At that moment the sky had darkened and the moon ascended into view. At the foot of the mountain, countless overlapping tree canopies merged into an inky expanse. A barely visible path wound its way upward, flanked by clusters of thorny bushes and wild undergrowth. High on a plateau midway along the slope, only a few giant pine trees stood against the night wind, gently swaying as sparse blades of grass and scattered rocks revealed themselves in the pale light.
Hidden among the shadows, the Strategist had been carefully watching Li Yan. Just moments earlier, when Li Yan had stooped to pick up his overturned water bag, the Strategist noticed something amiss. The rock beside Li Yan looked distinctly different in the moonlight—a patch where the color was slightly deeper, undoubtedly darkened by the water that had spilled and soaked its surface. Of course, such a spot would naturally stand out from its drier surroundings.
In that instant, though he was about to look away, a subtle intuition made the Strategist's heart skip. He fixed his gaze once more on that spot. Concentrating every bit of his spiritual power, his eyes—now as sharp under moonlight as they ever were in full day—caught a fleeting glimmer. It appeared that water droplets, still clinging to something beneath, were reflecting the moon's glow. The distance, however, prevented him from discerning any clear detail with his current strength. Lowering his eyes, he surveyed the area at the mountain's foot and the plateau above. He calculated silently: from the base upward there were hardly any tall trees—just low, sprawling clusters of thorny bushes whose branches, pressed firmly against the ground, interwove to hide whatever might lie beneath. Only near the foot of the mountain did a few taller trees remain intact, offering a better view.
With catlike agility, the Strategist leaped from the thick canopy of one such large tree. Like an artful squirrel, he descended in a series of fluid, graceful bounds. In just a few quick jumps he reached the ground beneath one of the taller trees at the mountain's base. There, he selected a tree that afforded him the finest view of Li Yan's position and began climbing it once again, his movements as light and silent as a whisper in the night.
Li Yan himself was seated on a large rock, leaning casually against the trunk of a pine. His eyes were closed in feigned slumber, but his entire being was alert. He had raised his spiritual power to its maximum, listening intently to every sound in his surroundings. For more than two days, he had stayed in this secluded valley. Yet just moments ago, he had felt a sudden prickling suspicion—as though unseen eyes were watching him. Although he had neither heard a sound nor caught sight of any creature moving about, that one fleeting instant shattered the delicate balance he had come to trust in the natural order of this place.
"Could that be him?" he thought bitterly. "It's a pity my 'Gui Shui Zhen Jing' has only reached its mid-stage peak. If I could break through to the next level—if I were allowed to project my spirit outward—my chances of staying alive would be far higher."
Over the past several months of relentless cultivation, Li Yan's spiritual power had grown at an astonishing pace. He had become well acquainted with the many facets of the celestial art known as Gui Shui Zhen Jing. Because this technique was rooted in the interplay of the five elements, its practitioner's power naturally surpassed that of his peers. Whereas an ordinary cultivator might only manage to extend his spirit outward upon reaching the third tier of the Qi Condensation stage, Li Yan could already project his spirit as soon as he broke through to the second tier.
At this juncture, a new worry stirred in the Strategist's mind. "It wasn't Hong Linying," he reasoned sharply. "I remember—I deliberately passed him the 'Qi Xi Yin Dao Shu', masquerading it as the first layer of 'Mu Yin Gong.' Those formulas are genuine, and in such a short span he wouldn't be able to discern any falsehood. Granted, he lacks a profound spiritual root, so he won't be especially sensitive to its subtleties, but even so, if he senses that the secret manual is authentic, he will no doubt recognize its extraordinary potential. Knowing his reckless martial temperament, it's only a matter of time before he comes barging over to wrest for the later techniques. That must mean the strange sensation I just experienced is because Ji Wenhe has already tracked his way here. Even if it was merely a momentary flicker, the signal is clear: Ji Wenhe has arrived, while Hong Linying is still nowhere in sight. I may be forced to face him alone."
