Flames surged upward, air currents rippling outward, light bursting apart as shattered limbs flew in every direction, blood and fragments spraying across the scene. Simple fire-lances did exist among the army at this time, and the Bureau of Manufacturing occasionally produced strange firearms of its own — but something capable of exploding at range like this, neither Tie Tianying, nor Zong Feixiao, nor Fan Zhong had ever seen its like before. And for most of the martial-world figures and constables present, their first instinct was to take the thing for some kind of Daoist sorcery, or perhaps outright witchcraft.

But in truth, had anyone present been able to steady themselves enough to look closely, the actual effect this shell had produced among the crowd wasn’t especially devastating. The man struck directly had half his body torn apart, while those nearby were, at most, wounded or knocked flying; most of the rest had simply been thrown to the ground by the sudden shock of air pressure. Judging strictly by results, the earlier volley of twenty-some crossbow bolts had killed two men outright — this single shell, landing perfectly within the crowd, had, by comparison, achieved a less than ideal result.

Still, it was the dead of night, and the massive report had exploded outward, echoing across the sky — how many people could possibly keep their wits about them amid such a display? Even with everyone present being seasoned fighters who had lived through no small number of battles, it still took a brief moment of hesitation before anyone reacted — and by then, a second elm-wood cannon barrel had already been mounted.

Figures scattered in confusion; Lin Ecan and the others pressed forward with all their strength toward Fang Baihua and Deng Yuanjue’s group in the side path, while the monk Tunyun and several other masters charging toward Ning Yi surged forward with everything they had, trying to circle in from a slightly angled direction to reach the front. On the slope beside the path, Tie Tianying reined in his wildly circling horse and roared out.

“Ning Liheng, have you lost your mind! When this is over, I will absolutely report you! Do you have any idea whose guarantee stands behind them, whose men these are — you fool beyond redemption—”

Ning Yi rose from where he’d been seated; behind him, the torchlight cast an enormous shadow across the ground before him. Boom! The second cannon fired at that very moment, flames shooting out a good half a zhang. Tunyun and the others hadn’t quite reached him yet — they’d avoided the direct line of the cannon’s mouth — but this shot was different from the last. Amid the flames, countless iron filings, fragments, lead pellets, and iron caltrops sprayed out in every direction.

As if by some instinctive reflex born of years of combat, Tunyun grabbed the man beside him and pulled him in front as a shield — and that man’s entire body was blown flying, blood spraying everywhere. Along the front of the mountain path, the debris rained down like a sudden downpour; even the fork in the path caught some of the spray, though by that distance, the scattered fragments had lost all their killing power.

Only the five or six men who had been charging straight toward the cannon bore the brunt of this shot. The man Tunyun had grabbed took an enormous number of iron filings and lead pellets across his body, nearly riddled through like a sieve; once he collapsed to the ground, faint stabs of pain radiated from every part of him. Tunyun himself, protected by his iron kasaya, still had his hands, feet, and forehead grazed by several fragments.

Tunyun had been among the very first to recognize Ning Yi. Having suffered a humiliating defeat back in Shandong, he’d long harbored thoughts of revenge — which was precisely why he had charged forward with such determination now. But Ning Yi, standing there, seemed to take almost no notice of these masters charging toward him, only to be blasted apart by the cannon fire. As he stood, and the cannon roared, and blood sprayed through the air, his voice rang out once more across the night sky.

“Good! The Manichaean sect’s rebellion, deceiving the hearts of the people, has always had powerful, noble houses involved behind the scenes — I told you as much days ago. Now think it over carefully — who is it, behind the scenes, helping these demonic sorcerers carry out their schemes? Chief Constable Tie, say it out loud for everyone to hear!”

“You—”

Tie Tianying pointed at Ning Yi, his eyes practically bulging with fury. At a moment like this, how could he possibly dare speak aloud the powers standing behind Sikong Nan? Zong Feixiao and Fan Zhong had already spurred their horses and men to circle toward the end of the mountain path; behind Ning Yi, the Bureau’s men strung their crossbows once more, mounted a third cannon, and lit the fuse. This shot, too, was another long-range shell.

