Cheng Xu led his troops deeper into Huanglong Mountain.
To be honest, commanding a thousand men into deep mountain terrain was a first for him as well. He wasn't some battle-hardened grand general—until recently, he'd been nothing more than a ninth-rank patrol officer. His combat résumé was thin.
But he had one saving virtue: caution bordering on paranoia.
He planned every step like someone who fully expected the mountain to kill him personally. Which, in mountain warfare, was less a flaw than basic literacy.
Ahead lay a narrow valley.
Cheng Xu swept his gaze across both slopes and, in his mind, immediately saw two imaginary great-grandmothers—one perched on each cliff—crooning sweetly:
Good great-grandson, come in, come in.
The enemy is waiting on both sides.
Once the rocks start falling, you can come meet us.
The muscles in Cheng Xu's face twitched.
He raised a hand. "Shi Jian. Take a scout team and check the left ridge. Flat-Rabbit—right ridge. Everyone else, make camp. We move tomorrow."
Shi Jian saluted and was gone.
Flat-Rabbit muttered, "This rabbit is unmatched under heaven, yet you send me scouting. Truly a waste of legendary talent."
"Scouting requires elites," Cheng Xu said flatly.
Flat-Rabbit lit up. "Instructor He! You finally admit I'm elite? Excellent! This glorious, arduous, elite-only mission—leave it to me. Saving the world is clearly my responsibility."
He grabbed two scouts and bolted up the right slope.
Behind Cheng Xu, ten hundred-man captains wiped sweat from their brows.
"Instructor He… are you sure giving that man such a critical task is wise?"
Cheng Xu hesitated. "Relax. He has many problems, but when it's time to act, he's reliable… probably… maybe."
The captains exchanged looks.
So even you're guessing.
Meanwhile, on the right ridge—
Another force had already dug in.
Their leader was Lang Si.
Wang Zuogua's men had lived in Huanglong Mountain for years. They knew every ridge, every ravine, every patch of trees. Compared to Cheng Xu's newcomers, they were locals—blindfolded, they could still find water and ambush points.
Lang Si believed this ridge was perfect. Once the Bai Fortress troops entered the valley, one rain of boulders would settle everything. Clean. Final. Burial included.
But just as they finished setting up, a scout hurried over.
"Fourth Brother! The Bai Fortress army stopped two li south. They didn't enter the valley. Looks like they're waiting."
Lang Si frowned. Understanding came immediately.
"Scouts," he said. "They're probing first. If their scouts see us, the ambush is dead."
He snapped his fingers. "Send our own scouts. Intercept theirs halfway."
A small elite unit slipped into the forest, moving low and quiet toward Cheng Xu's position.
Huanglong Mountain was tall, dense, and—annoyingly—well watered. The forest was thick, green, and heavy with shadow. Leaves overlapped like layered armor.
Flat-Rabbit and nine others advanced in pairs, five groups spread wide.
Flat-Rabbit's partner was Zheng Gouzi.
Old acquaintances.
"Rabbit Lord," Zheng whispered, "do you actually have scouting experience?"
Flat-Rabbit grinned. "Of course I—don't."
Zheng froze.
Flat-Rabbit continued, unbothered. "But I studied military texts. Always remember: before armies clash, scouts kill each other first. Whoever wins the scout fight controls the battlefield. History has been very consistent about this."
Zheng glanced at him. "Then… we're clearly losing."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
They took two more steps.
Flat-Rabbit suddenly dropped flat and yanked Zheng down with him.
Zheng blinked. What—
"Someone's coming," Flat-Rabbit whispered.
"I didn't hear anything."
"That's because you're human," Flat-Rabbit said smugly. "Small ears. I'm a rabbit. Long ears. Different civilization."
Zheng chose silence.
Flat-Rabbit wasn't bluffing. After failing to join Wang Er's rebellion years ago, he'd survived half a year as a thief—sneaking into manors at night, dodging patrols, listening for footsteps in the dark. Hunger had been his instructor, and hunger never wastes lessons.
He tilted his head. "Left front. Two of them."
Zheng's eyes asked the question.
Flat-Rabbit gestured: Trust me.
They sank deeper into the brush.
Moments later, two figures emerged from the left—Lang Si's scouts, moving carefully, ears straining for sound. They were cautious, competent, and unfortunately unaware that something with better hearing was already waiting.
They passed a tree. Crossed a shallow ditch. Stepped toward a patch of tall grass.
The grass exploded.
A figure surged out, silver blade flashing. One clean thrust—straight up.
Connection.
Severed.
The man screamed once and collapsed.
Before the second scream could exist, Flat-Rabbit's sword came down again—neck this time. Clean. Silent.
The second scout spun—
Too late.
Zheng Gouzi lunged, locking the man's arms with a grappling hold straight from the Ghost-God Fist manual. No theatrics. Just control.
Flat-Rabbit straightened, pleased. "See? The Heaven-Rabbit Severing Tyrant Sword. If I strike, something must be broken."
Zheng swallowed. "Did it have to be… that part?"
Flat-Rabbit snorted. "I'm settling old scores. Mercy wasn't invited."
Only then did Zheng remember—
That assassination attempt long ago.
Flat-Rabbit had been a victim too.