Chapter Fifty: Even If You Scream Until Your Voice Breaks, No One Will Save You

Chapter Fifty: Even If You Shout Yourself Hoarse, No One Will Come to Your Rescue

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! The attacker’s boots squelched through the mud as he strode up the steps, leaving the unconscious Ren Quan behind. He steadied himself at the top, then abruptly lifted his right leg and, with a crash, kicked the door panel so hard it flew inward.

“Get inside! Bolt the door!” The terse command echoed from within the main hall. Zhang Qian, having heard the commotion outside, shoved Zijuan into the side room. He followed up with a leap to the wall, swiftly snatching down the saber hanging there.

The door panel landed with a heavy thud. At that instant, Zhang Qian’s steel blade swung at the attacker from the side, quick as lightning. But the assailant, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, didn’t even look—he twisted and swung his arm, weapon in his left hand striking hard against the saber’s edge.

Clang! The collision rang out, deafening. Sparks flew, and a huge notch appeared in the blade. The steel saber, forged from finest iron, was knocked nearly two feet into the air, almost torn from Zhang Qian’s grip to land on the rafters.

Even so, Zhang Qian’s hand bled from the shock, his body half numb and aching. He dared no longer hope to kill the attacker with the steel saber—he retreated swiftly, legs circling toward the desk.

“Die, you bully!” The attacker had neutralized Zhang Qian’s counter, shouting as he stepped forward, swinging his weapon to strike.

Zhang Qian couldn’t dodge in time and had to brace himself for the blow. Clang! Clang! Clang! The sound of iron striking iron echoed unceasingly. In the blink of an eye, the steel saber turned into a saw; sweat poured from Zhang Qian’s forehead.

“Help! Help!” From the side room came a shrill cry. It was Zijuan, standing at the window, screaming desperately for the conscripted men to come to her aid. “Bandits! Bandits have entered the house! They’re chasing Young Master in the main hall—save us! Drive them off and you’ll get two strings of Kaiyuan coins each!”

“Shut up, brat, or I’ll kill you first!” The attacker, irritated by the shouting, abandoned Zhang Qian and marched toward the side room, kicking at the door with a thunderous crash.

“Scoundrel, take my blade!” Zhang Qian would never allow harm to an innocent girl; he charged from behind, raising the saber-turned-saw in both hands and brought it down with all his might.

This was exactly what the attacker wanted. He immediately withdrew his foot, dodged, stepped aside, twisted his waist, swept horizontally—every movement smooth as flowing water. His peculiar weapon whistled through the air, aiming again for Zhang Qian’s waist and ribs.

Had it struck, Zhang Qian’s organs would have ruptured, and he’d have spent the rest of his days bedridden. Fortunately, he reacted quickly, realized the trap, and leapt backward just in time, barely escaping the blow. He swung wildly at the attacker, then turned and fled.

“Where do you think you’re going!” The attacker, frustrated by repeated misses, chased relentlessly, weapon in hand. His deerskin boots slapped the floor with wet, squelching sounds.

Zhang Qian couldn’t shake him off, so he took up a defensive stance, saber raised across the desk. Though he had long practiced free fighting, he’d never trained with weapons, nor risked his life in armed combat. Within a handful of exchanges, he fell behind again, abandoned the desk, and dashed outside.

“Don't run, bully!” The attacker was determined not to let him escape, pursuing with his strange weapon out into the courtyard. He had thought the open space would allow him to end the fight quickly. But Zhang Qian, though clumsy with weapons and perhaps no match in hand-to-hand combat, was remarkably fast at fleeing. Leaping and bounding, he covered dozens of yards, his figure fading into the night.

“Someone, come catch the bandit! Drive him off and you’ll get two strings of Kaiyuan coins each!” Zijuan’s cries for help continued behind them, carried on the damp autumn wind, sounding particularly mournful.

“If you keep running, I’ll go back in and kill the girl!” The attacker, unable to catch Zhang Qian, turned furiously toward the window. Terrified, Zijuan’s voice caught in her throat; she hurriedly bolted the window and piled pillows and blankets against it.

But such clutter couldn’t block the window. The attacker swung his odd weapon—crack, crack—and smashed the wooden bars free. Another blow shattered the carved lattice.

