Chapter Twenty-One: A Meeting Too Late

By the time the peach grove returned to its original state, the clearing in the center was no longer empty—five figures draped in black cloaks now stood there.

“Good, this place will do. It’s secluded enough; we can speak freely here,” said the foremost of the black-robed men. His tone was calm, carrying a refined elegance, yet to Hu San, it somehow sounded familiar.

As he pondered, a hoarse voice came from another of the group, “Captain, you’re being so cautious—this must be no trivial matter. Why not tell us, so everyone can consider it together?”

At this, the two black-robed men beside him echoed their agreement, while the last figure at the rear remained silent. Not only that, but this person’s stance was subtly different from the others—leaving a gap, as if ready to flee at any moment.

“You’re right, brother. The reason I’ve called everyone here is not for anything major, just a personal grudge,” the leader replied, his gaze fixed on the silent man at the back, and didn’t look away.

He continued, “Since joining the stronghold, I have benefited from Brother Zhang’s kindness. I never imagined he would be killed by a villain. That thought alone keeps me awake at night.”

“You all know who I speak of. Seeing that person on the battlefield today, I longed to flay him alive. I can endure this hatred no longer.”

“To be frank, this man is cunning and suspicious by nature. I’ve come for him tonight. Not wanting any slip-ups, I asked you brothers here—not to attack, but at least to stand guard and help with the arrangements.”

At these words, all four in the grove shuddered, and Hu San’s heart skipped a beat.

A bandit surnamed Zhang, generous enough to bestow favors and then killed by another—who else could that be but Zhang the Archer?

“Could this man be the one who holds the other half of the secret manual? This is fortune falling from the heavens!” Excitement flashed across Hu San’s face. He had been at a loss as to where to search, never expecting his quarry to reveal himself, thinking this location secret.

There were five of them, but with his mastery of the Flatblade Art, what was there to fear? Especially here, in this shadowy forest, the darkness suited his Fish Steps perfectly.

While Hu San seethed with excitement, the rest in the grove fell silent. Then the hoarse voice spoke again, “Captain Zhong, are you talking about Hu San?”

“Indeed, it is him. If any of you have reservations, you may leave. I will not stop you,” the leader said, still watching only the man at the back.

It was clear that among the five, only this last figure was not one of his trusted confidants. The others quickly slapped their chests in assurance, while the fifth remained mute.

As Hu San tried to guess his identity, the leader finally pressed him, “Zhao, I know Hu San is part of your squad, so I understand your reluctance. But Brother Zhang’s death cannot go unavenged. Tonight, you must make your position clear.”

“Of course, given your status, we don’t expect you to do it yourself.”

“Tomorrow, during the patrol, Captain Zhou will surely select some new recruits from the training camp. With Hu San’s reputation, he’ll certainly be among them.”

“After the patrol, all you need to do is invite him to the tavern in front of the stronghold and slip this Stone Poison into his wine. Once he drinks it, no matter how skilled he is, he’ll be powerless to resist. After that, he’ll be at our mercy.”

As he spoke, Zhong slowly drew a jade bottle from his robe. “If you do this, I promise you’ll be promoted to squad leader within a year, and to company commander within five. What do you say?”

“Stone Poison? You mean the one famed as one of the Ten Deadliest Poisons in the martial world?” The man in black trembled. “How did you come by such a thing?”

“That’s not for you to know. All you need to do is slip this colorless, tasteless poison into his drink tomorrow,” Zhong replied with a sly grin, his eyes waiting for an answer.

“So it’s Zhao Feng!” Realization dawned in Hu San’s eyes as he eavesdropped. He had wanted to keep listening, to see Zhao Feng’s reaction, but a new plan formed in his mind.

Zhong could threaten Zhao Feng like this not only to ensure his plan but also because Zhao Feng was unwilling to move against him. In that case, perhaps Zhao Feng could be won over. If he forced him to declare his loyalty now, he might have no choice but to eliminate this hidden threat altogether—a less than ideal outcome.

These thoughts flashed through Hu San’s mind, and he made his decision. Stretching his arms, he seized his longsaber hanging from a tree, gently parted the peach branches, and with a powerful kick launched himself forward.

