"Waaah... Mengzi, don't die!"
"Leave the Qin family an heir. Leave me something to remember you by."
"Anyway, I've sold myself. It's not as if those beasts are getting a bad deal..."
A woman's helpless sobs pricked at Qin Meng's muddled consciousness like needles.
Cold—cold enough to freeze his soul.
He struggled in the haze, as if sunk at the bottom of an ice cave. His awareness blurred, but the sobs drew closer, and something soft and warm pressed tightly against him, transferring what little heat it could.
Was that a woman's body?
Bare skin against bare skin, a soft, delicate fragrance carrying the shy warmth unique to an unmarried woman, spread over his icy skin.
In his daze, Qin Meng felt a pair of trembling arms wrap around him.
That warmth made his nearly frozen blood begin to flow again, gathering... His consciousness struggled within it, coming and going.
Then, suddenly, his vision went black, and he lost consciousness completely.
After an unknown length of time, Qin Meng struggled to lift his eyelids.
A few shafts of daylight slipped through holes in the thatched roof. Spiderwebs swayed on the rafters. The smells of mildew, medicine, and cheap liquor mingled in the air.
In his arms lay a warm, soft body.
He stiffly lowered his head. A pale, haggard, lovely face was close enough to touch.
The woman furrowed her brow in her sleep. Her eyes were swollen and her lips had turned purple from the cold—she had... used her own frail body to hold him and keep him warm.
Fragments of memory stabbed into his mind—
The body's original owner had also been called Qin Meng. He came from Luming Fort in Yang Province, beyond the northern border of the Yanhan Dynasty. Born with great strength and exceptional courage, he had once been an ideal candidate for martial arts training.
His parents had spent everything they had to support him, but he lacked aptitude and never managed to grasp the basics. Mocked by others and disappointing his parents, he had forced an attempt to break through and damaged his foundation.
From then on, he was left with a chronic ailment and became a cripple.
His parents died in an invasion by foreign tribes, and his elder brother vanished while guarding the frontier. Blow after blow sent him spiraling downward.
He had sold off everything the family owned. Lost in drink and debauchery, he had beaten and berated the young bride his family had raised for him.
And this was the very girl his parents had taken in after she collapsed from hunger outside the fort. This was the young bride he had so often beaten and scolded. She had risked her life to save him.
Three days ago, in the bitter cold of late autumn on the northern frontier, the original Qin Meng had gotten drunk and fallen into a canal outside the fort. Cold rain had drenched him all night. By the time he was carried back, he was barely breathing.
Shen Qiuyue had sold herself into servitude in exchange for a life-saving medicine.
Last night, when the original Qin Meng's body had gone icy and his breath was faint, she had stripped off their wet clothes and held him with her unchaste body, giving him what little warmth she had.
While unconscious, Qin Meng had heard her whisper through her tears, saying things like, "Leave the Qin family an heir," and, "I don't regret selling myself."
Qin Meng shut his eyes, then opened them again. A dull ache in his chest made it hard to breathe. It was the lingering guilt and grief in this body, mingled with his sorrow for the woman before him.
The delicate body in his arms shifted slightly. Shen Qiuyue woke. She opened her eyes and met Qin Meng's complicated gaze. Panic flashed across her pale face, then shame, before it settled into numb resignation.
She silently got up, turning her back to him as she wrapped her thin body in a tattered tunic.
"You're all right. Thank goodness!" Her voice choked with emotion.
"There's medicine in the pot. I'll heat it up."
"Sister Qiu Yue." Qin Meng caught her, his voice hoarse.
Shen Qiuyue's fingers paused as she tied her sash, clenching until her knuckles turned white.
The name "Sister Qiu Yue" felt so distant!
The boy who had once followed her around with adoring eyes had long since been pickled in cheap liquor and died in some filthy ditch.
Qin Meng braced himself and tried to sit up, though his body felt like it had been shattered. Every bone and muscle protested. Cold sweat poured from him, soaking his undershirt in an instant.
He gritted his teeth, veins twitching on his forehead. He straightened his back and fixed his heavy gaze on her trembling form. "How much did you sell yourself for? And for how long?"
Shen Qiuyue twisted the corner of her clothes, her knuckles turning white.
"F-fifty taels of silver. For seven days." Her voice trembled. "If I can't pay it back in seven days, I'll... go work as a servant for Qin Lai."
Fifty taels of silver! Seven days!
"Why that scoundrel?" Qin Meng frowned deeply, his hand clenching unconsciously.
The memories of this body told him that Qin Lai was well-off in the fort, but he was a local thug who had sold plenty of innocent women to brothels.
Here on the frontier at Luming Fort, a strong laborer earned only one or two taels of silver for a month's hard work. Fifty taels was a fortune.
Seven days—that was practically driving someone to the end of the road.
"I'll pay the money back." His words were firm, each one forced through clenched teeth. "No one's taking you away from me."
