Shen Le came down the mountain with his sword on his back.
He headed straight for Postal City.
And nearly got press-ganged.
"Out, out! Everyone out! Move! Keep up!"
Shen Le was groggily awakened by the noise, groggily watched someone kick open his room door, and groggily found someone grabbing and tugging at him.
"Move it! Stop standing around!"
The entire inn was as noisy as a pot of boiling water. Torches swayed, their light stretching out from the corridor and casting every face into shifting brightness and shadow, as though they stood on the boundary between the living and the dead.
The clatter of feet, shouts, curses, and pleas for mercy rang out without pause, occasionally mixed with the crack of whips slicing through the air and a stifled scream that could no longer be held back.
Doors were kicked open one after another. People were dragged out one by one and brutally driven into the ranks. Someone pleaded softly.
"Sir, this batch of goods has to be delivered to Postal City tomorrow—"
"Shut up! Hurry and keep moving! The enemy army is about to attack, and you still refuse to help defend the city? Are you trying to betray the country and defect to the enemy?!"
"Enemy army? What enemy army?"
Hearing that, Shen Le finally grasped the crux of the matter and spoke up.
The soldier dragging him shot him an impatient glare and raised his saber sheath to strike. Before it could fall, however, a flash of white streaked before his eyes.
"Clang!"
With a light ring, the saber sheath in his hand, his waist saber, and a patch of hair from his forehead were all sliced away. Shen Le stood quietly where he was, white light rising from his body and illuminating his features with