Chapter 147 All of You Shall Die!

Qin Cheng, accompanied by Qin Qingzhi and Wang Er, dashed forward with relentless speed, sweat pouring like rain. For two days and one night, they scarcely paused, only briefly tending to their horses’ stamina. Even so, three horses collapsed from exhaustion along the way. They quickly exchanged them for spares and pressed on with renewed urgency. At last, by the second nightfall, they rendezvoused with the undercover soldiers tailing the merchant caravan and learned that Bai Xinxin was held in a nearby small hamlet.

The moment they halted, Qin Qingzhi felt his legs go weak, nearly tumbling from his horse. Wang Er looked equally shaken, wobbling atop his mount—a testament to the brutal toll of their non-stop ride.

“Xiao Residence?” Qin Cheng, his shoulder stained red with seeped blood beneath his simple garment, glanced toward the direction indicated by the scout. The night had fully fallen, and he repeated the name in a low voice, a shadow of dark resolve flickering in his eyes.

“It is indeed the Xiao Residence. Though distant, I am certain of what I saw,” the scout affirmed confidently.

Qin Cheng snorted coldly and barked, “Move out!” Spurring his already fatigued horse, he somehow found a burst of speed as if sensing the destination was near.

Those trailing him remained unaware that this place was Qin Cheng’s childhood home—the Xiao Residence being where his betrothed had come to live.

As the hamlet grew nearer, Qin Cheng’s lips curled into a cold sneer.

The day had waned; the moon hung low and pristine.

Four warhorses cut through the dust like shadows in flight.

Outside the Xiao Residence, the merchant caravan’s goods lay scattered in small clusters. Near the cargo, several campfires flickered, around which servants gathered—some nibbling on dry rations, others sipping water, sharing laughter. Not far off, two sword-wielding sentinels stood at ease on watch.

As the four riders thundered closer, their forms sharpening from blurry silhouettes, the two sentinels exchanged glances and shouted toward the dark shapes, “Who goes there? Halt!”

The four blackened figures remained silent, racing forward.

The sentinels unsheathed long blades without hesitation, cursing, “Damn thieves! They’re mad to come this far! Stop them—”

Suddenly, many noticed the disturbance and several swordsmen rushed toward the scene, shouting.

At the moment one scout drew his blade, Qin Cheng’s ring-shaped sword flashed, carving a swift, clean arc through the scout’s chest, leaving a deep crimson gash visible to the bone.

Daring to draw a weapon against an official Han soldier gave Qin Cheng the deadly justification he needed.

With each strike, he claimed a life—disposing of another scout who tried to pursue him with a single slash to the throat, delivered by Qin Qingzhi who had followed closely behind.

When you stand opposed to the swordsmen of the martial world, especially when attempting to seize something from them, do not foolishly expect reason to prevail—the most unyielding logic is the blade in your hand, a blade that kills!

If your blade is strong, you seize what you desire; if weak, you forfeit your life.

“Stop them!” a swordsman shouted, rallying others to encircle from all sides.

“Mount up!” another urged those nearby to mount their horses and fight.

Throughout, Qin Cheng uttered not a single wasted word. His horse swift beneath him, his sword swifter still, he charged straight toward the gates of the Xiao Residence.

Behind him, a trail of blood marked their path.

Reaching the gate, Qin Cheng pulled his reins hard, halting his steed.

The warhorse neighed and reared, towering above the scattering servants and the few swordsmen converging.

Chaos erupted instantly—countless servants toppled, pools of blood staining the ground, yet the campfires burned on, their flames a fierce red.

Using the momentum, Qin Cheng struck the sword of a nearby attacker, knocking him violently aside. Amid the attacker’s anguished screams, Qin Cheng snorted again, leapt upward with force against his horse, vaulted toward the main gate, grasped the eaves, and hoisted himself onto the horizontal beam.

Perched atop the courtyard wall, Qin Cheng’s bloodied sword angled across the gathered foes, his gaze disdainful and chilling. He declared, “Today, you all die!”

The flickering firelight silhouetted his figure in eerie mystery, the crimson stains crisscrossing his garments enhancing his aura of lethal menace. As he spoke, a hot drop of blood trickled down his chin.

Qin Cheng did not say: “Hand over the person!”

His eyes, cold and merciless, regarded those within the yard as if they were already dead. Qin Cheng never wasted words on corpses.

After two days and nights of furious riding, Qin Cheng’s fury had reached its zenith and then transcended it.

Beyond wrath, only a singular desire remained—to kill every insolent bastard before him.

When dealing with those who abduct your woman, what need is there for words?

Within the yard stood Guo Feng, Xiao Xuanwu, Guo Dongdong, and curiously drawn by the commotion, Xiao Linglong, who had just emerged from her room.

A fire burned within the courtyard, casting light that allowed Xiao Xuanwu to recognize Qin Cheng the instant he ascended the wall.

Xiao Xuanwu, who harbored deep resentment and even hatred toward Qin Cheng, staggered back in shock upon seeing Qin Cheng’s fierce, murderous visage. His cheeks, once flushed with joy, drained pale as if he had glimpsed a specter.

This specter was the Black and White Impermanence—the death messenger.

The bloodied sword, the stained plain clothes, the piercing eyes brimming with killing intent, and the resolute leap onto the courtyard wall—together, they struck Xiao Xuanwu’s heart like a thousand-pound hammer, making each breath a struggle.

“Qin… Qin…” Xiao Xuanwu stammered, retreating several steps before collapsing to the ground, terror-stricken.

Even the dullest swordsman knew what it meant when a killer burst through their ranks.

At that moment, Guo Feng frowned and, quite foolishly, asked the grim reaper standing on the wall, “Who are you?”

A cold smile tugged at Qin Cheng’s lips. Raising his sword, he leapt down and said icily, “The one who’s come for your life!”

Qin Cheng’s blade sliced toward Guo Feng with full force. Before Guo Feng could curse in anger, he had to muster all his strength to block the blow.

Using the downward momentum, Qin Cheng intensified his strike, the ring-shaped sword clashing against Guo Feng’s hastily raised blade with a sharp clang. Under the overwhelming force, Guo Feng felt his knees weaken, and he dropped to one knee.

“Die!” Qin Cheng snarled inwardly, kicking Guo Feng squarely in the chest and sending him flying backward.