Shen Qiuyue spun around, her eyes red-rimmed, as if seeing him for the first time. "Y-you're talking nonsense. How are you going to pay it back? Your health..."
"I said, I'll pay it back."
Qin Meng threw off the ragged quilt and planted his bare feet on the icy ground. The cold pierced to the bone, but he stood ramrod straight, his gaze clearer and sharper than ever.
"The old Qin Meng is dead." He pointed to his head. "The man standing before you now is Qin Meng, an instructor of an elite unit.
"A Qin Meng who won't drink or gamble anymore, who won't give up on himself, who won't ever hit you again, and who'll shoulder the burden of this family."
Shen Qiuyue stared at him blankly. Tears spilled down her cheeks without warning.
She abruptly turned her back, her shoulders shaking violently as muffled sobs slipped through her fingers.
Qin Meng didn't try to comfort her. He had no right to comfort her yet.
He moved to the doorway and picked up the rust-covered ring-pommel saber leaning against the wall.
It was the only thing his father had left behind.
A standard-issue military weapon, it had a long, narrow blade and felt cold and heavy in his hand.
The sky over the courtyard was gray and dim. He found a whetstone, filled half a jar with water, and sat down in the yard.
Scrape, scrape, scrape—
The sound of sharpening was monotonous but relentless. Rust gradually fell away, revealing the cold gleam beneath.
The sound seemed to hone his muddled thoughts as well, slowly and painfully blending fragments of his past life with the wretched life he had inherited.
He was Qin Meng, a border guard instructor from the twenty-first century, the Iron-Blooded Northern Frontier King Qin Meng who had fought on horseback—and the mud-caked Qin Meng of this life.
Before long, a bleak glimmer of daylight reflected off the blade.
Qin Meng flicked his wrist and instinctively swept the saber sideways—
Whoosh! The blade sliced through the air with a short, sharp hiss.
Then his feet slid into motion, and the long saber danced in his hand.
There was no form to it, only instinct etched into his soul. Chop, hack, slash, thrust... Every move carried the merciless resolve of someone fighting for his life on a battlefield.
The saber grew faster and faster, and the weakness inside him was replaced by a searing flow of energy.
Suddenly, several lines of pale golden text appeared before his eyes:
[Comprehended an inferior martial skill: Eight Blade Breaking Techniques] [Eight Blade Breaking Techniques—Beginner (1/100)] [Martial skill progress: 1%] [Special effect: None]
Qin Meng halted, the tip of the saber touching the ground.
His Golden Finger? A faint smile crossed his face. As if guided by a sudden flash of insight, he closed his eyes. Deep in his consciousness, a translucent panel hovered silently:
[Name: Qin Meng] [Realm: Mortal Body.] [Core technique: None] [Martial skill: Eight Blade Breaking Techniques—Beginner (1/100)] [Status: Damaged foundation, cold pathogen in the body]
He really had a cheat! Qin Meng drew a deep breath, tamping down the turmoil in his heart. This world was vast and tumultuous, teeming with countless races, and human life was cheap as grass.
Martial arts flourished throughout the Yanhan Dynasty, whose government encouraged the people to train. Nowhere was that more true than the northern frontier. Foreign tribes infiltrated from beyond the border, making the region chaotic and dangerous.
The original owner lacked talent and had damaged his foundation while training. But with a cheat, he had one more chance to survive in a world where human life was cheap as grass.
He didn't stop. There in the dilapidated little courtyard, he swung the saber again and again.
Sweat soaked his tunic, his muscles ached and trembled, and his lungs burned. But the number after "Beginner" on the panel steadily ticked upward: 5/100... 12/100... 28/100...
With every swing, the memories of blood and fire from his previous life became clearer.
The shattered fragments of saber techniques seemed to be combed into order by an invisible hand, gradually flowing together into the simplest and deadliest eight killing moves.
After an unknown number of swings, the warm current inside him surged.
[Eight Blade Breaking Techniques—Dengtang Realm (1/200)] [Special effect: Physique Enhancement (minor)]
Physique Enhancement: Slightly enhances physical attributes.
A mighty current of warmth surged from within him, washing through every limb and bone. The negative status 'cold pathogen in the body' disappeared, and his weakness rapidly faded.
Qin Meng clearly felt new strength welling up in his once-empty body, continuously reinforcing it.
His grip on the saber grew steadier, his stance more solid, and even his breathing seemed to grow deeper. His arm strength alone had increased by more than thirty percent.
This tangible enhancement kindled a spark of heat in Qin Meng's cold gaze. He lifted his eyes toward the rolling mountain ranges beyond the fort.
Seven days. Fifty taels of silver.
Luming Fort lay on the frontier. There was clearly no time to make money through trade.
Robbery? People could cultivate in this world. With power came no license to do whatever one pleased.
According to his memories, the mountains of the northern frontier stretched on and on. Hunting might be a way out.
There were game in those mountains—and a path to survival. He would have to find it himself!
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