The Pine Forest was thick with the stench of blood, mingled with the distinctive fragrance of pine resin to form a bizarre, nauseating odor. Ye Yun knelt on one knee, fighting down the bile rising in his throat as fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, yet found that the hand gripping his knife still trembled slightly—not from fear, but from his body's instinctive reaction after a fight to the death.
He had to hurry. Ye Yun muttered under his breath, his voice so hoarse it hardly sounded like his own. Holding his breath, he twitched his ears and keenly listened for movement around him. Apart from the rustle of wind through the pine needles and the occasional caw of a crow in the distance, the entire Pine Forest lay as still as death.
Ye Yun slowly crouched and began searching the Second-in-Command's corpse. The body had not yet completely gone cold, but it was already beginning to stiffen beneath his touch. As he unfastened the bloodstained lapel, a yellowed thread-bound booklet slipped from an inner pocket and landed softly on the pine-needle-covered ground. The three ancient seal-script characters, Flying Feather Knife, gleamed with an eerie sheen in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Their strokes were as fierce as blades, as though they might burst through the paper.
Ye Yun's pupils contracted. Carefully cushioning the page with his sleeve, he opened the booklet. On the title page were written the words: "Hold the hilt as lightly as a flower; unleash your strength like a mountain collapsing. The eye arrives, then the blade; with a still heart, the spirit follows." The eighteen characters danced across the page, their ink sunk deep into the paper. They made his eyes prickle, as if he were staring straight into a blade's edge.
Was this the legendary Flying Knife Technique, appearing and vanishing like a ghost? Ye Yun's heart pounded wildly, and his throat tightened. He forced himself to stay calm and continued searching the body. In a hidden pocket, his fingertips brushed against a stack of unusual paper. He pulled it out and found a stack of banknotes. Each was worth five hundred taels. A quick count revealed more than twenty, worth over ten thousand taels in total.
Ye Yun furrowed his brows as sweat slid down the bridge of his nose. How could a bandit Second-in-Command have such a fortune? Stranger still, the notes were official bills redeemable at the Da Zhou Bank. They were brand-new, with consecutive serial numbers—hardly something ordinary bandits could have obtained by robbing people. He had a feeling there was more to this than met the eye.
After tucking away the manual and banknotes, Ye Yun began carefully arranging the scene. He drew the Second-in-Command's saber. It was pitch-black from end to end, long and narrow, and icy to the touch. He deliberately carved several deep and shallow gashes into nearby tree trunks, then spent considerable effort arranging the two bodies as if they had killed each other—positioning the Second-in-Command's hand around Sun Gan's sword, which had pierced his own heart, while the fatal throwing knife remained lodged in Sun Gan's throat.
By the time he finished, Ye Yun was drenched in sweat. He also used pine branches to brush away his footprints and covered the bloodstains with dirt. After one last check to make sure he had left no traces behind, he slipped away.
The fighting on the main battlefield had died down. The air reeked of blood and the acrid stench of scorched weapons. Though bandit chief Zhang Kui was formidable and had held his own against two men, he was eventually captured after Zhao Meng and Chen Qingzhou worked together in perfect harmony. But they had both paid a heavy price: Zhao Meng's right arm was broken, its ghastly white bone jutting through his flesh; Chen Qingzhou had been run through the left shoulder, blood staining half his official uniform and pooling on the ground in a shocking red puddle.
"Count the casualties!" Zhao Meng ordered through the pain, his voice wavering from blood loss. His personal guards soon reported, "My lord, seven of our men were killed and twelve seriously wounded. Deputy Captain Sun has yet to return to camp."
Zhao Meng's expression changed drastically. His already pale face drained of what little color remained. Sun Gan might have been arrogant and rude, but he was still a member of the Sun Family from the prefectural city. Zhao Meng immediately sent out his most elite squad to search for him. In the end, they found a shocking scene in the dark Pine Forest: Sun Gan and the Second-in-Command lay facing each other, each man's weapon embedded in the other's vital spot. The tree trunks around them were scarred with signs of struggle, and the pine-needle-covered ground was soaked with blood, turning a strange purplish black.
