Chapter 67 — Who Killed Him?

Teng Xuanji hurtled down the mountain.

"Qinghu, don't blame me," Teng Xuanji murmured inwardly.

Amid the thousands upon thousands of the White Horse Gang, Teng Xuanji could indeed cut his way in and out. But if he alone charged the White Horse Gang's vast host, its men would easily guess who he was; and in such a multitude he could never hope to shield Li Luoxiang—she might die all the same.

Teng Xuanji knew this full well.

And the White Horse Gang would surely wonder: Li Luoxiang, an ordinary girl—what master could she possibly draw out to fight to the death for her?

Not Dali Village—so it could only be Teng Rongjun's legendary first master, Teng Xuanji. What was more, in that vast host so many eyes would be fixed on Teng Xuanji alone. No few bandits had been to Teng Rongjun and seen him. His features, little changed, would be all too easy to pick out.

And then—

Disaster would fall upon Teng Rongjun.

To plunge all of Teng Rongjun into peril for the sake of a woman he had never met—Teng Xuanji would not do it. Even if he did, he had no confidence he could save her. And the most important point of all: he did not know Li Luoxiang at all. Were he to go, he would not even know which of all the captured women she was.

In truth, in the measure of suffering, those other dead women were no less unfortunate. Was every wretched soul to be rescued by Teng Xuanji?

There were countless women in this world who suffered, who were carried off by bandits and robbers, and Teng Xuanji's vanity had not swollen so far as to want to save every suffering soul under heaven. After all, this was determined by the ways of the world, beyond any man's power to change.

"In this age of chaos, all I can do is strive to protect my own clan," Teng Xuanji murmured.

The bandits of the Iron Mountain Gang and the White Horse Gang slaughtered one another in frenzy. Every man of the White Horse Gang wore a white cloth strip bound about his arm, while every man of the Iron Mountain Gang wore a red one—for in the chaos of battle, amid thousands upon thousands, there was no telling friend from foe. Only the strips of cloth could tell.

In the eyes of the Iron Mountain Gang, any man with a white strip was to be killed. Any man without a strip was likewise to be killed.

Kill, and kill, and kill—nothing else.

"Whoosh."

Teng Xuanji darted into the Iron Mountain Gang's stronghold, untied the red strip from the arm of a dead Iron Mountain bandit, and bound it about his own arm. Teng Xuanji lifted his head—horses and men slaughtering in a vast confusion. "In such confusion, if I quietly kill Fourth Master Hong and that young chieftain, who will ever know?"

The killing intent he had held in for so long at last came surging forth.

"He's a traitor!" A sharp cry rang out from behind him. An Iron Mountain bandit, broadsword in hand, had seen with his own eyes Teng Xuanji disguised as one of their own.

Teng Xuanji glanced back, his gaze turning cold.

His form flickered.

"Pfft." Teng Xuanji's right hand moved like lightning, slicing across the bandit's throat. More than half the man's throat was cut through; "huh, huh," blood gushed out, and the bandit's eyes went wide as he crashed to the ground—while Teng Xuanji took the broadsword from his hand. After all, masters who wielded spears were few in Yicheng; a spear would betray his identity.

So Teng Xuanji had not brought the Reincarnation Spear.

Broadsword in hand, Teng Xuanji raced forward, drawing near the fiercest quarter of the fighting ahead.

Astride the Snow-Treading steed, the silver-haired old man in full armor gazed into the distance, a faint smile on his face. "Those three Wang brothers may guard ever so carefully, they still fell into this old man's trap. Ha ha!"

"Master Jiji." Beside him, a tall armored man on a Crimson Fire horse laughed. "In Yicheng, you, Master Jiji, have built your power for decades, while the Iron Mountain Gang swelled madly. We planted a few spies among them—ha!—and no matter how carefully they guard, they cannot escape the snare."

With spies within and allies without, breaching the stronghold gate was far easier.

"Zhenjie," the silver-haired old man said.

"Father." Beside him, an iron-tower of a man, likewise mounted on a Snow-Treading steed, answered.

"Those three Wang brothers have roamed the world over, ruthless in their methods. You have too little experience fighting masters. Today you shall hold the rear army and see that no man flees without a fight. Wang He, you shall take your junior brother's place and lead the White Horse Battalion; when the time comes, support me, and we will slay those three Wang brothers in one stroke." Fourth Master Hong gave his orders calmly.

"Yes, Master Jiji," the man on the Crimson Fire horse answered at once.

"Father, do be careful yourself," Hong Jinjun said with some worry.

"Rest easy. Your father has toiled over the Cold Moon Blade Art by White Horse Lake for decades; my blade work has climbed another level. So long as I do not charge rashly, those three Wang brothers shall never best me. Wang He, your White Horse Battalion shall heed nothing and no one—first follow me to destroy those three Wang brothers. Then the Iron Mountain Gang will crumble of itself."

Teng Xuanji hid in a loft within the stronghold, gazing into the distance.

"If I disguise myself as one of the Iron Mountain Gang and charge into the White Horse Gang's ranks, I'll only bring endless slaughter down on myself—what a nuisance." The broadsword in Teng Xuanji's right hand was slick with blood; along the way he had already killed dozens of White Horse Gang men and horses, then slipped into this loft.

Now and then a White Horse Gang man would rush in, and only then would Teng Xuanji favor him with a blade.

"The most important thing now is to find that Fourth Master Hong and his son. But I've seen neither of them..." Teng Xuanji's brows drew slightly together.

Fourth Master Hong, chief of the White Horse Gang of Yicheng, was a figure of legend. Those who had seen him were very, very few.

Of his son Hong Jinjun, Xu Yuanyue knew only that the White Horse Gang had a young chieftain who led its most elite force, the White Horse Battalion. As for the young chieftain's name, Xu Yuanyue did not even know it—let alone what he looked like.

When the White Horse Gang came out to collect the year tribute, it was usually their underlings who came. Now and then the second and third chieftains would come as well.

After all, in the White Horse Gang the highest was the chief, next the young chieftain, and only then the second and third chieftains.

"Now I fix my eyes on those three Wang brothers. When the time comes, that Fourth Master Hong will surely appear. Fourth Master Hong must be well on in years, and his blade work must be extremely formidable—by these two things I can tell which one is Fourth Master Hong. As for the young chieftain, he dares call himself the White Horse Gang's second master, so his blade work should be fierce as well." Teng Xuanji watched the three Wang brothers closely in the distance.

"Ha ha, you old bastard Hong, all you know is tricks and schemes! If you've got the guts, come trade a few blows with us three brothers!" A bald, burly fellow, like some demon god, whirled a pair of red-bronze hammers; the White Horse Gang bandits before him had their skulls smashed or their bodies crushed.

Of the three Wang brothers, the eldest, Wang Tieshan, wielded a mountain-cleaving blade, and none could stand before him.

The second, Wang Tiefeng, wielded a pair of red-bronze hammers, each blow taking a life.

The third, Wang Tiehai, bore a fine iron spear like a leaping dragon.

These three brothers led the Iron Mountain Gang's elite in a charge, sweeping all before them like a storm breaking rotten wood. Great numbers of White Horse Gang bandits were slain, and for a time the Iron Mountain Gang's morale soared.