With that thought, the Strategist shifted back into the treetops. Although the tree he now occupied was not nearly as towering as those he had used earlier for an ambush, it still granted him a rough view of the plateau—and his distance to it was much reduced. A faint, dark smile played upon his features as he realized the truth: "So it is the 'Qiang Jiao Nu' that he's been handed. Hong Linying dares to give him such a weapon—truly ruthless. In careless hands, this contraption would spell disaster."
The "Qiang Jiao Nu" was no ordinary weapon. It was fashioned from several strands of ordinary beast sinew intricately braided into a bowstring and mounted on a compact assembly. Concealed within its small compartment were seven potent crossbow mechanisms, each preloaded with a bolt. Its killing power was terrifying—about five or six times that of a standard bow or two to three times that of an average crossbow bolt. Originally, it required three or four men to draw it; a cumbersome arrangement indeed. However, ingenious military craftsmen later refined its design so that even a cultivator skilled in inner martial arts could operate it single-handedly. Still, even then a mediocre martial artist would probably manage to fire only three bolts in succession. An even further improvement added a concave groove to the device, one deep enough to accommodate an adult's forefoot. In this configuration, even a normal person could trigger it by force of leg strength, and so it came to be known as the "Qiang Jiao Nu" or "Powerful Foot Crossbow."
Such a portable weapon, with its enormous lethality, posed a mortal threat—even to an immortal cultivator. An ordinary practitioner below the Foundation Establishment stage had not only a limited amount of spiritual power and rudimentary celestial techniques, but his physical toughness was only marginally superior to that of a normal mortal. A direct hit from such a weapon, even if it were scarcely deflected, would be fatal. Of course, some cultivators devote themselves to refining their bodies, and even at the Qi Condensation stage such practitioners develop extraordinary resilience; but the degree of hardness varies with the particular methods they employ.
Peering intently at a small section of the terrain, the Strategist noted that the "Qiang Jiao Nu" was cunningly concealed in the narrow crevice between a huge rock and the ground. Conceived to allow for a swift, secretive draw without arousing suspicion, only a small segment of its bowstring was visible. Yet fate had intervened—Li Yan's clumsy knock of his water bag had sent droplets cascading onto that very string. Had Li Yan not noticed the subtle flash of light from those water droplets, he might have unwittingly triggered its deadly mechanism. In that thought, the Strategist's heart boiled with contempt for Hong Linying; how dare he entrust such a lethal instrument to Li Yan?
From his new vantage point, the Strategist surveyed the low, thorny undergrowth that stretched from the base of the mountain upward. His mind calculated that he was still over 200 zhang away from the midway plateau. With a further stealthy advance of perhaps another 100 zhang, he was certain he could be upon Li Yan before the latter had a chance to recover. Yet as he mulled over the plan, his frown gradually eased. In his mind, now that he had located Li Yan, all that remained was to wait for the right moment.
That moment, he realized, would come when Li Yan's guard finally slipped in exhaustion. Even someone at the third tier of the Qi Condensation stage—as the Strategist himself was—could not entirely forgo sleep in favor of meditative cultivation. Li Yan, at the very dawn of the Qi Condensation stage, was even more vulnerable.
So Li Yan sat upon that rock as the night deepened within the valley. The moon above grew colder and brighter, and drowsiness crept over him. Slowly, his body relaxed further as he leaned against the pine, his eyelids succumbing to sleep. Meanwhile, high in the tree, the Strategist fixed his unblinking gaze upon Li Yan. Now well past midnight, he watched as Li Yan's closed eyes signaled the onset of deep sleep. Seizing this lull, the Strategist allowed his own eyes to droop, regulating his breathing and drawing in spiritual energy. These past two nights had been fraught with tension and frantic movement—even a cultivator of his caliber felt the burden of fatigue.
