Blade's Edge Start

The moment he opened his eyes, a cold glint was already slashing towards his face.

Wang Quan's heart stopped from fright, and he felt as if he had plunged into an ice cellar. He didn't even have time to think before his body instinctively recoiled. The blade grazed the tip of his nose, cutting off a few strands of hair, and embedded itself deeply into the dirt wall behind him.

He widened his eyes, gasping for breath rapidly and continuously, cold sweat instantly soaking through his thin inner shirt.

"Do you choose life, or do you choose death?"

A voice as hard and cold as iron struck his ears.

Wang Quan mechanically raised his head. Under the dim oil lamp, a square-faced man was looking down at him from above. The man was about forty years old, with sallow skin and a scar on his left cheek that ran diagonally from his brow bone to his jaw, looking particularly ferocious in the flickering lamplight. He was wearing a dark blue tight-fitting outfit and a standard-issue long saber at his waist. He was now slowly drawing the saber that had nearly cost Wang Quan his life from the wall.

Wang Quan's throat tightened, his mind a jumbled mess. Fragmented memories surged like a tide—his previous self was a mountain bandit who was captured after a failed robbery. The Anping County Yamen had given him two options: execution in the autumn, or joining the Garrison and serving for five years to atone for his crimes by patrolling.

He chose the latter.

Seeing Wang Quan's prolonged silence, the scarred man's eyes flashed with ferocity, and he raised his foot to kick.

Wang Quan flew backward, crashing heavily against the dirt wall. Intense pain exploded from his back, and stars danced before his eyes. He curled up on the ground, coughing violently, a sweet, metallic taste rising in his throat.

"I want to live! Sir, I want to live!" The instinct for survival finally overcame the chaos, and Wang Quan shouted hoarsely.

The scarred man withdrew his foot, looking down at him coldly. "Since you want to live, be more alert from now on. The County Garrison doesn't keep useless people, much less criminal prisoners."

He turned and shouted towards the door, "Someone!"

Two men in the same dark blue attire responded and entered. Expressionless, they each took an arm and lifted Wang Quan.

"Take him to Room Bing-7. Let him rest for the night, and he'll follow Team Ding on patrol tomorrow." The scarred man waved his hand, as if dealing with a trivial matter.

Wang Quan was dragged out of the room. His vision fell upon a dim, earthen-stone corridor, with mottled walls on either side. Every few yards, a torch was stuck into the wall, its light flickering erratically and casting many distorted shadows. The air was filled with a mixed scent of mildew, sweat, and blood.

After passing through two guard posts, they arrived at a narrow courtyard. Several low earthen houses stood side by side in the yard. One of them had a crooked wooden plaque hanging above the door, inscribed with "Bing-7" in cinnabar.

"This is it." The man on the left pushed open the creaking wooden door and threw Wang Quan inside.

Wang Quan stumbled a few steps, almost falling. The man on the right pulled a black, bean-sized pill from his embrace and casually tossed it onto the ground, kicking up a small puff of dust.

"If you don't want to die, rest well," the man said plainly. "Tomorrow's patrol, whether you can return alive depends on your fate."

After speaking, the two men retreated, and the wooden door slammed shut with a bang. The sound of a chain sliding could be heard from outside.

Wang Quan lay on the cold ground, gasping for a long time. Every part of his body ached, especially his chest and back, which felt like they were burning and about to split. Gritting his teeth, he slowly crawled over to the pill and picked it up with trembling fingers.

The pill's surface was rough, emitting a faint bitter smell. He hesitated for a moment, but remembering the terrifying force of the scarred man's kick and the unknown patrol tomorrow, he steeled himself and put the pill into his mouth.

The pill dissolved the moment it entered his mouth, turning into a stream of warm, burning liquid that flowed down his throat, then quickly spread to every limb and bone. The intense pain began to subside, and the stagnant blood and qi seemed to flow again. His bruises faded at a visible rate. Although still weak, he was at least no longer unable to move.

Only then did he have the strength to survey Room Bing-7.

The room was small, barely a zhang square. One side was a rough dirt wall covered in stains and scratches. Along another wall stood a dilapidated wooden plank bed, covered with a thin layer of blackened straw and a thin quilt as hard as a brick. A chipped earthenware pot sat at the foot of the bed. Cobwebs adorned the corner, and a mouse scurried past with a squeak, disappearing into a hole in the wall.

The only window was a foot-square hole in the wall, sealed with a few wooden strips. Through the gaps, he could see the dark night outside and the blurry outlines of distant objects. A small oil lamp hung behind the door, its flame like a bean, barely dispelling a small patch of darkness but making the entire room appear even more dilapidated and desolate.

Wang Quan struggled to climb onto the bed, which exuded a smell of mildew and sweat, and lay on his back. Every bone screamed in protest, but it was much better than before.

He stared at the low ceiling beams, blackened by smoke, his mind a chaotic mess.

Memories of his previous self were still slowly surfacing, as if through a thick fog. Anping County, a border town in the north. The Garrison, atonement, five years of service. And those fragmented scenes—forests, companions, blood-stained knives, the shackles of the yamen runners, and the loud crack of the gavel in the hall.

Judging by Commander Chen's attitude and the guards' casual disposal of the medicine and locking the door, his status as a criminal meant his life was as cheap as grass. The pill could heal wounds, but it was likely of limited value, otherwise, it wouldn't have been thrown on the ground like trash. Tomorrow's patrol would likely be dangerous.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to rest. His body needed to recover, and he needed strength for tomorrow. The medicine continued to work, the pain gradually turning into a deep fatigue, and his consciousness began to blur.