May 19, 1991. Morning.
Han Qingyu and his two companions bid farewell early and departed Medical Station 101. Several hundred medical personnel and wounded soldiers came out to see them off, some intentionally and others "by chance," none daring to be too formal or overly enthusiastic.
By now, they had all come to know him. The boy who was peerless on the battlefield was actually an awkward fellow much of the time. Handing out flowers had made him look as guilty as if he had committed a crime, and afterward, he had spent most of his time hiding away.
At the unanimous insistence of the veterans, Han Qingyu wore his combat uniform bearing the Saber Insignia upon departure. Both of his twin sabers slanted over his right shoulder, while his backpack hung from his left.
Wu Xu walked silently by his side, carrying his black spear and heavy sword. Whenever he saw veterans saluting from near or far, he returned their salutes with solemn precision.
Wen Jifei came jogging up from behind, carrying his pack and saber, having just concluded an emotional goodbye with the doctors and nurses.
This time, there was no sudden spitting of blood or collapsing headfirst, though a few people had harbored that unkind wish just for a second. The three climbed into the vehicle, and the jeep rolled out, leaving behind a Medical Station 101 that remained whole and peaceful.
In any case, stories about them would linger here from now on.
When they arrived, they were Firecracker, Dead Iron, and Wood. As they left... they probably still were. At least whenever the people of 101 talked about them in the future, they would definitely joke like that, still calling him the dead iron straight man. It was just that from now on, these people knew something most others didn't: they knew this block of iron was truly dependable, and that on a bloody, sleepless night, he would pick wild flowers to give to people.
Some of those flowers were still kept in glass bottles; those that had withered were pressed between the pages of books.
All damage to the jeep, including the windows, had been fully repaired. The vehicle was stocked with ample food and water provided by the doctors and nurses. And if they needed to take a leak along the way, there was a whole road lined with forest, so they hadn't even bothered changing into regular service dress.
Wen Jifei drove at a moderate pace. After a while, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Seeing the buildings of Medical Station 101 finally disappear around the winding mountain road, he rolled up the window.
"Get ready. We might be in a fight at any moment," Han Qingyu cautioned once they had cleared the station's perimeter.
The commotion from the incident at 101 had been far too loud; there was no way the news hadn't gotten out. Since he had been delayed in the hospital for so long, anyone coming for them had likely already arrived and was lying in wait.
"Yeah." Wu Xu nodded, then cast a glance at the roof. If an ambush came suddenly, he would probably have to burst straight through the top. His long spear was always awkward to stow inside a vehicle; even with the jeep's relatively spacious interior, maneuvering it was difficult.
Wen Jifei gave a knowing chuckle. "Then I'll be ready to slam the gas and bolt at any second." After that long cross-country dash, he had grown exceedingly confident in his driving skills.
Driving down the mountain road at an easy pace would take about two hours to reach the foot of the range.
Roughly an hour and a half's drive along that route... someone was waiting for them.
They had been waiting for days.
***
Slog was an assassin from the City of Iniquity. At forty years old, the Englishman was in his prime. Currently ranked fourteenth in bounty mission points, he was a major figure even in that chaotic land.
To him, hunting targets was not merely about wealth and resources; it offered a twisted sense of achievement from cutting down budding geniuses before they could flourish. At the same time, it served as a form of personal training.
Only, this particular training exercise... seemed to have gone a bit off course, and a bit out of hand.
Coming to Huaxia to assassinate an Azure frontline soldier carried plenty of peril in the act and its aftermath, to say nothing of the details, but as long as he kept his identity hidden, retribution wouldn't necessarily follow.
The real issue was that the place was agonizingly hard to find. Huaxia was enormous, Azure's front lines were tucked deep in the mountains, and bafflingly, countless villages across the country shared the exact same name... Slog had nearly abandoned the mission several times after getting lost over and over.
What was more, he was a foreigner. A foreigner parading conspicuously through remote counties and tiny mountain hamlets stuck out like a sore thumb.
Fortunately, he had planned ahead and recruited an Asian-faced apprentice fluent in Chinese specifically for this trip: a young man named Yasen. With Yasen's help, Slog had stumbled his way across trains, buses, tractors, and stretches of foot travel... until finally, a few days ago, he had crossed mountains and ridges to successfully locate Medical Station 101.
