The night sky was dim, starless. Liu Er exhaled ragged breaths, white in the cold air, unable to tell if he was dead or alive. Dangling there, he felt like a fragment of tattered cloth in the wind, as light as a feather.
Jida hadn’t triggered the crossbow yet. He pushed aside his subordinates to inspect it, continuing to question them in Bian Sha language. Unfamiliar with these heavy weapons, his men summoned a few bandits to observe. Jida unscrewed his water pouch, drank, and stood bare-chested in the cold night, waiting.
Liu Er’s old comrades, terrified of being implicated, lay flat on the ground, frozen in place. One of them stared at the trampled mud around them, seeing it subtly quiver. He assumed it was his own heavy breathing and pressed hands to his mouth and nose—but the tremor grew stronger instead of subsiding.
Jida noticed first. He stopped drinking, listening intently, then suddenly tossed aside his water pouch and shouted, “Cavalry!”
But it was too late. The Li Bei cavalry, who had stealthily crawled through the night, surged forward like tigers, crashing the cart beside Jida with a thunderous roar. Horses screamed, dragged down by the hundred-pound cart, and the bed crossbow splashed mud everywhere. Nearby carts shifted, colliding chaotically. In an instant, men and horses were thrown into disarray.
Jida quickly retreated, commanding, “Mount up!”
The Li Bei cavalry wore full armor; their hooves sounded like rolling thunder. Unafraid of curved blades, they charged like a solid, dark wall, cutting the convoy in half. Cavalry in front wore iron plating studded with spikes, impossible to stop in a straight charge. Slower Bian Sha troopers were thrown down and trampled before they could react.
The guerrilla signaled Fei Sheng from his horse. Fei Sheng circled lightly, lowering his long sword, flanking Jida. Jida mounted, seemingly unaware of Fei Sheng’s approach. The dwarf horse surged forward like a gale. Jida locked eyes with the guerrilla, their horses collided in a flash. The guerrilla swung his long sword, aiming for Jida’s head—but missed; Jida seemed to vanish.
In the next instant, the guerrilla’s head was struck from behind by a blunt weapon with a loud “thunk,” blood instantly streaming. Both ears rang; though the near-sealed armor could repel sharp weapons, it had a fatal weakness against blunt force.
The guerrilla fell, disoriented, blood seeping through helmet seams. He tried to rise but trembled violently. Mouth moving, he stammered: “Remove… the head—”
Another hammer blow smashed his helmet repeatedly. Blood pooled on the ground; he made no sound.
Jida crouched on the fallen guerrilla, wiping the blood from his scorpion tattoo and tasting it with his fingers. His coiled muscles radiated explosive strength. Raising his hammer, he locked eyes on Fei Sheng.
Fei Sheng’s hair stood on end. Even his horse trembled. After years as a member of the Jin Yi Wei, he was unnerved by a mere glance.
This was no ordinary Bian Sha cavalry—nor even elite Bian Sha troops.
Unlike Hansen’s elite units, who wielded curved swords and spikes, these Bian Sha carried curved swords and spiked hammers—a force never before seen on Li Bei’s battlefield.
Terrifying.
Fei Sheng struggled to breathe. If such hammers reached the combat zones, Li Bei cavalry would be slaughtered, their armor’s advantages rendered useless.
“Retreat!” Fei Sheng tightened his reins, shouting, “Retreat!”
They had to shake them off!
Fei Sheng spurred his horse, racing desperately, but the uncanny force shadowed him. Jida clearly had him in sight, pursuing relentlessly. Fei Sheng finally understood the reputation of Bian Sha cavalry. Though mounted on a fine horse, he could not escape.
Jida swung his hammer at the back of Fei Sheng’s head; Fei Sheng ducked. The horse jolted violently; he nearly fell. He was far less skilled in horsemanship than the Bian Sha. With the convoy hundreds of paces behind, Fei Sheng realized he couldn’t escape. Jida closed in.
Fei Sheng, not part of Li Bei cavalry, wasn’t mortally threatened by the hammer. Jida switched to his curved sword, hooking Fei Sheng’s embroidered saber. The pursuing forces converged, clashing as both men charged into a sparse forest.
Branches lashed their faces; Fei Sheng’s sword got stuck. Jida grinned cruelly, speaking in perfect Da Zhou, “Welcome to the party.”
Fei Sheng tried to reply, but couldn’t. Jida pulled his sword back while colliding with Fei Sheng’s, disarming him. Then a side blow sent Fei Sheng flying; he hit the ground, drawing his short blade just in time to block a strike.
Jida swung his hammer, smashing Fei Sheng’s guard. His forearm went numb; reacting quickly, he rolled and discarded the damaged blade, maintaining distance barehanded.
Fei Sheng bent his waist, retreating, hissing to drive Jida off.
