Chapter Fifteen: Eighteen Turns of a Single Thought

Di Ying opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a pair of foul-smelling feet, followed by a man.

A man with utterly ordinary features, dressed just like any commoner. Yet his eyes were devoid of emotion—dark and empty, betraying not the slightest hint of feeling. Even as he brandished a knife to threaten Di Ying, his expression remained unchanged.

Di Ying understood immediately.

These men were death soldiers.

At that moment, Di Ying’s hands were bound behind his back, his ankles tied, lying sideways on the floor of the carriage. In front of him was one man; behind, he could sense two more. Including the one driving the carriage, there were four in total—death soldiers.

He closed his eyes and tried to steady his mind.

Under these circumstances, no matter how clever he was, there was no way to escape. Even if they hadn’t gagged him, he wouldn’t have bothered to speak. To persuade the enemy with words, to tempt them with promises—that only happened in tales.

These men were death soldiers, ones who completed their mission at the cost of their lives. They had been trained since childhood to be as unyielding as stone. They possessed no thoughts, no feelings of their own.

No family, no weaknesses; every action was dictated by their master’s orders. If the master lived, they lived; if the master died, they died.

He’d be better off conserving his strength and listening closely to the route the carriage was taking than trying to convince them. The carriage jolted violently, lurching up and down, turning left and right.

He wasn’t tossed about within the carriage only because the death soldiers in front and behind kept him pinned with their feet.

Through the fluttering curtains, a breeze carrying the fresh scent of nature blew in.

They had entered the mountains.

Binzhou lay along the Hedong Route, with the Fen River to the left and mountains to the right.

The Taihang Mountains.

Ma Guangjin’s ancestral lands were at the far end of the Hebei Route—in Xingzhou. Between Binzhou and Xingzhou lay the Taihang Mountains.

Di Ying realized these death soldiers belonged to Ma Guangjin.

Ma Guangjin, along with the adult members of the Ma family involved in the case, were likely being drowned by the rage of the masses.

Unable to rescue the prisoners, these death soldiers had resorted to abducting Di Ying.

Did they intend to use him to exchange for Ma Guangjin’s life? Was that why they hadn’t killed him?

No, that wasn’t it.

If that were truly their plan, they could have abducted him openly and demanded a trade. Why bother knocking him out, binding him, and spiriting him away?

It must have been that they intended to exchange him on the spot, but Ma Guangjin was already dead.

Before they could make any demands, Ma Guangjin was “drowned” in the chaos.

Ha!

Dead so swiftly!

Di Ying pursed his lips inwardly.

He wasn’t regretful that the death soldiers’ plan had failed. He was simply astonished at how quickly the people had—

Why let those wretches die so fast?

Wouldn’t it be better to prolong the punishment, to let them fully experience the terror of impending death?

Still, it was fortunate the mob acted quickly; otherwise, if the death soldiers had managed to seize him for a hostage exchange, he truly wouldn’t know how to respond.

To shout, with righteous fervor: “Don’t mind me! Continue your work!” And then have his throat slit by the death soldiers, leaving the people burdened with guilt?

Absolutely not!

Being tied up and taken away like this was preferable.

They likely intended to bring him to Ma Guangjin’s ancestral home for some ritual sacrifice.

To die in the Taihang Mountains...

Di Ying mused, finding the idea almost dreamlike.

If his spirit remained after death, he would gladly linger among these mountain ridges, guarding all that deserved protection.

With this thought, he opened his eyes, twisting his body to adjust his position, hoping to restore some circulation to his limbs.

“Don’t move!” came a warning.

With the words, a solid kick landed on Di Ying’s back.

A metallic, bloody taste surged up his throat, spilling from his mouth and onto his lips.

He hadn’t managed to swallow it in time.

He spat it out, then, with his mouth stained red, spoke: “If your journey is brief, you can bind me like this. But if it exceeds twelve hours, you won’t need to kill me—I’ll die from blocked blood flow on my own. You are skilled warriors, but I am a frail scholar, my wounds not yet healed, unable even to bind a chicken. If you truly wish for me to die this way, you might as well finish me off now.”

He shrank his neck, then raised it, forcefully striking his face against the blade held before him.

Bang!

Another kick landed on his chest.

The death soldier reacted instantly, withdrawing the knife and kicking Di Ying aside.

Di Ying spat another mouthful of blood onto the man’s trouser leg, then closed his eyes weakly.

Now, he was certain: they would not kill him so easily.

This realization eased his heart a little.

A few breaths later, he heard their conversation.

“Untie him. Out here in the wilds, there’s no risk of him escaping.”

“I’ve heard he’s cunning. Are you sure we should let him loose? What if he calls for help?”

“Let him shout. We’ve been in the mountains for a while now. Let him call. If he draws lions, wolves, or tigers, they’ll just be extra food for us. Don’t forget, the master’s family rule is to bring the enemy back alive for sacrifice.”

“Fine, let him move himself. Saves us the trouble.”

With the last voice, Di Ying felt the ropes on his body cut through.

He slowly stretched out flat.

At once, the numb pain from being bound surged through his muscles and veins, as if countless insects gnawed at him—intensely uncomfortable.

He gritted his teeth tightly, enduring until the sensation passed.

The carriage fell silent again, save for the clattering wheels and the occasional roar of wild beasts and birds returning to their nests.

Night was falling.

Not long after, the carriage stopped in a relatively flat spot.

The three death soldiers inside lifted Di Ying, carrying him to the open ground outside and tossing him down.

Di Ying made no sound, nor did he resist.

After catching his breath, he slowly climbed to his feet.

It was a small mountain hollow, surrounded by low hills, with only a single opening about three meters wide.

The grass on the ground was clearly trampled, some flattened and unable to spring back, others crushed beyond recovery.

This indicated people, goods, and horses often stopped here for rest.

To know of such a hidden place—

A mountain path accessible by carriage—

It seemed Ma Guangjin had transported many things to his ancestral home, making frequent trips.

Di Ying, expressionless, walked to the side to relieve himself. A death soldier followed.

Before full darkness settled, another lit oil basins that had been prepared in the hollow.

Large iron stands, crossed and supporting copper basins filled with kerosene.

There were four such basins, now all alight.

In an instant, the dozens of square meters of the hollow were brightly illuminated.

At this season, there was no need for warmth.

When Di Ying returned, someone motioned for him to sit, then handed him a flatbread.