Chapter 3

As expected, Wei Jing did not disappoint Shao Qing. When he saw her charging over, he angled his body toward the pavilion pillar and then stepped back.

The leader in black hadn’t yet recovered when his sword came down in a heavy arc onto the wooden pillar. With a forceful tug, the overloaded pillar wavered and, with a creaking “yiya,” tilted under strain.

The mountain station’s pavilion—already battered by wind and rain—lost one of its pillars, and with a tremendous “crash,” the whole structure collapsed, pinning the black-clad leader underneath its weight.

Shao Qing was overjoyed. She had already produced the keys. Pouncing forward, she immediately knelt and, clutching the largest brass key in her hand, slid it toward the lock of the shackle binding his foot. It wasn’t that she didn’t know that working with his feet was more convenient—rather, Wei Jing’s upper body was restrained by two bindings (one at the collarbone and one with a handcuff), which would inevitably take longer to free than the foot shackle.

Moreover, Shao Qing had already secretly examined the several lock mechanisms on him. The foot shackle’s lock hole was noticeably larger than the other two. Holding three keys in her hand—one large and two small—she naturally chose the one that would hit the mark in one swift move.

Sure enough, the moment her key was inserted and turned twice, a crisp metallic “click” rang out.

With that, Wei Jing wrenched his legs free of the foot shackle and immediately launched a side kick aimed behind Shao Qing.

The pavilion was nothing more than a thatched structure with relatively slim pillars, so it naturally couldn’t have crushed the black-clad leader fatally. He was only a moment too slow—busting through the thatched roof, he emerged and swung his sword, launching an attack on both Wei Jing and his companion.

“Quick! Send two men—kill that woman!” the leader roared.

In truth, there was no need for him to call out; even if these subordinate killers were the best among their peers, their skills paled compared to those of elite assassins. In just a short while—and after nearly half of them had already been killed or injured—a few assassins who broke through the blockade immediately charged in this direction.

Furious, the leader bared his teeth in anger. He had never expected a woman to dare risk her life to snatch the key and attempt the unlocking. With half of his advantage already lost, a mission that had been a sure thing suddenly became fraught with risk.

And the remaining half, under any circumstances, must not be allowed to slip away.

“Kill her! We can’t let her unlock it!”

Wei Jing’s kicking skills were exceptional—even against several foes at once, he had yet to be overpowered. In a deep, steady voice, he said, “Don’t rush. Take it slowly.”

Shao Qing had already risen to remove the shackles binding his hand. Behind her, the sound of sharp blades slicing through the air whipped past; to claim she wasn’t scared or nervous would be a falsehood. Yet she knew that at this critical moment, if she didn’t keep calm, they were doomed. Clenching her lips tightly, she did her best to ignore the clamor and fix her unyielding gaze on the various lock holes.

With two crisp “crack” sounds, the specially designed chain that connected Wei Jing’s collarbones was detached from his hand shackle. Then, with another clear metallic click, the heavy shackle clattered to the ground. But that wasn’t enough—Wei Jing’s upper body was still rendered useless.

The method used was particularly brutal. They had drilled a pair of symmetrical holes—one above and one below the protruding collarbone—and threaded a custom-made chain through his flesh. The chain was then wrapped snugly around his collarbone, pulled tight to lock it in place, and finally chained to his hand shackle.

The collarbone is one of the critical points for upper body strength; once it is bound in this manner, any movement sends searing pain through the body, rendering even the slightest motion unbearable and effectively immobilizing him.

Shao Qing’s final step was to grab the chain—two strands about as thick as a little finger—and pull vertically with all her strength, wrenching more than a three-foot length of chain directly off his body. She gripped one end of the chain, swallowed hard, and Wei Jing shouted loudly, “Pull!”

Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, Shao Qing mustered every bit of her power and yanked downward with all her might.

At that moment, Wei Jing’s attempt to block faltered. His left foot took a solid blow, splattering blood. His entire body tensed as he gritted his teeth and leaped upward in one swift motion, pulling the chain out of his body as fast as he could.

Blood spattered over Shao Qing’s head and face, and with the whooshing sound of wind rushing past her back, she quickly lunged forward.

The black-clad assassin’s sword never ceased its arc as he desperately chased after Shao Qing. At the very last moment, Wei Jing had already landed; with a swift horizontal kick, he sent the man flying.