This was no ordinary leap—he infused the intent of Bird-Strike into it, and with his formidable strength, the recoil sent him hurtling through the night like a missile, straight toward the nearest bandit.

Under Zhong’s pressure, Zhao Feng was just about to declare his stance, hoping to avoid being torn apart on the spot, when suddenly a flash of white streaked past.

A scream pierced the darkness, blood spattered, and Old Fourth Ge, the one with the hoarse voice, shuddered, trying to turn around but failing. He collapsed on his back, dust rising, his eyes wide open in everlasting rage.

“Who are you, intruding upon Wolf Fang Mountain at this late hour?” Zhong demanded, his voice cold.

Under the thick canopy, Hu San’s form was hidden, and a cloud drifted over the moon, further cloaking him in darkness. For a moment, Zhong couldn’t recognize him.

The forest was silent, the stench of blood spreading. The shadows remained motionless, like mountain demons, while the four surviving bandits looked grim.

If not for Zhong’s leadership, any ordinary men would have been scared witless by now, unable to muster the slightest resistance.

“You have courage, but no eyes. After all this, you still don’t recognize me?” Hu San said softly with a smile. At that moment, the moon slipped free of the clouds, and in the faint light, a youth stood calmly, leaning on his longsaber.

A trickle of blood ran down the blade, a few drops spattering his clothes like sparkling gems.

“It’s you!?” came a chorus of shocked voices, then silence.

A cold laugh escaped Zhong. “Hu San, you’re bold indeed. Setting aside everything else, just the crime of seizing weapons from the stronghold without permission is enough for us to execute you, not to mention you’ve already killed Old Fourth Ge.”

“You really are headed to hell with your eyes open. What have you left to say for yourself?” He waved his weapon, signaling to his men, and the two hardened bandits, now steadier, fanned out, forming a triangle with Zhong to encircle Hu San.

Only Zhao Feng lingered at the edge of the peach grove, unmoving, his face conflicted as he watched the youth in the night.

“At this point, there’s nothing more for me to say, nor for you. We have long awaited this encounter—it’s just a pity it comes so late,” Hu San replied with a steady smile.

Zhong nodded. “It seems I’ve chosen the right man. Attack!”

At his command, the two bandits behind Hu San lunged with their sabers—their blades flashing, one aimed at his abdomen, the other at his legs. Their coordination was flawless and their speed astonishing, enough to surprise even the prepared Hu San.

He quickly dodged the attack to his lower body, raising his saber to meet one of their blades. At that moment, Zhong’s weapon glinted coldly from the side—a slender rapier, radiating chilling menace.

It was a fierce, coordinated assault—so well-practiced that only thousands of rehearsals could produce such precision. Even as their enemy, Hu San could not help but admire their skills. Though the moves seemed simple, they distilled the essence of their martial arts.

With Hu San’s head within reach, even Zhong felt a thrill. This was the formation they had devised, with guidance from a master, to counter martial artists—a culmination of all their training.

Had Hu San not slain Old Fourth Ge in a single move, Zhong might not have resorted to this tactic.

According to that master, once caught in this formation, even an ordinary martial artist would pay a heavy price if careless.

Though Hu San was a prodigy, he was no match for a true warrior. Zhong was convinced of this and counted Hu San as dead.

But what awaited him was not Hu San’s severed head. In that critical instant, Hu San’s saber pressed down on Liu Ying’s blade aimed at his abdomen, using it to propel himself into a sudden horizontal dive.

In the blink of an eye, he narrowly evaded the killing blow.

The icy chill of the rapier grazed his nose. In that moment, the arrogance that had come with his mastery of the Flatblade Art was thoroughly burned away. He realized that, in this den of bandits—none of them true martial artists—he was far from invincible.

The threat of death jolted Hu San awake. Pressing down hard with his saber, he feinted, his blade flashing as he slipped aside. When he straightened, Liu Ying’s saber was tangled in his own, leaving him standing dazed.

Before Zhong could shout, his most trusted aide—a sworn brother in life and death—felt a thin line of blood appear on his neck. Then, with a crash, he fell heavily to the side.