Chapter 222: The Magical Duel

In the binoculars, the Daoist emerged from the sedan chair with a beaming smile, his movements slightly clumsy. Mingqing followed closely behind, fanning him.

“Poor Daoist Zhang,” Ye Mengyan thought, considering the full set of protective gear Zhang Yingchen was wearing under his robe. It must be sweltering. If it weren’t for the ice pack helping to cool him down, the Daoist would probably have suffered from heatstroke halfway there.

Through the binoculars, Zhang Yingchen, surrounded by a crowd, exchanged pleasantries and walked inside. Ye Mengyan admired his courage. In his eyes, being “exposed in a pack of wolves” was no different from suicide.

Ye Mengyan gently tapped his microphone. “All teams, take note! The ‘Immortal’ has entered. Maintain observation!” Then he called out:

“Daoist, test!”

“Normal,” the Daoist’s voice came through the earpiece.

For the next hour, Ye Mengyan felt like he was watching a long, boring silent movie. One moment the Daoist was being led to the main hall, the next to the mat-sheds. A large group of people kowtowed towards the incense hall, smoke swirling around them. Faintly, he could hear the sounds of trumpets, gongs, drums, and flutes.

Through the binoculars, Zhang Yingchen tried his best to maintain his composure. Ye Mengyan could clearly see a look of impatience on his face, probably due to the heat from the protective gear.

Finally, the banquet began, and Zhang Yingchen was led to the guest of honor’s seat. Someone brought a towel chilled with ice water. The morning’s ordeal had left him somewhat exhausted. But it was not without its rewards—some wavering Incense Masters and Attendants had refused to kowtow and burn incense during the first ceremony of the morning, and others, not wanting to offend either side, had simply hidden or feigned heatstroke to avoid participating.

This greatly boosted Zhang Yingchen’s confidence. He suddenly understood why, throughout history, the “sect masters” of folk religions often developed ambitions of becoming emperor after their power grew to a certain point. To be adored by so many, with some even willing to die for you—what could be more ego-inflating? Even if they knew they had no “magical powers,” they would still fall under the illusion of “heaven’s mandate is with me.”

This situation was clearly beyond the expectations of Ma Weisan and Xuan De. Zhang Yingchen’s calm smile and polite demeanor made them feel very troubled. According to the original plan, someone from the main altar was supposed to display their magical powers and execute the disobedient on the spot. But Zhang Yingchen’s presence had forced a change in their plans.

“We must first crush this outsider’s prestige!” Xuan De instructed his subordinates. “Don’t touch those traitors for now. We’ll make our move at the banquet…”

Seeing that Zhang Yingchen had already taken his seat at the banquet table, Ye Mengyan knew it was about to start. He asked his assistant.

“Wind speed and direction?”

“3.1 m/s! Southwest wind!”

“Distance?”

“410.33 meters to the front of the opera stage.”

He immediately began calculating the trajectory—although he didn’t know the specific target yet, it was definitely within this courtyard.

With a click, Ye Mengyan chambered a round. His assistant opened a small wicker box he carried and released all the cicadas inside.

The pine forest was instantly filled with the deafening chorus of cicadas.

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Although Zhang Yingchen was unaware of their intentions, as more and more people appeared in the mat-sheds, the stiff expressions on some of their faces indicated that the main act was about to begin.

So far, Ma Weisan and the others had not been rude in their words or actions. But from his dazed expression, his careful consideration before speaking, and his frequent departures from the scene, it was clear he was not the leader of this event. The real leader was likely the emissary from the main altar, still behind the scenes.

The tables were square eight-immortal tables, each already laden with eight bowls and eight plates of large portions of fish and meat. There were no small wine cups, only large tea bowls, which gave it a rather heroic, outlaw-of-the-marsh feel. As the guest of honor, Zhang Yingchen was led to the head seat. The people accompanying him, both men and women, had solemn expressions, showing no interest in drinking. Although the servants had already poured the wine, the atmosphere at the table was exceptionally cold. No one drank, and no one picked up their chopsticks.

Looking at the faces of the people at each table, they were all uncertain. Clearly, everyone knew that something big was about to happen. Many people were staring directly at Zhang Yingchen.

I’m being watched by a crowd, Zhang Yingchen thought. As his mind wandered, someone suddenly spoke:

“Niu Wugeng! Since you’ve come to the incense hall, how dare you not pay your respects and burn incense?”

The voice belonged to a woman. Zhang Yingchen quickly turned his gaze and saw that the speaker was a young man, dressed in a blue silk jacket with a white sash, looking elegant but unconventional and strange—Zhang Yingchen knew this was likely the attire of a martial artist, meant to “make a statement.”

A stir went through the crowd. From the hushed voices of his neighbors, Zhang Yingchen learned that this was an “Incense-Holding Emissary” who had “descended” from the main altar, a person of high rank.

