They fought and killed, and at last there were results to show for it. The property of Li Jinfeng's family in Luzhen was found, as was the contraband hidden away by the others. It was like cold water splashed into a boiling cauldron of oil—the whole thing exploded in an instant. The situation became even harder to control. More people died or were injured, and those possessions were looted into utter chaos. Only when Zhang Xiaohu returned to West Cui Mountain did this dog-eat-dog farce finally come to an end. The survivors took their gains, jumped off the pirate ship, abandoned darkness for the light, and each went off to seek a way out.
What the bandit said left Zhang Xiaohu completely baffled. Since when had his younger brother become so formidable? So mighty? Yet no matter how carefully he questioned him, he could learn nothing more. After all, those who had survived were all incomparably cunning old bandit hands. Besides, the bandit himself had not witnessed Qin Shiyue killing anyone. As he put it, that martial arts master killed people as easily as slaughtering chickens. Before those atop the stockade walls could react, seven or eight out of ten had already been killed. When the rest came to their senses, cried out in alarm, and tried to flee, many more were slain. By the time the others woke, dawn had broken, and that martial arts master had long since vanished into the distance. Who could have seen his true face beneath Mount Lu?
With a belly full of doubts, Zhang Xiaohu still let the bandit go first. He could not very well block someone else's road to reform, could he?
But judging from the destructive power of that martial arts master, it definitely could not have been his own