7: Chapter 7 Listening to the Arrow's Cry

The copper bell rang urgently, sounding exceptionally harsh in the snowy night.

Lu Zhao rose abruptly, sweeping the Formation Plate fragments off the edge of the kang. He grabbed the short blade from under his pillow and burst out the door.

The night was thick, and snowflakes danced wildly. Shadows flickered toward the village entrance, and firelight suddenly flared—not from lanterns, but from three or four torches, swaying in the wind and snow like ghostly eyes.

From the direction of the blacksmith shop came the roar of Zhong Tiegu, mixed with the sound of clashing metal.

Lu Zhao's thoughts raced. The village entrance was under attack, and the blacksmith shop was also under attack; the enemy had split their forces.

Just as he was about to head toward the blacksmith shop, a figure dashed out from the side—it was He Shan.

"Don't go!" He Shan grabbed his arm with great force. "The village entrance is a feint; there are only two or three people setting fires to scare us. Over at the blacksmith shop…"

Before he could finish, a scream came from the direction of the blacksmith shop.

It wasn't the voice of Zhong Tiegu; it was sharper, like a wild beast having its throat constricted.

Immediately, all sound ceased. Only the whistling wind and snow remained, along with the lingering echo of the copper bell.

Lu Zhao stared at He Shan. "What's going on?"

He Shan's Face was ashen, his lips pressed into a straight line. A longbow was slung over his shoulder, and his quiver was missing three arrows.

"Follow me." He turned and hurried toward the back mountain.

Lu Zhao followed. The two stepped through the snow and trees, skirted the vegetable plots west of the village, and ducked into a pine forest. The snow in the forest was thick, swallowing their ankles with every step. Yet He Shan moved as if on flat ground, his footsteps light and agile, making almost no sound.

After walking about a hundred paces, He Shan suddenly stopped and crouched down.

There was blood on the snow. Dark red, fresh, and shocking against the white snow. The blood trail stretched intermittently, pointing deep into the forest.

"I killed him," He Shan said, his voice lowered. "A scout trying to sneak toward the direction of the cave."

Lu Zhao looked along the blood trail. Ten paces away, under an old pine tree, lay a dark shape. It was dressed in black, an arrow in its back, the fletching still trembling.

"What about the other two?"

"They ran," He Shan gritted his teeth. "One went west, I couldn't catch him. The other one…" He pointed toward the blacksmith shop, "might have been dealt with by Zhong Tiegu."

Lu Zhao walked to the corpse and crouched to examine it closely. The deceased was in his thirties, with a square Face, a thick beard, and thick calluses on the web of his right hand—the hand of someone who had held a blade for years. The leather sheath at his waist was empty; the blade was gone.

He turned the body over. The arrow had entered from the back and pierced through the chest—accurate, ruthless, a single-shot kill.

"Good archery," Lu Zhao said.

He Shan didn't reply. He walked over, pulled out the arrow, wiped the blood clean in the snow, and returned it to his quiver.

"This isn't the main force of the Funiu Gang," Lu Zhao stood up. "Just scouts."

"Hmm," He Shan nodded. "But the main force isn't far. Two of these three scouts are dead, and one ran to report. They will definitely come by tomorrow night at the latest."

As they were talking, footsteps approached from afar. Yan Meng hurried over carrying a lantern, with Zhong Tiegu following behind.

Zhong Tiegu was holding a blood-stained iron hammer; his jacket had a tear in it, revealing the blood-soaked cotton batting inside. His Face was pale, but his eyes were ferocious.

"Solved it," he panted heavily. "That bastard tried to climb in through the back window, and I smashed his chest in with one hammer blow."

"Where is he?"

"Threw him in the snow pile behind the shop." Zhong Tiegu wiped his Face, blood and sweat mixing together. "Brother Lu, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Lu Zhao looked at Yan Meng. "What about the village entrance?"

"The ones setting the fires ran," Yan Meng said. "Just two of them; they threw their torches and bolted into the forest. I didn't chase them—I was afraid of being lured away."

Lu Zhao nodded. Handled properly.

The four gathered around the corpse. The lantern light was dim and yellow, illuminating the pool of blood on the snow.

"Search him," Lu Zhao said.

He Shan crouched down to search. He fished an oil-paper package from the deceased's chest, which contained some dry rations and a piece of salt. He also pulled out a small leather pouch, pouring out a dozen copper coins and two small pieces of silver.

"Poor bastard," Zhong Tiegu spat.

He Shan continued searching and found a folded piece of coarse paper in the inner pocket of the deceased's undergarment.

