Chapter Forty-Eight: Two Released, Two Captured

With a loud splash, her cloth shoes sank into yet another patch of mud. Muttering a curse, Kaiming pulled her muddied foot free and glanced around. To avoid the Nangong soldiers, she had chosen the familiar route and slipped into this patch of woods.

At the moment, she wore a loose robe, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and black cloth shoes on her feet—a ludicrous getup that made her look like a wandering samurai from Japan. From the moment Qingyun had uttered the word "begin," she had bolted from the garrison like an arrow released from the string.

She could still recall the astonished faces of the Nangong soldiers she had brushed past—like they'd seen a visitor from Mars. She had almost laughed out loud. Qingyun must have held the soldiers back—he intended to keep his promise to let her go. For a man of such cunning, this kind of game was a true test of wits, one that would surely stir his predatory instincts.

When Kaiming made the suggestion, some part of her had known he would be unable to resist such a temptation.

She was lost in thought and nearly stepped on something soft. Snapping back to attention, she looked down—and her face went pale. It was a human arm!

Buried beneath dirt and branches, the body on the ground was shockingly intact. The arm was streaked with blood, its ghastly appearance looming in her mind like a monstrous beast.

Clutching at a tree trunk, she was overcome by a dizzy spell that lasted several minutes. She had forgotten—this place had just been a battlefield, with the corpses of the fallen scattered everywhere.

She had chosen wrong from the very start. Could she turn back? No—that would be admitting defeat, and Qingyun would already be laying his traps. Retreat was not an option.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to look away from the pale arm. But the more she tried not to think of it, the more the image danced before her, as though the arm itself were alive and swaying in her mind.

"Run, run!" she chanted to herself, her strides lengthening as fear seized her entirely. The howl of the wind was all she could hear; no other sound pierced her terror.

At last, she stopped, collapsing to her knees, gasping for breath. Cold sweat and clammy perspiration broke out across her face and body, but at least some of the terror dissipated. Running was its own kind of release.

What now? She bit her lip. She had to press on.

Meanwhile, Qingyun sat on a stool at the entrance to the camp, listening as soldier after soldier reported in: Corpses encountered. The target escaped. She runs so fast that even our best-trained elites can barely keep up.

Qingyun smiled faintly. That was fear giving rise to hidden reserves of strength. This girl—if she’s chosen the battlefield, how can she still not accept the reality of life and death?

Another soldier came to report: "She’s reached the place where we set the trap."

Qingyun replied coolly, "Good. Close the net."

The soldier slipped away.

The forest stretched on, the trees unchanged, the same vibrant green, even the rocks lying in the same spots. Kaiming’s panic grew—why did she keep circling back to the same place? Was she lost in the woods?

This was bad. Losing one’s way in a forest was as good as surrendering oneself to the enemy—unless she could find a place to hide. Several times she thought she heard voices, even caught glimpses of the Nangong soldiers’ bright uniforms among the trees. The search was underway. If she didn’t escape soon, capture was inevitable.

Still deep in thought, she kept moving forward. Her gaze fell on a patch of dry leaves—odd, since the rest had been soaked by rain. Why were these so dry, as if someone had deliberately placed them there?

As she pondered, her foot landed right in front of the pile. She bent down, reaching for a handful of leaves to examine, when a thought flashed through her mind: A snare!

Her mind reacted faster than her body ever could, but her sluggish limbs failed to obey. A shout rang out beside her: "Close the net!" Something clicked beneath her fingers, and a great net descended from the trees, soft yet strong, wrapping itself tightly around her.

Suddenly, as if rising from the ground itself, a dozen Nangong soldiers encircled her, faces gleaming with triumph as they cried out, "We’ve caught her!"

The more she struggled, the tighter the net became. In the end, she gave up, collapsing helplessly as the soldiers hauled her out, bound her with rope, and led her away.

Once out of the woods, she caught sight of Qingyun sitting at the camp gate, leisurely sipping tea, his face twisted into an insufferable half-smirk.

A soldier shoved her forward and she struggled angrily. Two more pinned her shoulders, forcing her to kneel before Qingyun. At his gesture, they stepped back.

Kaiming knelt, seething with resentment, and raised her head to snarl, "This isn’t fair!"

Qingyun merely smiled, as if her protest had been expected.

"You used a trap to ambush me! That doesn’t count—I demand a rematch!"

He replied without hesitation, "As you wish."

She was stunned. "You agree? Just like that?"

"Wasn’t it you who said your homeland’s strategist captured and released the enemy seven times, earning their respect in the end?" He shot her a sidelong glance, voice cool. "Either way, I’ll catch you again soon enough."

"Don’t underestimate me!" she shouted, scrambling to her feet as Qingyun signaled for her bonds to be loosened.

She glared at him and bolted.

Qingyun called after her, "If you’re caught again, the punishment will be doubled!"

She huffed in contempt, brushing aside his threat. What did he take her for—a mouse in a game of cat and mouse? Catch her again, indeed.

