Legend of Fu Yao

Meng Fuyao marched off with the bundle still in his hand, unhesitatingly nudging away a few Rong leaders who had stepped forward to stop her.

“Hold up!” Someone with a deep voice called out.

Meng Fuyao stopped, her back facing the people in the tent, and a slightly smug yet painful smile surfaced.

‘I was right, you strong-fearing morons…’

Before her arrival, she had given it a long thought on whether she should continue enduring the humiliation and bowing down in order to gain the trust of the Rong Commander-in-Chief or bluffing her way through to subdue them. From her understanding of the Rongs’ characteristics, she had ultimately chosen the latter method. Not giving them the chance to strategize was her strategy.

She had been proven right.

Behind her, Tutie Muer was no longer steadily seated. He brushed his sleeves and walked toward her. “Please slow down, Mayor Meng, please slow down. They have been ignorant…”

Meng Fuyao ignored his words and continued making her exit.

“I like that you have come to surrender the city. Men, gather around. Let me introduce them to you, Mayor Meng…” Tutie Muer added, holding onto her arm, his attitude undergoing a 180-degree change.

He had studied her carefully. While the mayor was unexpectedly young, he was aggressive and brave and had a domineering aura. He was here to surrender but was not ready to be disregarded and mistreated. He flaunted his might and angered the Rong officers, who in turn failed to unnerve him. Furthermore, his every word displayed a strong understanding of the Rong army’s position and situation. There was no need for him to bring the whole Yaocheng back to the kings; they would be pleased by this talent alone, and he himself would be given some credit.

Whether or not Meng Fuyao was fake-surrendering, he thought it through for only a second before dismissing it. There was no way he could be this guiltless and careless about dropping the deal if it were an act. From the multiple times he had interacted with Mayor Meng, he believed that he would only have to raise his guard if the latter were to act all humble and submissive.

“Mayor Meng,” he started politely, gesturing to lead the way. “We were wrong. I’ll make it up to you. Come, come…”

Meng Fuyao turned and raised her brows. “You believe me now?”

Tutie Muer let out an awkward laugh. “Naturally, naturally!”

Meng Fuyao unwrapped the bundle slowly and retrieved the official stamp. She weighed it in her hand before handing it over to Tutie Muer. Smiling, she replied, “Since that’s the case, please show this to your men, in case anyone thinks it’s bogus.”

“How can that be?” Tutie Muer received it, continuing, “But since you’ve mentioned… Come here, you fools! Come vouch for her sincerity.”

The stamp circulated within the officers as Meng Fuyao cupped her hands together and waited in the darkness, a faint smile emerging on her face.

Some officers really took a good look at the stamp while others simply eyed it once before tossing it to the next person. Some could even be heard murmuring, “The Han barbarians are all soft eggs.”

Meng Fuyao cast him a glance, responding with a smile, “You probably won’t get to see the heroic side of the Hansmen anyway.”

When the stamp reached the corner, the man who had looked at her earlier paused. Meng Fuyao’s eyes wandered ambiguously toward him before she retracted them the next moment.

“I’ve already expressed my sincerity, Chief,” Meng Fuyao stated after a round of inspection. “Shouldn’t it be your turn now?”

Tutie Muer hesitated before waving, “Men, prepare the tools.”

Chinaware with clear water in it and two daggers on the side was prepared.

Meng Fuyao appeared emotionless.

The oath of alliance required not blood from the finger but from the chest, as an expression of determination.

Trays were served, and Meng Fuyao took a step forward. According to the rules, Tutie Muer should now stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder. After a short hesitation, he stood a step behind her and two guards quickly followed.

Meng Fuyao did mind him at all. As if there were no onlookers, she grabbed the dagger, pierced her chest, extracting beads of fresh blood and dripping them into the clear water.

As the blood spread within the water, she retreated with a smile, leaving Tutie Muer’s side.

Tutie Muer exhaled a sigh of relief, stepped forward and went through the same procedure.

At the moment his dagger was about to reach his skin, Meng Fuyao’s hand appeared.

She had clearly been at least an arm’s length away from Tutie Muer, blocked by his guards, but somehow with a snap, her arm seemed to have extended a section.

She grabbed Tutie Muer’s dagger-holding hand in an instant.

The dagger that was supposed to graze the chest lightly entered soundlessly, and blood splattered.

Tutie Muer let out a sky-shattering howl, almost causing the tent to collapse.

Meng Fuyao did not let go of her hand. She continued smiling coldly before twisting the dagger.

