Volume One, Chapter 16: Countdown to the Bloodbath

The biting wind whipped snowflakes against the tent, producing a soft, crackling sound.

“Brother Mu Yang, I’ve killed someone…”

Dogsheng’s voice came out squeezed from between his teeth, trembling uncontrollably.

Moonlight slipped through the door crack, illuminating his face encrusted with frost; his eyebrows and beard coated with a layer of white frost. His cotton-padded jacket was frozen stiff as iron armor, creaking with each labored breath, as if it might crack at the slightest movement.

Zhang Mu Yang’s pupils suddenly constricted. He reached beneath his pillow, pulled out two coarse rice cakes, and handed over a water bag. “Eat something first, then speak.”

The cakes, warmed by body heat, softened slightly, releasing faint wisps of steam in the cold.

Dogsheng’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed the cakes in a few bites, then drank half the water, finally catching his breath.

That day, Zhang Mu Yang had sent him back to the village with a message. Dogsheng dashed across the snowy plain on a sled, the cold wind biting his cheeks, but he dared not slow down—this was a matter of life and death for the entire village!

Approaching the village entrance, he abruptly stopped.

Two soldiers were pressing a lame man down in the snow, stripping off his cotton jacket. The man’s bruised and battered back was covered in scars, but he gritted his teeth, not even uttering a sound.

“Tell us! Where is the Yan woman hiding?”

“I don’t know!” the lame man spat blood-tinged saliva.

“Don’t know? Sounds like you’re refusing a polite drink but forcing yourself to swallow the punishment!”

The soldier sneered and kicked him in the ribs, the jagged sole biting into flesh.

Even more disgusting and infuriating... another soldier unbuckled his belt and poured foul-smelling urine onto the man’s face!

Dogsheng hid behind a tree, nails digging deep into his palms. He had hunted in the mountains with Zhang Xiaobei and others for years, his bow skills sharp and precise. At the moment the soldier loosened his belt, Dogsheng quietly pulled out his hunting bow from his back and drew the string with three fingers.

Whoosh!

The arrow struck the soldier’s back precisely. The man screamed and collapsed into the snow.

“Who’s there?!”

The remaining soldier spun around, gripping his sword, eyes alert as he scanned the surroundings.

The lame man suddenly sprang up like a wounded beast, clinging fiercely to the soldier’s leg. They grappled and rolled in the snow. The soldier soon gained the upper hand, the tip of his blade inching toward the man’s chest.

Damn it!

Dogsheng drew his chopping knife and charged with all his might toward the soldier’s neck.

Splat!

Blood sprayed over his face, hot and scalding.

Dogsheng wiped his face, gripping the dripping blade as he approached the wounded soldier. “Speak! Who sent you?”

“Ptooey!”

“Not talking?”

Dogsheng swung his knife, slicing off a finger that flew into the snow.

Finally...

The soldier broke under the pressure and confessed he was a trusted lieutenant of Wei Wentong, sent to find Su Ying.

Thrust!

Dogsheng ended him with a stab.

From his bosom, Dogsheng pulled out a damaged letter sealed with red wax and trembled as he handed it to Zhang Mu Yang.

Suddenly, the letter was snatched away by a pale hand.

Su Ying had appeared without anyone noticing. Her fingertip paused on the words “Lord Wolf King.” The scar beneath her right eye suddenly flushed with blood; even the medicated plaster couldn’t conceal it. A wounded, mournful whimper escaped her throat—the first sign of vulnerability she had ever shown.

Zhang Mu Yang placed his hand gently on her trembling shoulder and whispered, “With me here, no one can harm you.”

The letter contained only one line:

“Lord Wolf King: The Su family’s lowly maid still lives. I shall take her life. Keep watch closely; do not let her escape back to Northern Yan.”

The air froze instantly.

