I had no intention of entering the martial world.

Chapter 12 The Mountain Road is Like Blood

When we left Zhongnan Mountain, it was still dark.

Lu Chenzhou carried a small bundle containing two sets of clothes, the dry rations given to him by Lu Jinghong, and the scroll of "Qimin Yaoshu"—the old man said he could read it if he was bored on the road. His iron sword was wrapped in coarse cloth and slung diagonally behind him, the hilt protruding from his shoulder, gleaming with a dark light in the morning light.

He took one last look at the thatched hut. The door was closed, the window paper was dark, and Lu Jinghong was probably still asleep, or perhaps he was awake but didn't want to come out to say goodbye.

That's fine. It saves us from all those pretentious scenes.

He turned around and walked down the mountain along the path he had come from.

The mountain path was quiet. Morning dew dampened my shoes and socks, making a soft rustling sound as I stepped on the fallen leaves. Occasionally, an early bird would startle and take flight from the woods, its fluttering wings breaking the silence. The air was filled with the fresh scent of grass and trees, mixed with the slightly earthy smell; it smelled… odorless.

Lu Chenzhou touched his lips. Two months had passed, and his sense of taste had completely disappeared. Now even his sense of smell was becoming dulled; these scents that should have been rich and intense smelled as if through a veil.

The consequences are gradually being realized.

He kept walking. His mind was calculating: from the platform to the foot of the mountain, it was about thirty li of mountain road; at his current speed, he could reach it before noon. There was a small village called "Wild Boar Ridge" at the foot of the mountain where he could rest and replenish his provisions. Then he would continue south, along the Han River, past Anlu, and then east…

The roadmap unfolded clearly in my mind, like a precise map.

Just then, I heard voices coming from ahead.

It was very faint, mixed with shouts and cries, coming from the dense forest behind the bend in the mountain path.

Lu Chenzhou paused in his steps.

In his record of good deeds, Lu Jinghong annotated the second point with a vermilion pen: "When faced with a situation, first think of a way not to kill."

He frowned, but didn't stop walking. Turning the corner, the scene before him made him stop.

In a small clearing in the woods, five men in tattered fur coats, their faces grimacing, surrounded an old man lying on the ground. The old man was about sixty years old, dressed in rags, with a broken bamboo basket on his back containing some freshly picked herbs. He was curled up on the ground, his hands covering his head, his body and face covered in footprints and blood.

A one-eyed man was kicking him, cursing, "Old bastard! You won't listen to reason! You think you can get away with this? You dare to run away?"

A scarred man squatted down beside him, grabbed the old man by the hair, and lifted him up, grinning maliciously: "I heard you've been gathering herbs in these mountains your whole life, and you know them very well? Then take us to a place—above the waterfall in Zhongnan Mountain, isn't there an old, immortal swordsman living there?"

The old man's face was covered in blood, his lips trembled, but he gritted his teeth and remained silent.

Scarface grew impatient and slapped him across the face: "Are you mute?"

The old man's head was knocked to the side by the blow, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, but he still didn't say anything.

Lu Chenzhou stood at the edge of the woods, watching quietly.

The five men were burly, but their steps were unsteady and their stances were weak; they were likely local bandits or outlaws. They carried crude weapons such as machetes and short sticks, except for the one-eyed man who had a short knife tucked into his waistband.

Assessment complete. Chances of victory: 100%. Time taken: 10 breaths.

What should he do?

Do good deeds? Save the old man? But Lu Jinghong said, mind your own business and get to Jiangling as soon as possible.

Regardless? But that old man... He thought of the villagers at the foot of Zhongnan Mountain, of Granny Zhou, and of the old man in Wangjiazhuang who was forced to sell his daughter.

The wasteland in my heart remains silent.

But then he suddenly remembered Lu Jinghong's words: "Remember that you still have things you 'should' do."

What should we do?

he does not know.

By this time, Scarface had lost his patience. He drew a short knife from his waist and pressed it against the old man's throat: "I'll ask you one last time, will you lead the way or not?"

The old man closed his eyes, his withered body trembling slightly, yet he still shook his head.

"Damn it!" A fierce glint flashed in the scarred man's eyes, and he was about to tighten his grip on his wrist—

"stop."

The sound was not loud, even somewhat bland, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet forest.

The five men turned their heads at the same time and looked at Lu Chenzhou.

Scarface squinted, scrutinizing the suddenly appearing young man from head to toe. Dressed in coarse cloth and carrying a bundle, he looked like a poor scholar on the road. But those eyes… were too calm, so calm it was unsettling.

"Where did you come from, kid?" the one-eyed man asked gruffly. "Mind your own business and get lost!"

Lu Chenzhou ignored him. He walked to the center of the open space and his gaze fell on the old man. The old man opened his eyes a crack, his cloudy eyes filled with fear and despair, and a trace of...pleading.

