Less than a hundred *li* from Mei City, Fang Biehan’s convoy was stopped by a squad of fierce Mu Camp soldiers.

It happened right at the city gate of a small town. The moment the convoy arrived, they were intercepted. The man at the head of the squad signaled for the carriages to halt for inspection.

Fang Biehan was anything but polite. He walked straight up and slapped the man across the face, spinning him around three full times.

“Who do you think you are, speaking to me with such disrespect?”

The patrol officer who’d been struck was clearly stunned. He hadn’t expected this unfavored Senior Banner Officer to strike him so openly and humiliate him like that.

But rules were rules. Even though the man he served held far greater power, rank was rank — and his own was lower. He had no choice but to swallow it.

If this were brought before the Military Commissioner, the Commissioner would not take his side.

So all that brazen swagger — the nerve to block the road, demand everyone dismount, and ask Fang Biehan for travel documents — drained out of him in an instant.

“This subordinate was wrong, this subordinate was wrong…”

While the patrol officer was still apologizing, his eyes kept darting behind him, as if waiting for someone with real authority to appear.

Not satisfied, Fang Biehan stepped forward and drove his boot into the patrol officer’s chest, sending the man tumbling backwards.

“Just the offense of showing disrespect to a superior — by Mu Camp regulations alone, I could take your head right here.”

Fang Biehan walked over and crouched down to look at the fallen man. “You failed to salute me, then spoke without proper deference. Who taught you that?!”

At that moment, a middle-aged man in fine brocade robes stepped out through the city gatehouse.

“Senior Banner Officer Fang — have you vented enough?”

Fang Biehan looked up at the man, took two steps back, and clasped his fists in a bow. “This subordinate greets Senior Liaison Officer.”

This was Yang Dingshan, one of the Mu Camp’s three great Liaison Officers — the man people called the Ghost Bodhisattva.

In the Mu Camp, he and Dou Qusheng were cut from the same cloth, and had long made a habit of targeting Jiang Wei.

Jiang Wei had once told Fang Biehan that Dou Qusheng only appeared cunning on the surface — in truth, he was a brute with courage but no strategy. It was Yang Dingshan pulling strings behind him, and most of the dirty schemes had originated with this man.

By that logic, the order to send Mo Lili to Daxing City to fetch Yang Jing had, in all likelihood, also come from Yang Dingshan.

“Subordinates without discipline deserve correction,” Yang Dingshan said, strolling unhurriedly toward Fang Biehan. “They forgot their place. You corrected them on my behalf, Senior Banner Officer — I should be thanking you.”

As he spoke, his gaze slid toward the carriages. “Why has Senior Banner Officer Fang left his post at Qianmian County? Returning to Mei City so suddenly?”

“To report,” Fang Biehan replied. “A routine visit to submit my report to the main yamen.”

Yang Dingshan smiled. “A routine report? As I recall, Banner Officers stationed at outposts are not permitted to return to the main yamen without a formal summons. Am I mistaken?”

He took one step closer, until their faces were nearly touching. “Did I remember wrong?”

Fang Biehan stepped back twice and bowed. “Senior Liaison Officer, you did not remember wrong. This subordinate must have been the one who was confused.”

“You’ve returned to Mei City without notice,” Yang Dingshan said. “I now have reason to suspect you’re concealing something in these carriages. As your superior, do I not have the authority to inspect your vehicles?”

Fang Biehan glanced back, then shook his head. “Sir, the carriages contain key evidence in an important case this subordinate is handling. It would be better if you did not look — if something were to go wrong…”

Yang Dingshan waved a hand. “Search them.”

Then he turned back to Fang Biehan. “If something goes wrong, I’ll explain it to the Military Commissioner myself. You’re too low in rank to see the Commissioner on a whim.”

“Yes…”

Fang Biehan stepped back again — two more paces — his hand drifting almost unconsciously to the hilt of the saber at his waist.

Seeing that, Yang Dingshan became even more certain the carriages held something of interest.

Earlier, their inside informant had reported that Jiang Wei and Fang Biehan had captured an important figure in Qianmian County — likely the Deputy Chief Magistrate of the廷尉府 (Court of Justice).

Such a valuable prisoner, if brought before the Military Commissioner by Jiang Wei, would be a feat great enough to let Jiang Wei lord over them for years to come.

So they had conferred and decided: even if they had to take the prisoner by force, they could not allow Jiang Wei and Fang Biehan to present the man to the Commissioner.

Seeing Fang Biehan’s hand on his saber hilt, Yang Dingshan felt not anger, but a flicker of private delight.

On the surface, he and Dou Qusheng — and the third Liaison Officer, Du Songmao — appeared to be allies. But a prize this size? Whoever seized it first could claim the credit.

When interests were at stake, no alliance was truly unbreakable.

They had joined forces because they shared a common enemy — not because they shared the same interests.

Yang Dingshan’s men surrounded the carriages. Countless crossbows trained on the people in the convoy. Fang Biehan’s soldiers all looked to him, as if waiting for a command. But Fang Biehan seemed wary of Yang Dingshan’s rank and said nothing.

So Yang Dingshan’s men simply dragged Fang Biehan’s soldiers down from the carriages and pried open each door.

Inside the carriages — only miscellaneous goods. Nothing else.

“Sir, there’s nothing here!”

Someone shouted back to Yang Dingshan.

His expression shifted. He strode over himself and checked each carriage one by one.

He turned back to Fang Biehan. “Did you really think you could hide from me that easily?”

Fang Biehan smiled. “This subordinate doesn’t know what the Senior Liaison Officer means. As I said — only evidence.”