The man called Niu Wugeng was a rustic-looking middle-aged man. Zhang Yingchen recognized him: he was the Incense Master of a local incense hall who had recently come to “pay his respects” and express his desire to “convert.” He had been a small landlord, but now, due to the constant floods and droughts, he had become impoverished. Because he felt that he had spared no effort in serving the sect for many years, but they had not helped him during the famine and had even demanded he continue his “contributions,” even charging him for the cost of relieving the refugees of his incense hall, he was dissatisfied with both the sect and Ma Weisan.

Zhang Yingchen knew that Niu Wugeng was a timid, genuine farmer and didn’t expect him to have “firm faith,” so he wasn’t surprised to see him at the Ma Family Village. But he was surprised that he had actually dared to skip the incense burning. He couldn’t help but look at him with new respect.

Niu Wugeng quickly stood up from his seat, trembling. “Emissary… sir… superior, my legs are not well, and I just suffered from heatstroke…” He spoke incoherently, looking terrified.

He hadn’t expected Zhang Yingchen to be present and was afraid that burning incense would anger the “Immortal Zhang.” So, he had used the excuse of heatstroke to try and escape, but he didn’t expect Ma Weisan to not let them off. Anyone who claimed to have heatstroke or sunstroke was not allowed to leave.

“You saw the incense but did not bow. You have broken the law! You are to be punished by the Heavenly Fire! Do you know your crime?” the young man’s voice was sharp, his finger pointing straight at Niu Wugeng’s nose.

“I…” Niu Wugeng was speechless, standing there dumbfounded, his gaze turning to Zhang Yingchen. Zhang Yingchen knew that many wavering people were watching him. The slightest sign of fear would damage his reputation.

Although his military power was strong, sometimes reputation was more important than force. He coughed, and instantly, all eyes in the courtyard focused on him.

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Ye Mengyan had been dozing off while watching through his binoculars. Suddenly, he saw the Daoist stand up, and his spirits were immediately lifted. He quickly adjusted the focus. He saw Zhang Yingchen making a righteous speech to a strangely dressed young man.

Suddenly, with a bang, a flash of light erupted in the courtyard, and smoke billowed. Ye Mengyan was startled. What was that?

In the courtyard, the smell of phosphorus filled the air, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh mixed with the pungent smell of gunpowder drifted with the wind. As the smoke cleared, Niu Wugeng was seen lying on the ground, his body charred black, emitting the smell of burnt flesh, and twitching constantly. He was clearly not going to survive.

“Five Thunder Heavenly Heart Art!” the crowd exclaimed, their faces pale.

The young man said proudly, “This is the fate of those who betray the Great Way and turn to evil demons.”

Zhang Yingchen was furious. He hadn’t expected them to kill someone immediately to establish their authority. Although he didn’t understand the Five Thunder Heavenly Heart Art, from the pungent smell of gunpowder, phosphorus, and sulfur in the air, it had to be some kind of firearm.

He calmed himself. “You kill the innocent and harm living beings, and you still dare to call yourselves the righteous path!” He pointed at the Incense-Holding Emissary. “Go to hell!”

The gun went off with a bang. Ye Mengyan was shaken, and birds flew up from the leaves in a flurry. He cursed and, without needing a reminder from his assistant who was watching with binoculars, quickly bolted the rifle—the first shot had missed, landing on the ground not far from the target, kicking up a puff of dust.

He quickly corrected his aim, held his breath, and fired again.

The people in the courtyard felt the whoosh of the bullet, but no one realized what it was. Although some had noticed a puff of smoke rising from the ground a few feet from the emissary’s feet, before they could process it, the emissary had already collapsed. He stretched his arms upwards, as if trying to grab an invisible handle, and fell into the dust.

The scene in the courtyard froze. Just as no one had expected the Incense-Holding Emissary to use the Five Thunder Art to kill the “traitor,” no one had expected Daoist Zhang to “point” the opponent to death with a single finger. Was this magic or martial arts?

Neither Xuan De, Luo Saichun, nor Ma Weisan had expected Zhang Yingchen’s “magical powers” to be so high. Without any “ritual” or “channeling of energy,” a casual point had taken the emissary’s life.

Xuan De and Luo Saichun knew that the so-called Five Thunder Heavenly Heart Art was actually a special tube that sprayed gunpowder and saltpeter, ignited by a sulfur charge, relying on a unique mechanism and the user’s quick hands. This young man was the strongest of the main altar’s Incense-Holding Emissaries, not only skilled in his technique but also proficient in martial arts.

The faces of the few of them changed drastically. Xuan De, still forcing himself to remain calm, flicked his sleeve and sneered, “A petty trick!” He waved his hand and shouted, “Break the evil and defend the Way!”

Five protectors from the main altar leaped out, each holding a magical instrument such as a precious fan, a flower basket, a horsetail whisk, or a peach-wood sword. They instantly surrounded Zhang Yingchen, occupying five positions.

These five positions had been marked with special bricks earlier that morning, connected to secretly placed “mechanisms.” Each brick could trigger a different “spell,” enough to frighten Zhang Yingchen out of his wits, injure him severely, and finally kill him.

Of course, the visual effects were also quite good, enough to ensure that the followers in Yizhou would not have any rebellious thoughts for the next three to five years.