True to his title as the God of War, Wei Jing did not disappoint. Even though blood continued gushing from the wound on his collarbone, now free, he hooked his toe and, with a sword already in hand whose icy gleam flashed, dispatched two of the black-clad assassins immediately while forcing the others to retreat.

Shao Qing scrambled to her feet and positioned herself behind him. She kept her distance—not too close to get in his way and not too far, for fear of being isolated.

By that moment, nearly all of the henchmen had been sacrificed, and the fugitives fleeing into the mountains and forests had been almost entirely cut down. The survivors, the ones that managed to slip through, had all vanished into the dense woods.

Without any intervening guards, the black-clad assassins gradually closed in, treading in carefully chosen positions and employing battle formations to siege Wei Jing and Shao Qing behind him.

After losing seven or eight men, the assassins still numbered over twenty. Wei Jing found himself alone, grievously injured, and burdened by the extra weight of Shao Qing at his back. Even if he were as skilled in combat as ever, in a prolonged melee, he would likely be overwhelmed.

Shao Qing felt her heart pound with anxiety. If Wei Jing managed to escape on his own, his chances would naturally soar—but at this point, leaving her behind would mean certain death.

Fortunately, Wei Jing did not do that.

As a battle-hardened commander who had fought countless battles, Wei Jing understood the ebb and flow of combat all too well. He refused to allow the enemy’s encirclement to take full shape. Seizing the opportunity before the final wave of black-clad assassins could close in, he suddenly burst into action. After feinting to misdirect his foes, he grabbed Shao Qing and dashed backward with astonishing speed.

As Wei Jing broke out of the encirclement, he decisively swung his sword, slicing through the throats of two enemies. In that close-range moment, a surge of blood burst forth, spraying directly into Shao Qing’s mouth and nose. In her two lifetimes combined, she had never experienced anything like this—the thick stench of blood assaulted her mind, nearly making her puke.

Yet she summoned every ounce of strength to hold on, silently repeating, “If he doesn’t die, I will.” Riding the momentum of Wei Jing’s force, she lunged upward and clung tightly to his narrow, sturdy waist.

Wei Jing hesitated with his hand for a moment, but he swiftly leaped down the slope and dashed into the dense forest without slowing his pace.

“Damn it!” The leader in black was forced several steps back by Wei Jing’s sudden onslaught. Having lost the initiative, he could only watch helplessly as his opponent broke through the encirclement. Seething with anger and resentment, he roared, “Chase!”

Then, as Wei Jing turned and leaped—with his broad back exposed and a brief gap in his defense—the enemy quickly raised his hand. Several streaks of pale blue silver flashed as seven or eight meteor darts hurtled like lightning, targeting the vital points on Wei Jing’s back.

Now suspended in mid-air with nowhere to leverage, Wei Jing had no choice but to grit his teeth, twist his body, and leap forward.

Shao Qing’s heart nearly leaped into her throat; she froze in place, hearing only the whistling rush of wind at the back of her head. In a frantic bid, she pressed herself against Wei Jing’s chest and abdomen.

A silver dart grazed Wei Jing’s arm, skimming perilously close to her scalp. A chill swept over her scalp as a large lock of her hair burst free and was scattered by the mountain wind.

Terrified beyond measure, Shao Qing closed her eyes and silently pleaded to every deity in the heavens. After a tense moment of careful sensation, she was relieved to discover there was no pain at the back of her head.

If I lose some hair, so be it—as long as my head is unharmed.

A chaotic clamor of rapid footsteps soon filled the air. Keeping pace with the meteor darts, Wei Jing reached the forest’s edge and charged right in.

Shao Qing finally exhaled in relief; once inside the dense woodland, natural barriers provided cover and made it easier to conceal their escape. She felt a surge of hope—escape was a giant step away. As long as they could leave the forest before the assassins returned, like a stream merging into a river, all traces of them would vanish.

“Should we head east?” she wondered aloud as she scanned their surroundings. The intermittent chirping of insects and birds suggested it was safe, which eased her worry.

Yet Wei Jing remained silent. Puzzled, Shao Qing turned to look and saw the long sword he had been clutching drop to the ground with a resounding “clang.”

His face turned pale as paper; he clutched his left arm, his body swaying, and unexpectedly, he collapsed.