The mountain path was covered with snow, both steep and slippery.

Meng Jianqing and Hu Jinyong looked at each other, then both dismounted at the mountain pass, tying their horses to a short tree. They tightened their belts and began climbing up the mountain through the snow in different directions.

Meng Jianqing, having grown up in eastern Zhejiang, was accustomed to mountain paths. Hu Jinyong was from northern Huai and had only followed his uncle to Hangzhou three years ago. By the time he climbed halfway up the mountain, he had already fallen considerably behind. In his haste, he accidentally stepped on a loose stone, which tumbled down the mountain ravine with a thunderous sound.

The mountain was alerted. Torches flared to life, sharp whistle calls rang out, and scattered rocks came flying down.

Meng Jianqing leaped diagonally to one side, making several turns before pouncing onto that watchtower. Hu Jinyong saw the blade light flashing on the watchtower and struggled to catch up. Only moments apart, the four sentries on the watchtower were already lying horizontally on the ground. Meng Jianqing didn’t have time to cut off their heads before rushing toward the second watchtower that had lit its torches, not looking back.

This time, Hu Jinyong caught up faster, arriving in time to swing his blade and cut down another sentry before Meng Jianqing finished off the other three.

The main rebel camp in the mountains had been alerted—shouts of men and neighing of horses could be heard clearly.

Hu Jinyong and Meng Jianqing should have retreated before the main enemy force arrived, but Hu Jinyong didn’t retreat, so naturally, Meng Jianqing couldn’t retreat either.

By the time they fought their way to the fourth watchtower, they were surrounded on the tower by two squads of rebel soldiers.

Meng Jianqing wiped the blood from his blade on the snow, crouched behind rocks to avoid arrows, and studied Hu Jinyong: “Brother Hu shows admirable spirit. Another person might have taken the opportunity while I was charging ahead to cut off some heads and leave first.”

Hu Jinyong spat: “Would I, Hu, be that kind of petty man! I’ve cut down five—what about you?”

Meng Jianqing calculated briefly and answered: “Eleven.”

Hu Jinyong said angrily, “If this were level ground, you wouldn’t have gotten ahead of me! Fine, now let’s compete again!”

Meng Jianqing carefully poked his head out from the rocks to survey the scattered soldiers around the watchtower. In the darkness, the enemy didn’t know how many men they had brought, so they temporarily surrounded the watchtower while sending troops to search everywhere. Once dawn broke, they would launch a major assault.

If they continued searching like this, they would eventually find those two horses and discover that only two men had launched this raid.

Meng Jianqing said in a low voice: “Fine, let’s compete again! In this round, whoever breaks out first wins!”

He reached back and grasped a thick-backed chopping blade from the ground.

The minor leader who had wielded this blade possessed brute strength, and the blade was heavy. If not for his truly poor blade technique, Meng Jianqing would have had real trouble dealing with him.

Hu Jinyong was the first to give a great shout and charge down, swinging his blade.

Meng Jianqing lifted the thick-backed chopping blade, his left hand sliding lightly along the blade’s body.

Such a blade in that brute’s hands was merely a chopping tool.

But in his hands…

Meng Jianqing gave a long howl, his body rising with the blade as he leaped from the watchtower, his form spinning with the blade, stirring up layers of snow from the mountain forest. The chopping blade descended from the air through swirling dust, flying snow, withered branches, and fallen leaves.

The squad of rebel soldiers directly in its path saw their spears snap one after another. The two men in front were knocked aside by the blade’s edge, and the earth-shattering force sent them involuntarily crashing into their comrades behind them. Over ten men fell in succession, and the one who finally managed to barely block the blade’s edge was a middle-aged rebel general, though he was forced to retreat more than ten steps with his back against the cliff face to receive this strike.

His desperate block surrounded Meng Jianqing again.

Meng Jianqing leaped onto that cliff face, using the force of jumping down to strike again.

This blade strike was even more fierce and domineering, felling even more men. The snowy ground was speckled with fresh blood, severed limbs, and broken bodies, creating a heart-stopping sight. The remaining men dared not surround him again for the moment.

Meng Jianqing held his blade across his chest, studying Hu Jinyong, who was still struggling to break through on the opposite side. Should he lend Hu Jinyong a hand?

But from behind came the middle-aged rebel general’s low voice: “Who would have thought I’d see Master Yan Er’s Mountain-Splitting Slash again tonight!”

Meng Jianqing’s expression couldn’t help but change slightly as he whirled around.

The middle-aged rebel general was staring at him intently.

Having barely received that strike, the rebel general had suffered severe injuries, with dark blood continuously seeping from the corner of his mouth.

He slowly slid down the cliff face to sit on the ground, his expression mixing joy and sorrow: “Ah, after so many years, a disciple taught by Master Yan Er can execute the Mountain-Splitting Slash twice in succession—such a pity he cannot see whose heads this Mountain-Splitting Slash will claim—”

His complexion gradually turned ashen. He pressed his palms together, closed his eyes, and murmured scripture. Meng Jianqing could only understand four lines: “This world is dark, evil demons run rampant; reborn through fire, the next world brings light.”

Meng Jianqing silently watched the middle-aged man. Since obtaining Master Yan Er’s blade manual, he had learned the secret of the Yan Family’s Thirteen Slashes, emphasizing intent over form. When striking, he gradually showed signs of preserving spirit while abandoning fixed forms. But this middle-aged man still recognized the Mountain-Splitting Slash, suggesting he had been extremely familiar with Yan family blade techniques in the past.

If Master Yan Er knew all this, would he regret his choice back then?

As the recitation continued, the middle-aged man’s voice grew lower and lower, gradually becoming completely silent.

Among the rebel soldiers, a burst of painful weeping suddenly erupted, clearly showing this man was deeply beloved among them.

Meng Jianqing knew this was bad. Though these men were temporarily awed by his blade technique and didn’t dare attack rashly, such grief would make them desperate fighters—as they say, “mourning troops will surely win,” and “when one man fights desperately, ten men cannot stop him.” If they attacked again, breaking out would be difficult.

He made a snap decision, using his blade to lift the middle-aged man’s corpse and hurl it out, disrupting the rebel soldiers’ mental state and line of sight. Taking advantage of this opportunity, he swung his arm and hurled the heavy chopping blade. The blade whistled as it spun horizontally outward, and several rebel soldiers directly in its path screamed as they rolled down the mountainside, opening a passage. Meng Jianqing already had the short blade in his waistband. As his form swept forward, he slashed diagonally under the armpits of two rebel soldiers who couldn’t retreat in time, then rushed toward Hu Jinyong, who was still fighting desperately.

Hu Jinyong was fighting with rising bloodlust when Meng Jianqing followed his blade momentum and pulled him along, sending him involuntarily charging down the mountainside.

By the time they broke through the encirclement, the east was already showing white.