Chapter 58: Above All, the Era of Peace and Prosperity, Part 4

Chapter 58: Most Beautiful Is That Golden Age, Part Four

A powerful sense of helplessness surged in Zhang Sanlu’s heart. He remembered that deep night when a barefoot little girl knelt and begged him to save her mother. He remembered the frail figure who, summoning all her courage, had stood before him to shield him.

Zhang Sanlu gently embraced Hui Niang. The air around them was thick with the stench of blood, suffocating and overwhelming.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before the surrounding clamor suddenly grew louder.

Several voices cried out.

“Sir, that’s him! That’s the evil sorcerer!”

“Hurry, surround him!”

“This sorcerer has killed so many, just look at all the blood!”

Zhang Sanlu raised his head and saw a middle-aged official approaching, his head adorned with a scarlet crown topped with red ornaments, his lower body clad in black trousers tied with a leather belt. He led more than a dozen constables who rushed forward, weapons drawn, shouting as they surrounded the Xue family butcher shop where Zhang Sanlu stood.

The village head stood at the front of the crowd, his face flushed with excitement, his voice so hoarse it grew sharp: “Sorcerer, under this bright and just sky, in this age of peace and prosperity! You’ve stolen souls for evil practices on Mount Fu’ai, incited bandits to raid villages, murdered in the streets—your crimes are countless. Today you’re captured at the market by the head constable; I advise you to surrender, perhaps you’ll be spared a complete corpse. Otherwise, when the county captain arrives with soldiers, you won’t escape the punishment of being quartered alive!”

His words echoed through the market, like a curse foretelling the coming storm.

The middle-aged official grinned and nodded, patting the village head’s shoulder. “Guo Quanyou, you’ve done well reporting. Capturing this calamity-bringing sorcerer will surely earn you commendation from above.” He then turned to Zhang Sanlu, smiling. “Sorcerer, in this age of peace, how can you run wild here? Surrender now.” But inwardly he thought of how, recently, the Grand Commandant had written to the court about evil sects deceiving the people, unrepentant even after pardon. The emperor himself intended to issue a clear edict for their arrest. Now, with this great merit delivered to his door, he could use it to fuel court politics as a crucial catalyst.

At this thought, the head constable felt as if his path to promotion opened before him, glory and wealth within reach.

Zhang Sanlu shot a glance at the constables at the bottom of the steps.

These were the ones who had ruined Hui Niang. Fury and helplessness filled his heart, as though cut by knives—not because of their trumped-up charges, but because these worthless people lived well while someone like Hui Niang had to die.

This thought weighed on him like heavy chains, almost crushing his breath.

Suddenly, his eyes widened, gleaming with resolve and madness. He picked up the short blade lying on the ground, murmuring under his breath, “With flesh and blood… to take abhorrence… all become curses, self-harm to beseech… how can Heaven allow it!”

Without hesitation, he plunged the tip of the knife into his own chest. Agonizing pain burst forth as the blade pierced his heart. Blood surged like a fountain, staining his already blood-soaked clothes, as if painting everything around him red.

He coughed, blood gushing from his mouth, each breath wracked with torment.

Blood sprayed from his chest, reddening his clothes and the gaze of those nearby.

But at that same moment, everywhere his eyes touched, the constables, the head constable, and Guo Quanyou all felt his pain as well. Their faces turned deathly pale as they collapsed to the ground.

Guo Quanyou’s mouth gaped open, wanting to shout, but only a feeble rasp escaped him. The soul-rending pain nearly suffocated him, and he writhed on the ground like a snake seized by its vital spot.

Zhang Sanlu’s body trembled, coughing out another mouthful of blood, yet his gaze grew ever more determined. He struggled to stand, step by step descending the stairs. With a swift motion, he slashed at the nearest village head—the blade flashed like lightning, cleaving into the man’s face. Amid screams, his skull was deformed and he died instantly.

The blade, dulled from so much killing, became lodged in Guo Quanyou’s skull and could not be drawn out.

Zhang Sanlu stomped on the village head’s neck and yanked the twisted blade free, aggravating the wound in his chest, the agony nearly making him wish for immediate death.

But he could not, not yet. He had to send these wretches to hell with his own hands.

Then, like one possessed, he wielded the battered knife and charged at the remaining constables. His movements were swift and resolute; each swing of the blade was accompanied by a piercing scream, as if venting all the anger and bitterness in his heart.

In this brutal slaughter, Zhang Sanlu’s figure was like a bloodthirsty butcher, every stroke precise and deadly. Though the constables were many, under his frenzied assault they were lambs to the slaughter, unable to resist.

The head constable clutched his agonized chest, face pale as paper, legs scrambling desperately as he tried to crawl away. He watched Zhang Sanlu change blades, terror and despair filling his eyes, as though seeing his own life’s end approaching fast.

“Master… Immortal… spare me… let me go…”

He had never imagined what sort of magic this sorcerer wielded, making them all writhe in pain and robbing them of any ability to fight back.

His voice trembled, every word squeezed from his throat. He pleaded with Zhang Sanlu, hoping that the man he had just thought of as prey might now show mercy.

But Zhang Sanlu looked at him coldly, with no trace of pity or compassion in his eyes. He still gripped the knife tightly, staring at this clown before him.

Pain wracked the head constable’s chest; it felt as if an invisible hand gripped his heart, every beat accompanied by excruciating torment. He coughed, blood staining his clothes and filling him with terror.

“Immortal… spare me… I never meant for this, it was Guo Quanyou… Guo Quanyou told me there was great merit to be gained… that’s the only reason…”

He gasped, his voice weak and hoarse, unable to comprehend how Guo Quanyou had said this Taoist only used harmless rituals to placate simple folk, yet turned out so formidable.

Zhang Sanlu gave no answer. These scoundrels didn’t even know what they were dying for; the lives of the people under their rule were as insignificant as grass.

His gaze turned colder and deeper as he slowly raised the knife.

The slaughter did not last long.

When the head constable finally fell beneath the blade, Zhang Sanlu also collapsed to his knees, exhausted and powerless. There was no joy of victory on his face, only deep fatigue and despair.