Chapter 9: The Secret Manual

Gathering his composure, Hu San reached out and began to search Longbow Zhang’s body. This prize, after all, belonged to him; it was his true reward. Yet the result left Hu San somewhat disappointed. Aside from the longbow and arrows, Longbow Zhang had only a single long blade, and not a coin of silver could be found on him. Moreover, he carried no short dagger, which infuriated Hu San, who had hoped for a windfall.

“What’s this?” he murmured. Just as his disappointment peaked, his hand brushed against a hard object inside Longbow Zhang’s chest. Upon closer inspection, the surface was smooth. He pulled it out and found it to be a book of legend. Hu San had seen such things before, brought by passing merchant caravans. According to village elders, only those blessed by the Star of Literature could use them; ordinary folk were unworthy. Though Hu San was no longer so credulous—his character had transformed greatly—he remained illiterate, and the book was as cryptic as the stars to him.

He opened it, turning page by page under the moonlight. The book was clearly incomplete, the final pages showing signs of having been ripped apart. This fragment contained ten pages, each crowded with tiny script and, at the bottom, a human diagram. Every diagram was marked with dots connected by red lines.

“What could this be?” The more Hu San looked, the more puzzled he became. Suddenly, he recalled the conversation of two caravan guards: that martial artists trained the nodes and meridians within the body. If so, could this book be a manual for martial cultivation?

The thought made his breath quicken. Hu San had witnessed the power of martial artists—almost supernatural, impossible for ordinary people to oppose. If not for pure luck, he would never have defeated Cotton Candy. Though Hu San mistook Cotton Candy for a true martial artist and misunderstood their abilities, his desire for such power was undiminished.

Now that the path to becoming a mysterious martial artist lay within reach, his hands could not help but tremble. Yet after his excitement ebbed, he realized he could not read a single word—how was he to practice? If one could train by pictures alone, what need was there for text? Thus, after a brief elation, Hu San could do nothing with the manual except hide it in his bosom, his heart tinged with doubt.

Clearly, Longbow Zhang had not been a martial artist; had he possessed the power of the Deadly Judge, no trap could have harmed him, much less death at Hu San’s hands. So where had this manual come from? It was unlikely the chiefs had bestowed it—after some time among the bandits, Hu San understood their extreme selfishness; to share their cherished skills would be as difficult as scaling the heavens.

Finding no answers, Hu San put the matter aside, climbed out of the pit, hastily concealed the scene, and sped toward the mountaintop.

By the time Hu San reached the summit, the bandits who had gone off to relieve themselves had already returned, each gazing thoughtfully in the direction he had first departed. When they saw Hu San, breathless and exhausted, their mouths dropped open—wide enough to fit a duck egg. Even the third chief, who had hoped for such an outcome, could not help but twitch his beard, clearly surprised by Hu San’s return.

“Could it be that Longbow Zhang failed to find Hu San? What luck this boy has!” Everyone had witnessed Hu San’s earlier state and saw no chance for him against Longbow Zhang. Even had Hu San been at his peak, none would have hesitated to bet on Longbow Zhang’s survival.

Yet, they waited and waited, and Longbow Zhang never appeared. With the moon now high, the third chief and his lieutenants exchanged glances, each seeing astonishment in the other’s eyes.

Now, belief was unavoidable: Longbow Zhang was dead. Even if he lived, he would not dare show himself, for a deserter could not escape punishment.

The third chief’s task was to quietly remove a spy the second chief had planted in his ranks, and now he had succeeded. Who could have guessed that a casual plan would actually work? The third chief gazed deeply at Hu San’s weakened form, shaking his head in silent admiration.

This matter could never be traced back to him. But he wondered: would this boy survive the second chief’s wrath? That, however, was for the future. For now, the second chief must remain at Wolfheart Fortress, while their training would take place at Wolf Fang Mountain.

Perhaps the youth would not escape a tragic end, but for a time, he could live in relative peace. In the third chief’s view, offending the second chief, this result was already quite decent.

At the chief’s call, the great bandit troop set out once more. Hu San staggered among them, his weary expression hiding a calm resolve.

To think: first he had survived a deadly struggle, then engineered the death of a seasoned bandit far stronger than himself. From a mischievous village boy, he had transformed into a hardened warrior, all in a single night.

Though he had dispelled his physical fatigue with food, the weariness of his spirit lingered. Earlier, the threat of death masked this exhaustion, but now that tension had eased, Hu San realized his vision was growing hazy.

His weakness was genuine, not feigned. Without Lin Hu’s support, he might have toppled off the mountain path and been left senseless.

Yet, to the others, his condition suggested something quite different: severe dehydration from diarrhea. Seeing this, even the third chief and the bandits wondered—had Longbow Zhang truly failed to find Hu San, perhaps delayed by some mishap?

No matter how they looked, they saw no sign that this frail youth could have killed Longbow Zhang.

Despite their doubts, they knew they could neither wait for Longbow Zhang nor send a search party. This was a covert operation; they had slain a vagrant from Horizon Fortress and dispatched the Deadly Judge.

This was no small matter. The Deadly Judge’s strength was nearly equal to the third chief’s. Such a martial artist was the pillar of any stronghold. Should Horizon Fortress discover their loss, vengeance would surely follow, unleashing another storm of blood.

Therefore, the third chief needed to conclude the recruitment quickly and return to Wolfheart Fortress to report to the chief and prepare for Horizon Fortress’s retaliation.

Of course, these concerns were beyond Hu San and the other newcomers. Though Hu San was exhausted, not a single bandit dared look down on him.

Among the recruits, his reputation soared. Friends who had kept their distance now returned, drawn by his achievements.

Children cared little for loyalty or betrayal, so Hu San accepted their renewed companionship, glad for the relief it brought to his arduous journey.

Still, he knew whom to trust and whom to keep at arm’s length.

Time passed, and for the Wolfheart Fortress bandits, the remainder of the journey was merely grueling—no further troubles arose.

Three days later, all the bandits had regrouped, and Hu San’s party arrived at Wolf Fang Mountain Fortress, gathering in the valley before its gates.

Looking up, Hu San saw a sea of heads—newcomers from many villages, their numbers uncountable.

At the far end of the crowd stood a two-meter-high stage, hastily built from stone and timber. Tables of feasts were set upon it. Once the bandits had deposited their recruits in the valley, they ascended for hearty celebration.

The aroma of meat and wine drifted on the breeze, tormenting the new arrivals below—even Hu San could not help but swallow hungrily.

Since his feast three days ago, he had not eaten freely. Thanks to his achievements, he received a portion at each meal—unlike other recruits, who had only one meal a day, and that of chaff and wild greens. Yet even this food barely satisfied his hunger.

Now, arriving here, perhaps by the chief’s order, or by oversight, or for some reason, even this scant comfort was gone. He was left to eat chaff and greens like all the others.

As Hu San ruminated, a thunderous drumbeat erupted from the stage. Bandits rushed out, swiftly clearing tables and chairs.

Amidst their ranks, a burly man draped in crimson armor and wielding two golden hammers strode forward. Raising his hammers, he smashed them together in mid-air.

A crackling roar, like thunder in the night, exploded, scattering the recruits and silencing all whispers.

This man was none other than Hu San’s acquaintance—the third chief of Wolfheart Fortress.