Chapter Forty-Two: Another Pitfall After the Willow Shade and Bloom

The power of a single sword rendered the crowd utterly silent.

Everyone present was struck with astonishment beyond words, staring at the seven figures who had descended like heavenly warriors, their arrival plunging the scene into a stunned and deathly hush.

“Holy crap...” Zhang Yu’s wrist felt as though it had been struck by a heavy blow; he barely managed to keep from hurling his sword away as he cut down the steward. If not for Xiao Bai’s tremendous momentum, he could never have relied on his own feeble strength to so cleanly behead the man. It was his first time killing, and though it should have been an occasion for deep reflection, Zhang Yu had no time for sentiment now. Steadying himself and gripping his blade tightly, he turned, reined in his horse, and demanded, “Where are the members of the Zhen family?”

By now, the Wang family’s private soldiers had recovered from their stupor. Even a fool could see these newcomers meant trouble, and they rushed forward, weapons drawn.

“Han Long is here! Don’t harm my young master!”

“Come here and pay with your life to Grandfather Zhang!”

The six riders behind him charged headlong into the fray, plunging, horses and all, into the enemy ranks, scattering dozens of private soldiers in an instant.

“I must be dreaming. Is this the Wang family or a prince’s household? Why do they even have an army?” Only now did Zhang Yu realize something was amiss, baffled by the situation. He quickly dismounted and took cover behind Han Long, then shouted toward the group at the gate who looked like house servants, “Men of the Zhen family, do not be cowards! A man’s head is nothing more than a bowl-sized wound! Your master has been so humiliated—how can you call yourselves men if you live on in shame?”

Perhaps it was his words, or perhaps the Zhen family had always treated their servants well, but in this moment of crisis, the household staff did not retreat. Instead, they grabbed sticks and rushed forward, evening the numbers between the two sides.

Zhang Yu was well aware of his own lack of martial skill and stuck close to Han Long at all times. The spacious front court of the Wang residence had become a scene of gang warfare, and in a matter of moments, over a dozen corpses lay scattered about.

Han Long, now with martial prowess at eighty-four, was indeed formidable; these soldiers, who barely counted as competent, were no match for him. Zhang Biao and the others were no mere showpieces either. The six quickly became the backbone of the Zhen family’s defenders.

“This won’t do—if this continues, more will die!” Zhang Yu’s mind raced, and he grabbed a Zhen family servant flailing with an iron rod. “Why does the Wang family even have troops like these?”

“The Wang family—they want to rebel!”

“Rebel?!” Zhang Yu was taken aback. “With just these men?”

The servant gave no further reply, only shouting as he charged ahead, but before he could swing his rod, he was stabbed down.

“What’s the use of that rod... Enough! All of you, stop!” Zhang Yu sighed, then suddenly shouted, his voice booming across the chaos and bringing the fight to a halt.

“The Wang family’s master is plotting treason, and my lord has seen through his scheme! We are merely the vanguard—tens of thousands of troops are right behind us. If you resist, you will all be ground to dust!”

“Treason is a capital crime—at the very least, your entire clan will be executed! But if you surrender now, before our main force arrives, I can plead with the general to spare your lives!”

Zhang Yu’s expression was resolute, his tone thunderous, and combined with the charisma he exuded behind his mask, his words began to sway the soldiers.

“Under which general do you serve?” asked a burly man in armor among the private troops.

“I serve under Lord Yuan of Bohai! At this very moment, his army presses at the borders, taking all of Jizhou. If you resist, you will die without burial!”

Seeing the soldiers’ faces twist with panic and fear, Zhang Yu pressed his advantage. “Who among the Zhen family is in charge here?”

“Sir, I am Zhen Chou!”

“Very well... Zhang Biao! You and the others go with Zhen Chou, disarm these men, take them outside the gates and keep watch. Han Long, you’re with me!”

The Wang family’s extravagance rivaled—and perhaps even surpassed—that of the Zhangs. The ingenious design and architecture of the mansion transformed this northern residence into a place that echoed the charm of the southern water towns.

Yet, for all its beauty and fine craftsmanship, to Zhang Yu, these pavilions and corridors seemed as worthless as weeds.