He unfolded it; it was a map. Rough lines were sketched with charcoal, crude, but the locations of mountains, rivers, roads, and villages were visible. Yangjiao Ravine had a red circle drawn around it, with a line of crooked characters written next to it: "Ten households, has grain, has women, can plunder."

The handwriting was sloppy, and the Killing Intent seemed to seep through the paper.

Lu Zhao stared at those words, silent.

Yan Meng's fists cracked as he clenched them. Zhong Tiegu's eyes were bloodshot. He Shan was expressionless, but the veins on the back of his hand gripping the bow bulged.

"Beasts," Zhong Tiegu squeezed the word out through his teeth.

Lu Zhao folded the map and tucked it into his clothes.

"Dispose of the body," he said. "Cover the bloodstains. Brother He, take two people and go to the west forest to pursue them. Confirm if that scout who ran really went back to the Funiu Gang."

He Shan nodded, chose Yan Meng and a young hunter named Erhu, and the three quickly disappeared into the night.

Lu Zhao and Zhong Tiegu dragged the corpse a mile deep into the mountains and found a cliff to throw it off. The snow would soon bury the traces.

On the way back to the village, Zhong Tiegu remained silent. When they reached the door of the blacksmith shop, he suddenly spoke.

"Brother Lu."

"Hmm?"

"I… I didn't shake when I killed someone earlier." Zhong Tiegu looked down at his hands—broad, thick-knuckled—which were now trembling slightly. "But inside… I feel a bit empty."

Lu Zhao stopped and looked at him.

"It was the same for me the first time I killed someone," he said, his voice calm. "Later, I just got used to it."

Zhong Tiegu looked up, his eyes complex. "Used to it?"

"Yes." Lu Zhao pushed open the blacksmith shop door; the furnace fire inside was dying, but residual warmth remained. "In this world, you either kill or be killed. There's no choice."

Zhong Tiegu stood at the doorway as the wind and snow blew in, fluttering his blood-stained jacket.

"When my father was alive, he said that a blacksmith's hands must be steady and their heart must be calm," he murmured. "But now…"

"Now you aren't forging hoes, you're forging blades." Lu Zhao walked into the shop, scooped a ladle of water from the vat, and handed it to Zhong Tiegu. "Wash your hands."

Zhong Tiegu took it and scrubbed the bloodstains off his hands with the water. The bloody water dripped onto the ground through his fingers, spreading a dark red stain.

"Tomorrow," Lu Zhao said. "When the Funiu Gang's main force arrives, we will have to kill again."

Zhong Tiegu's movements paused, then he scrubbed his hands even harder, until his skin turned red.

"Kill," he said, his voice ruthless. "However many come, I'll kill that many."

In the latter half of the night, the three men, including He Shan, returned.

They brought back bad news.

"We chased them to Black Wind Ridge, and the footprints led toward the old lair of the Funiu Gang." He Shan unslung his bow and sat by the furnace to warm himself. "I climbed to a high point to look; there were lights ten miles away, and not just in one place—they are gathering men."

"How many?" Lu Zhao asked.

"I can't see clearly, but there are at least thirty torches." He Shan said. "According to the Funiu Gang's rules, one torch means at least two people. That means sixty people or more."

A deathly silence fell in the room.

Sixty people. The number of people in Yangjiao Ravine capable of fighting was less than twenty, all told. And they still had to split forces to guard the village and protect the cave.

"And," Yan Meng added, "I heard horses neighing. They might have cavalry."

If cavalry charged on flat ground, these villagers, who had only been brought together temporarily, would never be able to stop them.

Lu Zhao was silent. He walked to the corner of the shop, where the six spearheads, three short blades, and two iron-reinforced rods forged today were piled up. There were also the three bamboo crossbows and twenty bamboo arrows made by Wen Qian.

With these meager items, dealing with sixty fierce bandits was like trying to put out a burning cart of firewood with a cup of water.

"Can we still hide in the cave?" Zhong Tiegu asked.

"No." Lu Zhao shook his head. "Although the cave entrance is hidden, the Funiu Gang has been active in the mountains for years, so finding the cave won't be difficult. Once we're blocked inside, we'll be like turtles in a jar."

"Then what do we do?" Yan Meng paced anxiously. "We can't fight them, we can't hide, are we just waiting to die?"

He Shan stared at the furnace fire and suddenly spoke: "Perhaps… we can borrow strength."

"Borrow whose strength?" Zhong Tiegu asked.

He Shan looked up at Lu Zhao. "The Liu Family."

The room went quiet again.

"Liu Three-Knives only left today, and said he'd be back in three days." Yan Meng frowned. "Will he help us?"

