Chapter Fifty-One: Cannot Be Killed

Chapter Fifty-one: Not to Be Killed

"Ah!" The attacker dodged the flying saw but could not avoid the broad desk, crashing into it solidly. His burly body, out of control, was thrown backward, meeting the side room door with a loud, intimate impact—"Bang! Crack!"

The door latch, already at its limit, snapped off, and the door swung open. His back lost all support, and he was flipped onto the floor, legs flailing in the air.

He was indeed a ruthless man; despite a blow to the chest and being thrown into confusion, he never released his exotic weapon. As soon as the stars faded from his vision, he wildly swept his weapon at his side with his right arm, while his back, buttocks, and legs strained together to free himself from the desk’s pressure.

Just as he prepared to spring up like a carp and resume his pursuit of Zhang Qian, a sudden series of sharp metallic crashes sounded above his head—"Clatter!"—followed by a shower of glittering hidden weapons raining down.

The event was so abrupt that the assailant had no time to identify the objects; instinctively, he struck at them with his weapon. A crisp "snap" echoed, and a string of copper coins was sent flying. The cord broke, and golden Kaiyuan coins rolled chaotically across the floor. His legs and waist, thrown off balance by his arm's movement, turned his carp spring into a flat, limp flop.

"Aah—!" A piercing scream shook the room. The violet swallow, having just "thrown a fortune," leapt onto the windowsill in a single bound. Almost simultaneously, Zhang Qian rounded the desk and, without hesitation, dove onto the attacker, using his own body as a weapon and crushing the assailant's shoulder beneath him.

"Thud—" The attacker’s skull met the floor once more in intimate contact. His second attempt to rise was instantly snuffed out. Instinctively, he swung his weapon forward, but Zhang Qian seized his right arm firmly with his left hand. The attacker quickly aimed a left punch at Zhang Qian's armpit, but Zhang Qian was faster; his right hand swung in a hook, landing squarely on the attacker’s temple.

This blow unleashed a cacophony in the attacker’s mind—bells, gongs, cymbals, drums—all ringing wildly. His punch lost its force, grazing Zhang Qian’s ribs as if tickling him.

Zhang Qian, trained in mixed martial arts, had practiced how to expand his advantage in such moments. He acted purely by ingrained habit, not thought, keeping the attacker’s right arm locked with his left hand, while his right fist pounded rapidly and mercilessly. Each punch landed precisely on the attacker’s ear, eye socket, and nose, leaving his face battered and bloodied.

In an instant, it was as if a pickled goods shop had opened in his mind—sour, salty, bitter, spicy—all flooding the attacker’s senses. He could no longer muster the energy to counterattack, instinctively raising his left hand to protect his head from further pain.

Now the attacker was fully exposed as lacking. Zhang Qian’s initial punches were habitual, unconscious, but when he noticed the attacker’s weakness, his courage and wit doubled. His left knee continued to press the attacker’s upper body, while his right knee shifted sharply, pinning the attacker’s neck with a fierce, "Hey!"

Sonnida-style Murder! When Zhang Qian trained in mixed martial arts, his coach had personally demonstrated this forbidden move. If applied correctly, even a ninety-kilogram boxer would lose consciousness within three minutes and die within ten, the cause of death always attributed to some unfortunate heart failure, drug withdrawal, AIDS, COVID, or similar affliction, never the attacker’s actual blow.

"Catch the thief, catch the thief, catch the thief—!" Perhaps fate spared the assailant; Zhang Qian had held him for barely two minutes when the manor's guards and workers from the floral distillery rushed in, armed with sticks, short knives, and iron rulers, blocking the main hall completely.

Seeing the battle was already over, the thief half-dead beneath Zhang Qian’s knee, the guards quickly dropped their weapons and hurried forward—some pulling arms, others holding waists—to lift their master aside, then bound the assailant tightly, pig-like, with rope.

Only now did Zhang Qian feel exhaustion and fear, leaning on the shoulder of the guard Zhang Gui, gasping for breath. The violet swallow, though pale and weak-kneed from terror, grit her teeth, jumped down from the windowsill, and stumbled to the wall to retrieve the scattered Kaiyuan coins one by one, afraid someone shameless might pocket them if she moved too slowly.

