Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Great Spear Falls (Please keep reading, do not let this story sit in your library)

He Lishan was struck with terror; his body trembled, and the elm-wood box slipped from his hands, crashing to the ground. As the stones scattered with a clatter, the severed head tumbled down the steps in front of the door, rolling off into the distance.

Ivan stared at the head on the ground, his face deathly pale, even the whiskers at the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

In an instant, the entire scene fell into a deathly silence.

Jiang Xiaodao’s heart hammered against his ribs, as if it were desperate to shatter his chest and leap out. He had guessed correctly, but he had no idea what would happen next. This was no longer just a matter of joining the Loyal and Righteous Army to kill the Russians; by delivering the head in this manner, they had committed an act of naked provocation.

"Click!"

The Russian soldiers chambered their rounds almost in unison. The harsh, metallic sound shattered the nerves of He Lishan and his men.

"Sir! It’s a misunderstanding!" He Lishan lost all the poise of a head merchant. "Someone set me up! It was him! This boy right here, he’s Jiang Chenghai’s son—they’re the ones who started all this!"

After listening to the interpreter, Ivan turned and cast a cold glance at Jiang Xiaodao. He then pulled the pistol from his belt and aimed it squarely at him.

In just one month, this was the second time Jiang Xiaodao had stared down the barrel of a gun. The difference was that Jiang Chenghai’s bullet had been intended to keep him alive, while this one from the Russian was meant only to kill him.

Only then did Jiang Xiaodao realize that the "immobilization spells" in folklore were real—he wanted to run, but his legs refused to obey him.

Zhang Zongchang spoke rapidly to the side, seemingly pleading on Jiang Xiaodao’s behalf. Whether it was his words or a sudden change of heart by the Russians, Ivan finally lowered his gun and barked several orders to his men.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than two soldiers lunged at He Lishan.

"What... what are you doing?"

Before He Lishan could understand what was happening, the soldiers let out a shout and plunged their bayonets into his thighs. Blood immediately gushed out along the grooves of the blades, pooling on the ground.

"Ugh!"

He Lishan collapsed to his knees, cold sweat streaming down his forehead.

Ivan then gestured to Jiang Xiaodao with a smile. Jiang, bewildered, felt Old Cui push him from behind. "Xiaodao, he wants you to go over. Hurry up! Don't dawdle, or he might change his mind!"

"Oh..."

Jiang Xiaodao moved forward with heavy, wooden steps. As he reached them, a soldier leveled his rifle at his head. Ivan handed the pistol to Jiang Xiaodao with a chuckle, pointed at He Lishan, and said in a stiff, harsh tone, "You, kill him!"

"Huh?"

A ringing sound filled Jiang Xiaodao’s ears; his brain buzzed, and he stood frozen.

Ivan leaned forward slightly, baring his white teeth in a grin, and repeated, "You, kill him!"

"Brother, don't think too much!" Zhang Zongchang urged. "In times like this, just do what you're told!"

With a bayonet pressing against his lower back, Jiang Xiaodao had no time for hesitation. He slowly raised the heavy pistol. Seeing this, He Lishan’s pupils dilated in terror. Caught between life and death, he abandoned all pretense of pride and begged, "Little brother, have mercy! Don't... don't be rash. I have an elderly father and a young daughter. Please, send a message to Jiang Chenghai for me. We’re all people of the martial arts world—how much hatred could there be that you must drive the He family to extinction?"

Is this what they called a martial arts hero?

Jiang Xiaodao felt a sense of disappointment, yet he hesitated and did not fire. In truth, he had no grudge against the Changfeng Escort Agency; the only reason the He family was in such a pathetic state was because of a single sentence he had uttered at the temple fair.

Facing He Lishan’s desperate pleas, Jiang Xiaodao vaguely understood his own role in this struggle: he was nothing more than a pawn.

Seeing that Jiang Xiaodao still wouldn't shoot, Ivan and his men began to curse and shout impatiently.

Zhang Zongchang urged, "Brother, hurry up and shoot! If you keep stalling, even I can't protect you!"

Not far away, Old Cui, fearing he might be implicated, also chimed in, "Xiaodao, shoot! No one will blame you!"

He Lishan continued to beg: "Little brother, give our family a way out! If you don't kill me, I can go back, raise the money, and find a way to reconcile with the Russians!"

