Bright Sword: Conquer the monk at the beginning and take down Zhou Weiguo

Upon hearing the name, Old Ma's eyelids twitched, and he whispered, "Last night, a young man came from the back mountain. He didn't go into the house, but stood by the woods and stared at the eaves of my house for half an hour. I didn't dare to go out, but I peeked through the window. It looked like Little Tiger."

What did he say?

He didn't say anything, just stood there. It was as if he was waiting for someone, or as if he was... saying goodbye.

These four words struck Qin Cang's heart like a stone thrown into a lake, creating countless ripples.

"bid farewell?"

“I don’t understand either. It’s just that look in his eyes. It doesn’t look like he’s going home. It’s more like he’s finished something and is about to leave.”

Qin Cang didn't ask any more questions, turned around and left, his steps heavy.

After taking two steps, he suddenly turned back, took out two strips of dried meat from his pocket and handed them to Old Ma, saying, "Lend me a piece of parchment and some charcoal."

Old Ma hesitated for a moment, but still did as he was told. Before long, Qin Cang drew the terrain from the ridge of Old Camel Ridge to the drainage outlet on the parchment. Every line under the gray charcoal pen was as precise as if cut by a knife. Old Ma's eyes were dazzled, but he dared not ask any questions.

After he finished drawing, he folded the map and hid it in his waistband. Then, he said in a deep voice, "If I don't return by midnight tonight, burn this paper."

Old Ma frowned: "Your words are frightening."

"That should scare me," Qin Cang said in a low voice. "Someone wants to kill me. I need to leave myself a way out."

Back in the forest, he didn't immediately return to Old Camel Ridge, but instead chose a high ridge to lie in wait. Gazing at the possible ambush location of Little Tiger, he could clearly see faint, interwoven lights shining deep within the foliage. Yet, his heart grew increasingly calm.

"Little Tiger," he murmured to himself.

He suddenly remembered years ago, when Xiao Hu was on night duty for the first time. He was so sleepy he could barely keep his eyes open, so he deliberately hid in the shadows and threw a pebble at his feet. Xiao Hu was startled and immediately woke up, his hand holding the gun trembling three times. The next day, he confidently said, "Brother Qin, don't worry, I will never doze off again."

The boy is no longer the same as before; in his place is a seasoned master of setting traps, luring enemies, and deploying formations. Yet, in Qin Cang's heart, that person still retains a childlike innocence, with eyes as clear as if washed by a mountain spring.

As darkness fell completely and a wind rose in the forest, the firelight was well concealed, but Qin Cang still counted six bright spots and determined the approximate distribution of troops.

He wouldn't make the first move that night. He would wait.

His heart, however, was not as calm as the sweat.

The image of Xiaohu was branded onto his mind like a fire, impossible to shake off. From the moment they met, that child had been the one who stayed by his side the longest. He wasn't good with words, but his eyes held a light, a fire, and a sincere desire to follow. He taught him how to fire a gun, how to set up formations, and even how to stand motionless like a mountain in the wind.

But now, he is the one standing in the wind, while Xiao Hu is hiding behind it.

Even so, he knew that at this moment, he could not doubt the people around him.

Suspicion is a sharp blade. If a sharp blade is wielded recklessly, it will first cut one's own sinews and bones.

He closed his eyes, silently counted his breaths, and calmed himself down. He thought of Liu San—that seemingly cunning but actually shrewd fellow. He should still be circling down the mountain at this moment. If all went well, he would reach the edge of the broken road cliff before dawn, forming a pincer movement with him.

"Liu San, don't let me down," he murmured.

He knew that trust was essential to breaking through this circle. And that night, trust was the fire that ignited every inch of light, a chance to survive.

Before the moon rose, the firelight in the forest flickered. It wasn't a campfire, but a signal. Short and rhythmic, one flash, two dims, then another flash—this was their early code: "Something's changing; wait and observe."

It wasn't sent by the enemy.

It's an inside job. It's someone I know.

Qin Cang's heart trembled violently, and his mind raced through all the possibilities: very few people could understand this signal. If it wasn't Liu San, if it wasn't Xiao Hu, then it was just those few brothers who had followed him through life-or-death situations in his early years and later scattered to the four corners of the earth.

"Old Fish? No, his leg injury hasn't healed yet."

“Stone? He’s on another front; he can’t just suddenly appear.”

"The fat man... he's dead."

A gust of cold wind blew into his collar, and Qin Cang suddenly realized that he had forgotten someone.

Ah Yang.

The one who arrived even earlier than Xiao Hu, and left the most quietly. He left without a word, without even taking his weapons, only cooking a pot of pumpkin porridge for Qin Cang while he slept.

If it's Ah Yang, then it makes sense.

He sent the signal; it was a warning.

But why don't they show themselves?

Qin Cang's throat tightened, as if a piece of iron was pressing down on it. He knew things were more complicated than he had imagined. Xiao Hu might not be the only one dragged into this mess; perhaps every brother who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him was being silently pulled into a vortex.

He couldn't wait any longer.

Dawn was breaking, and birds were already chirping softly in the woods. He slowly rose from the grass and recounted his weapons and equipment: knives, guns, ropes, flint, signal tubes—everything was there. The old strips of cloth he carried were left by a former comrade; wrapped around his hands, they could increase friction and also be used to bandage wounds and stop bleeding in critical moments.

He took a short signal tube, struck it on a flint, and a crimson beam shot into the sky, then exploded in the air into a blood-red arc.

That's a signal for a "temporary assembly," which is only used when the decision to take action has been made.

He gambled that Liu San could see it, that A Yang could understand it, and that Xiao Hu could step in.

More importantly, he gambled that he hadn't misjudged the person.

A commotion arose in the woods. Sure enough, the sound of breaking branches came from not far to the south—rapidly approaching footsteps, and more than one person. Qin Cang leaned against a tree trunk, his grip on his gun never loosening, but his eyes grew increasingly calm. He couldn't waver any longer; another waver and he would die in these mountains.

"Brother Qin!" A low voice rang out in the woods; it was Liu San.

Qin Cang gave a soft whistle, and soon a man wearing half a raincoat and with a slightly hunched posture emerged from the bushes. It was Liu San. His face was so dirty that he was almost unrecognizable, but his eyes revealed a familiar ruthlessness.

"This is really troublesome," Liu San said in a low voice. "I walked around the foot of the mountain and saw two sentry posts. They weren't locals. They didn't speak, and their hand gestures were uniform. They were obviously well-trained."

"How many people?"

"At least eight people, not including those who were lying in ambush."

“A-Yang might be here,” Qin Cang said simply.

Liu San's eyes lit up, then turned serious again: "Is he coming by himself, or..."

"I'm not sure, but I trust him."

"What about Little Tiger?"

Qin Cang did not answer, but gave Liu San a cold look: "He is someone I trained. You are not allowed to question him before I take action."

Liu San pursed his lips and nodded.

"Let's go." Qin Cang raised his hand and pointed to the mountainside on the left. "We need to control the highest rock platform in the forest first."