"It's not about helping," He Shan said. "It's about profit. The Funiu Gang plundering Yangjiao Ravine is equivalent to slapping the Liu Family in the Face. Across the three hundred miles of Black Mountain, the Liu Family claims to be the local emperors; how could they allow others to run wild on their turf?"

Lu Zhao pondered. He Shan made sense. But the Liu Family were not kind people; using one tiger to swallow a wolf was extremely dangerous.

"Even if the Liu Family is willing to intervene, they will wait until we and the Funiu Gang are both heavily damaged before coming to pick up the scraps," he said slowly. "Besides, what do we have to entice the Liu Family?"

"Those three corpses," He Shan said. "With Funiu Gang scouts dying here, the Liu Family can use this as an excuse to suppress the bandits legitimately."

Lu Zhao understood. The Liu Family wanted Face and the legitimacy of their rule. Annihilating the Funiu Gang would both establish their authority and allow them to seize the wealth accumulated by the bandit gang—two birds with one stone.

"Who will deliver the message?" he asked.

"I will go." He Shan stood up. "I'm fast on my feet; I can reach Black Mountain City before dawn. But whether Liu Three-Knives will see me, and if he does, whether he'll believe me, is hard to say."

Lu Zhao fished the map out of his clothes and also pulled out a small porcelain bottle. Inside was the hemostatic powder prepared by Granny Xue. He poured some out and wrapped it separately in oil paper.

"Show the map to Liu Three-Knives," he said. "Tell him this packet of medicine is a sample to alleviate the backlash. Tell him that if he is willing to lend a hand, I will provide the complete antidote in three days."

He Shan took it and tucked it away close to his body.

"And if he refuses?"

"Then we will have to rely on ourselves." Lu Zhao looked at the three men in the room. "Fight to the death."

He Shan nodded heavily, said no more, pushed the door open, and disappeared into the night.

After He Shan left, Lu Zhao told Yan Meng and Zhong Tiegu to go rest first and conserve their energy. He himself, however, had no desire to sleep.

He returned to his room, lit the oil lamp, and took out the Formation Plate fragments once again.

This time, he didn't trace the patterns in the air. Instead, he laid the fragments out on the kang, sat cross-legged opposite them, closed his eyes, and regulated his breathing.

The True Qi of the Nine Yang Divine Skill circulated slowly within his body. After nine cycles, his mind stirred, forcing a wisp of True Qi out from his fingertip, condensing it into an extremely thin line, and slowly probing toward the fragments.

Not injecting, but touching.

It was like touching the water's surface with a finger.

The instant his True Qi touched the fragments, a sudden change occurred!

The fragments vibrated in unison, and from deep within their patterns, a dark red blood-colored light emerged—more intense than any time before. The blood-colored light writhed like a living creature, following the thread of True Qi, and spread back towards Lu Zhao's fingertip!

A warning alarm blared in Lu Zhao's mind, and he immediately cut off the True Qi.

The blood-colored light vanished instantly, and the fragments returned to a deathly silence.

But in that brief moment, he clearly felt it—deep within the fragments, a certain violent, malevolent energy was sealed. It was not Spiritual Qi; it was more like... Blood-Evil Qi.

The Formation Plate had tasted blood. And not just once.

He stared at the fragments, cold sweat seeping from his back. Old Mo said this was "something others didn't have," but he never mentioned that this thing was so sinister.

Just as he was filled with doubt and alarm, his mind suddenly cleared.

A piece of information surfaced naturally:

[Incomplete Formation · Blood-Evil]

[Fragment of an ancient killing formation, once drank the blood of ten thousand, sealing a malevolent power.]

[When activated with blood and Qi, it can unleash the might of the Blood-Evil. Within a ten-zhang radius, the blood and Qi of all living things will boil, increasing combat power by thirty percent for thirty breaths.]

[Cost: The activator will suffer from blood and Qi depletion and be weak for three days. If the Foundation is unstable, there is a risk of backlash, leading to madness.]

Lu Zhao took a deep breath.

The Blood-Evil Formation. It boosts one's own side, but the cost is immense.

However, given the current situation, perhaps... it was worth a gamble.

He carefully stored the fragments away. Outside the window, the sky was already beginning to brighten.

The wind and snow were gradually subsiding, but the clouds remained thick, pressing down so heavily that it was hard to breathe.

People in the village began to rise one by one. Wen Qian and A-Fei were organizing the bamboo crossbow arrows. Qin Wan led the women to boil water and cook food. Tian Dali returned from the cave, saying that nothing had happened inside all night, and the dripping sound had also stopped.

It was as if the bloody slaughter of last night had just been a nightmare. But everyone knew clearly that the nightmare had only just begun.