The Nangong soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. One bolder soul stepped forward: "Strategist, the general has ordered us to withdraw."

"I know," Qingyun replied with a smile. "But there’s still time, isn’t there? Let’s let her finish the game."

The soldiers dared not protest further.

This time, Kaiming tried a different approach. Hiding in the woods, she ambushed a lone soldier, knocked him out, and stole his uniform, blending in with a group of searchers.

"We’ve lost track of her," came the report to Qingyun, who frowned in response. The messenger hesitated, "But we did find her discarded clothing."

The mud-stained robe was handed to Qingyun. His frown gradually relaxed, and then he laughed aloud.

The soldiers looked at him in confusion.

"Lean in," he ordered quietly, instructing the soldier who then dashed back into the forest.

The search was beginning to flag. The Nangong soldiers grumbled loudly: "I’m exhausted—let’s slack off for a while!"

"If we go back empty-handed, the strategist will punish us!"

"Let’s go to Old Fanghead’s for a drink—just to perk up, that’s not against orders, is it?"

"The strategist will find out..."

"Not if you keep quiet! He’ll never know! It’s just ahead, right around the bend at the edge of the woods."

One of them called out to her, "Come with us!"

"I’ll pass, you go ahead," she said, hiding her face and keeping to the shadows.

"You’re not coming?" The man eyed her suspiciously. "Which squad are you with? You look unfamiliar. Why are you wearing cloth shoes?"

She started, and as he approached, she yanked off her helmet and flung it at him, then turned and ran.

"She’s here! Catch her!" The shouts behind her exploded like thunder.

She ran for her life, heedless of direction. Why were there Nangong soldiers everywhere, their footsteps rustling through the woods? She turned right at the corner and found a quiet path, unguarded.

Without a second thought, she hurled herself down the path.

Not far ahead stood the tea shack the soldiers had mentioned—four simple wooden posts and a thatched roof, with a few tables and teacups set inside. An old man lounged on a stool, puffing on a pipe.

She rushed to the old man, who looked up in surprise.

Hearing the soldiers closing in, she said urgently, "Sir, I’m being chased by bandits—do you have somewhere I can hide?"

The old man craned his neck to peer behind her, then gave her a long look but said nothing.

She was frantic, but the old man remained unhurried, puffing calmly on his pipe.

"In that case, I’ll take my leave!" she said, turning—only to see a whole squad of soldiers blocking her escape. There was nowhere to hide.

Just as panic set in, the old man spoke, "Do you have money?"

"Yes, yes!" she replied quickly, forcing a fawning smile. "After you help me."

He shot her a skeptical look, his whiskers twitching, but at least got to his feet, lifted an overturned wine jar by the pillar, and motioned for her to crawl inside.

She had barely tucked herself inside when the soldiers arrived. Shouts rang out: "Old man, did you see a woman pass by? Which way did she go?"

The old man grunted, "Does my head look square to you?"

The soldiers laughed. "As if we don’t know you! The fugitive is a high-value target—tell us where she went!"

The old man evaded, "Care to buy some wine?"

The soldiers paused, then caught on. "Fine, we’ll buy all your wine—now talk!"

The old man, as if paid, finally said, "The left road. Hurry, or she’ll get away!"

Before he’d finished, the soldiers thundered off in that direction, footsteps fading into the distance.

Kaiming held her breath, listening intently. At last, two knocks sounded on the jar, and the old man’s nasal voice called, "They’re gone. Come out!"

She scrambled out, the old man still seated, sucking on his pipe, nostrils flaring as he eyed her.

"Those weren’t bandits—they were Nangong soldiers," he grunted. "What did you do to anger the authorities?"

"It’s a long story," she sighed, glancing around warily.

"They’re gone, but they’ll be back soon," the old man observed, pouring her a bowl of wine. "Drink up—it’ll help you run."

"Thank you," she said, hastily gulping down the wine. The old man’s eyes twinkled, a grin tugging at his lips. "A bold girl, aren’t you?"

She returned his smile, placing the bowl back on the table. "Such kindness—I’ll repay you someday."

"Oh?" The old man exhaled a stream of smoke. "No need to wait—how about today?"

She understood at once, and suddenly her head spun, vision doubling. She pressed a hand to her brow in alarm—was it the wine, or the man himself?

She spun to face him, catching his sly, malicious grin. "Turning you in to the authorities would be thanks enough, don’t you think?"

She stumbled forward, eyes wide in disbelief. The old man had betrayed her! Fury welled in her chest, but as she raised her fist, her strength failed, and she collapsed to the ground.

As darkness claimed her, she glimpsed a ring of black-soled boots converging from every direction, like an army of ants swarming to carry off a morsel of food. And she was that morsel.

A chill touched her face, and she jolted awake, eyelids fluttering open from the blackness. The fading light of dusk slanted across the sky, and against its pale glow a silhouette appeared.

She forced her eyes open, blinking hard—smiling down at her was none other than Qingyun.