The hollowed-out elm cannon, banded together with iron rings, was the weapon Ning Yi had spent the past half-year secretly researching and prioritizing above all else. This kind of makeshift cannon required no especially advanced technology to construct. In later ages, during the War of Resistance, when the revolutionary leaders had led the Baise Uprising, similar weapons had been used; some mountain resistance regions during the anti-Japanese war had continued using them too — a combination of somewhat elevated basic knowledge and otherwise backward production capability.

Still, this was hardly standardized equipment. Even after months of trial and testing, being able to actually fire the shells reliably still involved all manner of unpredictable risks and dangers. Too heavy a charge of gunpowder could easily cause the barrel itself to burst. On top of that, loading the shells wasn’t easy either — it normally required someone experienced to carefully inspect and pack each round, which made reloading on-site an extremely troublesome affair.

Ning Yi wouldn’t have wanted to deploy a weapon this unreliable if the situation weren’t already dire. The elm cannons he’d brought numbered only eight in total, and once fired, the residual sparks made reloading difficult without some delay. And yet, cannon by cannon, by only the fourth shot, the mountain path had already descended into total chaos, split cleanly into two separated halves.

Ning Yi hadn’t been famous in the martial world for very long, and given how closed off information travel was in this era, few people genuinely knew much about his background. When that first cannon shot had gone off, some were already asking who this was; before long, someone spoke the name, and with it came the story of the Demon of the Mind — the fall of Liangshan, the blood of tens of thousands on his hands. A wave of shock rippled through the crowd.

In the martial world, a name might be gotten wrong, but a nickname never was. A man with tens of thousands of lives on his hands — whether through scheming or seizing on circumstance, to have earned a moniker like Demon of the Mind meant he was never, ever to be trifled with. No one could have imagined that a demon of this caliber would show up here tonight, of all nights.

Lin Ecan and the others, chasing their targets, charged from the side path further into the distant mountain woods, while behind them, the Manichaean followers and martial-world figures who had been left behind on the straight path began circling around from all sides. Some had thought of going for Ning Yi directly, but with the fighting already so chaotic, and Tie Tianying, Zong Feixiao, and the others having already closed in on him, the two sides — several hundred against a mere twenty — settled into a tense standoff.

“Ning Yi, acting so recklessly today — you will surely regret this one day!”

“It’s you who are the reckless fools! The Manichaean sect deceives and manipulates the hearts of the people through every trick imaginable, and you actually trust these demonic sorcerers — utterly shortsighted, utterly foolish beyond words!”

“We’re using these people — how do you know it isn’t simply expedience on our part! Just as we’re about to complete the mission, you dare interfere! Ning Liheng, if you hate the Manichaean followers so much, why did you only strike at Sikong Nan’s side! Explain yourself—”

“Fool! Right now one side is weak, the other strong — of course I support the weak against the strong, so the two sides tear each other apart! In fact, I have a question for you. Escorting Fang Qifo to the capital was your mission — so why has he now been rescued by someone? Your whole scheme was a mess, no sense of priorities at all! Absolutely idiotic!”

“My Ministry of Justice conducts its own affairs — how dare your Bureau presume to dictate to us!”

“I’d rather not have to — but for permitting the Manichaean followers to run free, I will absolutely report this to Chancellor Qin!”

The whole scene of pursuit and flight had already dissolved into chaos, and Ning Yi’s group pressed forward in that direction as well, arguing with Tie Tianying and the others even as they advanced. A portion of the Manichaean followers had originally intended to strike at Ning Yi’s side, but seeing the Bureau’s men marching alongside the Ministry of Justice’s constables, they immediately loosed arrows the moment the two groups drew close — and in doing so, inevitably struck some of the Ministry’s own men as well. This small clash between the two sides instantly turned the situation deeply sensitive, and by this point, the once-tenuous cooperation between the two former allies had finally broken down into outright mutual distrust.

Torchlight scattered across the scene; as they pursued the fight up to a mountainside, Ning Yi had his men set up another cannon, pointing down at Wang Nantuo below and shouting, “Blow those bastards to pieces!” Wang Nantuo, glancing that way, cursed and dodged aside; a shell exploded on the ground nearby, but this time it failed to injure anyone.

