Chapter 129: A Different Man Zhao Qinghe’s sharp eyes spotted him first and yanked him out by the collar. “Trying to slip through, are you?”
The man’s face was dripping with sweat. “Sir, please, I’m in a hurry!”
“You were the one who told your comrades to throw those children off the cliff, weren’t you?” Zhao Qinghe’s gaze was cold and incisive.
The fellow waved his hands frantically. “Not me, not me!”
He Lingchuan tilted his head. By torchlight, he could make out the man’s face clearly.
. The brigand knew the jig was up. With a sudden snarl, he whipped a short dagger from his belt and launched a strike at Zhao Qinghe’s ribs.
The strike was viciously fast. Zhao Qinghe barely had time to raise his guard when a glint of steel flashed before his eyes, and then the brigand was suddenly airborne, flung sideways off the mountain road.
His scream trailed long and thin as he vanished into the darkness below.
Zhao Qinghe froze, then touched his chest before turning to He Lingchuan. “My thanks, Young Master!”
The dagger had pierced right through the light armor at his side. The force behind the attack had clearly been no joke. If not for He Lingchuan’s quick reaction—one well-placed kick that sent the man tumbling into the void—Zhao Qinghe would have been badly wounded.
“No thanks needed. Get moving!” He Lingchuan barked. He shoved the last old man onto the mountain road, then ordered the men to close the gap with any cart, carriage, or wagon within reach, stacking Madame Ying’s luggage trunks on top to weigh it down.
Those trunks were filled with odds and ends that Madame Ying had hoarded over the course of more than a decade of married life. Before one lid closed, He Lingchuan caught sight of a peachwood mirror inside. The wood had darkened with age, its silver inlays dulled, yet the glass itself gleamed from constant polishing.
Hm? This must have been part of her wedding dowry. On impulse, He Lingchuan plucked it out and tucked it into his clothes.
Mao Tao and the others understood his intent and threw themselves into the work. With their cooperation, and despite the press of brigands, the barricade came together swiftly.
The trail here was even narrower than the riverbed He Lingchuan had defended in his dream. Just two wagons crosswise were enough to block it tight. With that experience to draw from, Young Master He commanded with surprising fluency.
The wagons and trunks, each weighing three to four hundred kilograms, became true roadblocks. The soldiers, seeing this tactic might actually hold, grew more spirited.
Then, He Lingchuan’s eyes lit up. “Take the wheels off.”
The carts all had axle fittings. Pop those out, and the wheels would come free.
At his word, the men went to work. Soon, the wagons sagged flat onto the dirt and became nigh immovable.
He Lingchuan stacked more carts on top, binding them with the heavy ropes used for cargo, knotting them into one towering barricade. He even tied the far end to several stout roadside trees. Now, if the brigands wanted to clear a path, they would find it near impossible.
Of course, the enemy did not sit idle while this was being built. They hurled themselves forward again and again, only to be beaten back each time. The ground here was simply too advantageous for defense.
Still, those part of the rearguard took their share of wounds. One unlucky man, tying down a wagon, was skewered from the far side by a spear that thrust clean through, the speartip piercing into his flank. His kidney was torn open, causing blood to gush freely.
While others worked frantically to staunch the wound, He Lingchuan shoved a pellet of stone lump powder between the man’s teeth. “Swallow it. It’s a painkiller.”
The medicine Young Master Liu Baobao had gifted him at parting finally saw its use.
Afterward, he had a soldier lift the injured man onto a horse and sent him off to catch up with the main column, where the military physicians could save him.
Raising his voice to the rest, He Lingchuan shouted, “They’re nothing but rabble! Hold your ground! They’ll never break through!”
By now, Wu Shaoyi’s men had begun pouring in behind Lu’s shattered rabble, chasing them right into the bottleneck. The survivors among Lu Yao’s forces clawed desperately at the wagons but could not pass.
So, the struggle devolved into a savage tug-of-war. Soldiers did whatever they could to keep the barricade steady, while the brigands gave it their all to try and make it through.
The brigands strained to shove the barricade aside, but He Lingchuan and his men did not yield even a centimeter.
Through the gaps between the wagons, they could see one another’s eyes, bloodshot with fury.
“Hold fast!” He Lingchuan barked. “Keep your heads down, don’t stick ‘em out! Just turtle up and hang on!”
Zhao Qinghe and the others did not really understand what “turtle up” meant, but at this moment, no one was eager to poke their head into danger anyway.
The more agile brigands tried scrambling up the wagons to leap across, but with sabers, spears, and axes waiting for them, the difficulty had multiplied manyfold. Two of them were skewered by thrusting spears and went tumbling into the abyss, shrieking as they fell.
The few who managed to get over were swiftly cut down, dying within two strokes, or three at most.
Anyone with half a brain realized this road was blocked and hastily scrambled away to look for another path.
Having won the first wave, the confidence of the rearguard soared, and a cheer broke out.
Before long, Wu Shaoyi’s forces reached the western mountain road, pressing down hard on whatever was left of Lu Yao’s forces.
Even with two lines of wagons between them, arrows loosed from Wu Shaoyi’s side did not care who they hit. One shaft grazed He Lingchuan’s forehead, leaving a long, bloody line. A few centimeters lower, and it would have shot straight through his brow.
Damn. That was too close. He Lingchuan had no intention of letting that Water Spirit’s divination come true tonight.
He whipped out a shield and held it before him. The others quickly followed suit.
Soon, the clamor of steel and dying cries beyond the barricade began to fade. Wu Shaoyi’s men were on the verge of finishing Lu Yao’s force.
And of course, they had already taken note of the state troops manning the barricade. They did not plan on letting them slip away either.
Immortal Spirit Village had been divided between two forces: Lu Yao’s and the He Family’s. Now that the state troops had fled, it did not mean that Wu Shaoyi’s men would show mercy.
Just then, a mournful whistling sounded from within Immortal Spirit Village.
At once, Wu Shaoyi’s troops in front of the barricade abandoned the fight and turned back toward the village. Clearly, something urgent demanded their return.
The mountain road fell quiet. Only a few curious heads still poked out from the shadows.
Seven or eight brigand corpses littered the ground. Mao Tao, Zhao Qinghe, and the others were gasping for breath, but still raised their thumbs at He Lingchuan. “Young Master, turning discarded wagons into a barricade was brilliant!”
They had stayed mainly to keep order and guard his life. Even Zeng Feixiong, who had assigned them, would never have guessed that He Lingchuan would take charge of the entire rearguard action.
To seize abandoned wagons, carts, and trunks, and in such a narrow passage turn them into an improvised fortress—nothing could have been more apt.
Zhao Qinghe had thought of it before, but who else would dare suggest throwing away Madame Ying’s wagons and belongings, if not the eldest young master himself?
And to pay for so heavy a task with just one man gravely wounded and seven lightly hurt, this was a result Zhao Qinghe could scarcely have imagined.
“Do I need your flattery?” He Lingchuan shot them a sidelong glance. “Look at you, wheezing like bellows! Your stamina is pathetic!”
He thought back. On that riverbed in the dream, I fought for two blood-soaked hours straight, and it was in a battle even more desperate than this. He had never forgotten that this time, he was not in a dream. Here, death was final.
He would not, must not, let that old turtle monster’s prophecy come true.
Mao Tao watched him closely, struck by the change. In battle, He Lingchuan seemed like a different man—fierce, steady, and commanding.
Though they had braved the Panlong Illusion Realm together, back then, He Lingchuan had relied on cunning, always dodging danger and sidestepping foes. Never had he shown such resolve or boldness.
He thus could not help but wonder. Is this really the same pampered wastrel I once knew?