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

Qin Cang nodded, not asking further, but his heart grew increasingly anxious. He knew he didn't have much time left, and this meal might be the last warmth he would experience in the next few days.

The meat in the pot was finally cooked. The lame wolf ladled out a bowl for him and handed it to him: "Eat first, you'll have the strength to walk when you're full."

Qin Cang took the wooden bowl. The aroma of meat was irresistible. He scooped up a mouthful of soup, and his lips and teeth were instantly filled with warmth. The soup slid down his throat and into his stomach, like his blood being ignited by fire. At that moment, he suddenly remembered a night long ago, also in the mountains and forests, when a woman made a pot of wild mushroom soup and said to him with a smile, "You know, if you're starving, don't force yourself. You can't gamble with your life."

Her appearance was blurry, but her voice suddenly became clear.

"What are you thinking about?" the lame wolf asked.

"It's nothing." Qin Cang lowered his head and continued eating, slowly and deliberately, but in his mind he was silently planning his next move.

Leaving this place is certain, but not just like that. He needs to find Xiao Hu and Liu San first, then make arrangements. If what the lame wolf said is true, then this mountain area is no longer safe.

"Will anyone still be in the charcoal pit on the south slope tomorrow afternoon?" Qin Cang suddenly asked.

Wolf Cripple paused, squinted, and thought for a moment: "That place... not necessarily, but a blind old man used to live there."

"You can still go."

"Yes, but the road is difficult to travel, with many steep slopes. You could easily fall to your death if you're not careful."

"Take me there."

The lame wolf frowned: "You want to hide there?"

"It's not about hiding, it's about finding someone."

"Don't let the person you're looking for be an enemy."

"I can tell the difference myself."

The firelight flickered, and the cave was quiet for a moment, with only the bubbling sound of the pot and the two shadows stretching and intertwining on the wall.

After finishing the last bite of meat, Qin Cang let out a long breath and slowly stood up.

"We'll set off first thing tomorrow morning."

"Aren't you going to take a rest?"

"We'll rest once we get outside."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was as heavy as if it were carrying a stone. The lame wolf stared at him for a moment, then finally laughed: "You're tough, I believe you."

They spent the night in the cave. After the fire burned out, the cave was plunged into darkness again, but Qin Cang did not truly fall asleep. He leaned against a rock, his fingers gently stroking the short knife at his waist, his ear pressed against the ground, listening to the occasional scurrying of nocturnal beasts outside.

The ambush three days ago haunted his mind like a nightmare, impossible to shake off. He remembered every stab, every searing pain. It was the most humiliating and humiliating battle of his life. He thought he was already tempered into steel, that his exquisite movements and ruthless attacks were enough to establish himself in the martial world. But who knew that the enemy would appear like a ghost that night, silently and without warning, without even a gust of wind.

He was captured and dragged for miles. Had Qin Cang not arrived in time, his throat would have been slit. But he would rather die than live like this. He hated the enemy's ruthlessness, and even more so, he hated his own momentary hesitation. He thought he could suppress his emotions forever, never showing a trace on his face, but in the face of true life and death, fear still surfaced in his eyes—a subconscious will to survive as the blade approached, an instinct, and also a sense of shame.

The only thatched hut in the valley was built by Qin Cang himself; it was simple yet sturdy. Firewood burned inside, the flickering flames illuminating the room with warmth and tranquility. But Liu San refused to go inside; he found the house too quiet, as quiet as a giant cage, trapping and locking him in.

When Qin Cang stepped out of the house, he was still holding a black ceramic medicine bowl in his hand. It was a medicine he had personally brewed, warmed over the fire for the time it takes for two incense sticks to burn. The strong aroma of the medicine was like the scent of sandalwood incense, carrying a faint bitterness. He saw Liu San sitting on that rock again, the strip of cloth wrapped around his shoulder already flapping in the night wind, and streaks of red and black blood seeping from the seams of the cloth, winding their way up his arm.

"Drink it." Qin Cang's voice was not loud, but it was extremely penetrating, as if it could pierce through a person's bone marrow.

Liu San didn't look up, his eyes fixed straight ahead, as if some prey was lurking in the dark mountain path. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and his voice was low and hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a stone wall: "I can still move."

Qin Cang took two steps closer, placed the medicine bowl on the stone beside him, and looked down at him. Liu San's face was covered with scars, the scabs on his forehead were mottled, and there was an unhealed wound at the corner of his mouth, as if it had been split open by a hard object. His eyes were devoid of light, only calmness, calculation, and a deep obsession.

"You can move, but you can't beat them." Qin Cang said directly, without comforting or teasing. He was never the kind of person to beat around the bush.

"I shouldn't have survived." Liu San gritted his teeth, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "I held out against them for three hours, but in the end, it was you who helped me... I... damn it, I don't deserve it."

Qin Cang glanced at him, his gaze as calm as still water, yet unfathomable: "I saved you, not so you could come here to die."

Liu San suddenly stood up, the movement aggravating the wound on his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, not uttering a sound, but his whole body tensed up. His clothes had scabbed over into a hard shell, and the sudden movement caused them to crack, revealing dark red skin soaked in medicine.

“You don’t know that feeling.” He stared at Qin Cang, saying each word clearly, “You are their nightmare, the ‘that person’ they talk about. You are never defeated. You were never dragged on the ground like a dog and mocked. You never heard them whisper in your ear that ‘you are nothing but his shadow.’”

Qin Cang remained silent for a moment, then a cold smile slowly appeared on his lips: "Then you'll have to learn to endure."

“Endure?” Liu San almost laughed out loud. “I’ve endured for ten years, working my way up from a nobody to your side. Do you know how many times I’ve died? I’ll follow you whenever you make a move, but I’m not you! I don’t have that kind of ruthlessness that comes from your bones, nor that kind of coldness that sees through life and death.”

The night wind grew colder, as if someone were whispering in the woods, carrying a few damp breaths. The firelight flickered in Liu San's eyes, no longer a warm color, but a restlessness, a burning rage that seemed to scorch his very chest. He knew Qin Cang was right; going out now would only mean dying again, with no chance of even returning.

But he just couldn't stand it.

His wounds began to bleed again, and his body trembled, but he stood straight and motionless, as if all the nerves in his body had frozen, and he was only holding on by a single breath.

Qin Cang slowly turned around and went inside, but didn't close the door. He knew Liu San wouldn't listen to reason tonight; unless he passed out, he wouldn't step inside. This man was incredibly stubborn, like a wolf—he wouldn't even howl if his bones were broken, and he'd even bite back.

He took out a medicinal net made of thin vines from the corner, and a bottle of purple powder. He silently returned to the door and placed these items one by one on the stone slab beside the door.