Volume One: The Lonely Beta Test Chapter 28: Encounter with a Tiger

At dawn the next day, a faint procession of figures could be seen making their way along a narrow path in a forest to the east of Liekou County. Leading them was a young man of about eighteen or nineteen, whose commanding presence and distinctive short hair made him stand out among the group. Close behind him followed a burly, bearded man, carrying a broadsword over his shoulder, each stride exuding power.

As they rounded a bend, they spotted another band of people sitting at rest ahead. The moment this second group caught sight of the youth and his company, they leapt to their feet, alert and wary. From among them, a large man strode forward, sword in hand, approaching the youth. Both parties halted when separated by some twenty paces.

The large man spoke first: "Immortal winds pass through the forest."

The youth immediately replied, "Justice walks the grand road."

At the response, the large man rushed forward, dropped to his knees, and declared, "Han Dang pays his respects to my lord!"

"You've worked hard, Uncle Han, please rise," said the youth—none other than Lin Feng. He was meeting Han Dang at this very spot. "Are all the brothers assembled?"

"Yes, my lord. All are present. The scouts set out half an hour ago and should be ten miles ahead by now—perhaps they've already reached the outskirts of Mount Qinglong." Han Dang's words made it clear they had been waiting here for Lin Feng and his party for quite some time.

"Excellent," Lin Feng praised. "Uncle Han, soon the sun will rise. With so many men, your group will attract notice during daylight. You must speed up and reach Mount Qinglong before dawn."

"At your command."

Han Dang cupped his fists in salute and returned to his men. With a wave of his arm, they all set off swiftly and in utter silence.

When Han Dang's company had departed, Lin Feng turned to another man behind him. "Zhou Shun."

"My lord?" Zhou Shun stepped forward.

"Take the brothers and follow the scouts' marks. Move swiftly, and be sure to assemble the catapult at the designated spot before daybreak."

"I obey," Zhou Shun replied, then signaled his men. They set off, each carrying a part of the disassembled catapult.

Once Zhou Shun and his group had gone, only the bearded giant remained at Lin Feng's side. This man, known as Zhang Yikou, was the only one of the group with such a prominent beard. Yet tonight, Zhang Yikou was unusually silent. From the moment they met Han Dang, through Zhou Shun's departure, he had not uttered a single word—only stood guard by Lin Feng, his grip on his sword never loosening. Still, one could see the anxiety on his face. Both Han Dang and Zhou Shun had been given tasks, yet he was left to wait—a bitter pill for someone as eager for action as Zhang Meng. Yet, despite his frustration, he kept his silence. Who knew what spell the great Lin Immortal had cast upon him?

Lin Feng found Zhang Meng's manner rather amusing. He strolled to a large tree, sat down, leaned against the trunk, and closed his eyes to rest.

Zhang Meng could not bear it any longer. He paced in front of Lin Feng, sighing with his sword on his shoulder.

After a short while, Lin Feng seemed to tire of the charade. "Uncle, there's still time before dawn. Wouldn't it be better to rest and gather your strength?"

Zhang Meng halted at once, responding gruffly, "Feng'er, the others hurry on their way, while we're here napping and wasting time. I don't know what you're thinking. Are you perhaps afraid?"

Lin Feng understood Zhang Meng's goading perfectly. He feigned agreement. "Indeed, after barely escaping with my life last time, and with even greater dangers ahead, I truly am afraid. For safety's sake, perhaps we should wait here until they're victorious before moving on. What do you think, Uncle?" With that, Lin Feng closed his eyes again.

Of course Zhang Meng could tell Lin Feng was being sarcastic. In his eyes, Lin Feng now possessed immortal arts and was not the same as before—who believed he would be afraid? Zhang Meng cast a longing glance toward the direction Han Dang and the others had gone, wishing he could chase after them. Yet when he looked back at Lin Feng lazing under the tree, he sighed again, threw his sword to the ground, and wandered to another tree, intending to fetch his wine gourd from his waist—only to find it missing. Remembering why, he sat heavily and leaned against the tree, imitating Lin Feng's posture.

