He collected himself. "Who commands the army right now? Is it Zhong Shengguang, or General Red?"
What kind of question was that? The guards were taken aback, and one replied, "General Red oversees all military campaigns, large and small." It was hardly a secret—everyone knew as much—yet this stranger was acting stranger by the second. He clearly needed to be bound and thoroughly interrogated.
With that in mind, the last guard turned and ran off to fetch reinforcements.
He Lingchuan saw it, but didn't bother stopping him. Instead, he told the rest, "Stay right where you are, and I'll release him in an hour. Otherwise, you can take your comrade's corpse back with you."
He was certain this tactic worked wonders on Blackwater City troops, but the guards before him merely exchanged glances. Though they hesitated, they kept closing in step for step, thoroughly unmoved by his threat.
The captive choked out, "Even if you kill me, they won't let you go!"
He Lingchuan surveyed his surroundings. The rolling hills offered only low shrubs, unfit for concealment, and the nearest village was at least four or five hundred zhang away.
Worse still, seeing the guard overpowered, the farmers along the canal jumped into the water one after another to join the pursuit.
Now, he was caught between two fires.
He couldn't afford to linger here; he had to find a way out. With that thought, he dragged his captive toward the canal.
Fortunately, the captive was scrawny, and He Lingchuan possessed formidable strength, jogging along as he dragged the man backward.
The canal had been dug for irrigation. Judging by the season, it was early summer, and the flow was fairly swift. He Lingchuan set his eyes on a small wooden boat moored to the bank.
Floating downstream would be vastly faster than running on two legs.
Either way, shaking off the pursuers came first.
He covered forty or fifty zhang this way. The remaining guards refused to halt, but valuing their comrade's life after all, they dared not charge in to seize him.
Just then came the rumble of hooves as a dozen-odd horsemen rounded a mountain col. Judging by their attire, they were all too familiar to He Lingchuan:
The Gale Army!
There were actually Gale Army scouts out here? Damn his rotten luck.
He Lingchuan abandoned the hostage immediately. He slashed the man across the leg, shoved him away, and spun on his heel to flee.
Two legs could never outrun four; he couldn't afford any dead weight.
Fortunately, the canal wasn't far off.
He Lingchuan sprinted with all his might, swift as lightning. Riding his forward momentum, he leaped straight into the canal, slashing through the mooring line with his blade. Pushed by the current, the wooden boat drifted out slowly.
The hoofbeats thundered closer—the horsemen were in full gallop. Finding the boat's pace too sluggish, he leaned down and gave it a shove.
Right then, an alarm went off in his mind.
Without time to think, he threw himself forward in a roll, crashing headlong into the boat.
It was an ungraceful, face-first dive, but undignified as it was, it saved his life. An instant later, two fletched arrows slammed down—one biting deep into the mooring post, the other streaking past the wooden boardwalk straight into the water.
Had he remained where he was, he would have taken a shaft through the throat or heart, meeting a gruesome end.
Yet He Lingchuan's movement had been too violent, and the boat was too narrow; under his sudden weight, it flipped completely upside down.
"..." Young Master He silently ran through a string of curses seven or eight times.
What now?
With his arm strength, he could easily right the vessel, but the horsemen were like ravenous wolves and leopards, probably already at the water's edge. Even if he rode the current downstream, he would at best lose the foot guards and farmers; the cavalry would cling to him like glue, refusing to give up until they found a chance to haul him ashore.
Besides, with archers sniping at him whenever they pleased, sitting upright in the boat would make him a sitting duck.
To be frank, the moment he recognized the Gale Army, he knew running was the only viable path.
In just three or four breaths, the lead horsemen reached the canal bank.
The Chipa Plateau had unusual terrain; large armies couldn't march up, but agile scouts frequently slipped in to gather military intelligence, poison supplies, and carry out assassinations. As a result, the people of Panlong City harbored a deep, visceral hatred for spies. Whenever they caught one, they beat him half to death without asking questions—so long as the spy had a breath left in him when turned over to camp, the superiors would never reprimand them.
They weighed their weapons, preparing to hurl them like javelins.
The He family had witnessed this move back in the Panlong Wasteland City, where even Sun Fuping's barrier had been battered to the brink of collapse. Looking at it now, it seemed to be standard drill for the Gale Army, something every soldier learned.
When they reached the water's edge and looked down, however, they were taken aback.
Only a wooden boat drifted down the canal, completely overturned yet gliding along at a brisk clip. At first glance, the spy had vanished.
The water was clear enough that neither fish nor shrimp could hide, let alone a grown man.
One horseman suddenly pointed. "Look, he's hiding under the boat!"
The others peered down. Sure enough, half a silhouette showed beneath the hull.
The kid was curled under the overturned boat, drifting along with it.
One horseman hurled his spear without hesitation. With a solid thunk, it struck the hull. But the small boat continued to drift, and no blood seeped from beneath it; the blow had clearly missed.
The horseman spat a string of curses in frustration.
The boat's bottom was rounded, offering no foothold whatsoever, so leaping down after him wasn't an option either.
He Lingchuan was using the entire hull as a shield. Moreover, the pocket of trapped air beneath the overturned cabin was more than enough to sustain his breathing for quite a while.
Submerged and sheltered beneath the craft, he was beyond the reach of the archers on the bank.
Now, curled beneath the boat, he kicked off the canal bed with both feet, propelling the craft along the current faster and faster.
Carried by both current and manpower, the boat surged forward, leaving the infantry far behind in the blink of an eye. Only the cavalry managed to keep up the chase.
In this manner, they traveled over a thousand zhang downstream.
He Lingchuan's heartbeat and breathing had steadied, but even before he could devise a countermeasure, a bad feeling crept over him.
He couldn't see the banks and had no idea how far he had drifted. Worst of all, he could feel the water level dropping.
In other words, the water in the canal was dwindling and losing its swiftness. Further down, the boat would run aground, and he would have to face the cavalry directly.
What should he do?
In rural regions, irrigation canals like this were everywhere, spanned by bridges at regular intervals to allow crossings. A thought struck him: he reached up, felt along the hull, grasped the embedded spear, and yanked it free.
Then he poked his head out from beneath the gunwale to survey his surroundings.
The bad news was that the horsemen were still in hot pursuit; the moment He Lingchuan looked their way, several icy glares pinned him. One of them was even drawing a bow from his back, prompting He Lingchuan to duck right back down.
The good news was that buildings were beginning to dot both banks, meaning a village or market town lay ahead!
As long as he wasn't caught out on an open plain, his chances of escape skyrocketed.
He Lingchuan already had a plan. Calculating the speed of the current, he steered the boat close to the bank, then abruptly let go and crouched low.
Just then, the small boat drifted under another wooden bridge.
It was roughly midday. The sun hung straight overhead, casting the bridge's shadow vertically across the water.
Then, as before, the boat floated out from beneath the bridge.
Suspecting nothing, the horsemen pressed on, chasing the wooden boat down the canal.
Chapter 81