Chapter 353: Journey to Naknyeong (6)

According to the late Tang Dongryang, that so-called White Tiger's dying confession, every soldier involved in this rebel suppression had to dress like a bandit.

Qing couldn’t for the life of her figure out why every individual had to personally prepare their own disguise for an official operation.

But then again, in primitive, ancient, underdeveloped armies, that sort of self-sufficiency was the norm.

Anyway, Qing stripped the broken-necked, drugged-up “special recipe” idiot of his fur coat and put it on.

It was obviously a luxury piece.

Sniffing the coat now wrapped around her shoulders, Qing caught the faint but distinct scent of incense—the kind that might drift from a monastery or Taoist temple. A fraud he may have been, but a Taoist was still a Taoist, and the familiar smell brought her a shred of peace.

Wow, they really soaked this thing in good incense.

Still, it was absurd.

What kind of mountain bandit walks around in such high-quality raccoon fur, even going as far as perfuming it with incense? What the hell did they think bandits were? Were people fantasizing about bandits now?

The hat was the peak of absurdity.

Made of sable fur—among the finest winter hats money could buy.

Qing flipped it onto her head, loosened the folded straps, and pulled them tight so only her eyes peeked through.

It wasn’t just any hat. The late Tang Dongryang’s headgear was, unsurprisingly, another luxury item.

After all, even without the bandit disguise, winter fur hats were status symbols among the military—the fancier the hat, the more wealth it signaled.

This thing’s expensive too.

He was probably toasting himself by the underworld’s central heating by now—what would he need with a hat? His coat wasn’t bad either, though not as luxurious as this one.

Maybe I should keep it as a keepsake?

In the end, Qing tightly rolled the coat and hat with the strength of a war god and stuffed them into her traveling pack.

Dressed now in full bandit attire, she truly looked the part.

Hastily burying the corpse under a pile of leaves, Qing set off up the mountain once more.

Tang Dongryang may have been a so-called White Tiger, but for this mission, he was bottom of the ladder.

If even the grunts wore coats and hats this expensive... imagine what the higher-ups had.

Maybe I should stock up on winter wear while I’m at it.

By the time the sun set, Qing’s outfit had been thoroughly upgraded.

She now sported an even fancier coat, and on her head, the most luxurious of luxurious sables—the rare, prized white-pelted variety.

Her wardrobe value had skyrocketed, yet her actual progress remained stagnant.

They were supposedly hunting rebels. If they spotted someone suspicious in the mountains, they were to signal immediately.

But oddly, there was barely any information about these so-called suspects—just that they’d recognize them instantly by their pale scholar-like appearance.

Aside from that, the size of the deployed military force was nothing to scoff at.

With detachments from five different generals, each sending one or two hundred troops, precise numbers were unclear.

Rumors said even the Jin Yiwei were here, and unsettling reports of eunuchs—those creepy bastards, as they were bluntly called—prowling around.

The Ironbolt soldiers weren’t involved in the search but had set up camp elsewhere. Only the strategists knew their ambush locations.

Hearing the mention of the Jin Yiwei brought back memories of what happened at the Tang residence.

That fake master who’d shattered the heavens after guzzling Taesang Master’s special aphrodisiac... he’d been unnaturally sturdy.

And during today’s midday massacre, hadn’t some of the attackers seemed eerily resilient?

The thought made Qing grind her teeth all over again.

These rotten bastards... just how deep does the corruption run in this fucking country?

Everyone already knew the current Emperor was hellbent on exterminating the martial world.

Fine, let’s say it's noble for the authorities to despise private militias.

But using the excuse of a rebel hunt to slaughter every passerby? What kind of logic was that?

Normally, if officials held a checkpoint, people would grumble, maybe offer a few silver coins to smooth things over, and if refused, they’d complain but still turn back obediently.

Instead, these cowards resorted to full-blown murder, even dressing as bandits to do it.

No wonder the old Heavenly Martial Emperor stormed the palace and grabbed the Emperor by the collar.

Though, in Qing’s opinion, grabbing the collar was too lenient—she’d have separated his collar from his spine.

Then again, Qing wasn’t from Zhongyuan, so maybe her thoughts were a little... extreme.

Even the infamous, firebrand Heavenly Martial Emperor had only aimed to give the Emperor a stern warning—not to commit the heinous, unforgivable treason of regicide.

That was why Qing wandered the mountains under the cover of night.

If those soldiers were hiding something, it had to be shady.

Given the resilient freaks from the Tang residence incident, whatever was happening now wasn’t some small operation.

Qing couldn’t ignore this.

It was cowardly, wrong. If she hadn’t known, that was one thing—but now that she did, she couldn’t just pretend otherwise.

And what about the innocent caravan guards, slaughtered for no reason? How many others had died before them?

As someone still dressed in martial robes, she owed them the dignity of at least acknowledging their unjust deaths.

Qing steadied her resolve.

——

The winters of the Nanling Mountains weren’t considered particularly brutal by Zhongyuan standards.

But to someone from Sichuan, they were hellish.

Sichuan winters were so mild that even in the coldest recorded year, the rivers never froze.

So, two Sichuanese huddling between rocks in the Nanling foothills would understandably feel the bitter cold down to their bones.

One simply shivered from the chill.

The other, a seasoned master, shouldn’t have felt cold at all—but with torn flesh and blood seeping from exposed muscle, even a master couldn’t help but tremble.

