"Taboo" Means?
Qingbei Lang led his men straight toward the northwest.
Before long, the enemy came into view.
Roughly a thousand Ming soldiers advanced in neat ranks, clad in standard Ming cloth armor. Their steps were steady, their formation tight.
Qingbei Lang sneered.
Only a thousand?
He raised his hand, ready to have his men shout a few mocking insults and break the enemy's nerve—
But before he could open his mouth, the Ming soldiers lifted their weapons in unison.
Flintlock rifles.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
They fired without a single word.
No warning. No bravado. Just gunfire.
A swath of Qingbei Lang's men fell instantly, bodies tumbling like wheat before the scythe.
"What the hell?!" Qingbei Lang roared. "Where's the honor in this?!"
There was no time to curse further.
Their bows couldn't reach that far, while the enemy's flintlocks were already roaring. The only option left was to close the distance.
"Charge!" Qingbei Lang bellowed. "Charge through!"
They ran.
But before they covered much ground, the Ming soldiers calmly reloaded.
Then—
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Another volley thundered out.
Qingbei Lang's side suffered heavy casualties again.
As he charged forward in a blind rage, the distance finally closed enough for him to see the enemy commanders clearly.
Then his gaze locked onto one bearded face.
His blood ran cold.
Wang Er.
Even through the thick beard, Qingbei Lang recognized him instantly.
For a moment, his mind went blank.
Impossible.
There was absolutely no way Wang Er would defect to the Ming court. No way.
At the center of the battlefield, Zijing Liang frowned and turned his head toward the northwest.
The sound of flintlock fire was relentless.
A strange unease crept into his chest.
Why were these reinforcements also armed with flintlock rifles?
Ming armies weren't rich. Not rich enough to hand flintlocks to every random unit that showed up.
Before he could think it through, another scout sprinted over.
"Boss! Another Ming unit—about a thousand men—has appeared to the west!"
"What?" Zijing Liang's eyes widened. "Another thousand?"
A head popped up beside him.
Yunzhong Shou grinned. "Boss, I'll block them."
Zijing Liang nodded sharply. "Go."
Yunzhong Shou immediately led his men westward.
The moment they clashed with the force Shi Jian had dispatched from Dragon Gate Ferry, the battlefield exploded with the continuous roar of flintlock fire.
Zijing Liang's expression stiffened.
The west, too?
Flintlocks again?
What kind of cursed day was this?!
Before he could vent his frustration—
From the southwest came a thunderous shout, hundreds of voices roaring together:
"Xing Honglang of Yongji has arrived!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Gunfire erupted from the southwest, and rebel soldiers immediately screamed as they fell.
Zijing Liang cursed aloud. "Damn it! Xing Honglang—that rotten salt smuggler who defected! Even you came to bite me?"
Then, from the south, another shout rolled across the battlefield:
"Lao Nanfeng of Guyuan is here!"
Gunfire followed instantly.
Only then did the rebels realize the truth.
They were being enveloped.
A massive, fan-shaped encirclement of flintlock units was steadily tightening, firing as they advanced from every direction.
They might endure fifty flintlocks.
But thousands?
One volley alone shattered entire front lines.
Almost instantly, rebel morale collapsed across multiple fronts.
Qingbei Lang fled back in chaos.
Yunzhong Shou fled back in panic.
Other bandit leaders followed, faces pale with terror.
Only Geguofei—blind in both eyes—stood in place, roaring wildly:
"Who's firing?! Who's firing those guns?!"
"Boss! The left flank has collapsed!"
"Boss! The right flank is breaking!"
"Boss! The vanguard surrounding the White Pole Soldiers is scattering!"
"Our main formation—Ming troops are pushing in!"
Zijing Liang sucked in a sharp breath.
"Retreat! Retreat now!"
There was only one direction left.
Northeast.
The main force turned and fled in disorder.
But just as Zijing Liang started to run—
A unit suddenly burst out from the diagonal front.
These soldiers were fierce, brutal, and utterly unlike the flintlock units.
They wielded cold weapons—sabers, spears, halberds—
And hand grenades.
At their head rode a general radiating the savage aura of a veteran border commander.
Lao Nanfeng.
"I've come today," he roared, "to take your heads and trade them for military merit and silver! Don't blame me for being ruthless!"
He waved his hand.
A grenade flew.
BOOM!
Then another.
And another.
Several hundred soldiers hurled grenades in unison.
Explosions ripped through Zijing Liang's fleeing formation, blasting it into utter chaos.
Lao Nanfeng raised his saber.
"Brothers! Charge! Kill bandit chiefs! Earn merit! Get promoted! Get rich!"
"I'll swagger through this world!"
"All the money and all the women will be ours!"
The soldiers roared with laughter.
"Military merit!"
"Military merit!"
"I am vulgar and shallow!" Lao Nanfeng shouted.
"We only love money and beautiful women!"
"Charge!"
Their morale dwarfed that of the flintlock units.
These were true border troops—reckless, greedy, fearless men willing to gamble their lives for glory.
Zijing Liang's heart sank.
"Border army… damn it, these are border army! Has Zhang Zongheng arrived? Or Cao Wenzhao?"
But even those famous generals might not be as terrifying as Lao Nanfeng.
Because Lao Nanfeng had grenades.
His sudden strike shoved Zijing Liang into absolute desperation.
Seeing that these men focused on close combat, Qingbei Lang tried to rally himself and charge.
The moment he raised his blade—
Slash!
Lao Nanfeng's saber flashed.
Qingbei Lang's head flew, blood spraying far across the ground.
Lao Nanfeng laughed uproariously.
"Got myself a bandit chief's head!"
A soldier pointed ahead. "Brother Nanfeng! There's another one!"
"That's Yunzhong Shou!"
Lao Nanfeng's eyes turned savage.
"Damn it. Who gave him the nerve to use such an arrogant name? Trying to imitate Dao Xuan Tianzun?"
"Kill that bastard!"
The Guyuan border troops charged.
They tore through the broken rebel ranks like wolves through sheep. No one dared block them.
In moments, they reached Yunzhong Shou.
Yunzhong Shou swung his saber in desperation.
Lao Nanfeng sidestepped, grabbed him by the throat, and snarled:
"Your name is far too damn arrogant."
He stabbed.
Pulled out.
Stabbed again.
Again.
Again.
Dozens of times.
Yunzhong Shou collapsed in a heap.
Lao Nanfeng spat.
"Next life," he growled, "don't pick a name like that. Do you understand what taboo means?"
Much later, he would learn the truth.
Dao Xuan Tianzun never cared about such things.
He did not mind others sharing his name, wearing the same clothes, or eating the same food.
He would never establish hierarchies over such trivialities.
But on this battlefield—
Ignorance was fatal.