Convinced at last that Li Yan had truly fallen asleep, the Strategist began quietly gathering his strength. In fact, the very act of him settling into a meditative stance seemed only to lull Li Yan ever deeper into his slumber. Half an hour later, the Strategist slowly opened his eyes again. Having watched Li Yan for a few precious seconds, he abruptly stole away from his perch on the treetop. In a series of swift, ghostlike movements, he flashed along the mountain path—appearing here and then vanishing there—with only the gentle rustle of passing thorny branches betraying his progress.
As he advanced, the plateau on the mid-mountain came steadily into clearer view. Li Yan's form grew more distinct with each measured step. Quietly calculating the distances, the Strategist concluded that in just a couple of measured breaths, he could be right at Li Yan's side. Yet as he took in the sight of Li Yan, peacefully sleeping against the tree, an inexplicable unease began to well up inside him.
"How can a man sleep so unguardedly in this valley?" he wondered darkly. Even if this place were mysteriously void of dangerous beasts, the closer he drew—and the more clearly he could study Li Yan's sleeping posture—the stronger the foreboding grew. Spurred by this rising alarm, the Strategist suddenly summoned a torrent of spiritual energy into his legs. No longer would he hide his presence; he was ready to strike.
In that very instant, as if on cue, Li Yan's eyes snapped open. They were bloodshot with determination. In a single fluid motion, he lowered his body; his hand and foot darted toward the space beneath a nearby rock. In that split second it appeared that he was poised to execute a prearranged move—a grab, a set maneuver, and then a release—that would secure the device he so desperately needed.
However, the Strategist was not caught unawares. Still suspended mid-air from his earlier descent, he noticed Li Yan's sudden alertness and cursed inwardly, "Not good!" In the blink of an eye—faster than one could count breaths—he altered his trajectory and lunged directly toward the concealed location of the "Qiang Jiao Nu."
There was scarcely time to recount all the rapid movements that followed. In a mere heartbeat, as Li Yan's hand made contact with the bowstring and was about to firmly seize and pull it, the Strategist's dark robes whipped about as he pounced. With both hands twisted into claw-like grips, he reached simultaneously for two targets: one hand extended to snare Li Yan's outstretched wrist while his other surged for the bowstring wedged in the crevice between rock and ground.
Startled, Li Yan's eyes flew open in disbelief. How could he now risk seizing the "Qiang Jiao Nu" under these circumstances? In one fluid, desperate motion, he retracted his arm and kicked off the ground with his toe, tumbling clumsily sideways in an effort to evade the looming threat.
For a moment the Strategist's first grasp found nothing—perhaps the fault lay in his attempt to seize two objects at once, hampered by the limits of his reach. Yet even as he faltered with one hand, his other had already latched firmly onto the exposed portion of the bowstring in that narrow gap. Nearly spent from his exertions, his body hit the ground with a muted thud. With a swift pull outward and a tap of his foot against the earth, he sought to wrest control of the deadly crossbow and then, in one agile return leap, close in on Li Yan once again.
At that very moment, Li Yan had rolled only a short distance away from the rock's surface. He had not yet risen to his feet, and thus was vulnerable—only one decisive move would be required for the Strategist to be directly in front of him. But fate, as ever, held yet another twist.
Just then, the Strategist suddenly felt an unexpected tightening in his leg. A tremendous force grasped him from head to toe, hoisting him upward. In the span of a heartbeat he found himself airborne once more. Then came a dreadful, resounding "crack!" His body's descent abruptly accelerated, and before he could even register what was happening, he hurtled downward along the cliff behind the pine—as fast as a meteor plummeting to earth.
That unforeseen turn of events sent shock coursing through the Strategist's veins. In the ensuing chaos he felt his head spin, the roar of wind filling his ears, as he continued to plummet toward the rocky precipice. In scarcely one or two measured breaths, he had descended some seven or eight zhang.
