In a dense forest more than ten miles from Xiaohun Village stood a wooden cabin.
Inside were two burly, fully armed men in their prime. One had black hair and dark eyes, his presence fierce; the other was blond and blue-eyed—a Westerner.
"The Xiaohun Village outpost has gone silent."
The Asian man lowered the walkie-talkie.
"The police?" The Westerner frowned.
"They used crossbow bolts. It shouldn't be the police." The Asian man shook his head, switched on the radio beside him, and relayed the news.
"Was it a robbery by another gang?"
"Maybe there's a mole."
"Should we go take a look? There are still a hundred and thirty kilos of goods in Xiaohun Village."
"No. We pull back first and move the rest of the goods."
The Asian man shook his head, got to his feet, and began packing.
They didn't know how strong the other side was. Retreating first was the sensible choice.
After climbing into the mountains, Shi Lan didn't go far. She slipped into the nearby range, found an ancient tree with a clear view, and lay down on one of its branches.
From here, she could see all of Xiaohun Village, making it a good place to watch for any activity.
To her surprise, she waited a long time, but no one showed up.
After resting for the night, Shi Lan stopped waiting and headed deeper into the mountains. She hadn't brought much in the way of supplies and couldn't hold out for long.
The villagers had thoroughly buried the seven bodies. Clearly, they had no intention of calling the police.
Walkie-talkies had limited range, and they were in the mountains. Those people couldn't be far away—no more than ten kilometers at most.
There weren't many villages nearby. If she searched them one by