He grabbed a maid and had her lead the way to the main hall. Along the way, a few stray servants tried to block their path, but they simply became more victims of Han Long’s blade. Zhang Yu, when possible, spared them—only killing when absolutely necessary.

“I kill so that fewer may die.”

“I kill so that more innocent lives may be saved.”

Only by reminding himself of this could Zhang Yu, a man of the modern world, keep his heart from being lost in the brutality and bloodshed of this ancient age.

With a crash, Han Long kicked open the wooden doors, and Zhang Yu entered behind him.

The scene was chaos: leftover food and broken dishes littered the floor, the long table overturned, the room in complete disarray.

On one side, two men and six women were bound along the wall, along with a richly dressed young boy and two flunky servants.

Upon seeing Zhang Yu and Han Long burst in, the boy remained composed, leaning nonchalantly beside Zhen Luo, as if utterly confident in his position.

Suddenly, from their right, the eight-paneled screen flew aside with a thunderous crash, and three black-clad men leaped at Zhang Yu and Han Long.

“Don’t worry, Luo’er, these are the Wang family’s three top fighters. Once they finish with—”

Three flashes of the blade.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three black-clad corpses fell to the floor.

“Incredible... his skill’s already up to eighty-five,” Zhang Yu silently marveled at Han Long’s talent. Seeing the terrified child, who had lost all control, he gave him a swift kick to the side.

“Zhen Yan, on behalf of my family, thank you for your heroic rescue! But please, sir, you must hurry—save my sister from that old villain! The Zhen family will reward you handsomely!”

It had been half a year since Zhen Yan last saw Zhang Yu, and with the mask obscuring his features, he only found him vaguely familiar, never imagining he was the handsome youth from Zhongshan.

“Your sister?” The words struck Zhang Yu like a jolt. He looked at the young girls on the floor, each weeping prettily—but the youngest one—

Wait, isn’t she the little girl from my dream? Is she really Zhen Luo?

“Please, sir, hurry! If my little sister Zhen Jiang falls victim to that Wang scoundrel, it will be too late!”

“Han Long, untie everyone!” Zhang Yu ordered, not waiting for him to finish before dashing off, sword in hand.

The layout of such grand residences seldom varied. It didn’t take Zhang Yu long to find the main quarters of the Wang family. As he arrived, he heard a woman’s cries and struggles coming from within.

He burst through the door. A fat, goat-bearded man, shirtless, was pressing down on a young woman, his flabby body gleaming with sweat.

The girl, in the flower of youth, was terrified. Her lovely face was drained of color, long black hair messy across the pillow, her clothes torn, a bare shoulder exposed.

“Who are you, intruder?!”

“Close your eyes!” Zhang Yu commanded.

Instinctively, Zhen Jiang squeezed her eyes shut. She heard the swish of a blade and the sound of something being stabbed. Before she could react, a cool hand gently covered her eyes, another draped clothing over her, and she was guided out.

Han Long arrived just as they emerged. Together, they brought Zhen Jiang back to the main hall, where the Zhen family was waiting.

Reunited after such peril, Zhen Jiang flung herself into her mother’s arms, sobbing as her sisters clustered around her. Zhen Yan and Zhen Yao approached Zhang Yu. “Thank you for saving us, sir! May we know your name?”

“There’s no time to explain—get to the carriage, quickly!” Zhang Yu urged, waving them on. “The Wang family has hidden many armored soldiers. I only bluffed them to buy us time. We must flee before they realize!”

A party of more than ten hurried toward the gate, meeting no resistance this time—a smoothness that felt ominous.

They soon reached the front courtyard, only to be struck by a shocking sight.

The open ground was now almost entirely filled with corpses. The stench of blood hung thick in the air.

Among the dead were both Wang family soldiers and Zhen family retainers. Zhen Yan and Zhen Yao quickly told their sisters to cover their eyes, but they themselves could not stop trembling.

“Uncle Biao, are you there?!”

“Young master!” came a shout. Zhang Biao was thrown through the gates as if hurled by someone, tumbling to the ground before Zhang Yu. Soon, several more stumbled in after him, battered and crawling.

“So you’re the one who claimed Yuan Shao’s men had arrived?”