Splat! A clump of mud flew through the air, striking the window frame above the man's head. Zhang Qian’s furious shout followed: “Scoundrel, what kind of man bullies little girls? If you have guts, come at your Grandfather Zhang!”

“Don’t run, bully!” The attacker wanted to climb through the window and take Zijuan hostage, but feared Zhang Qian would stab him from behind. He turned back, weapon raised, charging once more at his main target for the night.

Zhang Qian, worried the man might snap and harm the innocent, dared not focus solely on running. He parried with his steel saber while retreating swiftly into the main hall.

The attacker, seeing Zhang Qian enter, grinned wickedly and followed, thinking to trap him like a rat in a jar. But Zhang Qian didn’t fight head-on; instead, he circled around tables, chairs, pillars, bookshelves—playing hide and seek.

This was the advantage of free fighting: perhaps not much use in a brawl, but reaction speed and adaptability to tight spaces far surpassed ordinary folk. The attacker, though strong and skilled, was not nearly as nimble as Zhang Qian. Plus, with waterlogged boots, his footing was heavy. So despite chasing Zhang Qian into chaos, at crucial moments Zhang Qian always slipped away, foiling his hopes time and again.

Meanwhile, Zhang Qian’s saber was little more than a saw, but his tongue was as agile as his body. While dodging around furniture and pillars, he fired back with sharp words: “Stupid thief, if you don’t run, the servants will be here any moment! When the rat gets caught in the trap, you’ll have nowhere to regret!”

“I’ll die with you, bully!” The attacker, irritated by his taunts, continued the relentless pursuit.

“What, did I steal your wallet or hurt your child? Why do you hate me?” Zhang Qian’s words flowed as fast as his movements, circling and questioning. “I’ve only managed this estate for less than a month, hardly time to make enemies. If you hate me, surely there’s a reason?!”

“I’ll kill you! Don’t run, if you have guts don’t run!” The attacker refused to answer, weapon waving as he roared.

“How could I not run? If I didn’t, I’d die by your hand. Brother, do you know the story of Jing Ke assassinating the First Emperor? The Emperor hadn’t trained in martial arts, but he survived by running fast! Their situation was just like ours now—Jing Ke and the Emperor, separated by a single pillar!” In weapons, he couldn’t match the attacker; in words, he was a master, and the other was utterly outclassed. “Enough, stop chasing! I know why you’re here! You came for the Wang family, didn’t you? You fool, I’ve already forgiven all their debts. All the tenants can testify!”

“I’ll kill you!” The attacker neither confirmed nor denied, breathing heavily as he pressed on.

“If you kill me, I have no other enemies, so suspicion would fall right on the Wang family. Even if the authorities can’t catch you, they’ll seize the Wang tenants to answer for my death!” Zhang Qian needed only his ears to sense the attacker’s emotional turmoil. While dodging, he continued, “Are you surnamed Wang, or Tian? I’m alone here—if you kill me, the entire Wang clan, young and old, will be exiled to Lingnan. Do you know where Lingnan is? The mosquitoes there are bigger than sparrows—one bite and your blood’s drained, you’re a dried corpse!”

“Die, bully, die!” The attacker grew more agitated the longer he listened, kicking stools and low tables at Zhang Qian one after another.

This time, Zhang Qian suffered badly, struck several times and crying out in pain.

“Help, help!” In the side room, Zijuan’s heart felt stabbed by knives; she rushed to the window, shouting again, “Someone, the Wang family has colluded with bandits! Come save Young Master—drive off the bandit and get five strings, paid immediately!”

“Brat, don’t waste your breath! Even if you shout yourself hoarse, no one will come to save this bully!” The attacker, exasperated by her cries, charged to the doorway, preparing to lure Zhang Qian over and smash his head.

“Hoarse, hoarse—” Zhang Qian’s voice suddenly sounded behind him, like a wild duck grabbed by the neck. “Hoarse, hoarse—”

The tense, suffocating atmosphere of the main hall collapsed in an instant. Not only was Zijuan stunned, but the attacker, intent on Zhang Qian’s life, turned and pointed his weapon at Zhang Qian, unable to laugh or curse, his murderous aura dissipating.

Zhang Qian had waited for this moment. He flung his “saw” like a hidden weapon at the attacker, then, without waiting to see if it struck, grabbed the table with both hands like a battering ram and drove it hard into the man’s chest.