Dragging his injured body, Chen Qingzhou examined the scene closely with the help of his personal guards. His brows furrowed tighter and tighter, and the wound in his left shoulder began seeping blood again from all the movement. "Judging by the wounds," he said, pointing at the throwing knife buried deep in the bone of Sun Gan's throat, "the blade has almost disappeared into the flesh, leaving only the hilt exposed. Deputy Captain Sun must have unleashed a fatal strike, while the Second-in-Command used his secret technique before dying."
The explanation made sense, but on closer inspection, there were several suspicious points—for example, why there was no blood on Sun Gan's sword, and why the wound in the Second-in-Command's throat was so smooth, as if it had been made by some invisible, razor-sharp blade. But without any other evidence, this was indeed the most reasonable explanation.
Zhao Meng's face darkened and brightened by turns as his right hand unconsciously rubbed the token at his waist. He knew Sun Gan's background better than anyone. Though Sun Gan was born of a concubine, he had still been sent by the Sun Family to gain experience. Now that he had died in the campaign to suppress the bandits, how could the Sun Family let the matter rest? At the thought of the blame he might face, Zhao Meng's stomach twisted with pain.
As the sun sank in the west, the dying light was red as blood, staining all of Black Wind Ridge crimson. The force suppressing the bandits escorted its prisoners back to the county seat with heavy steps. Ye Yun walked at the rear of the procession, his body dragging with exhaustion. The battle kept replaying in his mind, leaving him deeply unsettled.
After returning home and confirming that Uncle Fu had gone to bed, Ye Yun gently closed the door. The room was pitch-black, with only a few thin strands of moonlight slipping through the window lattice. He felt his way to the oil lamp and lit it. Its dim yellow glow flickered across the room, casting his shadow on the wall in a grotesque, twisted shape.
Ye Yun carefully took out the Flying Feather Knife manual and studied it by lamplight. He opened to the first page, and the fierce strokes seemed to come alive, leaping before his eyes:
"Hold the hilt as lightly as a flower; unleash your strength like a mountain collapsing..."
Ye Yun tried adjusting his grip according to the verse. At once, his wrist felt much more nimble. His five fingers were as light as plucking a flower, yet held astonishing explosive power.
"The eye arrives, then the blade; with a still heart, the spirit follows..."
He closed his eyes and concentrated. Suddenly, he heard a leaf fall outside the window and could accurately pinpoint where it had landed. His senses had become keener than he had ever experienced before.
The basic techniques in the first half had already benefited him immensely, but the contents of the second half shocked him even more:
"Command the blade with Essence Qi; pursue the soul for a thousand miles..."
This was plainly an advanced martial art that required Essence Qi to activate! How could a bandit know such a profound technique? Stranger still, the manual's paper was unusual, and golden flecks seemed to glimmer faintly in the ink. It was no ordinary martial arts text.
Just as he reached the last page, his fingertips suddenly caught on a tiny raised spot. Ye Yun's gaze sharpened. He gently pried open the hidden layer with a fingernail, and a sheet of paper thin as a cicada's wing fluttered to the floor. It was barely two fingers wide, yet the writing on it was perfectly clear:
"The Ye Family's surviving vermin must be exterminated."
Ye Yun's hands began to tremble violently, and the note drifted silently to the ground. The massacre from ten years ago had indeed concealed another story! The Second-in-Command had very likely been one of those involved!
Outside, a cold crescent moon climbed above the branches. Its icy light passed through the window paper and cast mottled shadows across the floor. In the distance, the night watchman's clapper rang out, especially shrill in the stillness. Ye Yun clenched his fists until his nails dug deep into his palms. Blood seeped between his fingers, but he felt nothing. At last, a glimmer of light had appeared on this path of vengeance—but with it came an even thicker fog and deadlier threats...
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