At that same moment, a cry rang out, and a monk’s staff clattered to the ground — it was Deng Yuanjue, who had been holding off both Lin Ecan and Sikong Nan at once, finally struck down, his skull shattered by a fist and a blade driven into his belly, collapsing onto the road. Xigua and the others had wanted to save him, but in the end, they hadn’t managed to reach him in time.

By this point in the fighting, whether it was Chen Fan, Xigua, or Fang Baihua, all of them had already been pushed to the very edge of exhaustion by their wounds and fatigue. However Ning Yi had managed to intervene and stir up the situation, their side remained, in every sense, at an overwhelming disadvantage. The mountain valley in the night ran deep, firelight spreading behind them, the endless pursuit seeming to have no end. Even as Xigua fought on with all her strength, swinging and slashing, she occasionally caught glimpses of that distant figure.

She hadn’t seen that man in so long. In secret, she had imagined countless times how it might feel when the two of them finally crossed paths again — but now that it had truly happened, all she’d been given was a brief, fleeting glance across tens of zhang of distance. The man known throughout the martial world as the Demon of the Mind ran through that chaos, disrupting the Manichaean forces’ rear formation, throwing everything into disarray. He remained, as ever, full of overwhelming presence, wild and unpredictable, leaving everyone unable to read his true intentions. But in her heart, she understood — this man was doing everything in his power, with everything he had, to try to turn this desperate situation around.

She remembered, over a year ago, the standoff between them amid the explosive flames in Hangzhou — it had felt, in some way, much like this.

But out here in the martial world, sometimes all a person can do is try their best. You cannot see the road ahead, nor can you gauge what lies behind you. In the past, she had never let such things weigh on her, had done her best to put them out of mind entirely — but now, standing here with a bandage wrapped around her head, her whole body aching with exhaustion and pain, she found herself wishing, more than anything, that all of this could simply stop for a moment, that she might be able to draw close to him, to exchange even just a few words.

But a moment later, a faint glimmer of hope appeared before them.

The mountain slope stretched upward, and at its very peak, an old, weathered suspension bridge came into view.

Amid the chaos, the first few fleeing figures were already rushing toward the bridge. The man carrying Fang Qifo on his back was about to run for the suspension bridge as well, when suddenly Fang Qifo tugged at him. “A’Hu, we’re staying here! Stop!”

The man carrying him, named Zhuo Hu, was in his thirties and one of Fang Qifo’s closest and most trusted confidants. He hesitated slightly. “But…”

“I have a plan of my own! Chen Fan!”

Chen Fan came running up. “Master, you need to cross the bridge quickly…”

“Never mind me! I have a plan — go on ahead and hold the far end of the bridge, be ready to cut it at any moment!”

By this point, Fang Qifo’s voice had finally regained a measure of vigor. Chen Fan understood at once that although the suspension bridge could be used, there needed to be someone stationed at each end — otherwise, if the enemy cut the bridge behind them while their own people were only halfway across, everyone still on it would be doomed. He ran off toward the bridge at once. Behind him, Lin Ecan and the others had already caught up, clashing violently with Fang Baihua’s group, who tried to hold them back.

Firelight suddenly surged and burst apart across the night sky; several of the Manichaean masters were caught in the blast and sent flying, and one of Fang Baihua’s men was caught in it too. Lin Ecan turned to look and saw, on the flank of the mountainside, Ning Liheng had already dismounted, directing his men to line up several more of those strange cannons in a row. The terrain here, where the mountain path connected to the suspension bridge, had already begun to narrow — if several of those shells landed together, it was clear the enemy meant to wipe everyone out in one go.

In an instant, Lin Ecan’s gaze swept across everyone around him. A genuinely exceptional talent himself, in that single moment of thought, he suddenly shouted, “Move! Circle around!” — leading the group toward the other side of the slope.