"He's not a tenant of the manor, nor a local!" Zhang Fu, eager to redeem himself, wiped the blood from the assailant’s face with a damp cloth and examined him carefully. "Looks like a fugitive slave. He has a tattoo behind his ear—probably was sold into servitude for some crime. He truly squandered his fortune; his family must have paid dearly to have the tattoo moved from his forehead to the less-visible spot behind his ear. Judging by his outfit, his master is likely rich or noble."

"He’s a trained fighter; this is a golden hammer, ordinary folk could never wield it!" Zhang Ren, unwilling to fall behind, picked up the attacker’s weapon and presented it to Zhang Qian as a treasure.

"A golden hammer? This thing?" Zhang Qian felt nothing about the assailant's identity, but the object and the term "golden hammer" stunned him.

Ever since his youthful dreams of chivalry, he had recited countless times, "Rescue Zhao with golden hammers, Han Dan first in awe," and the TV dramas featuring Li Yuanba’s drum-shaped golden hammers were etched in his memory.

Zhang Qian always believed that if it was called a hammer, even if not as large as a watermelon, it should at least resemble a squash. Yet upon arriving in the Tang Dynasty, the golden hammers he encountered were no bigger than a young gourd—freshly formed and best for stir-frying. (Note: In ancient times, weapons called golden hammers usually weighed only five or six pounds.)

Before he could even weigh the hammer, the assailant was revived by Zhang Fu’s ministrations. Realizing he was bound, he immediately cursed, "Damn you, pretending to be a woman with that falsetto! Shameless! Why not just castrate yourself and be done with it? Shameless, heartless—whose dog got loose and produced such filth as you?!"

"You break in at midnight to kill, and you speak of shame? Beat him, beat him until he begs for mercy!" Zhang Qian, enraged, ordered the guards to mete out severe punishment.

The guards, roused from deep sleep by the commotion and eager to impress their master, were already furious. At Zhang Qian’s command, fists and feet flew, and the assailant was soon bloodied once more.

"Good, good, if you have the guts, kill me now. See if my brothers don’t slaughter your whole manor afterwards!" The assailant, bound and helpless, remained defiant, shouting threats, preferring death to pleading.

"Don’t worry—if Ren Quan dies, I’ll personally flay you alive!" Zhang Qian, moved by the man's arrogance, shifted off Zhang Gui’s shoulder and replied through clenched teeth.

Workers from Ren’s household had already carried Ren Quan in from the muddy courtyard. They were unwrapping the bandage on his head to check his skull and see if he had any hope of survival. Suddenly, Ren Quan opened his eyes, tried to raise his right hand, then let it fall weakly, muttering, "Master, master, not dead… Don’t, don’t kill him!"

"Ren Quan, you’re awake!" Zhang Qian was overjoyed, rushing to Ren Quan’s side to ask urgently.

"I’m awake, just can’t move for now!" Ren Quan’s face flushed, his voice feeble. "When they carried me inside, I was already awake! I couldn’t help you, master, I feel so ashamed…"

It turned out the household workers had roused him with their rough handling. Ren Quan felt guilty for letting Zhang Qian down, so he feigned unconsciousness to save face.

"Don’t move, careful of concussion!" Zhang Qian, unconcerned whether Ren Quan had pretended or not, pressed his shoulder and gently advised, "Let me check if your skull is injured. If you’re lucky, ten days or half a month in bed and you’ll recover. If not, don’t worry, I’ll care for you for life!"

"Thank you, master!" Hearing the kindness in Zhang Qian’s words, Ren Quan felt warm inside. He forced a smile and thanked him, then murmured, "When he hit me, he held back some force. My head shouldn’t be shattered! Master, don’t kill him. Even beating a dog, you must mind the owner. His master is probably someone important. Send him to Weinan County office; let the magistrate decide his fate. Don’t entangle yourself in this karma!"

Though his voice was low, the attacker heard every word. Instantly, his bravado shifted and he screamed hoarsely, "Bully! Shameless! If you have guts, kill me now! Otherwise, when I recover, I’ll come for you again. You may guard yourself for now, but not forever!"

"Understood. You focus on healing!" Confident Ren Quan wouldn’t lie, Zhang Qian nodded gently to him. Then he stood, and slowly walked over to the still screaming assailant. "So what if you come again? This time I captured you alive—next time, you’ll still die! Someone, hang him in the latrine for a night. Tomorrow morning, send him along with the Wang tenant family to Weinan County office! I refuse to believe that doing good can invite a nest of ingrates!"

End of chapter.