Lin Xi had spoken with complete honesty, and so had Tang Ke. If it had been someone else, they might never have told Lin Xi the truth—that the Qianxia Border Army suffered casualties daily.
After all, in the widely spread songs glorifying Dean Zhang's achievements, it was said that following the Battle of Fallen Star Mound, the South Mo Kingdom remained peaceful for fifty years, without a single incident.
Strictly speaking, that wasn't false. That battle had indeed ended the South Mo Kingdom—its internal strife shattered the nation, and the power-holders replaced the royal court, forming the Great Mang Dynasty. In the following decade or so, the border disputes had been with the Ghost Cavalry of the Great Mang Dynasty, not the once-mighty Heavenly Policy Heavy Cavalry of South Mo.
But anyone with a clear mind could tell the difference.
Mentioning these things felt somewhat like exposing someone's shortcomings—almost disrespectful toward Dean Zhang.
Yet it was because of this mutual honesty that Lin Xi and Tang Ke got along well. Still, Tang Ke could not understand why Lin Xi wanted to cross the Heavenly Ascension Mountains and venture into the snowbound, barren lands.
Lin Xi, of course, couldn't explain that he and that middle-aged uncle came from a completely different world—and that the words on that stone tablet were in simplified Chinese, a script only he could read. Tang Ke would surely think he was spouting the most outrageous nonsense.
Thanks to the hard lessons from those days of trekking, Lin Xi and the other Warfare Department freshmen had stashed at least two days' worth of rations, and with no intent to explore blindly, they idled the rest of the afternoon with idle chat. That night, in the freshman dormitory of the Warfare Department, Lin Xi fell into a peaceful sleep in his quiet room. Compared to Lulin Town, the air here felt purer, and the room quieter. He slept soundly.
Far away, on a nameless slope, an old, battered carriage had stopped.
Two elderly horses, unhitched, grazed quietly at the edge of a grove, chewing on dew-laden grass. Beside the carriage, an old man with the surname Liu, who had driven Lin Xi all the way to Lake Lingxia, was now intently roasting a wild rabbit.
The rabbit was golden-brown. After a generous sprinkle of salt as white as snow, the old man tore off a leg and chewed slowly, a look of cozy satisfaction on his face.
Suddenly, his hunched body tensed further.
A faint noise moved through the dense forest.
A feathered arrow shot like lightning from the woods, piercing the air above his head and thudding deep into the side of the carriage with a dull thunk. The shaft quivered violently, the arrow nearly piercing through the thick carriage wall, leaving only the tail visible.
Despite the ambush, the old man's expression didn't change. Calmly, he placed the rabbit and the half-eaten leg on a wooden plank beside the fire, then stood up slowly, his back even more hunched.
Clap… clap… clap… A slow round of applause echoed.
Five black-clad assassins emerged from the woods. The leader, a refined middle-aged man with pale skin and a scholarly beard, carried a sword slung across his back. He exuded cultured elegance. But the old man ignored him and instead glanced coldly at a burly man beside him.
"So it's you," he said flatly.
The burly man's face looked as if it had been stomped—his nose unnaturally sunken, giving his grin a grotesque twist. "You think you could knock me to the ground in front of so many people at the academy trials and just walk away?"
"All for a single punch?" The old man sneered, his voice dry and mocking.
The refined man sighed softly. "It wasn't just his pride you bruised—you humiliated the entire Tingsong Academy."
"Tingsong Academy has always been second-rate. Even if someone trampled it underfoot, no one would care… How foolish."
His mocking tone visibly stunned the refined man, but he still bowed. "In that case, forgive our offense…"
With that bow, a line of fire opened between the forest and the old man—enough space for an arrow to fly.
Whoosh!
An arrow blazed out from above the refined man's back, aimed straight between the old man's brows. At the same time, the refined man's right hand rose slightly, and his sword slid out of its sheath, falling neatly into his palm.
There weren't just five people.
A hidden archer lay in ambush in the forest, working in perfect coordination with the refined man. The moment glinted with deadly precision.
Pfft!
Just then, a faint sound of something piercing flesh rang out. The refined man's body jerked violently, his right hand abruptly pinned down as though by an invisible force, halting his elegant swing.
Clang!
The old man sprang forward like a bent bamboo rod snapping straight. A dagger flashed from his wrist, striking the arrow tip precisely and flinging it aside in a burst of sparks.
The burly man lunged from the side, blade gleaming—but his expression froze as he looked down and saw blood blossoming from his chest. A short arrow shaft still trembled where it had struck.
Whoosh!
The second arrow finally arrived from the woods.
The refined man staggered backward in a panic, blood like worms writhing from the back of his hand.
Boom!
A grim-faced black-clad assassin leapt forward to shield him, sleeves sweeping toward the old man. Simultaneously, another assassin thrust a spear at the old man's waist, its silver tip gleaming with poisonous green light.
Not two—three attacked at once, their teamwork impeccable.
But the old man's expression didn't change. A layer of green light surged over his body. He let the attacks land, then flicked the second arrow aside again with his dagger.
Clang! One assassin raised a metal shield just in time to block it.
But as the arrow struck, the old man sprang forward like a bolt. He crashed into the grim-faced assassin with the force of a flying log, sending him tumbling with a wretched scream.
Two thin swords clattered from the old man's robes. The spear-wielding assassin, now waist-deep in dirt from the recoil, stared in horror—though the old man's robes had been torn, he bore no wounds.
"Red Scale Armor!"
The refined man gasped in disbelief. "You… you're from the Black Banner Army…"
"I might've spared you. But now that you've identified me—your fate is sealed."
His murky eyes suddenly flashed cold. Before he even finished speaking, he stepped on the tumbling assassin's skull, propelling himself forward like a flying horse statue.
With one dagger, he easily parried the refined man's sword slash and smashed his throat with the other hand.
"Can't even control your breath properly, yet you dare fight for turf in the Four Seasons Plains? Trash like your academy deserves to be stepped on."
The burly man, slumping to the ground in shock, saw his blade suddenly in the old man's hand. His vision faded with the chill of death.
He didn't live to see the spear and shield bearers lose their heads in the next heartbeat.
The old man charged into the forest. After a brief, agonized scream, silence returned.
Soaked in blood, he emerged calmly, changed into fresh clothes, and sat by the fire. He resumed chewing the warm rabbit meat, unfazed by the thick scent of blood all around.
Dong… dong… dong…
At dawn, a faint and elegant bell tone stirred Lin Xi from sleep.
Soon, the corridor of the freshman dormitory was bustling like a marketplace.
Every freshman—including Lin Xi—found two sets of blue robes and two pairs of plain black cloth shoes at their door.
Embroidered sword patterns adorned the cuffs and collars of the blue uniforms.
"In five moments' time, change into these academy robes and come out. Your first true class is about to begin." Dressed in a black robe, Instructor Mu Qing stood atop a rising bronze staircase, gazing down at the students.
"Class is starting… Class is starting…"
Lin Xi shook off his dreams and memories, then picked up the blue academy robe left at his door.