Then they took a single distant look—just one look—and left, retreating along the mountain exit road to wait.
Marching directly into the medical station to commit murder was out of the question. For one thing, such an act would be treated as an assault on an Azure medical facility. For another, after the massive battle it had just weathered, Slog did not believe for a second that Medical Station 101 wouldn't have traps waiting for anyone bold enough to trespass again.
And so, waiting on the road was their only choice.
Afraid to stay in inns or board with locals, they could only camp in the wilderness. But the mountains were infested with mosquitoes, their rations had run out long ago, and their clothes were growing ragged from scrambling through the brush. The great figure was growing rather vexed.
*Crunch, crack.* Footsteps over dry twigs and leaves drew near.
"Master, food is ready," Yasen said respectfully, lifting the tent flap.
Three days ago, to solve their meal problem, they had scouted a nearby village and found an honest, solitary household living on the edge of town. Posing as scientific researchers, they offered money to have the family deliver three meals a day.
"Mm." Slog adjusted the gear on his body, pulled on a heavy overcoat despite the sultry weather, and stepped out of the tent.
Beyond concealing his weapons and gear, this coat was the final shred of dignity for a killer who prided himself on carrying a commanding presence.
He had already learned to use chopsticks, and he even found the pickled radish quite tasty.
The one responsible for delivering their food every day was the family's mute son, which was part of why Slog and Yasen had chosen them.
The meal was laid out as requested in clean bowls and plates on a wooden tray: two baked potatoes rolled about on the wood, and the chopsticks and spoon were wrapped in clean white paper.
Slog looked it over with satisfaction and paid the daily fee.
The mute took the money and left in silence.
Master and apprentice sat down side by side. They said a prayer first, asking God to bless the success of their mission, and then peeled and ate the baked potatoes with their hands.
Wiping his hands, Slog glanced at the rice in the bowl, noting that his stomach was gradually growing used to it. He reached out and elegantly peeled back the white paper wrapping the utensils...
With a single glance, Slog froze. Then, he began to tremble.
Beneath the paper, alongside the usual chopsticks and spoon, lay an additional object today: a flower. A bird of paradise.
It was an artificial flower, but crafted with astonishing realism. The most telling detail was the stem—a slender rod forged of dead iron, sharpened to a needle point at the base.
"Master? Master?" Yasen sensed something was amiss and called out softly.
Slog didn't make a sound.
The rumble of an approaching vehicle carried through the air, sounding not far off.
"Could it be them, Master?" Yasen grew a little excited. Glancing at the photograph in his hand, he turned to move further ahead to scout the road and report back.
Crouching low, he had just taken a single step.
He was seized.
Slog reached out and caught him, remaining dead silent. He didn't activate his device, nor did he look up, because he was terrified that the slightest motion would bring a short blade plunging into his back.
The crunch of tires pressing into the road surface came crisp and clear, gravel crackling as it was cast aside into the brush... The jeep drove past along the mountain road less than ten meters away, gradually receding into the distance.
Baffled by his master's reaction, Yasen opened his mouth to ask again.
Slog gestured for him to look at the bird of paradise.
In their shadowy, brutal world—and especially in that dark capital of chaos, the City of Iniquity—this bird of paradise represented one man. A man from Huaxia.
Last August, that man had challenged Snow Lotus's super combat power, Ye Jian, to a duel in the City of Iniquity. In the aftermath, some said he had died in battle; some said he was gravely wounded; others claimed neither was true, that he had merely vanished for a time as he always did.
Slog had no idea which rumor was true, but today, with this bird of paradise sitting right in front of him, he didn't even possess the courage to test the waters.
Because that man was the only one among Huaxia's four super combat powers who was entirely unbound by the military.
The woods were empty.
Yet that changed nothing. In the upper tiers of the City of Iniquity, nearly every Westerner, Slog included, knew the exact same line of Chinese: *Where Marshal Hua walks, none shall know.*
Taking a deep breath, Slog stood up. His eyes were panicked, but his tone was earnest and humble.
"Marshal Hua... may I ask, am I still permitted to leave?"
Chapter 227