Time flew by.
The young couple's days flowed past, one after another.
This military stronghold occupied treacherous terrain, overlooking the land below and controlling the Three Rivers. Since ancient times, it had been a vital passage into Ba-Shu. For that very reason, fighting never ceased here, no matter the season:
A small skirmish every three days, a major battle every five; every ten days or half a month, Tatar scouts would always come to harass them.
Even though aid from the rear never stopped—supplies, military provisions, and reinforcements of all kinds constantly arrived—not every delivery could reach them in time or in sufficient quantity.
And in the course of patrols, rescue operations, and counterattacks, the young general repeatedly distinguished himself in battle:
"Shh." He stopped and raised a hand. At once, all the soldiers following behind him halted, silently crouching amid the forest.
The young general pressed a hand against the mirror guard over his heart, pushing the little box inside it—and the tiny clay figurine inside that box—closer to his chest.
Feeling the intense, icy throbbing against his skin, he bent his knees slightly and pressed the tip of his blade against the little finger of his left hand. Blood spurted forth.
A gust of Yin wind burst from the clay figurine and swirled around his left little finger. The chill surrounding them immediately vanished, and the entire forest grew so quiet that not even the faintest birdcall could be heard.
(Wow... he was carrying a demon ghost around to help patrol...)
Shen Le's eyes were opened wide in amazement, and he sighed softly in admiration. To be fair, demon ghosts had far greater advantages than people when it came to patrolling. Their mobility and concealment were both much better.
It was like carrying a drone around with him.