“Your Highness... leave me. Please, just go.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Please... as your devoted handmaiden, I beg you—”

It was an elderly woman, hair white as snow but skin surprisingly smooth for her age. Blood stained her lips, her complexion pale, dark shadows under her eyes—a clear sign of illness.

The young man beside her snorted.

“Ridiculous. What can a pampered scholar like me do, wandering these mountains alone?”

“But, Your Highness—”

“This is all your fault. If you expected this, you should’ve taught me mountain survival! You wouldn’t even let me wash my face without fussing over every drop of water. How the hell am I supposed to fend for myself?”

“Your Highness, please—”

“Just get better. We need at least one capable guard if we’re to escape. Alone, I’ll die in these mountains even if those bastards don’t catch me. Mountains... mountains aren’t easy, you know.”

“Your Highness, please... run north. While I can still buy you time... while I still have some use... don’t let my death be in vain—”

“Stop that death talk. If you’ve got the energy to die, use it to heal. Hmph. Water, water... oh, empty.”

“Your Highness... it’s my dying wish—”

“Enough. I’ll fetch water. Stay put. And stop with the dying wish crap. Everything’s your dying wish. You’ve got more wishes than years left to live, tch.”

“Your Highness, no! It’s dangerous—!”

The old woman called out desperately, voice choked, but she couldn’t raise the volume with enemies swarming nearby.

Yet His Highness merely clicked his tongue and stepped out from between the rocks.

Prince Deokhyeon, looking for water, realized the night was far darker than expected.

He remembered seeing a small stream—a trickle, really—while climbing earlier.

Boldly, he’d volunteered to fetch water.

But now, stepping beyond the moonlit crevice, he realized how deceptively bright that sheltered spot had been.

In truth, a prince like him never climbed mountains on foot.

It was either carriage, sedan chair, horseback—or at worst, carried piggyback by servants.

How could he be expected to know the difficulty of navigating a steep, pathless slope in pitch darkness?

Cautiously testing each step, pressing down to check for stability, he tried to descend.

“Ugh—”

Crash!

Prince Deokhyeon slipped, slammed his knee on a stump, tumbled head over heels, smashed his shoulder on a rock, and finally plunged off a small ridge, landing with a thud.

Thankfully, he fell into a bed of thick, cushioned leaves.

“Ughh...”

Unable to stand, Deokhyeon writhed in the leaf pile.

His knee felt torn apart, his shoulder throbbed as though an arrow had pierced it—was this what Guan Yu felt?

The pain was unbearable. He decided to stay buried in the leaves, letting the agony fade.

“Ugh...”

Rolling onto his back, he sprawled out.

Through bare branches overhead, the half-moon shone brightly.

How pathetic he must look—a prince, unable to even fetch water, now splayed helplessly in the dirt.

And then—a shadow blocked the moonlight.

A cold blade pressed against his throat.

That chilling, metallic touch sent terror surging through him—his heart plummeting, limbs tingling, hands and feet frozen.

“What’s this? Rolling around the mountains at night? You’ve got perfectly good legs, why not use them properly?”

A woman’s voice—unexpectedly pleasant, clear, her enunciation sharp, sweet like music.

“I-I... I am... an herb... herb gatherer.”

“Herb gatherer? You’ve got a bold mouth for a gatherer.”

“I... am a humble herb gatherer.”

“Never seen a herb gatherer in silk before. Rolling down mountains like a fool...”

“Ahem... the... the moonlight was faint, I lost my footing—”

“If you’re gonna fake being a herb gatherer, do it right. Since when do herb gatherers spout literary speech? What, failed your imperial exams, turned to foraging?”

“Ah... yes, precisely. You guessed it.”

“Hmm... you sound awfully refined.”

“No... I... am not anyone important...”

“You sound like a damn fool. Eh? High? Lady?”

Damn. The words slipped out.

With a blade to your throat, it’s a miracle to keep your composure at all.

Suddenly, the woman grabbed his collar, lifting him effortlessly into the air.

The breath choked from his lungs—

The woman yanked him closer, their faces nearly touching—specifically, his face mask nearly brushing her nose.

And then—eyes that looked eerily familiar.

She squinted, tilted her head, scrutinizing his face like some bizarre inspection.

Swinging his limp body to and fro.

Truly a cruel woman—couldn’t she just move her eyes? Why swing him around like a rag doll?

Then, her eyes widened.

“Eh? Zayu? Aren’t you Zayu?”

“Zayu? How do you know that name—”

That alias had been invented on the spot.

Only one person had ever called him that.

“Ximen Qing... you’re my friend?”

“Wow, it really is Zayu! Ugh, goosebumps. Of all places to meet... what’s a prince doing rolling around the ground? You hurt anywhere?”

Qing finally set him down, brushing leaves and dirt from his clothes.

Her hand casually smacked his backside, knocking loose debris—causing his cheeks to flush crimson.

What kind of woman... utterly shameless...

“Oh, right. The rebel was you, Zayu?”

“Rebel? Don’t speak such nonsense.”

“Watch your tone. Want me to treat you like a proper prince?”

Zayu smiled softly.

“Only because my friend speaks nonsense... but you—wait, this isn’t the time.”

The smile vanished as Zayu urgently grabbed Qing’s sleeve.

“Help me. Yeon Pa is gravely wounded. We need a physician immediately. I... I don’t know these mountains. Please, I beg you—can you take her to a doctor?”