Chapter 505

He twitched and convulsed, then slumped limply to the ground. But the shove just now had slammed him into the wall, and the noise had already drawn attention.

"What's going on?" An impatient voice sounded from inside the door.

"Big Tongue passed out — open up and get him inside!" someone outside slurred.

In the dead of night, no one was particularly clear-headed, and "Big Tongue" was indeed the nickname of one of the guards outside the gate. With no real suspicion, someone inside immediately opened the side door.

The moment the door cracked open, they sensed something wrong, but by then it was too late to close it. A heavy shove from outside slammed it wide open. As they scrambled up to shut it again, blades were already at their throats. After a few screams and startled cries, the main gates of the Feng family mansion slowly swung open, and a small ripple of commotion began to stir within the compound.

"Neighbors, listen up! The Feng family is sending off bad luck tonight — sorry for the disturbance!"

As soon as the loud shout rang out, firecrackers went off in several places at once, piercingly clear in the quiet night, and at the same time masking the commotion inside the mansion.

The man bellowed at the top of his lungs, and every neighbor within earshot heard it. This was, in fact, a genuine custom: when a household suffered misfortune, they would set off firecrackers at night to scare away the unclean spirits that brought disaster. Once the firecrackers started, it all seemed perfectly reasonable.

The surrounding residences all belonged to wealthy, prominent families. Some were startled awake by the firecrackers and sent servants out to ask. When they got this reply, they couldn't be bothered to make an issue of it. Whether the method worked or not, the Feng family's recent string of bad luck was certainly real — let them send off their bad luck if they wanted.

Some even couldn't help muttering, "They've been having bad luck for nearly half a year — why only think of setting off firecrackers to drive out ghosts now?"

Also roused were the nearby government runners. The Feng family had paid them to stay stationed in the vicinity, an extra safeguard for their own security.

Setting off firecrackers in the dead of night was suspicious no matter what. When the yamen runners were jolted awake, some couldn't be bothered to deal with it, but others decided to go out and take a look. Two constables called up four civilian aides and strode briskly out of the courtyard.

At the intersection, however, a horse-drawn carriage was parked. Being government officers, and in an area so close to the city, they naturally had no fear or misgivings. They immediately approached and shouted a challenge.

"Who goes there? Blocking the road with a carriage at this hour!" Their tone was anything but polite.

"Our apologies, officers. Tonight our household is setting off firecrackers to drive away bad luck — we're blocking the road so as not to startle passersby." The man beside the carriage answered with an apologetic smile plastered on his face.

With more than a dozen strings of firecrackers going off at once, it was nearly impossible to hear each other clearly. But the constable noticed something off: the man was wearing the clothes of a Feng family servant, yet his face was completely unfamiliar. And amid the firecracker noise, he heard screams and startled cries — though he doubted whether his ears were playing tricks on him.

"Yangzhou officers on official business — who are you…" The challenge left his lips as his hand went to his saber hilt, but the man he was questioning moved faster. In a backhand motion, the man yanked a short axe from the carriage shaft and brought it straight down.

He dodged quickly enough, but the moment he turned his head, he saw his companion already cut down on the ground. Several men, steel blades in hand, were closing in.

Over ten days of drills had made this Zhao Battalion unit thoroughly familiar with the Feng family mansion. At the start, there may have been some unease and worry, but the moment they discovered the terrain matched the simulated practice exactly, everyone steadied at once.

Chen Sheng, twenty household troops, five Mongol archers, and five jianghu men from the Inner Guard formed the main force. From the moment they entered, they ignored everything else and charged straight for the living quarters of the Feng father and son. The other squads — fifteen or twenty men each, also composed of household troops, archers, and jianghu men — each sealed off a critical point.

"Keep quiet and you live — make a sound and you die!"

"Flat on the ground! Raise your head and you're dead!"

"Stay inside — step out and you die!"

The Zhao Battalion fighters growled these words as they fought. To keep their accents from being identified, the ones shouting were all Mongols, whose accents were close to the Shanxi-Shaanxi region and bore no relation whatsoever to Xuzhou.

The Feng mansion was not dark; lanterns hung at the gate and along the walls. Nor did the Zhao Battalion seek to conceal themselves in the shadows — many carried torches.

The fighting was not intense. The Feng family's core fighters had been wiped out at the refugee camp. Those left behind to guard the estate were all cowards who feared death and loved comfort. When armed men suddenly burst in at night, many were stunned stupid at first. Those who instinctively tried to resist were shot dead or cut down on the spot. The rest were instantly cowed. When they heard the shouts — "Keep quiet and you live — make a sound and you die!" "Flat on the ground! Raise your head and you're dead!" — they immediately obeyed and stayed put.

The Zhao Battalion was not here to massacre, but to take control. Yet refraining from indiscriminate killing did not mean no killing at all. When Feng household servants, unable to suppress their panic and terror, tried to wail or cry out, someone struck without the slightest mercy. Some Feng guards, counting on the darkness and their familiarity with the layout, tried to flee or attack. The Zhao Battalion began to take casualties, but no one from the Feng household escaped the counterstrike.

Crossing into the next courtyard, Chen Sheng walked at the very front. Suddenly he heard movement beside him — two figures burst from the shadows, aiming straight for Chen Sheng at the head. Chen Sheng halted, swayed his body backward, and brought his long blade slashing upward. The one on the right instinctively blocked with his blade, but he hadn't expected Chen Sheng's immense strength — the blow smashed his blocking weapon right back into him, throwing his whole body off balance. Chen Sheng's blade slid and twisted, slicing straight into the man's upper body.

