Sun Lang's hand moved like lightning. The instant he loosed a shot, he clapped the roof tile back, so Zhang Yinluo couldn't make out a thing of what happened inside.
The errant's stunning, qilin-roaring handgun drew her gaze, and she said in startled suspicion, "Is that... the great gun, the Fire Qilin? Where did you get that?"
"From a partner of justice who's been wandering further and further down the pay-to-win road." The errant flicked the gun, and the six-chamber cylinder slid out, firelight faintly streaming along its inner walls — surely inscribed with blaze-runes, lending the rounds the essence and power of flame. Which meant that even loaded with ordinary standard ammunition, this gun could fire bullets infused with the power of fire... if he so chose.
What happens when a warhead charged with the power of bursting, blazing flame strikes a food can full of juice and fish flesh is, quite simply, self-evident.
Zhang Yinluo was plainly startled. She knew her wares, and saw the firearm's pedigree and extraordinary nature at a glance. "This... was forged by the Sharingan King's own hand! You—"
The Sharingan King, Daoist Master Ma — the world's foremost master artificer, said to be able to replicate every art and weapon under heaven. There was no technique he couldn't steal-and-learn, no implement he couldn't copy... except Imperial Arms.
That was because the empire guarded the art of forging Imperial Arms as a supreme secret on par with the fortunes of the state itself; any who pried into it came to a bad end. Jianghu rumor held that forging an Imperial Arm required some crucial condition and medium besides, and Master Ma lacked that medium, so naturally he couldn't make one... Even so, the divine weapons he forged by his own path, drawing on the strengths of a hundred schools, were not much inferior to Imperial Arms in effect or might. The catch was that an Imperial Arm was bestowed by the court only on the dragons-among-men who passed the Martial Examination and made the golden roll — whereas with Master Ma, you need only pay up and he'd make you stronger. Which of the two was more popular is plain as day.
But even though paying made you stronger, this newest-model Fire Qilin was Master Ma's proudest work these past two years; so rare and so feverishly sought after that even money couldn't buy one... How did this guy get hold of it?
The Fire Qilin's worth, in theory, was not much less than the Startled Swan Sword's — but at the thought of the Startled Swan Sword, the memory of being extorted out of an Imperial Arm resurfaced, and Zhang Yinluo seemed to grasp where this gun had come from... most likely it too came with the tears of yet another righteous, helpless maiden. "...And just which pitiable soul did you swindle this thing out of?!"
"There you're wrong. This gun came to me by perfectly proper means..."
Zhang Yinluo's fury turned to a laugh. "...So you do admit the Startled Swan Sword came to you by very improper means!"
"It's true a friend passed on to me a thing another friend gave him — but if I'd asked the latter directly, he'd most likely give me something even better." Sun Lang ignored a certain someone's displeasure and accusation, ejected a spent casing, and loaded a fresh round. "That fellow once said he'd forge a sword that truly belonged to me. But the way it looks now, he's striding boldly down a crooked path... I really worry about that sort's future. Here's hoping he doesn't turn into some red-coated figure muttering suspicious lines like 'I am the bone of my sword'... Mm, that'll about do it."
Zhang Yinluo had been so fixated on the Fire Qilin that her attention was wholly on Sun Lang's pistol, and for the moment she hadn't noticed what became of that "food can" after it shattered. Hearing him now, she pricked up her ears — and caught astonishing screams, coughing, retching, and roaring. This quiet Xiuchun Hall office had seemingly become a ghastly slaughterground in an instant, wail upon wail rising one after another. A fair number of people came charging out of the buildings shrieking, no few of them in black martial garb, hard cases with real skill... and right now they clutched their noses, tore their clothes to cover their faces, and scrambled everywhere for water like a swarm of dancing demons. One man even hauled up the great water vat in the courtyard corner bodily and dumped it over his own head — mm, that good fellow seemed to have gotten some indescribable, unmentionable substance on him.
The corner of the head constable's eye twitched. "Was that really a can of fish you threw down? It looks more like a biochemical weapon from the Land of Aoki..."
"You really are suspicious. It truly is a food the locals love. Apart from a faintly peculiar smell, it's said to be quite tasty besides..."
"Said to be?"
Sun Lang sighed. "Haah, you're hopeless. Here, here, lean your head over — let me give you a whiff of a little treasure."
