Chapter Three Flight

Just as Ye Feng was about to escape through the city gate, he collided head-on with a sentry left behind. The soldier immediately recognized him and thrust his spear forward. Ye Feng had no time to dodge; all he could do was shut his eyes and resign himself to fate.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. Ye Feng hurriedly opened his eyes and saw a green flying sword appear out of thin air, piercing through the soldier’s chest before vanishing as mysteriously as it had arrived. The soldier collapsed, lifeless, with that single scream. Seizing the opportunity, Ye Feng’s white horse bolted forward, carrying him out of the city gate in a flash.

Meanwhile, the cavalry that had been pursuing Li Xiong heard the commotion and wheeled around to chase after Ye Feng. From afar, they saw a lone rider fleeing the city at breakneck speed and, sensing something amiss, shouted, "Stop! You there, halt!" Their shouts only made Ye Feng’s horse run faster. Convinced the fleeing rider was up to no good, the officers spurred their mounts, galloping hard in pursuit.

Ye Feng felt his heart race as he heard the pursuit closing in. Panic-stricken, he lashed his horse desperately, praying only to escape. But the pursuing officers were well-trained, expert horsemen, and they were gaining quickly.

"Stop! If you don’t halt, we’ll shoot!" The warning rang out as the hoofbeats thundered closer. Ye Feng, now frantic, whipped his horse with all his might—only to hear a sharp crack as his whip snapped, leaving just a broken stick in his hand.

In the midst of his despair, a furious curse came from behind, echoing across the plain. "Damn it! If you’re so eager to die, don’t blame us! Archers, loose arrows!"

Suddenly, arrows rained down from behind. Ye Feng shrank into his horse, clinging tightly to its back, not daring to move. He could hear the arrows whistling past his ears, each one missing him by a hair’s breadth. Cold sweat drenched his body as he pressed close to the horse, determined that even if pierced by countless arrows, he would never be taken alive.

Then, his mount neighed sharply, reared up, and nearly threw him off. Only by gripping tightly did Ye Feng avoid being flung to the ground. The horse, now wild with terror, bolted blindly through the countryside, heedless of direction. The wind roared in Ye Feng’s ears as trees and houses flashed by on either side, the world blurring around him. The frantic ride left him dizzy and nauseous, threatening to unseat him at any moment.

How long the horse ran, Ye Feng could not tell. Eventually, the animal’s pace slowed, growing weaker with each step. Then, with a final collapse of its forelegs, it crashed heavily to the ground.

Ye Feng was caught off guard and thrown hard from the saddle, scraping his head, bruising his hands, and bloodying his legs. It was a long while before he could struggle to his feet. When he examined his mount, he saw the horse lying on its side, foam at the mouth, breathing its last. A deep arrow wound gaped in its haunch, blood long since soaked into the earth. Only now did Ye Feng realize the horse had been struck, frightened into a deadly run, and bled out.

With his horse lost and fearful the soldiers might catch up, Ye Feng had no choice but to continue on foot. He pushed forward, uncertain of his location, until a great mountain barred his path. Quickening his steps, he soon reached the mountain’s entrance.

The mountain rose tall and imposing, stretching for miles, its slopes dense with ancient trees, twisted vines, and jagged rocks—a daunting place indeed. The wind swept by, bringing a chill, as Ye Feng gazed at the rolling sea of grass, taller than a man, swaying under the breeze. He found it strangely comforting. Without hesitation, he dove into the thick undergrowth, thinking, "Even if those soldiers pursue me here, finding me in this vast mountain would be harder than reaching the heavens!"

With this safe haven, Ye Feng’s nerves gradually eased. Never in his life had he suffered such a crushing blow. The past few days had left him too tense for reflection, but now, as the pressure lifted, his thoughts swirled uncontrollably.

"How did such misfortune befall me, that I accidentally killed those two demon soldiers?" he wondered. He had always been weak, never wielded a blade, and never dreamed he would take a life. He used to believe slaying demon soldiers required great martial skill. Yet when fate placed the act upon him, it happened almost effortlessly. He had always imagined those who slew demons as heroes, yet now, having done so himself, he found himself fleeing like a stray dog.

But then, he reconsidered. "No, with my abilities, how could I have killed those demon soldiers?" He clearly recalled a force striking his knees and hands, compelling him to act beyond his will. Where had that power come from? Could it have been divine intervention?