As for the other one, before he could even pounce close, the archer behind, who had kept his bow drawn the whole time, loosed an arrow. The angle was off — it struck the man in the shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks. In that moment of hesitation, two short spears, one high and one low, ran him clean through.

These Feng family guards might have been loyal, might have prided themselves on their martial skill, but they had no concept of coordination and had never experienced life-or-death combat on a battlefield. One man roared and charged at Chen Sheng — he was shot dead before he even got close. Another bellowed a challenge to single combat — what met him was a mass rush.

Some tried to escape through the back gate, but that route had long been blocked, men stationed there setting off firecrackers while keeping a close watch on the path.

Still, this resistance was only sporadic. The hired guards had no stomach for dying in vain. As for the Feng family menfolk, they were either hollowed out by wine and women, or felt it wasn't worth risking their lives for the Fengs. The maids and serving women only dared to sob and tremble quietly in their rooms, too frightened to do anything else. The only thing left to do was die.

A large compound with high walls — but once you were actually inside, the inner courtyard walls were not particularly tall. When they met a locked gate, the nimble ones simply vaulted over and opened it from the inside to let the others through.

Old Master Feng Jinfa and Master Feng Shaoxian each had their own residence within the compound. Once they reached this area, Li Dajin was no longer very familiar with the layout. But the matter was simple enough: they grabbed a few maids who served in the inner quarters, flashed a blade, and got answers to everything.

They entered Feng Shaoxian's residence first. After subduing a few terrified maids and entering the room, they found the place reeking of alcohol. Feng Shaoxian was fast asleep, arms wrapped around a woman. Perhaps he'd drunk too much — he didn't even react when people came in. The masked Li Dajin entered, took one look, and immediately brought several blades chopping down.

Old Master Feng Jinfa's place, however, was a bit different. The moment they entered the courtyard, a white-haired old man came at them wielding a wooden club. Two short spears skewered the old man dead. A lantern was raised — it was the steward, Feng Da.

Chen Sheng did not pause for even half a step for this loyal servant. The door was smashed open. What they had feared had indeed happened: Feng Jinfa's bedroom was empty. Several jianghu men immediately began searching. It didn't take long — they spotted a wardrobe in the corner. Opening the large wardrobe, they found the bottom could be moved. Lifting the base panel revealed a hidden passage beneath.

The passage was less a tunnel and more a shallow trench dug along the ground. One jianghu man clenched a dagger between his teeth and jumped in. At this moment, Li Dajin finally grew a little tense. Just as he was about to follow, the man who had jumped down already dragged Feng Jinfa out.

The stench of incontinence filled the entire room. Feng Jinfa had gone completely limp. Words tumbled from his mouth over and over: "Our Feng family still has tens of thousands in ready silver on hand — take it all. Take it and you can trade it for lifetimes of wealth and glory. Take it all, just spare my life. That porcelain bowl on the table is a Song dynasty piece — take it south of the river and you can easily trade it for several thousand taels… Don't you lay a hand on me. The Vice Minister of Personnel, the Censor-in-Chief of the Chief Surveillance Bureau — they're all relatives of our family. Touch me, and they will never let this rest…"

He spoke of how much money his family had, and what powerful backers they possessed. But everyone in the room was expressionless. With cloth sacks pulled over their heads as masks, no expression could be seen anyway. They simply waited there for Li Dajin. Not long after, Li Dajin arrived.

Under the lantern light, the old master's face, streaked with tears and snot, was already contorted by despair and terror. Li Dajin had to look a moment longer to be sure. He drew a deep breath and made a confirming gesture to the side. Chen Sheng nodded and drove his blade in.

The residences of Feng Jinfa and Feng Shaoxian did indeed contain hidden treasure vaults. Gold and silver glittered; pearls and jewels shone brilliantly. The gold ingots totaled roughly over two hundred catties. Each man bundled a few catties into a pack, and they were passed swiftly outward. Once every last ingot had been emptied out, the men began to withdraw.

Everyone in the great mansion was herded toward the inner courtyard, then ordered to lie flat on the ground and forbidden to raise their heads. Those who had stayed cowering indoors, too afraid to come out, could only guess what was happening from the screams outside. They too trembled in terror, not daring to move.

"So long as the wooden clapper keeps sounding — whoever steps out dies, whoever raises their head dies!"

The firecrackers had stopped. The monotonous clack of the wooden clapper sounded beat after beat. Within that sound, they could hear footsteps rapidly withdrawing, moving farther and farther away.

These lawless brigands were leaving? Someone wanted to raise their head and look. With so many people lying prostrate all around, surely they could just lift their head and take a peek…

It was not just one person who thought to secretly raise their head. But at that very moment, a scream rang out, followed by the bandits' strangely accented cursing: "Had to raise your head and court death!"

No one dared move a muscle after that. They simply lay there obediently, breathing in the drifting smell of firecracker smoke and the tang of blood mixed within it, the monotonous clack of the wooden clapper the only sound in their ears.

On a different note — monthly tickets, tips, subscriptions, recommendation tickets — with the end of the month approaching, why hold onto them? Give them all to me! Thank you, everyone!