What was it that left Feng Jiu’er so astonished?

It was the sky above them. In the darkness of night, a flock of birds was circling through the air. To anyone else, perhaps nothing about it would seem out of the ordinary—but Jiu’er, well-versed in music and rhythm, understood it perfectly well.

Those birds were flying in time to a rhythm—and the one setting that rhythm was none other than the tall man beside her!

The sound Tasang Nan produced was neither quite like a flute nor quite like a panpipe—a kind of low, humming whistle, faint and deep, as though it were nothing more than the wind passing by.

That hum truly was very faint—even Feng Jiu’er, sitting right beside Tasang Nan, could barely make it out clearly.

And yet, she discovered something astonishing—this faint hum was, to the birds, remarkably clear and powerful.

More and more birds gathered together in that patch of sky above. Though impossible to count precisely, there had to be at least twenty or thirty of them by sight alone.

Tasang Nan’s humming suddenly dropped in pitch, and the birds, as if receiving some signal, scattered in every direction.

Jiu’er still didn’t understand—how could he let the birds go without having done anything at all?

She had assumed Tasang Nan meant to use the birds against the three men inside the tent, and had been wondering whether mere birds would really be of much use.

After all, none of them were particularly fierce birds—just small creatures with no real means of attack.

And now Tasang Nan had even let the birds fly off—why was that?

To say he wasn’t seeking revenge was impossible—so what exactly was he planning to do now?

Tasang Nan’s humming continued. Anyone without patience would likely struggle to wait it out to the end, but Feng Jiu’er’s patience, at times, was tougher than anyone’s.

So she lay flat atop the tent, adjusted her position, and—astonishingly—closed her eyes and fell asleep.

She was sleeping!

Tasang Nan glanced down at the woman beside him, dressed as a man, his feelings complicated. She looked exhausted, as though she hadn’t gotten a proper rest in a very long time.

That she could fall asleep even atop a tent roof was simply unbelievable.

She really had fallen asleep—her breathing was so even. Still, it was clearly not a peaceful sleep; her brow stayed tightly knit the whole time.

Of course, what Tasang Nan didn’t know was that over the past several days, in order to memorize the terrain maps of Ruanhe by heart, Jiu’er had slept no more than two hours each night.

She liked to think of herself as fairly clever, but to match the kind of instinctive, photographic memory Ninth Imperial Uncle possessed, she still had quite some distance to go.

To have memorized Ruanhe’s terrain maps after just a few nights’ effort was already remarkable.

Tasang Nan only glanced at her twice before paying her no more attention, bringing his hands together once more and softly blowing that low, humming sound again.

No telling how much time passed before Feng Jiu’er woke from a sudden chill.

The reason she dared to sleep here at all was that she knew very well just how heightened her own alertness was right now.

It was a chill that seemed to pierce straight through her, yet didn’t feel cold exactly—only a strange, icy sensation that left an uneasy churning in her stomach.

As if something were approaching, something that seemed to come from hell itself, leaving one stifled and oppressed in the most terrifying way.

Looking up, she saw that the birds that had scattered earlier had all returned now, one by one.

And not only that—they had brought things back with them.

At first Jiu’er couldn’t make out what it was, but once she did, her stomach lurched violently, and she very nearly couldn’t hold back from vomiting.

Tasang Nan seemed a little uneasy at her reaction and wanted to say something to apologize, but right now they were directly above the tent of those three men, and he was afraid speaking now would give them away.

Still, Jiu’er quickly composed herself, glanced at him, and let her eyes tell him she was fine.

Tasang Nan nodded, then brought his hands together once more and resumed his soft, humming whistle.

Below, the three Ruanhe soldiers, who had just been boasting away, suddenly seemed to sense that something was off.

Why, all of a sudden, did it feel as though they’d caught the scent of something unsettling—like the rotting stench of something on the verge of death?

These were men long accustomed to the battlefield, killing as casually as eating a meal, never once troubled by the blood that stained their own hands.

And yet, in this moment, all three of them found themselves growing inexplicably uneasy.

“Big brother, do you feel…” the smallest of the soldiers said after a pause, “do you feel like something’s… not right?”

It wasn’t only the eldest brother who sensed something was wrong—the second one felt it too.

The three of them suddenly turned, all at once, to look up at the top of the tent. In truth, there was nothing actually wrong with the tent itself, nor was there any chance they had spotted Feng Jiu’er and Tasang Nan.

It was simply that the patch of sky above did, indeed, seem to hold some kind of problem.

Suddenly, one of them cried out, “Snakes!”

Snakes! Truly snakes! And not just one—two, three, four of them…

“Heavens, where did all these snakes come from?” The three of them, terrified, moved to draw their swords from where they lay.

But to their horror, the table was suddenly crawling with venomous spiders and centipedes, every one of them deadly poisonous.

“Ahh…” the eldest cried out suddenly, reaching for his own neck and pulling off a venomous scorpion.

The eldest smashed the scorpion to the ground, and the second brother rushed over, stomping on it with his foot.

The scorpion was crushed dead, but the eldest had already sunk down onto one knee, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“Big brother!”

“Big brother!”

“Second brother, watch out! There’s a snake behind you!” The youngest saw a snake already lunge forward and bite into the second brother’s arm—how could he possibly stay any longer?

Even between blood brothers, in a situation like this, one’s first instinct might still be to save one’s own life—let alone between men who were merely sworn brothers.

The youngest immediately rushed toward the tent’s exit, but just as he lifted the tent flap, something pricked him without warning.

He pulled his hand back and looked—a drop of black blood welled up from his fingertip. Looking again at the tent flap, he saw an enormous black spider clinging there.

The searing pain in his fingertip spread through his entire body in an instant. The youngest tried to step outside, but it was already too late—bitten by the black spider, half his body went numb almost at once, so numb he couldn’t take even half a step.

Soon, even the youngest collapsed to the ground.

All three men lay on the ground, their screams unceasing. The soldiers outside were quickly alerted, but when they arrived and saw the three men writhing among a mass of venomous creatures, who among them dared go near to help?

With so many men gathered, all they could do was watch helplessly as the three sworn brothers convulsed and twitched on the ground. Gradually, their screams grew weaker—they were not yet dead, but only enough strength remained for ragged breathing.

“General!” Some officer arrived, and a soldier reported the situation to him. “General, the tent is full of venomous creatures.”

“Venomous creatures?” The general’s footsteps halted, and he did not move any closer.

“Yes—venomous snakes, scorpions, spiders, all of them deadly poisonous, and no small number of them either.”

Just moments ago, in carelessly lifting the tent flap, they had very nearly walked straight into it.

That so many deadly poisonous creatures could be gathered inside was simply beyond comprehension!