Were it not for those mysterious forces, he would surely have perished at the hands of the demon soldiers. Yes, it must have been the heavens aiding him! Otherwise, how could a flying sword have appeared so suddenly at the city gate, vanishing without a trace?

As he pondered these mysteries, the sharp neighing of horses jarred him from his reverie. Looking down the mountain, he saw the patrol that had pursued him had arrived at its base. The officer called out, "Brothers, dismount here!"

The soldiers leapt from their horses, weapons ready.

"Search the mountain," the officer ordered. "See if there’s any sign that boy came this way."

"Yes, sir!" the men responded, waving their weapons as they plunged into the mountain.

Soon, a patrolman returned, reporting fresh tracks on a narrow path. Yet in a mountain so vast, with towering trees and dense grass, finding a single fugitive was like searching for a needle in the sea. The officer remained unhurried, raising his voice to shout, "Young Master Ye, come out! You’ve killed soldiers of the imperial army. There’s no escape for you! You might as well surrender now and spare yourself further trouble!"

Hidden in the grass, Ye Feng watched and thought, "Trying to trick me out? Keep dreaming!"

When the officer saw no response, he sneered and called again, "Young Master Ye, you can’t hide. I can see you right now!"

Ye Feng nearly laughed aloud. "Such a clumsy ruse—do you take me for a fool?"

Frustrated by the silence, the officer grew angry. "Ye brat, you think you can hide forever? If I can’t catch you, I’ll arrest your entire family and have them executed! Let’s see what you do then!"

This threat chilled Ye Feng to the core. It was his greatest fear—that his family would be implicated. If that happened, he could never forgive himself. Living would be pointless; he might as well dash himself to death right now!

He almost stood to reveal himself, then recalled: "Wait! Uncle Li said this morning that my father, seasoned in business, has already prepared a way out. How could this petty officer threaten him? This is a ploy to provoke me into surrendering! If I fall for it, wouldn’t I only add to my father’s worries?"

He shrank back, cursing the officer’s cunning. He had nearly been deceived.

Seeing no movement, the officer drew his saber and shouted, "Ye Feng, I’ll count to three. If you don’t come out, I’ll have the mountain set ablaze! When you’re burned to ashes, don’t blame me for being ruthless!"

He brandished his blade and began to count. "One!"

Ye Feng listened, cold sweat pouring down his back. He glanced at the endless grass—now late autumn, early winter. If a fire was lit, wind would stoke the flames, and the entire mountain would be consumed in no time. Even if he were made of steel, he would be melted to slag. There would be no hope of survival.

But if he surrendered, disgrace awaited him, and in the end, death would be unavoidable. Better to die here than face such humiliation.

Resolute, Ye Feng steeled himself. Even if he was burned to cinders, he would not leave the mountain.

The officer continued, "Two… Three!" Then, furious, he shouted, "You brought this on yourself! Soldiers, set the mountain alight!"

At his command, the soldiers raised their torches, ready to ignite the grass.

Suddenly, a thunderous shout interrupted them: "Hey there, you pack of curs! Don’t you dare act up here—your grandpa is here!"

With those words, a strapping youth leapt down from the mountainside. He looked around fifteen or sixteen, but stood well over two meters tall, with a burly frame, a leopard’s head, round eyes, and skin as black as iron. He carried an iron staff as thick as a bowl, which he brandished as he roared, "You little scoundrels! Setting fire to the mountain in broad daylight—what do you mean by this?!"

The officer, incensed, retorted, "Boy, we’re here to arrest a criminal. You’d best stay out of this!"

The youth laughed, hefted his iron staff, and smashed it down on a nearby boulder, shattering the stone to powder. Then he sang out, "This mountain is mine, these trees I planted! If you wish to pass, you must pay the toll! Hand over your silver, and if not, leave your weapons and horses behind!"

The officer blanched at the youth’s show of strength, but, seeing his own numbers, stuck out his neck and shouted, "Ha! So you’re a robber, too! Do you know who we are? Today, we’ll arrest you all and claim the reward!"

With that, he waved his saber and called, "Brothers, we are many—what do we have to fear? Take him!"

The soldiers dropped their torches, preparing to surround and attack the youth.

——

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