Everyone present could hear the crushing of bones at that moment.

Blood and flesh poured out generously, splashing onto her face. Tutie Muer let out another mournful yet stifled cry, as if there were lumps in his throat, before convulsing and collapsing to the ground.

Meng Fuyao smiled warmly and removed the dagger. With a wave of her wrist, Tutie Muer’s head was chopped off. She conveniently stabbed the two armed guards beside her, before holding Tutie Muer’s decapitated head up.

“This is the bravery of the Hansmen. Look closely before entering your grave!”

She laughed frantically, her voice as bright and clear as an eagle’s cry. It was a voice that charged straight through the tent that was reeking of blood and steel.

It was then that the officers in the tent snapped out of their shock. Having witnessed Tutie Muer’s headless corpse squirming on the ground and Meng Fuyao’s maniacal laughter, they instantly lost it.

“Kill him!” Kill him!” They retrieved their weapons and charged forward, some doing so even without putting their shoes on first.

Meng Fuyao stepped on Tutie Muer’s corpse, smiling contemptuously at them. Suddenly, a black light flashed as she whipped around and pulled a dagger from behind her back. She leaped like a soaring phoenix, threateningly spreading her arms out like wings. She continuously drew blood arcs in the air with her black dagger. Slash, chop, thrust, jab.

Fresh blood and heads flew everywhere, along with thick limbs. They slammed onto the leather-walled tent before falling to the ground. Meng Fuyao unleashed all the pent-up anger, frustration and humiliation she had been feeling from before, and it was just the officers’ luck for having to endure her outburst. Every slash was sharp and deadly, and blood flowed down her dagger and onto her black robe.

It was a one-sided massacre and having been poisoned by the numbing substance she had previously coated the stamp with, none of the officers were her match.

In no time the ground was filled with dismembered corpses. Such a sight was finally instilling fear into the naturally courageous Rongsmen. Some officers, who weren’t poisoned as significantly, looked on at the devilish woman, their already weakened arms no longer able to support their weapons. They screamed their lungs out and attempted to flee. “Help! Help–––– Murderer!”

Rip!

A cold bolt flashed across the dark space as the officer who ran the fastest obtained a fresh wound to the middle of his back.

The murder weapon wasn’t Meng Fuyao’s dagger, but a golden machete used specifically by Rong officers.

The victim turned his head and pointed to the man behind, choking on his words, “Masha, yo… you–––”

The man named Masha was the one whom she had exchanged a glance with when she first entered the tent. He retracted his machete and made a bow. “My name is Sha Hong, Mayor Meng.”

“You’re Han?” Meng Fuyao squinted.

“Yes,” Sha Hong answered with a fixed expression. “I’m serving under the 6th squadron in the 18th division of Shangyang Elite Horsemen.”

Meng Fuyao looked at him while sheathing her dagger. “It’s no wonder you could tell that I’ve applied a numbing substance on the stamp.”

Sha Hong smiled. “I’ve received an order from my Master, and I am to assist you fully whenever and wherever.”

Meng Fuyao shifted her focus onto the leaders she had taken down from the start, and spoke softly, “You have your own mission to execute. There was no need for you to ruin your plans for me.”

As Sha Hong was about to respond, his gaze changed. “Not good. We’re short of one person.”

Immediately upon finishing his sentence heavy footsteps could be heard. Someone was laughing outside the tent. “Oh Mother, wrong time to get a tummy ache. I heard that Yaocheng has surrendered, Chief? Let me take a look!” he shouted happily while proceeding to lift the curtain.

One had escaped the net!

Meng Fuyao’s eyes sharpened. “Pardon me!” she mouthed before smashing the back of her dagger onto Sha Hong’s head.

She then darted to the side of the entrance, withdrawing her dagger and waiting quietly. Her eyes sparkled in the dark like a beast awaiting its prey.

‘I’ll take him down at once when he enters.’

The fellow grabbed hold of the curtain.

Meng Fuyao raised her weapon in preparation.

Fingers retracted.

A trying silence passed, and she heard soldiers communicating outside with secret signals.

The man behind the curtain breathed heavily, and through the leather wall, Meng Fuyao could hear the tension, unease, and doubt in his pants.

A sheet of coldness gradually fell over her eyes.

It was too late to turn back. Her plan to get rid of all the officers before retreating was ruined.

Heaven was bent on destroying her, but was she willing to accept it?

Meng Fuyao remained quiet as she used her sleeves to wipe the stains off her dagger. She had a tough battle to fight next, and she wanted to keep her weapon in good condition.