The cacophony of voices—all shouting and arguing at once—poured into Jiang Xiaodao’s head, leaving him dizzy and overwhelmed.

"Shut the hell up!"

The crowd fell silent instantly; even the Russian soldiers were taken aback, caught off guard by the outburst.

Jiang Xiaodao wiped his face with his left hand, his expression suddenly stern. He stepped forward and jammed the muzzle of the gun against the center of He Lishan’s forehead.

"What’s your name?"

"Huh? W-what do you mean?"

"I asked what your name is!"

"I... my name is He Lishan."

"Bang!"

Without a second of warning, the gunshot rang out!

A mist of blood bloomed before Jiang Xiaodao’s eyes, splashing onto his face. It was sticky and itchy, and the gray, acrid smoke masked the nauseating stench of blood. He didn't want to admit it, but there was a strange, perverse pleasure in it.

So, this is what it feels like to kill someone.

In the moment a life is snuffed out, it is surprisingly quiet.

Unfortunately, no sooner had he regained his senses than the sound of wailing erupted from inside the Changfeng Escort Agency.

"Harosho! Harosho!"

Ivan laughed and clapped his hands, looking at Jiang Xiaodao with interest before snatching back the pistol. He kicked He Lishan’s corpse aside and led his men charging into the courtyard.

Pillage and destruction began immediately. The escort guards, who usually puffed out their chests and bragged about being heroes of the martial world, now huddled together like frightened chicks, trembling in fear, with not one daring to offer the slightest resistance.

The crowd gathered around, though they did not join in the atrocities, did nothing more than watch from the sidelines.

Ivan was full of self-satisfaction and arrogance. The scene was exactly like two years ago, when over a hundred thousand Tsarist Russian troops marched south to Fengtian, sweeping through the land as if there were no one there to stop them.

Just then, screams of women drifted from the backyard. Upon hearing this, the Russian soldiers’ eyes lit up, and they roared as they charged toward the inner courtyard. Ivan, considering himself a gentleman, maintained his composure, but his pace was hurried and eager.

However, when they kicked open the door, they were not met by women, but by a gray-haired figure standing with his back to them.

He Xinpei wore a bloated, dark blue cotton-padded jacket. He stood alone in the courtyard, his right hand gripping a long, red-tasseled spear. The old man looked dazed, glancing from the old horse jingling in the stable to the escort flag flapping in the wind, then sweeping his gaze over the eighteen weapons on the rack before turning around.

Ivan narrowed his eyes. He Xinpei cupped his hands in a formal salute—not to the Russians, but to the onlookers outside the gate.

"Gentlemen!"

He Xinpei projected his voice from his diaphragm, the sound like a clap of thunder.

"I, He Xinpei, have practiced martial arts since I was a child. At fifteen, I traveled to the Northeast, and at twenty-six, I founded the Changfeng Escort Agency! For decades, thanks to all of you for your support, for giving me a meal and treating me with respect. Wandering the world of martial arts, one works for survival and for reputation. I’ve lived long enough to be satisfied. I am old now, and I care about my dignity! Today, disaster has struck my home; it is my fate! I ask for nothing else, only that when you chat after tea, you might remember me kindly. He thanks you all!"

With that, He Xinpei hooked his right leg, tapped the end of the spear shaft with his heel, and with a swift motion, leveled the long, red-tasseled spear. The shaft hummed and vibrated, and the spearhead shimmered with a cold, piercing light.

"You thieves! Take this!"

He Xinpei lunged forward with all his might, thrusting toward Ivan.

The crowd held their breath. Jiang Xiaodao’s eyes widened.

Could this be what a true hero is?

No snow-white robes, no dashing charm—just a wrinkled old man in a bloated coat, clumsily risking his life?

"Bang!"

The gun fired.

Jiang Xiaodao couldn't help but shake his head.

Sure enough, He Xinpei collapsed like a dog. He didn't even have much blood left to spill. The Russian soldiers roared with laughter, stepping over his corpse as they stormed into the back rooms.

The women of the Changfeng Escort Agency screamed and wept, a sound so suffocating it made it hard to breathe. Amidst the chaos, Jiang Xiaodao looked up and saw several neighbors peering through the window, whispering to each other with wicked, knowing smiles.