At that, Zhang Yinluo leaned her head forward a touch. Sun Lang's left hand quite naturally produced, from who-knows-where, a gas mask, which he donned. Before the head constable could feel anything amiss, with a hup he flipped that tile clean open, and an indescribable, mysterious aroma assaulted her. In an instant the world changed color in the head constable's eyes — like heaven splitting and earth rending, ghosts wailing and wolves howling.
To describe it the Western way, that smell was like the breath of hell, reeking of demons. To describe it the Eastern way, Zhang Yinluo would say her Ren and Du meridians seemed to be blasted open all over again in that instant. That smell could quite simply break the limits of the senses, letting her see the color of the stench, hear the sound of the stench. And if one absolutely must put it elegantly...
The aftertaste lingered at her nose; for three months she'd know no... shit-smell!
When she saw Sun Lang — who'd somehow already donned a gas mask — the head constable's faith in the world collapsed utterly in that instant. She felt this age was full of cruel deception and betrayal and dirty tricks, and in her frenzy reached out to grapple with Sun Lang. But how could the errant — a self-respecting, principled good man — go pulling and tugging with a woman, so unseemly? He produced another gas mask offhand, retreated two steps, dangled it before Zhang Yinluo, then tossed it out.
A sharp light flashed in Zhang Yinluo's eyes; her body moved with her will, and like a keen, nimble black-backed hound she sprang with a yip and snatched the mask, then clapped it on and drew a deep breath — and the world regained its color, all things their vigor, peace descending anew... But the culprit still has to die, you hear!
She gazed at Sun Lang, who wore an unconcerned now-you-understand look, her eyes full of shock and horror. "Y-you-you actually threw shit in there!"
"Nonsense! That is not shit!" the errant retorted. "It's far stinkier than shit!"
Recalling that indescribable smell just now, Zhang Yinluo nodded in heartfelt sympathy — then, the next instant, came to herself and bared her claws. "That's not the point! Y-y-you-you actually—"
"What did I do now?" Sun Lang said innocently. "By the ground rules, I take the lead in this, and I only used an errant's methods. I did their bodies no harm — nothing's against the rules. And by results, well, look — didn't they all come out? If we'd fought or broken our way in, the one actually in charge would surely have slipped into a hidden room or tunnel by some secret passage or mechanism, and we'd not find him for a good while. But when an unconventional assault like this erupts and their five senses take such a hit, they'll act on pure instinct and rush to the open air where it flows freely... so every last one of them came running out."
He pointed at the rabble below cursing heaven and earth and hunting for water, and cocked his head at Zhang Yinluo. "Find your man. See which one it is."
With business at hand, the head constable couldn't keep tangling with Sun Lang either, though she shot him a hard glare that said you just wait. Then she narrowed her eyes and searched the crowd for her target. "By the portrait and the description, it should be that one. His name is Zhang Jianyuan, the head incense-master of Xiuchun Hall..."
"Then, just to be safe, let's add some insurance... Heads up, get ready to move." Sun Lang murmured, then barked, "Zhang Jianyuan!"
This Xiuchun Hall steward hadn't yet come back to himself from the heaven-sent filth, still dazed and nauseous. Hearing Sun Lang's shout — and his own name at that — he instinctively lifted his head and looked back, his eyes meeting the errant's. The others were a touch slower, but they too whipped out their weapons and looked up as if facing a mortal foe...
Then they saw a man and a woman standing on the roof, in outlandish foreign dress, strange masks on their faces. And then the man reached out and hurled another iron can, roaring like a thunderclap, "Filth has come!"
No few of them instantly recalled the biochemical strike of moments ago — how, with a cry of "Heaven-sent justice," an iron can had burst and sprayed out countless indescribable horrors, all of it plainly the work of the man before them. Now this damnable fellow was pulling the same trick, hurling another deadly can. Before they could even muster their fury, they clutched their heads and fled in all directions!
"They say one war-cry from Daddy Mai can scare even his own teammates into pissing themselves — living up to the name, I see." Sun Lang chuckled low, then swept out a hand. In the time the crowd scattered like rats clutching their heads, a long rope shot out from under his robe, deftly lassoing Zhang Jianyuan dead-on. The errant gave a yank, and the thief flew up as if riding the clouds and landed at his side!
"Let's bolt!"