Resolution

Holding the Xuejun Saber in hand, Chen Chuan walked steadily toward the Blood Mark Gang outpost. His footsteps were measured yet swift, carrying him steadily closer to where Uncle Han and the others were gathered. Two gunshots cracked, kicking up dirt from the muddy ground just ahead of him. Yet his stride did not hitch in the least, unaffected in the slightest. Another shot rang out. Perhaps due to the distance, or perhaps intended merely as a deterrent, the bullets merely grazed past him. Still, he did not halt his pace, drawing nearer and nearer. Uncle Han grew increasingly anxious. Fortunately, he saw that Du Mian and his men had already pulled back. Rushing to the edge of the sentry post, he pointed outside with his cane and instructed, "Du Mian, you two as well—don't let him get close! If push comes to shove, kill him!" Chen Chuan's posture made it clear he was coming straight for them. Uncle Han knew all too well what kind of power a fighter could unleash once within range—especially one likely wearing a protective suit. If someone like that breached the perimeter, a leader like himself who possessed virtually no combat prowess would certainly be finished. Regardless of who Chen Chuan was or what his background might be, the boy posed a lethal threat to him. Naturally, he cared about nothing else: put him down first, whatever it took. Du Mian was thoroughly obedient. He did whatever he was told without overthinking. Gazing at Chen Chuan from a distance, he sensed the newcomer might be a troublesome fighter. Turning back, he grabbed a specially crafted staff and led two men forward to intercept him. Watching the three charge his way, Chen Chuan paid no heed to the two flanking outward, fixing his gaze squarely on Du Mian directly ahead. Once within proper range, Du Mian's torso drove his arms, his arms drove his wrists, and the staff in his grip spun several times before whistling through the air, stirring up a blast of fierce wind as it whipped toward Chen Chuan's head. The strike was packed with immense force, sweeping even the surrounding fallen leaves into the air. He was confident that whether his opponent wore a protective suit or any other defense, a direct hit would instantly shatter the boy's muscles and bones. Yet at that exact instant, his vision blurred. Just as half the force from his arms was delivered, he felt his throat seized in a vice-like grip. He instantly sensed disaster and instinctively triggered his second-tier jin burst. This was a technique unique to him, allowing him to muster a secondary surge of power while a strike was already being unleashed. In that split second, the mutated tissue around his chest and neck swelled as though inflated, generating an outward-bursting surge of jin. Under normal circumstances, this would have been enough to snap open any object or fingers clamping down on him. Yet this time, the five fingers clamped around his neck tightened immediately. Whether it was the expanded mutated tissue or the muscle and bone beneath, before that overwhelming force they proved as brittle as rotten wood, crushed to splinters in an instant. Chen Chuan's gaze was calm and devoid of ripples. Tossing aside the lifeless Du Mian like an inconsequential piece of trash, he continued walking forward. The two men on his flanks had intended to move in while Du Mian attacked, but before they could even strike, Du Mian had been snuffed out. Their charge ground to an involuntary halt midway. They exchanged glances, backed up several paces, and waited until Chen Chuan passed between them. Looking at each other once more, they drew pistols from their waists in unison and aimed at his back. Chen Chuan seemed to pay them no mind. Yet right then, his hand appeared to twitch, moving too fast to track. Only his trench coat seemed to flutter for a fraction of a second. Two sharp cracks rang out, and in a flash, both men's heads burst apart. They toppled backward in unison, stiff as boards. Back at the sentry post, everyone who witnessed the scene caught their breath. By now, Chen Chuan had arrived less than a hundred meters from the post. Finally, he came to a stop. Looking up, he thrust the Xuejun Saber's sheath into the ground and gripped the hilt. The frost-gleaming blade slipped from the scabbard in a motion that looked slow yet was startlingly swift. With a flash of razor-sharp light, his figure vanished abruptly from where he had stood. Uncle Han was an experienced man, and sheer terror gripped his heart. He hurriedly turned around, preparing to climb down from the watchtower. Standing up high had given him a commanding view, but now he cursed himself for having climbed so high. Outside, a burst of rapid gunfire suddenly erupted, accompanied by miserable shrieks, panicked screams, and furious roars. Clinging tightly to the bamboo ladder, he scrambled down trembling. So terrified was he that his feet slipped several times, costing him precious moments. Yet by the time he made it to the bottom, the noise outside had dwindled to sporadic bursts. And when he staggered out from the fortified sentry post, utter silence had fallen over the grounds. By the daylight, all he saw were corpses strewn across the ground. Most of the once-ferocious gang members now lay scattered in severed limbs and broken torsos, while those farther off had had their heads burst open. The scene was horrifying beyond words. Not far away, he also saw the figure clad in the black trench coat standing there, pulling the long saber from a gang member impaled against the wall. Uncle Han's breathing hitched uncontrollably, his whole body trembling violently. Without uttering a word, he spun around and fled toward the outside. His cane shook with every strike against the ground, looking as if he might collapse at any second. Even so, his feet shuffled along at no slow pace, tottering into the distance as though sheer momentum could carry him to safety. Yet when he had wheezed his way a dozen meters out, unhurried