For a moment, the tunnel exit filled with the stench of blood.
The soldiers who had just fought a great battle were utterly exhausted in body and mind, and some still bore unhealed wounds.
Blood was still flowing as they lay not far from the tunnel exit.
The Twin Eagles Association soldiers gripped their blades. The first to act was a man with a brutal-looking face, who plunged his blade into the belly of a young soldier beside him.
The young soldier had barely shouted, "You-" before blood sprayed from his mouth, splashing onto the man's face.
The man did not even blink. He twisted his wrist, and the blade churned the soldier's organs to pieces.
"Mutiny! You bastards are mutinying!"
An old soldier with a broken leg tried to stand with his spear as a crutch. He had only raised his body halfway when another Twin Eagles Association soldier struck his neck from behind.
His head rolled across the ground, his eyes still wide open, staring at the night sky beyond the tunnel.
Qing Chen stood in the shadows at the exit, arms folded across his chest, watching it all.
One Twin Eagles Association soldier was a little slow to strike, and a wounded soldier grabbed his arm.
Without even lifting his eyelids, Qing Chen flicked a short blade from his boot. It flew past the soldier's ear and embedded itself precisely in the wounded soldier's forehead.
"Dawdling around-are you keeping them alive so they can call for help?" His voice was flat, yet it made every Twin Eagles Association soldier move that much faster.
A quarter of an hour later, no one on the ground remained alive.
A dozen or so corpses lay piled every which way, their blood staining the stone ground black-red.
Qing Chen kicked one corpse's foot. Only after confirming that it was no longer breathing did he tell the Twin Eagles Association soldiers:
"Drag the bodies to the northern cliff and throw them over. Cover the blood with sand and dirt, and block the tunnel entrance with stones. Don't leave the slightest trace."
The soldiers dared not delay. Carrying each corpse between two men, they hurried toward the cliff.
Qing Chen crouched down and wiped the short blade he had thrown with a scrap of cloth.
He looked up at the sky. The moon had slipped behind the clouds; it was a good time to travel.
Once the scene had been cleared, Qing Chen led the Twin Eagles Association soldiers toward the vanguard army's main camp.
The night wind whipped against his face, carrying the mountain chill, but he did not feel cold.
He was still thinking about Young Master Zhao's head, imagining how the city lord would look when he saw it, and could not help the smile that curled at the corner of his mouth.
After a little over two hours of walking, scattered torchlight appeared ahead. Qing Jie was waiting there with three detachments of troops.
Seeing him return, Qing Jie hurried forward. "Big brother, you're finally back. Nothing went wrong, did it?"
"What could go wrong?"
Qing Chen patted his shoulder, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers behind him. "How are things with the vanguard army? Any unusual movements?"
Qing Jie shook his head and kept his voice very low. "Everything is as usual, and the vanguard army hasn't made any major unusual moves either. Their attacks seem fairly restrained.
"Niu Dali found out that the vanguard army is keeping a close watch on several strategically important strongholds. It's as though they already knew the details of those places."
He paused, then added, "Also, the city lord's household troops are camped twenty li away. They haven't gone anywhere near Northern Mang Mountain. Big brother, this is too strange."
Qing Chen said nothing and merely nodded.
He knew this was a staged performance. What he had to do now was smash it.
He pulled a set of night clothes from his bundle. They were made of black cloth, with crude stitching, but would blend well into the darkness.
"Wait here."
Qing Chen quickly changed into the night clothes and tied the cloth sack containing Young Master Zhao's head to his waist.
He hunched over and crept toward the vanguard army's main camp, his steps as light as a cat's, making no sound as he trod on the grass.
As he approached the camp, Qing Chen lay behind an earthen slope to observe.
The sentries on the camp wall were dozing with their heads tilted, their spears leaning diagonally against the wall. Soldiers' snores could occasionally be heard.
They really are troops cobbled together at short notice. Their vigilance and sentry posts are far too mediocre. He sneered inwardly.
They were simply born cannon fodder.
Drawing a deep breath, Qing Chen employed the Gecko Wall Traversal Art.
His fingers hooked into the gaps between the camp wall's bricks, and his body clung to the wall like a gecko as he climbed upward, inch by inch.
The sentries on the camp wall were still dozing, utterly unaware that someone was above their heads.
Reaching the top of the camp wall, Qing Chen leaped lightly down and landed in the shadows inside the camp.
He looked around, confirmed that no one had noticed him, and headed toward the central flagpole.
The flagpole was two zhang tall, with the vanguard army's flag hanging limply from its top in the night.
Qing Chen untied the cloth sack from his waist. The blood around its opening had already dried and hardened.
He tied the sack to the flagpole, then took a wooden plaque from inside his robe-he had carved it with his short blade on the way, and its crooked lettering read, "Grave of Zhao Erhe's youngest son."
He hung the plaque beneath the sack. Once he had finished, he silently climbed down the camp wall again and vanished into the night.
As dawn approached, a little sunlight gradually illuminated the vanguard army's camp.
A soldier tasked with fetching water passed the flagpole and caught sight of something hanging from it out of the corner of his eye. At first, he thought it was some odds and ends another soldier had hung there. Only when he drew closer did he see that it was a bloodstained cloth sack.
"Hey, what's this thing?" he called, reaching for the sack.
Hearing him, the nearby soldiers gathered around.
One bolder soldier untied the cord at the sack's opening. A bloody head rolled out, its eyes still open, the blood on its face congealed into a purplish black.
"Th-these words!" Someone recognized the writing, his voice trembling.
"Zhao Erhe, you cur of an official, your son is an offering to the battle flag..."
With a boom, the camp erupted like a boiling pot.
The soldiers recoiled in terror. Some even sank to the ground as their legs gave way.
The news seemed to grow wings and soon reached the ears of Lord Wang, the commandant.
Hearing his trusted subordinate's words, his heart clenched sharply. He turned, left his tent, and headed toward the flagpole.
When he saw the head and the words on the slip of paper, his face instantly turned pale, as though he had been struck a heavy blow.
"How could this happen! The city lord especially doted on this youngest son of his. It's over, it's over."
Lord Wang muttered to himself as countless thoughts flashed through his mind.
He was the city lord's confidant and knew that the vanguard army had originally been intended only to wear down certain bandits' strength, wait for the right moment, and then take them in one fell swoop.
"Pass down my orders! Prepare the entire army! Everyone, get ready to attack the mountain! Report the situation to the city lord at once!" Lord Wang shouted.
Twenty li away, the household troops' command tent was shrouded in a heavy atmosphere.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps broke the stillness inside.
A scout covered in dust dropped to his knees and presented an urgent battle report with both hands.
The city lord opened the letter and swiftly scanned it, his expression deeply grim.
Suddenly, blood surged into the city lord's face. He sprang to his feet and slammed a fist onto the desk, sending brushes and ink flying.
"Bastards!"
He quickly turned and ordered the personal guard beside him, "Pass down my military order. All two thousand-plus household troops are to gear up and set out immediately. Make sure they prepare as quickly as possible! Abandon all baggage and supplies. March on Northern Mang Mountain!"
The guard acknowledged the order and hurried away.
The city lord did not stop there. He summoned another messenger.
"You, take the fastest horse. Ride to the vanguard army and deliver my order to its commander!"
Then he forcefully wrote five large, blood-red characters on the paper:
"Bathe Northern Mang Mountain in blood!"
The messenger took the order, not daring to delay even a moment.
He vaulted onto his horse, and amid hoofbeats like thunder, vanished beyond the tent entrance in an instant.