Enraged, Jida lifted his hammer, but a heavy force pressed against his back—Ding Tao had latched onto Jida’s neck with one arm, straining.
Before Ding Tao could speak, Jida grabbed his arm. He tried to throw Ding Tao aside, but a charging figure collided with Jida’s side.
Li Xiong slammed into Jida, staggering him. Ding Tao seized the moment to free himself. Li Xiong, well-fed over the past days, wrapped his arms around Jida’s waist, planting his feet to lift him like a tree trunk.
Jida hammered Li Xiong’s back with the iron, prompting him to cry out, “Taozi, that hurts!”
Ding Tao, massaging his numbed arm, shouted, “Use Ji family boxing!”
Li Xiong released Jida and delivered a punch to his chest. Jida was knocked back two steps. Excited, Li Xiong followed with a series of bone-crunching punches, executing Ji Gang’s techniques flawlessly.
Before Li Xiong could continue, Jida countered with a hammer, sending him crashing to the ground. Thick-skinned as he was, Li Xiong still couldn’t withstand it, blocking with his arms—but even so, he lost a tooth, spitting it onto the mud, enraged.
“Idiot! Get up!” Ding Tao shouted.
Li Xiong rolled desperately, the hammer grazing his face, splashing mud. Thinking quickly, Ding Tao stirred the mud with his brush, kicking Li Xiong’s shoulder. “Go!”
The brush flicked mud into Jida’s eyes. While Jida wiped it away, Li Xiong slid under him, but his bulk got stuck halfway. Struggling, he inadvertently knocked Jida down.
Ding Tao wanted to praise him, but Jida, wiping mud from his eyes, grabbed the ankle Ding Tao had left exposed. Having suffered this trick countless times, Ding Tao immediately lifted his arms to shield his head, falling backward, yelling, “I’m fine! It doesn’t hurt!”
Li Xiong got up and lunged to grab Jida’s neck but was struck in the nose by Jida’s elbow. Pain surged, blood flowed, and Jida followed with another blow, sending him to the mud, bleeding from mouth and nose.
Jida moved his massive arms; the earlier “cracks” had only been a joke. Li Xiong, lying in the mud, saw the scorpion tattoo on Jida’s arm.
Ding Tao was lifted upside down; his brush and notebook slid free. Jida spun him around, and all the hidden poisoned needles fell. Ding Tao couldn’t catch them, shouting, “My candy!”
In that instant, a hand snatched the sugar wrapped in oiled paper. Wind whistled past; Yanshan Xue’s white sleeves floated like drifting snow across the mud, then surged forward. Cold as autumn water, the blade reached Jida’s chest.
Unable to retreat, Jida abandoned Ding Tao, trying to catch Yanshan Xue’s leading blade.
But it was too fast. The blade crossed his chest in an instant; Jida failed to grasp it. Yanshan Xue’s sleeve whipped again toward his throat, and Jida shrugged, letting the blade graze his shoulder.
A master!
Alarm bells rang in Jida’s mind.
But he quickly realized that Shen Zechuan’s thunderous aura concealed internal weakness, revealed by that blade. Jida sneered, striking at Shen Zechuan’s side neck, pressing him amid the cloudlike white robes, and grabbed Yanshan Xue in a flip.
Yanshan Xue went limp; Shen Zechuan’s arm was also seized.
Knowing he couldn’t hold him, Jida braced his shoulders and slammed Shen Zechuan over in a shoulder throw.
Shen Zechuan nearly choked on blood. Rising, he could not escape, trading a few strikes with Jida, all neutralized by brute force.
Jida’s martial skill was crude; he didn’t wish to waste effort against Shen Zechuan. Mid-block, he noticed Shen Zechuan had abandoned Yanshan Xue. As Shen Zechuan rose, Jida swung his hammer.
It struck a tree trunk with such force it lodged.
Shen Zechuan crouched slightly, dark eyes fixed on Jida. A “crack” sounded. Though Jida didn’t recognize it, he sensed danger and almost instantly abandoned the hammer.
Before Jida could react, Shen Zechuan struck—faster than ever, as if he had orchestrated this moment from the start, baiting Jida into his rhythm. Jida even wondered if Shen Zechuan’s earlier weakness had been a feint.
There was no chance for him now. Blood gushed from his neck, drenching Shen Zechuan.
Throat churning, Jida could not believe he was defeated here. His gaze wandered, landing on unfathomable eyes.
Shen Zechuan, as if remembering to greet him, half-lowered his gaze, brushing away the wet blood with a finger, and said cordially, “Welcome to the party.”
The words fell, and Jida toppled backward.
A half-length pen protruded from his neck.
Ding Tao, still shaken, watched as Shen Zechuan let the candy fall into his arms. Ding Tao caught it, stunned, seeing the oiled paper stained deep red, blood seeping inside.