Though this side of the mountain looked steep, with a deep ravine and river below, it was still possible to circle around via the flank — the water here wasn’t especially deep or swift, and a detour that way remained viable. Lin Ecan understood that the moment he pulled back, Zong Feixiao and the others would surely press forward — and even that Demon of the Mind, however deranged, wouldn’t go so far as to indiscriminately bombard the Ministry of Justice’s own men. If the enemy lost some of their number here at the suspension bridge, and he circled around himself, there would only be a small remaining group left to deal with in the end. Reasoned out this way, the plan was clear enough — but the bitterness churning in his heart in that instant was, in truth, almost impossible to put into words.

Sure enough, the moment Lin Ecan and his men opened up the gap, the constables and soldiers began surging forward. Zong Feixiao roared toward Ning Yi, “If you dare pull anything reckless, I’ll kill you myself!”

At the suspension bridge, Fang Qifo said to Zhuo Hu, “This is as far as I go. A’Hu, set me down. Go, quickly.”

Zhuo Hu understood in an instant. With only a few zhang left to the bridge, he turned to run toward it. Behind him, Fang Qifo, without the slightest hesitation, raised his left hand — a dagger pressed against Zhuo Hu’s throat, and in a single flash, drew it across.

“I’m sorry…”

Chen Fan and the others, looking over from the bridge, saw Zhuo Hu take his first step to run before blood suddenly sprayed outward, his body tumbling forward. Fang Qifo, too, toppled to the ground, rolling once. This sudden turn of events drew nearly everyone’s attention at once, though most had no idea yet what had actually happened. Fang Qifo, his upper body struggling to sit up, raised his still-mobile left hand toward Chen Fan — a dagger clutched within it.

“Go.” The final words of this grandmaster-level fighter rang out clear across the night sky. “From now on, walk your own path!”

On the slope to the side, Sikong Nan and Lin Ecan turned their heads. A few zhang away, Fang Baihua’s group, still preparing to meet the enemy, turned as well. Xigua and the others, who had already reached the suspension bridge, turned too. And far off in the mountain woods, a hidden figure suddenly furrowed his brow — it was Wang Yin.

“Don’t come any closer!” Fang Qifo pressed the dagger to his own throat, his final words ringing out. “Come any closer, and I’ll kill myself right now!”

The constables charging forward from not far away hesitated, if only for the briefest instant; Zong Feixiao and Tie Tianying hesitated too. All the way north on this journey, they had striven with everything they had to keep Fang Qifo alive, to deliver him to the capital for trial — if he died here, the consequences could spiral in any number of directions. For that instant, time itself, and even the wind across the mountainside, seemed to freeze. And in that stillness, a figure approached Fang Qifo from the side.

Zhu Biao’s long spear shielded that figure as he moved, crossbow bolts finding their marks with precise accuracy along the way. The figure walked up to Fang Qifo’s side and, beneath the moonlight, raised his blade.

“Enough with the dragging your feet—”

Blood shot upward into the night sky. Fang Qifo’s head, which had still been sweeping across the surrounding mountains and the crowd around him, turned slightly to the side in that very instant, his gaze clear and unclouded. As the war blade cut through his neck, it also knocked away the dagger that had been pressed against it. The scholar stood there, holding the severed head, his gaze sweeping across the crowd nearby, down toward the crowd below, across the suspension bridge, across the Overlord Blade camp’s assembled men, across Liu Xigua, across Chen Fan — his eyes and his tone as cold and indifferent as frost.

Then the body fell. He raised the severed head and looked at it once. In the distance, Lin Ecan’s mouth fell open; below, fury surged in the eyes of Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao. Not far off, Fang Baihua, spear already raised, was about to charge forward, a grief-stricken, furious cry not yet escaping her lips. Chen Fan’s hands curled into fists; he took two steps forward, his mind utterly blank.

“Ha… ah—”

On the suspension bridge not far away, the young woman suddenly arched her body, letting out a cry of anguish and heartbreak, raw and searing. What that cry carried was, perhaps, not merely grief over Fang Qifo’s death — within it, too, was a tangle of complicated emotion that perhaps only the two of them could truly understand, echoing now across the night sky…

Light shone into the past, and shone once more into the present. Ning Yi, holding the severed head, turned around, his cold gaze no longer looking back that way…