"What does he owe you?" Lu Chenzhou asked.

"None of your business!" Scarface spat. "If you know what's good for you, get lost, or I'll take care of you too!"

Lu Chenzhou nodded, as if accepting this explanation. Then he took off the bundle from his back, carefully placed it aside, and untied the coarse cloth that had been wrapped around his sword.

The iron sword revealed its true form. Its jet-black blade was devoid of any decoration, its only feature being a cold, hard texture in the morning light.

The five men's expressions changed. Although they were rough and uncouth, they still had some discernment—that sword was no mere decoration.

"Brother...brother," the one-eyed man's tone softened, "we'll keep to ourselves, but this old bastard is the man we need. Could you do me a favor?"

Lu Chenzhou didn't speak. He simply gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.

The first time I held a real sword in combat, the feel was unfamiliar, but... it wasn't bad. The weight of the sword, its length, the curvature of the blade, all seemed to come alive and become one with me the moment I grasped it.

He recalled the "intention" that Lu Jinghong had taught him.

What's the intention?

Are they saving this old man? Why are they saving him? Because they "should"? Or because... something else?

he does not know.

But he knew that at this moment, his mind was focused on the tip of the sword.

"Let's all come at once," he said.

The voice remained flat, as if saying, "The weather is nice today."

The five men exchanged a glance, their eyes flashing with murderous intent. Having spent years licking blood from the wounds of their lives, they despised this kind of pretentious posturing.

"You're asking for death!" Scarface was the first to pounce, his short knife aimed straight at Lu Chenzhou's heart!

His movements were ruthless and fast, but full of flaws.

Lu Chenzhou didn't even move. He simply flipped his wrist, and the iron sword slashed upwards at an angle.

"Ding!"

The short knife was parried by the sword, and Scarface felt a great force coming from it. His hand trembled violently, and the short knife flew out of his hand! Before he could react, Lu Chenzhou's left foot had already silently kicked him in the back of the knee.

"Snap!"

A crisp sound of bone cracking. Scarface screamed and fell to his knees.

The other four finally reacted and charged forward, roaring. Machetes, short sticks, and even a rusty axe were hurled at Lu Chenzhou in a chaotic flurry.

Lu Chenzhou advanced instead of retreating.

He moved. Not very fast, but every step was perfectly timed. A woodcutter's axe came at him, he dodged to the side, and the hilt of his sword struck the other man's wrist; a short stick swept at him, he ducked to avoid it, and the tip of his sword lightly touched the other man's ankle; an axe came down on his head, he parried with his sword, and with a clang, the axe was knocked away, and the man holding the axe staggered backward.

Then, he saw the gap.

The one-eyed man's mind wavered for a fleeting moment when his companion fell to the ground. Though it was only for a moment, it was enough.

Lu Chenzhou turned his sword tip and thrust it straight at the one-eyed man's throat!

Fast! Accurate! Ruthless!

This is the "Throat Lock" move from the "Seven Killings Style," but it's executed with a sword.

The one-eyed man's pupils constricted sharply, and he desperately tilted his head back, but the sword tip followed like a shadow, about to pierce him—

"Young hero, spare my life!"

A mournful cry.

The sword tip stopped three inches from the throat.

Lu Chenzhou sheathed his sword, took a step back, and looked at the one-eyed man kneeling on the ground, his face ashen.

"Who sent you?" he asked.

"It's...it's Master Zhao's men from town!" The one-eyed man kowtowed repeatedly. "They said there's an old man in Zhongnan Mountain who knows the whereabouts of some treasure, and they sent us to capture someone to lead the way...We're just trying to make a living, young hero, please spare our lives!"

Master Zhao. Zhao Wanshan.

Lu Chenzhou's gaze turned colder.

"roll."

A single word, as if fished out of an ice cellar.

The five men, feeling as if they had been granted a pardon, scrambled to their feet, helped Scarface up, and fled into the woods in a disheveled state, not even daring to pick up the weapons on the ground.

Lu Chenzhou didn't chase after him. He walked to the old man's side and squatted down.

The old man was still curled up, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Lu Chenzhou reached out to help him, but the old man suddenly flinched, his eyes filled with terror.

"Don't be afraid," Lu Chenzhou said, keeping his voice as soft as possible, "They're gone."

The old man slowly raised his head, his cloudy eyes looking at him, his lips trembling, but he couldn't speak.

Lu Chenzhou took out a water pouch from his bundle and handed it to the old man. The old man took it, drank a few mouthfuls with trembling hands, and choked, coughing repeatedly.

"Can you walk?" Lu Chenzhou asked.

The old man nodded, struggled to stand up, but his legs gave way and he fell back to the ground.