Zhang Mu Yang finally understood: Wei Wentong’s pursuit of Su Ying was not because of her identity as the “Yan woman,” but because he was acting under secret orders from the Northern Yan governor, the Wolf King. The Su family was wiped out three years ago; Su Ying was the sole survivor. The Wolf King had set a deadly trap, and Wei Wentong was his hidden agent within the border troops.

The irony was that Qi Zhiyuan had accepted bribes to falsely report the “Yan woman” dead, inadvertently allowing Su Ying to survive.

Now that this fragile veil was torn, Wei Wentong would surely unleash merciless slaughter.

“Three years ago, the Wolf King snapped my father’s neck,” Su Ying gritted her teeth. “Now, it’s time his throat tastes the edge of the Yan Feather Blade.”

Zhang Mu Yang’s voice was grave. “Count me in! But first, we have to get stronger.”

“But Wei Wentong—”

“I promise you, sooner or later, I’ll cut off Wei Wentong’s head and kick it like a ball.”

Zhang Mu Yang sneered, tearing the letter to pieces and stuffing it into his mouth to swallow. Some secrets were better left buried.

Su Ying looked into his eyes, seeing the fire within. Her tense posture slowly relaxed as she nodded.

From that day on, Zhang Mu Yang devised a grueling training regimen for the young men of Zhangjia Village...

While others still warmed themselves in bed, they were already out running.

While others ate slowly, chewing on bran, they devoured their food in three mouthfuls and went on to chop wooden posts.

While others snored loudly, they practiced horse stances under the moonlight, sweat soaking their cotton jackets, freezing into brittle ice that crackled when removed.

Zhang Xiaobei progressed fastest, able to steadily lift a hundred-pound stone lock, his arm muscles bulging like boulders.

Dogsheng’s archery became ever more precise, able to hit a hanging copper coin from thirty paces.

Su Ying’s movements were ghostlike; even hunting dogs couldn’t catch her.

As for Zhang Mu Yang?

He honed his Skin Refining Realm to perfection; every muscle was like a tightly drawn bowstring. In his mind, the numbers on his system panel quietly ticked upward... God of War Dao Swordsmanship: 12/100! Each point gained meant a greater chance of survival on the battlefield.

A month later, Chen Xiucheng suddenly summoned everyone to the training ground.

“Fall in!”

Chen Xiucheng’s shout shattered the monotony of their daily drills.

Five hundred new recruits lined up in the biting wind, noses red from the cold but backs straight as arrows.

The young men of Zhangjia Village seemed transformed—their skin rougher, shoulders broader, their spines straighter. The timidity in their eyes had been replaced with ruthless resolve; compared to when they first enlisted, it was a world of difference.

Standing on the platform, Chen Xiucheng’s voice carried through the cold air: “The camp commander has granted you three days of annual leave, but you must return before the Lunar New Year. Latecomers will be punished according to military law! Oh, and everyone, collect your first month’s pay at the supply office.”

“Ho!”

The recruits erupted in thunderous cheers.

Soldiers lived on their pay, but military wages were often delayed. No one expected to receive theirs so soon. Many had already begun planning to buy sweets for their children and cloth for their wives.

However, some veterans muttered nearby, “Early pay is a pre-battle routine. Last time they paid early, half the men never came back.”

“Heh, didn’t you say those who survived were all promoted to squad leaders and section chiefs?”

Damn!

Zhang Mu Yang’s heart sank. Taking advantage of the commotion as everyone packed, he cornered Tian Chong inside the barracks.

“Section chief, is something wrong?”

“Well...” Tian Chong’s eyes flickered nervously. He glanced around before lowering his voice. “The Iron Cavalry of Northern Yan has advanced south. The battle at Zhen Nan Pass is intense. You... will probably be sent to the front early. Blood will be shed sooner than expected.”

War was coming?

Zhang Mu Yang glanced at the military banner fluttering sharply in the wind, as if he could hear the neighing of warhorses and the clashing of swords.

It seemed...

These three days were the last calm before the storm.