Chapter Seventeen: Taking Justice Into One’s Own Hands

On his right, the mountains soared, majestic and steep; to the left, ranges stretched on, their slopes gentler and more forgiving. Peng Liang knew that in his current state, scaling the high peaks was out of the question. His only chance was to flee toward the lower northwest, where the terrain sloped downwards. Beyond the northwest lay Bingzhou, a place to recover from his wounds.

Yet the pursuers at his back had to be dealt with first.

Leaning against a tree, he tore a strip of cloth from his sleeve with his teeth, binding it round the wound on his left arm. He wrapped it tightly after a few rough turns, desperate to staunch the blood loss. Already, dizziness clouded his vision.

Fifty men had hunted him; now only a dozen remained, but they were the most tenacious of the lot. He had to endure.

The pursuers closed in again. After cutting down two more, Peng Liang took a blade to his leg. Tumbling down the hillside, he seized the chance to hide in a tangle of weeds and hastily bandaged his wounded leg.

Even now, he could not fathom how his life had come to this.

As a child, his parents had sent him to Mount Wutai to study the martial arts. After years of training, he returned to join the Left Martial Guard, serving as a low-ranking soldier, and through valor on the battlefield, he fought his way up to the post of junior sixth-rank officer. Suddenly, he was assigned as a sword-bearing guard to Zhang Jiafu.

Many envied him at first. To serve the Minister of Personnel—wouldn’t that elevate his whole family?

He only smiled at their words, indifferent. Never had he considered using this opportunity to promote his kin. For after just a month in Zhang Jiafu’s service, Peng Liang saw the man’s true nature—he was no good soul.

He wanted out.

He planned to speak with the commanding general of the Left Martial Guard, willing even to serve again as a common trooper. But before he could act, he was ordered to accompany Zhang Jiafu on an inspection tour. Then, events unfolded in swift, unrelenting succession.

Now, his only wish was to survive, heal, and return to kill Zhang Jiafu.

A cold blade chopped down at him. Peng Liang rolled away, ducking behind a large boulder. He grabbed a fistful of sand and flung it at his attacker. As the man turned his head and squinted against the grit, Peng Liang rolled back, severed the man’s right ankle with a slash, and tumbled away from another glint of steel.

In this life-or-death struggle, he feigned another handful of sand and shouted, “Take that!”

His opponent, having witnessed this trick fell their comrades, instinctively flinched away, eyes squeezed shut.

Peng Liang seized the moment, scrambled up, and limped up the slope, sending loose stones clattering down. For the moment, the pursuers could not get close.

But his hand throbbed, his leg ached, and he could not climb fast.

He clawed desperately at the scree. Suddenly, his hand landed on a gaudy, long snake. The serpent reared up, neck drawn back, poised to strike. Startled, Peng Liang yanked his hand back and flung the snake downhill.

One of the pursuers, seeing something thrown down at him, swung his blade reflexively. But as everyone knows, a snake will not die instantly when struck, not even if its head is severed. In this case, the body was only cut in two. Wracked with pain and fury, the snake bit the nearest man’s arm.

The swordsman, realizing too late he had struck a living creature—and a snake at that—tried to help his comrade. But the bitten man, terrified at the sight of half a snake hanging from his arm, swung it off in panic. The snake landed on the very man who had cut it.

With a hiss, the snake’s fangs found his throat, exacting its vengeance.

Within moments, both men collapsed, poisoned. Of the thirteen remaining pursuers, five fell in one stroke.

The last eight, seeing the snake’s ferocity, retreated down the slope, afraid to advance.

Peng Liang took the opportunity to drag himself up the hillside, escaping further into the wilds.

Before long, the pursuers reached the spot.

“Where is he? The trampled grass, the blood—he ran this way. Where did he go?” One of them crouched, puzzled, studying the swaying weeds before him. The trail ended here.

How long had it been? How could the man have vanished?

“He can’t have gotten far. Hmph, after killing so many of our brothers, does he think he’ll escape? I’ll check the trees.” Another glanced up, preparing to leap.

“Over here—blood, and plenty of it. He swung across with a branch. Cunning devil,” said a third, rounding the slope and finding the bloodstains.

They quickly deduced Peng Liang’s escape route and means.

The eight men swung themselves across the uneven ground.

“Wait, listen—did you hear something?” The first suddenly halted, signaling for silence.

He’d heard something ahead, a noise drawing closer.

It didn’t sound human.

“Don’t be so jumpy. The sun’s almost down, and from the look of it, it’s raining ahead,” another replied. Mountain weather was unpredictable—sometimes, one side of your body would be drenched while the other basked in sunlight.

The droning, humming sound ahead could easily be rain striking leaves.

“No, run!” the third man shouted, having at first thought it rain, but as the sound drew nearer and became clearer, he realized—wasps!

He shouted for them to flee. They turned and ran, but the terrain was treacherous, all slopes and pits. Even with their skills, their flight was badly hampered.

The swarm descended, thick and furious.

They tore off their outer robes, wrapped their heads, curled into balls at the bottom of a pit, desperate to hide.

Suddenly, something dark tumbled from the branches above and landed on them, bouncing twice before rolling to their feet.

A wasp nest!

Screams echoed.

Peng Liang, face and body shrouded with cloth, had used his lightness skill to hack down the nest and lure the wasps. Seeing the swarm pursue the nest—and the men—he leapt from the tree and fled in another direction.

Tonight, he should be safe.

If luck held, there would be no more pursuit for a while.

He ran on, not knowing how long, as darkness fell deeper.

Reaching a hilltop, Peng Liang finally felt relief. He sat down to redress his wounds.

Then, he spotted firelight in the valley below.

His heart tightened. He rose, intent on investigating the scene.