetically and dodged aside. When the Mo men drew close, they saw a look of terror on the face of the woman beside the bridal sedan. That struck the Mo family's gate guards and retainers as wrong. And in that very moment, the sturdy men behind them struck.

The young men who had been cringing and smiling just moments before showed no mercy now. Each drew a tempered iron short cudgel and brought it down straight on a skull, clubbing the men to the ground. The sedan bearers had already set the sedan down and pulled free the long halberds disguised as carrying poles. Others, wielding short weapons, seized control of the front gate. The men pulled weapons from the bridal sedan and the betrothal gifts, then charged into the Mo family compound with fierce shouts.

The moment the attack began here, someone elsewhere blew a brass whistle. The same whistle sounded at several points around the Mo family compound. Squads struck simultaneously from every direction — some storming through the front and back gates, some scaling the walls, others taking positions atop the walls or on the rooftops, where they stood firm and kept watch with bows at the ready. They poured in from all sides.

By the standards of private troops serving local strongmen in Jinan City, the Mo family's guards were top-notch. But against this sudden onslaught, they could offer no resistance whatsoever. One could only say that Mo Yinglong had fed his men well with silver — even at this moment, some still grabbed weapons to block and fight to the death. Yet their goose-quill sabers and podao were utterly meaningless against long halberds and bows. And then, soldiers in full armor came crashing through — how could they possibly hold?

The Mo family guards' resistance collapsed and crumbled in an instant. Yet in the inner and outer courtyards, there were a few truly troublesome characters. Some were skilled with the blade; others knew how to coordinate and form battle arrays. There were even two outstanding archers who aimed only for the face. Two of the attackers fell, but then soldiers clad head-to-toe in armor charged up to them and hacked them down.

Even these troublesome foes did not hold out long. The attackers' advantage was simply too overwhelming, and they had no regard whatsoever for the rules of jianghu combat. Long spears, long halberds, bows, and firearms were all brought to bear directly. And with their overwhelming numbers, resistance was futile. Some were killed on the spot; others were seized, bound tightly with rope, and hauled outside the gate.

The captured Mo family men were still seething with grievance and fury, thinking: what in blazes were all those hidden sentries outside doing? Only when they were brought out and saw corpse after corpse, and one after another equally battered hidden sentry being led over, did they understand — the enemy had acted with clean, swift thoroughness, leaving not a single gap. The Mo family was truly finished.

"Seven men from the Eastern Depot, twelve from the Brocade Guard — are they all here?" someone asked coldly. The speaker was dressed in commoner's clothes, tall and lean, his face carrying a bone-chilling coldness, a ring of throwing knives at his waist.

Beside him stood a scholar in his fifties, his face now a mask of terror and fawning ingratiation. He nodded and said, "Allow my unworthy son to go and identify them. These are all men this humble one has seen before."

Someone had already spotted them. A captive from the Mo family compound could not hold back and roared in fury: "Mo Peisheng! What has our family master ever done to wrong you, that you would—"

He had barely gotten halfway through when the tall, lean man flicked his wrist. A throwing knife buried itself in the man's throat. That silenced the entire scene — no one dared make another sound. The fifty-something scholar, Mo Peisheng, showed not a trace of pity on his face, only utter loathing. He declared, "You do not understand righteousness, colluding with Zhu Ming spies. You deserve this retribution. Mo is upholding righteousness by renouncing his own kin — this is true righteousness!"

Even for one as silver-tongued as he, the words did not flow smoothly now. Before long, six men and thirteen corpses were laid out. Mo Peisheng's third son, his face deathly pale, was identifying the dead and the living. The six who had been captured alive and singled out were ashen-faced, yet none of them spoke a word.

Just then, someone came running out from the compound in hurried steps, a look of considerable disappointment on his face. He went up to the tall, lean man and reported, "Squad Leader Nie, Mo Yinglong got away with his eldest son and two trusted aides — they fled through a hidden tunnel."

Mo Yinglong had two sons. The eldest was outstanding in martial skill and managed the household affairs alongside Mo Yinglong. The younger studied for the civil examinations and kept as much distance from the family as possible, even living elsewhere — a case of a cunning rabbit having three burrows. The man delivering the report had not bothered to lower his voice, and the Mo family captives kneeling nearby heard him. A few of the stubborn ones could not help but shout defiantly: "Don't think you're so fierce now — Master Mo will avenge us!"

