Wind screamed through the peaks. Branches snapped. Snow churned from the ground and mixed with the heavy fall until the world was a white wall.
Qin Ming walked alone through the storm to the foot of the patrol's mountain.
He buried his bow, arrows, and bundle in a snow pit. Covered them. Weighed the lid with heavy stones.
He took four iron spears from the dead patrollers and started up the slope.
He climbed in silence. Fifty meters from the flat ground at the top, he stopped.
The Golden Mastiff should have scented him by now. Only the blizzard saved him — wind and snow scrambling every trace.
Even so, the beast's ears pricked. Golden patterns rippled across them. It sensed something wrong.
The largest cabin glowed with fire-light. Shadows moved behind the window. In this bitter cold, they drank and ate — copper pot bubbling with yak meat over charcoal, the smell rich and thick.
"The fire spring at Blood Bamboo Grove is dying. Perfect time to move against that spiritual creature. We need to prepare in advance..."
The words drifted on the wind. Qin Ming wanted to hear more — they were targeting a spiritual being in the mountains, chasing Second New Life.
But he couldn't wait. The Golden Mastiff had left its shelter and was staring straight at him. It opened its jaws to howl.
Qin Ming drew the stolen bow.
He aimed through the window at the largest silhouette and fired. Iron arrows tore through the night, one after another, punching into the cabin.
A grunt. Then every shadow dropped flat. The window and door burst open. Tables and doorboards held as shields, the men scrambled behind trees and rocks, eyes raking the dark for the shooter.
The Golden Mastiff charged. Each stride shook snow from the ground. Its massive body surged with raw power, jaws wide, white mist pouring from its throat.
Qin Ming ignored it.
He fired every arrow at one target — Fu Entao. The captain was the only Second New Lifer. The only truly dangerous one. Wounding him was worth more than killing the rest.
One arrow hit. Shallow wound. Fu Entao's custom armor stopped the shaft — it sank barely half an inch.
Fu Entao swept his long blade. Most arrows shattered midair. He used the trees as cover and closed the distance fast.
He'd read the arrow's force. The shooter hadn't reached Second New Life. Manageable.
The bow broke in Qin Ming's hands. His thousand-jin strength was too much — the weapon couldn't hold.
---
The Golden Mastiff leapt. Four hundred pounds of mutant muscle, fangs bared, roar shaking the trees.
It hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then an iron spear crossed the distance at horrifying speed and punched through its skull. Blood sprayed. The fierce light in its eyes died.
The corpse slammed down five meters in front of Qin Ming.
A single thrown spear. Instant kill.
---
Feng Yi'an saw the mastiff fall and screamed. "Jinzi!"
Qin Ming's rage spiked. In this man's eyes, a villager's life was worth less than a dog. He'd cry for the beast — never for the people he'd killed.
His arm whipped forward. Another iron spear launched into the blizzard, the air screaming in its wake, aimed straight at Feng Yi'an.
The big-bearded man was fast. He threw his body sideways and swung his long blade at the spear — metal screamed, sparks flew. His whole arm went numb. The grip nearly failed.
The spear shot past him and blasted through a cabin door, shattering the thick planks.
*That much force?* Feng Yiuan's blood ran cold.
---
Fu Entao detonated off the snow. Sheets of white erupted behind him. Three meters tall, closing the last ten meters in a single bound.
He met an iron spear flying at his chest.
He didn't waste motion. A slight shift of his body — the spear hissed past, close enough to feel the cold. His feet never stopped. He bore down like a landslide, long blade raised, beast-skin cloak streaming.
But the spear didn't stop behind him. It continued toward the man charging ten meters behind — the next target.
Qin Ming had aimed for exactly this. If Fu Entao dodged, the throw would hit whoever followed.
The trailing patroller couldn't dodge. Too close. Fu Entao had blocked his sightline.
The spear hit his chest. Armor shattered. The shaft punched through and carried him backward — thunk — into a tree trunk, thick as a barrel. The shaft embedded in the wood. Blood ran down the pole, pooling on the snow.
He thrashed, screaming. He would not live.
Feng Yi'an and Shao Chengfeng recoiled. Ice in their spines. They saw themselves pinned to that tree. They stumbled backward.
---
Fu Entao knew what had happened behind him. His face went cold and hard.
Ten meters — one stride for a man his size. He closed the gap. Curly black hair whipping back. Long blade — custom, wider and sharper than standard — came down like a mountain-splitter.
Qin Ming swayed. The blade missed. His left hand jabbed the last iron spear sideways into the blade's flat, deflecting its line. Then he stepped in — the chopping knife in his right hand carved toward Fu Entao's open chest.
Fu Entao's pupils contracted. His heavy blade hadn't pushed the spear back. For the first time, he felt real resistance.
He raised his left forearm — a dark-gold bracer engraved with troll glyphs. Metal screamed. Sparks showered.
He used the impact to launch himself backward, wind and snow exploding under his feet, opening distance.
He shook his numb left arm and looked down. A crack ran across the bracer. Not the blade's sharpness — the force behind it had nearly split the metal open.
He'd misread the arrows. He'd thought: a hot-headed boy with a bow. Overpower him, drag him down, extract information.
Now he stopped. He looked at his opponent properly.
"Who are you? Why target us?"
He saw the face. Young. But the presence — steady, pressing, immense — was not a boy's.
Qin Ming didn't answer. Left hand forward, spear tip aimed at Fu Entao's throat. Right hand raised, knife angled. He advanced one step at a time.
Fu Entao's frown deepened.
---
Qin Ming stepped out of the dark trees and into the fire spring's glow.
Feng Yi'an and Shao Chengfeng saw his face. They went rigid.
"You're — Qin Ming?!" Feng Yi'an couldn't believe it. He'd met this boy several times. He'd just completed New Life. How?
Qin Ming didn't answer. He accelerated.
The spear thrust out — a silver dragon cutting through the blizzard. The air split. Snow exploded outward. The ground erupted.
"Surround him! Don't let him escape — I want him alive!" Fu Entao roared, blade flashing. He needed the others to fight. If they feared, they'd run.
A stocky patroller edged closer, blade out, applying pressure without committing — trying to rattle Qin Ming's nerves.
Feng Yi'an and Shao Chengfeng flanked. They held key angles, ready to exploit any opening.
The two fighters clashed. Spear and blade — afterimages trailing through the air. The battlefield widened with every exchange. Trees cracked. Branches fell. Trunks crashed.
The three on the outside watched their captain being driven back and felt their courage fail.
Qin Ming and Fu Entao carved from the fire spring into the deep forest. The three scrambled to follow, circling, looking for a chance.
They passed through a stretch of intact trees. Then — behind them — the wood came apart. Branches rained down. Massive trunks toppled with thunderous crashes.
---
A silver-white shape dropped from a treetop — a blur aimed at Qin Ming's exposed back.
The snow ape. The patrol's pet. Claws that could tear a beast apart. It had been hiding above, waiting for the perfect moment. Fast, brutal, aiming for the neck.
Qin Ming had known it was there. He'd located it before the fight began. He'd tracked every threat on this mountain.
His feet shifted — fast as wind. The ape's claws raked empty air.
His backhand cut swept upward.
The chopping knife bisected the snow ape at the waist.
Blood sprayed. Two halves of the beast hit the snow, one after the other. It shrieked once. Then it stopped moving.