Erbing

“Look, I drove him out! He’s the Zuowandao lunatic! Danyangzi! Your clansmen and brothers—the ones flayed alive with mercury and planted in the earth—this is the man who did it!”

Standing before the crowd, Erbing pointed dramatically at Li Huowang atop the wagon, his voice ringing with righteous fury.

“You liar!”

The preemptive strike of accusation nearly made Li Huowang choke on his own blood. The fraud didn’t even blink before twisting the truth—and just like that, Li Huowang had become the Zuowandao’s scapegoat.

“She’s the real Zuowandao! She can wear anyone’s face! You’ve all been fooled!”

Li Huowang shouted the truth at the people outside the wagon, but not a single one listened.

One of them, wearing a Nuo opera mask, glared at Li Huowang with a hatred so deep it seemed to curdle.

“You killed our people! Then you sent that old man to test us! And after that, you charged into someone’s home alone, babbling threats like a madman!”

“Now that you’re cornered, you think you can turn us against each other? Dream on! Do you really think we Lai family folk are that easy to bully? Danyangzi!”

His words lit a fire under the tattooed bandit beside him, who brandished a horsewhip and roared.

“Pah! You dog-ape! You dare kill my brothers!? Just you wait—when we get our hands on you, we’ll show you what for!”

Li Huowang tried to explain, but they didn’t want to hear it. Guided by Erbing’s poison, they raised their weapons and charged the wagon formation, horses surging forward.

“CRASH!” The wagon lurched sideways several inches, its frame already cracking.

Inside, the Lü troupe huddled together, trembling in terror.

Amid the chaos, a familiar scream made Li Huowang whip his head around.

He saw a barbed crossbow bolt skim past Bai Lingmiao’s right shoulder, tearing off a chunk of skin and flesh.

The sight of the wound on her body made Li Huowang’s eyes feel like they were splitting—as if the gash had appeared on his own flesh.

Without a word, he threw himself off the wagon and into the surging tide of horses.

“How many times do I have to say it! You’re all SCAMMED!”

A flash of cold steel, followed by the scream of a horse and the cry of a man—horse and rider were cleaved clean in two.

The sword technique Li Huowang had learned now sharpened itself in the only way that mattered: on living flesh. Nothing trained a blade faster than blood.

“Give me back my grandson’s life!” Li Huowang’s sword swept back and cut an old man down.

“AHH!! He was only six! What did he do wrong? He was our only son, the only branch on the family tree! What right did you have to kill him!?”

Even as blood gushed from his chest—death already upon him—the old man lunged forward, grabbing Li Huowang’s leg. His mouth split open, revealing a dozen needle-sharp fangs as he bit down with savage fury.

“HOW MANY TIMES! I DIDN’T KILL HIM!”

“THUD! THUD! THUD!” Li Huowang kicked, again and again, until the old man’s skull caved in beneath his boot.

Another sweeping slash, and a half-grown youth was bisected. The more blood Li Huowang spilled, the more natural the sword felt in his hand—and the hotter the killing fury burned in his chest.

Everything was sharp. Too sharp. By every logic, he should have been able to locate Erbing in this press of bodies.

But his gift had abandoned him. The woman had found some way to hide her presence.

Li Huowang ground his molars, sweeping his murderous gaze across the crowd. “Erbing!”

A woman wearing a copper coin mask emerged from the throng, lifted her mask for a brief, provocative smile, then ducked behind a towering bandit.

“Zuowandao madman! You’ve done every evil under heaven—today you die!”

The Thousand Greats Record flapped open with a rushing sound. Li Huowang pulled out a pair of iron forceps.

Three of his own white molars flew from his mouth and exploded in midair, razor-sharp fragments piercing through filthy leather armor and wooden masks.

Horses stumbled. Riders fell. The flash of carnage cleared a path, and there—behind the chaos—Erbing was visible again.

Li Huowang started toward her, but others surged forward to block him.

She was about to slip away. Blood dripping from his mouth, Li Huowang steeled himself and raised the sword again—this time aimed at his own forearm.

Just before the blade fell, a tall figure planted himself between Li Huowang and the charging mob.

It was Gao Zhijian, hoisting a spiked club. He howled and brought it down with savage force—red and white splattering into the air.

“CALL~ THE~ SPIRITS~”

Drumbeats. A woman in a red bridal veil rushed forward, and the beast’s maw hidden beneath that cloth tore through a man’s throat in one bite.

Then Chun Xiaoman arrived, gasping for breath, a blood-soaked sword in her hand. “Senior Brother Li! We’re here to help!”

Li Huowang lowered his blade as he watched his fellow disciples—still raw, but growing—rally to his side. “Good! Push together—that woman is the key! She’s the one who orchestrated all this!”

The battlefield dissolved into chaos: screams, cracking bones, clashing metal. Step by step, they closed the distance to Erbing.

Seeing that she could no longer hide, Erbing let out a light laugh—then spun on her heel and charged straight at them.

No one expected it. A flash of steel shot from her sleeve. Li Huowang raised his sword to block.

A die—cast iron, shimmering with the faint trace of talismanic script—spun through the air, wreathed in crimson light.

Erbing formed a hand seal and flicked upward. The die rotated midflight and slammed straight into Gao Zhijian’s temple.

“Fool!”

“GAO ZHIJIAN!”

His massive body hit the ground with a heavy thud. The light in his eyes began to fade.

“How amusing~ Hehehe.” Erbing’s voice was full of genuine delight. “That’s how it should be. If no one dies, where’s the fun?”

Chuckling, she pulled two sets of black domino tiles from her sleeve.

Holding the tiles in one hand, she formed seals with the other, chanting under her breath. “Seven-eight-no-nine—if you touch nine, you won’t survive. Gold four, silver five, little stool—heaven and earth, pair them together—meet water, roll four-five-six~”

The domino tiles softened and stretched, oozing like mud through her fingers and into the earth.

But just as they started to burrow, something happened that Erbing never saw coming.

An arm—mangled, missing two fingers—burst through the soil, clutching the now-softened domino tiles. With a wet shluck, it drove straight into Erbing’s abdomen.

Gasping blood, Erbing looked up in shock. In the distance, Li Huowang was rising to one knee. His left sleeve hung empty.

The severed arm clenched tighter and tighter, like forged steel—until it crushed Erbing’s spine clean in two.