Yet, even amidst this sudden crisis, the Strategist was not entirely undone. Regaining just a fraction of his composure, he snapped his fingers, conjuring a sharp, arcing gust of wind—a blade of force launched toward his feet. At that moment, his descent slowed dramatically. Seizing the fleeting opportunity, he flung out his other hand like a bolt of lightning, grasping at the face of the cliff. With a dull "thump" as his fingers dug into the firm granite, he anchored himself. With a powerful pull, he yanked his body upward. His toe found purchase on a small protruding ledge, and with that, he managed to haul himself up another zhang. In a rapid succession of careful footholds along the rugged cliff face, he eventually found himself back at the edge, atop the rocky ledge.
At that moment he could faintly hear the sound of something heavy crashing at the valley's bottom—a grim reminder that the drop was no less than a hundred zhang. No sooner had he secured his position than his eyes caught a sudden movement: a figure was dashing downward along the mountain's slope. It turned out that Li Yan, who had earlier peeked over the cliff's edge to survey his surroundings, had noticed that the Strategist's plunge had been limited, only seven or eight zhang. In response, Li Yan had hastily invoked a celestial technique to sever a chunk of the massive stone beneath his feet and surge upward again. Instantly, he knew something was terribly wrong.
Infuriated, the Strategist roared, "Disobedient brat, where do you think you're running off to?" His voice, heavy with anger and lethal intent, reverberated through the forest valley and set the birds in the trees into a frenzied flight. At the sound of his shout, Li Yan's heart pounded wildly. In an instant, panic overtook him, and without a moment's hesitation he bolted toward a thicket of thorny bushes along the winding mountain path. In his desperate scramble down the slope, he paid scant attention to the cutting thorns; he only focused on putting as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuer.
The Strategist, however, was not so easily deterred. With another cold, disdainful snort, he thrust himself into the air once again in pursuit. Li Yan, using every ounce of his desperate energy, tumbled in a wild, haphazard roll down the mountain. His speed was astonishing in his flight downward. One leap after another, the Strategist struggled to intercept him. After several tense moments—after a few more measured breaths—Li Yan neared the mountain's foot. The Strategist had finally managed to catch up behind him. In that critical moment, Li Yan's tattered black cloak, ripped and in disarray from his frantic escape, came to a sudden halt as he stumbled upright. Without the benefit of the forest's concealment, Li Yan had exposed himself.
Hanging momentarily in mid-air, the Strategist's eyes blazed with lethal intent. He fletted his fingers once more, and out shot a brilliant blue arc—a wind blade directed straight at Li Yan's leg. In that instant, his intent was unmistakable: he aimed to sever Li Yan's leg and thus cripple his escape.
For his part, Li Yan had concentrated all his remaining spiritual power into his body. Although the frantic descent had left him with numerous bruises and cuts, these were only superficial; his internal organs were safeguarded by the protective force of his spiritual energy. In the very moment he rose to his feet—just as he was about to plunge into the cover of the trees—he sensed, with an almost preternatural awareness, a razor-sharp force streaking toward his leg. Alarm shot through him like lightning. Instantly, he channeled his spiritual energy into his leg and, with a desperate twist of his body, attempted to dodge the attack. In that split second, the uncontrolled twist forced an abrupt jolt through his internal organs—a squeezing sensation that nearly made him faint. Then came an agonizing pain in his leg; when he glanced downward, he saw a flash of blue—a wind blade that had merely grazed his thigh, slicing away a large chunk of flesh. Although his reflexes had been swift, both in terms of martial ability and combat experience his skills paled in comparison to the seasoned expertise of the Strategist, who had even employed celestial techniques in his assault. The strike did not entirely sever Li Yan's leg, yet it robbed him of a great deal of flesh and left him weakened.
With a stifled groan, Li Yan's strength in that leg failed him, and he collapsed to the ground. The Strategist, meanwhile, regarded the sight with a dark, satisfied smile as he stepped steadily forward.