At the beginning of the Chen hour, He Shan returned. He came back alone, his Face gloomy.

"Liu Three-Knives is missing," he said as soon as he entered. "The doorman at the Liu Family said the steward went to the county seat on business last night and won't return for three days."

The room went silent.

"He did it on purpose," Yan Meng gritted his teeth. "He's hiding."

Lu Zhao nodded. Liu Three-Knives was shrewd; he didn't want to offend the Funiu Gang, nor did he want to give up on the potential antidote. So he hid to stay out of it. Once the dust settled here, he would come back out to clean up the aftermath.

"What about the others in the Liu Family?" Zhong Tiegu asked.

"I tried," He Shan shook his head. "I met the second steward of the Liu Family and handed over the map and the medicine. The fat man took the items and said he would report to the family head, but his eyes were flickering; he was clearly just stalling."

"Then that means there's no hope," Zhong Tiegu punched the wall, causing dust to fall in a flurry.

Lu Zhao, conversely, calmed down. The retreat was cut off; there was only a fight to the death left.

"Everyone, listen to me," he stood up and looked around at the few people in the room. "The Funiu Gang will definitely come tonight. We have few people, so we cannot fight them head-on. We must use a strategy."

"What strategy?" Wen Qian asked.

"Feints, split attacks, and stalling for time," Lu Zhao walked to the table and began drawing on the surface with a piece of charcoal. "Set up three lines of defense at the village entrance: the first with tripwires and copper bells, the second with bamboo spike pits, and the third with a spear formation. When retreating from each line of defense, set fire to block the enemy."

"Set fire?" Yan Meng frowned. "Burn the village?"

"Burn the empty houses on the outskirts," Lu Zhao said. "In this snowy weather, the fire won't easily spread, but the thick smoke can confuse the enemy's line of sight. We will fight and retreat, luring them to the narrow path at the back of the mountain."

He pointed to the terrain of the back mountain: "Below Eagle's Beak Cliff is a narrow pass where only two people can walk side by side. We will set an ambush there, using rolling stones and falling timber to block them. The bamboo crossbowmen will take the high ground; shoot the horses before the men."

He Shan's eyes lit up: "Great terrain! I'll take people to prepare the rolling stones."

"I'll go chop trees to make falling timber," Yan Meng said.

"Leave the bamboo crossbows to me," Wen Qian said. "A-Fei has a steady hand and can be a crossbowman."

"I'll train the spear formation," Zhong Tiegu gripped his iron rod. "Half a day is enough to teach them how to stab people."

Lu Zhao nodded: "Go and prepare. We'll meet at noon to practice coordination."

The group dispersed. Lu Zhao remained in the room alone. He took out the bottle of hemostatic powder that Granny Xue had prepared from his bosom, poured out half, and found a small bottle to fill with some clear water.

Then, he bit his index finger and dripped three drops of blood into it. The blood dissolved into the water, spreading a pale red.

He kept this bottle of blood-water close to his body. This was his last resort—if he truly reached a desperate situation, he might be able to use the blood to activate that incomplete formation and fight for a sliver of hope. Although the cost would be huge.

At noon, sixteen men capable of fighting gathered in the open space in the village. The youngest was A-Fei, fifteen years old. The oldest was Old Sun, fifty-two, who had trouble with his legs but insisted on staying, saying he wanted to guard his home.

Lu Zhao stood before everyone, his gaze sweeping over each of their Faces. There was fear, confusion, ferocity, and numbness.

"I won't say much," he began, his voice not loud but clear. "Tonight, sixty men from the Funiu Gang are coming to steal grain, kidnap people, and take everything. We only have two choices: die on our knees, or fight standing up."

No one answered, but their eyes had all changed.

"I choose to fight standing up," Lu Zhao continued. "But having blood and Qi isn't enough; we need organization. Now, for the assignments: He Shan will take five men to guard Eagle's Beak Cliff, responsible for rolling stones and falling timber. Yan Meng will take four men to guard the entrance of the narrow pass, holding spears and forming a formation. Zhong Tiegu will take three men to maneuver and support, focusing on smashing horses' legs. Master Wen will take A-Fei and another youth to the high point, using bamboo crossbows to shoot the leaders."

He paused. "I will coordinate from the center. Remember, our goal is not to annihilate them, but to drag it out, to wear them down, to make them feel that biting this bone will break their teeth. Drag it out until dawn, drag it out until they retreat."

"What if we can't drag it out that long?" someone asked in a low voice.

"Then fight to the death," Lu Zhao said calmly. "At least die like a man."

The crowd was silent, then nodded one after another.