When they spoke these words, they were already half-resigned to death. But the tall, lean man addressed as "Squad Leader Nie" merely shot them a sidelong glance and sneered repeatedly, utterly contemptuous.

Ever since fleeing from Fushun in Liaodong to Jinan in Shandong all those years ago, Mo Yinglong had anticipated a day like this and had been preparing for it all along. A secret tunnel stretching two streets away, for instance. The property at the tunnel's exit, for instance, had been purchased under a dead man's name — no one had any idea it was his. He had arrangements both inside Jinan City and outside, with silver and weapons stashed away for a comeback. Even in flight, he could live as a wealthy man.

Moreover, for all his indulgence over the years, Mo Yinglong had never let his martial skills slip. In bloody clashes with other bandit gangs and outlaw bands, he had personally cut down several fighters of outstanding skill with his podao. It was precisely because of this that he could command the obedience of several hundred hardened killers and desperadoes beneath him. His two trusted aides were also top-tier fighters — one a master of the bow, the other a master of the long spear. And his eldest son's skill with the podao was formidable as well.

Unlike Mo Yinglong and his trusted aides, who remained composed, Mo Yinglong's eldest son wore a look of wretched despair. He had grown accustomed to wealth and ease in Jinan City. He had a wife and children, and kept a mistress on the side — he truly could not bear to leave. He knew he had no choice but to go, yet he also knew that once he left, the good days were likely over.

Seeing his eldest son's expression, Mo Yinglong felt a surge of fury. He said in a low, cold voice, "What are you still wearing that mourning face for? Change your clothes, quickly! We need to get out of the city as fast as possible, before those Zhao army scum shut the city gates!"

They had already emerged from the secret tunnel and were inside the house on that property, changing into the garb of traveling merchants and commoners. Even the travel permits and the carrying poles concealing weapons and silver had been prepared in advance. Like the great figures of the jianghu in the Northern and Southern Metropolitan Regions and Shandong, he too carried banknotes from Cloud Mountain Bank — now accepted across seven provinces, convenient to carry.

After scolding his son, Mo Yinglong sighed himself and said in a muffled voice, "I am at fault too. I knew full well the Xuzhou men had entered the city, yet I couldn't bear to part with this fine foundation. I knew I should have contentedly withdrawn and enjoyed myself, yet I still reached for greater wealth and power, colluding with the Zhu Ming Depot and Guard — and brought this calamity upon us. Since it has come to this, let us not dwell on it. The Zhao army is ruthless, but they will not harm women and children. We have plenty of silver in hand — let us go somewhere else and live quietly for some years."

Grief and helplessness filled every face, but they could only mutely agree. They quickly finished changing, gathered their things, and stepped out the door. The secret tunnel was long enough — several streets away, no cordon could possibly extend this far. Still, they were cautious enough not to walk straight out with their carrying poles and packs. They drew their weapons first.

They were not worried about being discovered. This place had been chosen as the tunnel exit precisely because the street was so sparsely populated. Once they confirmed it was safe, there would be time to put the weapons away. The man with the long spear took point, the archer to his left. Mo Yinglong was in the center, his eldest son following behind. A few more steps forward, and if all was clear, they would stow the weapons.

The street was as deserted as ever. Mo Yinglong would periodically come here in disguise to check on things. It seemed the Zhao army had not discovered this location within the city either.

Suddenly, a figure darted out from the street opening. Mo Yinglong's archer aide immediately raised his bow to shoot. Only then did they see that the other man also held a longbow, already drawn and aimed. The arrow came flying. Mo Yinglong's aide had once been an elite soldier in Liaodong who drew double rations, famed for piercing a willow leaf at a hundred paces. Yet in that lightning-flash instant, his reaction was half a beat too slow. His arrow had just left the string when the arrow from the street opening was already upon him, driving straight through his chest.

At the very same moment, heavy footsteps sounded behind them. Mo Yinglong whirled around in horror — and saw a fully armored giant of a man charging at them with a long blade. In a few strides he was upon them, blade sweeping down for the kill!

Thank you, everyone.