footsteps echoed behind him. He felt as though terror had seized him by the throat. He wanted to scream, but the muscles in his throat were so taut that only a raspy, truncated gasp escaped. Panicking more with each passing second, his movements devolved into frantic stumbling until his foot slipped and he crashed to the ground, his neatly combed hair instantly turned into a disheveled mess. Fortunately, the soft soil beneath cushioned his fall, leaving him largely unharmed. His mind went blank for an instant. As he fumbled for his cane, trying to scramble back to his feet, he heard the footsteps arrive right beside him, and his entire body froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a pair of black boots and the black hem of a trench coat brushing past him, stopping only after stepping directly in front of him. He did not dare look up at all. Slumping into a kneel, he hung his head and whimpered, "Spare me... spare me..." He pushed forward a small leather briefcase he carried. "I'm useful! I have money, so much money—I'll give it all to you..." Chen Chuan said, "Han Chang? You're the one who used esoteric rituals to siphon vital essence before, aren't you? Lift your head." Uncle Han's body shuddered. He slowly raised his head, but because the newcomer stood against the sun, he couldn't see clearly, catching only the sight of a scarf fluttering gently in the autumn wind. He confessed, "Yes, it's me. I am Han Chang. Lock me up! I've committed many crimes—really, so many crimes! You can sentence me, you can sentence me..." Chen Chuan said, "Then there's no mistake." Raising the blade, he swung his hand with effortless ease. Uncle Han's head flew off with a sharp swoosh, and his corpse slumped sideways to the ground. With a flick of his wrist, Chen Chuan shook the blood from the blade and planted it into the earth. Taking out a camera he carried, he began snapping photographs all around, searching the belongings of the dead as he went. Coming here, he hadn't known who belonged to the esoteric cult and who belonged to the Blood Mark Gang, but there was no need to distinguish. Anyone carrying weapons who fired on him or attacked him was dispatched without exception. Only a few who appeared to be logistical or technical personnel were merely knocked unconscious, left for the villagers across the way to deal with. Inspecting the scene now, he confirmed two individuals were suspected cult members. Yet judging by the notebooks they carried, the records inside were exceedingly rudimentary—as if they had only just begun studying recently and were merely brought along to make up the numbers. Though such people could set up an esoteric ritual, its efficacy was questionable at best; the true core personnel of the esoteric ritual were likely not among them. After making a full round, he picked up the small leather case Uncle Han had carried and departed. Roughly ten minutes after his departure, the villagers of Caijia Stockade cautiously approached. When they saw the ground carpeted with corpses, shock, fear, and excitement surfaced across their faces. Looking at the mangled corpses strewn everywhere, Guan Xiaohui still found it hard to believe. Was the Blood Mark Gang—a force that had held them in terror and nearly brought catastrophic ruin to the village—simply wiped out just like that? Zhen Ping surveyed the surrounding scene. As a fighter, she could tell there were virtually no signs of meaningful struggle on the Blood Mark Gang members. It was glaringly obvious that they had been slain within a single strike. The process had been cleanly executed and devastatingly efficient; the two sides had simply not been on the same level, leaving the victims unable to muster even the slightest resistance. The two seniors from her organization who had accompanied her watched with tense, solemn expressions. One of them said with certainty, "He must be..." The other did not entirely agree, only saying, "Even if not, it shouldn't be far off. It's also possible medicine was involved." Guan Xiaohui hesitated a moment, then leaned close to Zhen Ping and whispered, "Sister Zhen, I think... that person just now seemed to be Student Chen..." Zhen Ping was taken aback. Turning, she asked, "Xiaohui, did you see clearly?" Guan Xiaohui said, "I didn't see clearly, but I recognized that saber of his. Back when he went to wipe out Fang Dawei's gang, he was carrying that very saber. I wouldn't mistake it. And his height and build looked somewhat familiar too." Inwardly, Zhen Ping mused, 'It really was him. It could only be him.' She knew Chen Chuan had dismantled the entire Mutual Aid Society on his own. Compared to the people of the Mutual Aid Society, these Blood Mark Gang remnants were nothing; whether in equipment or the quality of fighters, the Mutual Aid Society far surpassed them. Guan Xiaohui asked again, "Sister Zhen, did Student Chen come here specifically to deal with these Blood Mark Gang people?" Zhen Ping wasn't certain either. After a moment's thought, she said, "Student Chen might have accepted a commission from some government department to wipe out these gang members." Just then, one of the senior fighters walked over to them. "Xiao Zhen, go back and get ready. We need to evacuate Caijia Stockade as soon as possible." "Evacuate? Why?" Zhen Ping was caught by surprise. The fighter said in a low voice, "The coat that person was wearing just now—though it looked like an ordinary trench coat, it was likely the State Administration Bureau's stab-resistant suit." "The State Administration Bureau..." Zhen Ping gasped. She seemed about to say something, but quickly held her tongue, giving Guan Xiaohui's sleeve a tug. The girl was smart enough to keep quiet as well. The fighter looked at Guan Xiaohui and reassured her, "Xiaohui, don't worry. We're only temporarily staying away from the village, not truly leaving for good. Bao Yuan is still active in this area. Until we deal with that scum from our organization, we won't be going anywhere!"