In the afternoon, the drills began. Yan Meng taught the spear formation. The three simplest moves: stab, sweep, and block. Four people in a group, staggered, with spears thrusting forward, focusing on stabbing horses' bellies and men's chests.

Zhong Tiegu taught the staff technique. The iron-wrapped rod was heavy, not suitable for swinging, but good for smashing and sweeping. He demonstrated how to smash a horse's leg and how to sweep at a man's ankles, his movements simple and vicious.

He Shan took people up to Eagle's Beak Cliff, piling the prepared stones and thick timber on the edge of the cliff, tying them with vines so that when the time came, they could just cut the vines and let them fall.

Wen Qian and A-Fei test-fired the bamboo crossbows. Within twenty paces, the bamboo arrows could penetrate two layers of thick cotton-padded jackets. But the crossbow mechanism was slow to cock, and one had to catch their breath after firing one shot.

Lu Zhao patrolled everywhere, adjusting the details. He noticed that Old Sun's hands trembled when using a spear, so he had him switch to a short blade, hiding in the shadows to specialize in cutting horse reins.

Qin Wan led the women to boil a dozen pots of hot water, preparing them in various places around the village. When the battle started, splashing it out, while not fatal, could scald people and delay the offensive.

Granny Xue prepared the wound medicine and boiled anesthetic soup—if anyone was seriously injured, they would at least suffer less pain.

Everything proceeded in silence and with intense preparation. It was like a ritual, a preparation before facing death.

At the end of the Shen hour, the sky gradually darkened. Dark clouds gathered again, and snow was about to fall but hadn't yet. The wind had stopped, and there was a deathly silence between heaven and earth.

Lu Zhao stood under the old locust tree at the village entrance, looking at the road leading out of the mountains. He Shan walked to his side and handed him a coarse flour cake. "Eat something."

Lu Zhao took it and took a bite. The cake was cold and hard, chewing like wood shavings in his mouth.

"Are you afraid?" He Shan suddenly asked. Lu Zhao paused: "Yes."

"I'm afraid too," He Shan laughed, the sound dry. "But I'm more afraid of dying like a coward. My father was a hunter, and so was my grandfather; generations have made a living in these mountains. We haven't achieved much, but our bones are hard. If the Funiu Gang wants to rob us, fine, but they'll have to pay with their lives."

Lu Zhao looked at this dark-skinned man and suddenly thought of Zhebie from The Legend of the Condor Heroes, and Qiao Feng from Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils. They were both small people, but they both possessed a spirit that refused to kneel. Perhaps this was the original spark of the martial Dao. Not for domination, but just to live standing up.

"Brother He Shan," he began. "If we can survive tonight, I'll teach you a set of archery techniques." He Shan turned his head: "What archery techniques?"

"It's called the 'Linked Pearl Arrows'," Lu Zhao said. "One bow, three arrows, a continuous chain. When practiced to the extreme, nine arrows fire at once, like a torrential downpour." He Shan's eyes lit up: "Really?" "Really."

The two stopped talking and quietly watched the twilight close in. In the distant mountain forest, a flock of cold crows was startled, cawing as they flew towards the horizon. What was meant to come would eventually come.

At the beginning of the Xu hour, the first snowflake drifted down. Following that, the second, the third... The snow was falling again. At the same time, from deep in the mountain forest, came the faint sound of horse hooves. At first, it was one or two sounds, then they connected into a continuous roar, like muffled thunder rolling across the ground. It was getting closer and closer.

Lu Zhao gripped the short blade in his hand, the edge icy cold. He Shan unslung his longbow and nocked an arrow. Zhong Tiegu carried the iron-wrapped rod on his shoulder, standing at the very front of the spear formation. Wen Qian and A-Fei lay prone on the roof, their bamboo crossbows aimed at the village entrance. Everyone held their breath, waiting.

The sound of hooves was like thunder, shattering the silence of the snowy night. Firelight shone through the forest. Dozens of torches, like a fire dragon, wound their way forward. The rider in the very front was a burly man on horseback, with a hideous scar on his Face.

He reined in his horse and stopped a hundred paces from the village entrance, raising the ghost-head blade in his hand and laughing loudly: "You mud-legged peasants of Yangjiao Ravine! Your grandfathers have come to collect the debt! Those who kneel and beg for mercy can live! Those who resist—" He pointed his blade, his voice like a night owl: "Leave no one alive!"

Before the scarred burly man's laughter had faded, He Shan's bowstring vibrated, and an arrow shot out like a meteor, aiming straight for his throat! Almost simultaneously, torches ignited all over the village, illuminating the figure of Yan Meng leading the spear formation as they charged through the snow—the decisive battle was tonight!