But Zhang Meng, plagued by worry, could not find Lin Feng's peace. He closed his eyes, then opened them, restless as if time itself had slowed to torment him. After about fifteen minutes, Lin Feng began to snore softly. That he could sleep under such circumstances was astonishing. Only now did Zhang Meng recall how busy Lin Feng had been lately—barely resting these past days, last night snatching only a brief nap before setting out before dawn. The carefree boy of yesterday had been worn to exhaustion, and Zhang Meng had only just noticed. Remorse welled up in his heart. He stood, took off his coat, and was about to cover Lin Feng when a sudden commotion of startled birds erupted from the depths of the forest behind Lin Feng. An urgent sense of danger overtook Zhang Meng.

He rose silently, tiptoed to Lin Feng, scooped up his sword, and stood guard, gently shaking Lin Feng awake.

Lin Feng, deep in slumber and annoyed at being roused, muttered, "Oh, Uncle Meng, you—"

Before he could finish, Zhang Meng's large hand covered his mouth. "Be quiet, there's danger," Zhang Meng whispered.

At the word "danger," Lin Feng's sleep vanished instantly. He nodded, brushing Zhang Meng's hand aside. Could it be that Li Tong had been discovered and the bandits were onto them? But he dismissed the thought—only he and Lin Zhen knew their route; the others had learned it only after setting out.

While Lin Feng pondered what kind of danger approached, Zhang Meng drove his sword into the ground, bent down, and hoisted Lin Feng's legs, pushing him up the tree. "Feng'er, it's the hour of the tiger. That commotion just now was likely a great beast out hunting. We don't know how big it is, and I may not be able to protect you if it attacks. Climb up quickly!"

Sensing the urgency, Lin Feng said nothing and, with Zhang Meng's help, leapt up and grabbed a branch, swinging himself atop it.

He had barely steadied himself when a blood-curdling roar sounded from behind his former position. Looking back, Lin Feng glimpsed, behind a thicket of low shrubs, a massive white beast glaring at him with ferocious, green-glinting eyes, poised to pounce—its target none other than Lin Feng himself. Cold sweat broke out on his back, and he scrambled higher up the tree.

As the beast gathered itself to leap, Zhang Meng sprang forward, positioning himself between Lin Feng and the creature, sword raised. As the beast soared over Zhang Meng's head, he too leapt, aiming the sword's tip at its chest. Had he struck true, the beast would have died instantly. But his jump was too hasty and fell short; the blade only reached the beast's right hind leg, slicing a bloody gash and scattering droplets of blood.

Yet the beast's momentum was so great that its course hardly altered, and its body swept under Lin Feng's feet, nearly knocking him from the tree.

Wounded, the beast tumbled sideways upon landing, looking wretched. It had ruled these woods for years—never had it suffered such humiliation. Gritting its teeth, it staggered upright, rage burning in its eyes.

The tiger's furious roar shook the entire forest.

Now Zhang Meng moved to within ten paces of the beast, sword ready, and got a good look. "Damn, that's a massive tiger!"

The tiger saw the blood on Zhang Meng's blade and recognized him as its attacker. It snorted violently, yet did not immediately charge. Clearly, it had been wounded internally when it landed and had expended much strength. It was delaying, seeking to recover its energy. Such cunning from a beast was remarkable.

Lin Feng, perched in the tree, was still trembling. Had he been a moment slower, he would already be dead.

Seeing that the tiger did not pounce, Zhang Meng judged its injuries serious and felt his pressure ease. "Strike while the iron is hot," he muttered, spitting on his fist and gripping the sword. "Beast, Old Zhang will send you on your way!" He raised the blade high and brought it down toward the tiger's face.

Just as the blade was about to cleave the tiger's forehead, the beast pushed off with its forepaws, pivoted nimbly on its uninjured leg, and spun around, evading Zhang Meng's blow.

His strike missed, and before he could recover, the tiger's iron-like tail whipped toward him. Quick as lightning, Zhang Meng thrust his sword into the ground and used it as a pivot, leaping over the tiger's back. As he soared, his blade traced an arc in the air and landed squarely on the back of the tiger's head, burying itself deep.

The tiger collapsed, motionless. As it fell, Zhang Meng leapt clear, landing several feet away in a defensive stance.

With a low whimper, the tiger spasmed a few times, then lay still—lifeless.

Lin Feng, who had witnessed the entire harrowing scene from the tree, felt his blood surge, his earlier fear replaced by awe at Zhang Meng's skill. Seeing the tiger unmoving, he quickly slid down and hurried to Zhang Meng, whose face was streaked with blood.

"Uncle, are you hurt?" Lin Feng asked anxiously.

Zhang Meng did not respond, standing frozen and unmoving.