Yang Dingshan let out a cold snort and waved his hand. “We move.”

His entire column departed at once, moving with striking speed — clearly headed somewhere else.

Fang Biehan watched them go. His expression turned grave. He had no way of knowing whether something would go wrong on Jiang Wei’s end.

“Keep moving,” he ordered, then mounted his horse and rode off as well.

On a smaller side road, Jiang Wei led dozens of elite soldiers escorting a prison cart, pressing forward steadily. The path was rough and far slower than the main road — but it was shorter. By rough calculation, they should have been closer to Mei City than Fang Biehan by now.

Seated on horseback, Jiang Wei raised a spyglass and scanned the terrain in all directions. This stretch of road was ideal for an ambush: mountains on both sides, the path narrow, and a small river just behind them — a difficult position to retreat from.

*If I were Dou Qusheng, this is exactly where I’d station my men.*

The thought had barely formed when a sudden sound broke from every direction. Jiang Wei’s expression changed instantly, and he roared: “HOLD!”

His elite soldiers were all personally loyal to him — not only skilled fighters, but trained to move in perfect coordination. At his shout, they instantly dismounted and used their horses as cover.

The moment they dropped, crossbow bolts came screaming in from all sides, a storm of iron that punched through the convoy.

The prisoner in the cart immediately threw himself flat. Fortunately, the cage bars were dense enough that none of the bolts happened to slip through cleanly.

After that first volley, black-clad figures appeared on both hillsides and charged down toward the convoy.

Jiang Wei let out a cold snort. “Just as I thought — too cowardly to show their faces.”

He had predicted that someone like Dou Qusheng would try to intercept them. He had predicted they wouldn’t dare act openly. And he had predicted they would never appear in Mu Camp uniforms.

The black-clad fighters outnumbered Jiang Wei’s men by roughly double — over a hundred in all. They moved swiftly, surrounding the prison cart within moments.

Meanwhile, on a rise overlooking the scene, Mu Camp’s Middle-Rank Officer Dou Qusheng watched from above. A Banner Officer at his side murmured, “Sir, it seems Jiang Wei came prepared.”

Dou Qusheng snorted. “Prepared or not — he can’t run.”

“Jiang Wei’s men were all trained by him personally,” the Banner Officer said. “They’re no weaklings. Even with the numbers advantage, breaking through their defense won’t be quick.”

Dou Qusheng frowned. “Then why are you still standing here?”

The Banner Officer — Zhong Taolüe — bowed at once. “Yes, sir. This subordinate will go immediately.”

He signaled to his men and charged in.

And as Zhong Taolüe had said — those few dozen men of Jiang Wei’s were formidable. Disciplined, coordinated, and able to use the prison cart and horses as cover, they held the line against wave after wave. Four, five assaults — not one broke through.

Growing more furious with every passing moment, Dou Qusheng finally leapt down from the rise himself — like a hawk diving out of the sky — and landed in the midst of the fighting.

The moment he touched ground, Jiang Wei stepped forward to block his path.

Everyone else wore black cloth over their faces, but Dou Qusheng considered himself too lofty for such precautions — confident in his own skill and certain he wouldn’t fail. He hadn’t bothered to cover his face at all.

“Senior Officer Dou,” Jiang Wei said, blocking him. “And what exactly are you doing?”

Dou Qusheng smiled. “Do I really need to explain myself to you? Save us both the trouble — hand the prisoner over.”

“You’re doing this in broad daylight,” Jiang Wei said. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll report you to the Military Commissioner?”

“Hahahahaha!” Dou Qusheng laughed freely. “If you’re dead, will your ghost go and tell the Commissioner in a dream?”

He lunged for Jiang Wei’s throat. Jiang Wei stepped back — he knew his martial skill, while real, was no match for Dou Qusheng’s. He had no intention of pressing the attack and focused entirely on defense.

But Dou Qusheng was relentless, each blow faster and more ferocious than the last, driving Jiang Wei back until he was pinned against one of the prison carts.

Dou Qusheng glanced at the cart. Inside, the prisoner had a black hood over their head, hands and feet bound in chains.

He sent one fist crashing into Jiang Wei’s guard to push him aside, then swept his other arm sideways. That arm was like cast iron — he shattered a row of bars as thick as a man’s shin in a single stroke.

The sheer force of it was terrifying.

“You dare!” Jiang Wei roared and threw himself forward in a desperate charge.

Dou Qusheng barely acknowledged it. In his eyes, Jiang Wei’s fighting was nothing more than a child’s tantrum.

His right hand deflected Jiang Wei’s assault; his left reached into the cart, seized the prisoner, and hauled them out.

A nearby soldier, gritting his teeth, slashed at him with a saber. Dou Qusheng turned with cold disdain. “You think you’re fit to strike at me?”

With his left hand, he grabbed the blade and wrenched it free; with the hilt, he drove a reverse strike that sent the soldier crashing to the ground.

Then, with a thunderous shout — “Out!” — he dragged the prisoner from the cart.

In that very instant, the prisoner’s chains suddenly snapped apart. They swung the loose chain and looped it around Dou Qusheng’s neck.

Dou Qusheng’s eyes sharpened. He stepped back, seized the chains with both hands, and yanked — pulling the prisoner out completely.

The prisoner was dragged right in front of him. Dou Qusheng drove his knee forward and buried it in their chest.

The prisoner let out a muffled grunt and spat blood, soaking the cloth mask over their face.

“I’ll cripple you first,” Dou Qusheng said. “Then we’ll see how you struggle.”

He gripped the prisoner’s arms with both hands — pulled, twisted — and with two sharp *cracks*, snapped both arms at once.

—