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

He walked step by step up the hillside, each step heavy as if he were walking on sand, being pulled tightly by a mud pit. He dared not walk too fast, stopping every three steps to catch his breath, otherwise dizziness would come like a storm, almost blowing him over.

Coming.

He leaned against a black pine tree, gazing at the path hidden by vines, his eyes slightly brightening. He remembered clearly the cool, slightly sweet water in the pool. The first time he drank it, he even felt a long-lost sense of refreshing joy.

He swallowed, only to find his mouth too dry to swallow.

He pushed aside the vines and entered the rubble, but as he approached the pool, he heard a voice—very soft, very faint, yet incredibly real.

"……who?"

He was startled, his steps faltering, and his entire body pressed against the rocks like a cheetah. He held his breath, hiding himself in the shadows, and one hand quietly moved to the hilt of the broken blade behind him.

That wasn't Xiaohu's voice, nor was it Liu San's.

That was a woman.

He held his breath and slowly peeked out from the gaps in the vines. He saw a figure standing by the pool—wearing a gray cloth shirt, carrying a water basket, and squatting by the water washing something. The person's hair was tied in a low bun, and her face was not clearly visible. He could only see from the side that her movements were extremely light and seemed very skilled.

Where did she come from?

This valley is secluded and unknown to outsiders. Given the heavy rain last night, if she were a passerby, she would likely be trapped at the foot of the mountain and wouldn't have been able to easily climb up.

But her clothes were dry and she walked with ease, clearly having been there for several days.

Qin Cang did not loosen his grip on the knife, and his eyes became even more alert.

Suddenly, the woman seemed to sense something and glanced back—

Her eyes met Qin Cang's across several feet of mountain rocks.

At that moment, Qin Cang's heart tightened suddenly.

That look wasn't the look of an ordinary woman; it wasn't panicked or surprised, but rather calm as a lake, as if she had known he was there all along, and even carried a faint...sneer.

Qin Cang felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave. That smile stirred up a very hidden trace in his memory.

Ten years ago.

It's that same look in their eyes.

It was also this kind of silent, cold laugh.

"Who are you?" Qin Cang asked in a low voice, his tone as cold as a blade, revealing a deep killing intent.

The woman did not respond, but slowly lifted the wooden basin in her hand, turned around and walked into the dense forest. Her steps were very light, but each step was in the quietest place among the dry branches and fallen leaves.

she left.

But that look was branded into Qin Cang's mind.

He suddenly realized that his slight hunger and pain just now might only be the prelude to a much bigger storm.

Who is she? Why is she in this desolate place? Her eyes, her gait, her silence—none of them seem like those of an ordinary person. She seems more like… a hunter who has been hiding in these mountains and forests, waiting for him to take the bait.

But he didn't have the strength to chase after him. His stomach was cramping in waves, and he felt like a flickering lamp in the wind, held on by sheer willpower. Little Tiger was still fast asleep in the cave over there, and he—if he couldn't find food soon, he probably wouldn't survive the night, let alone save anyone.

He walked back to the pool, ignoring the marks the woman had left behind, scooped up some cool water, and drank it down. The spring water was icy and sweet, washing away the bitterness in his mouth and temporarily relieving the cramps in his body. He didn't dare drink too much, afraid his stomach couldn't handle it, and could only sip it slowly.

He drank a few mouthfuls of water before he could barely stand. His mind raced as he tried to recall any possible inhabitants or settlements in the mountains. The woman's ability to move so freely around the hilltop meant she was familiar with the terrain. If she wasn't a recluse, she most likely lived somewhere nearby, perhaps in a hut, or even—had food.

"We can't wait any longer," he murmured, a ruthless glint in his eyes.

He needed to eat to survive. Even if it meant taking food from that woman.

He cautiously followed the direction the woman had gone, observing the subtle traces on the ground and listening intently for any unusual sounds in the forest. The wind rustled through the leaves, squirrels leaped overhead, and the slithering of snakes echoed in the grass. But he remained calm, moving with the lightness of a cat.

Finally, around a bend in the forest, he saw a wisp of smoke rising in the distance.

The smoke wasn't from the campfire, but from a cooking fire. Thin and straight, it was clearly rising from the stove. That wasn't accidental; someone was cooking.

He quickly crouched low, skirted several forest paths, avoided a dilapidated pile of stones, and quietly arrived behind a cliff. Smoke was rising from there, and through a crack, he saw a scene that shook him to his core.

It turned out to be a shack.

The structure was extremely rudimentary, with only three thick wooden beams supporting a thatched roof. The walls were covered with animal hides, and the ground was smoothed earth. In the center stood a stove made of piled stones, on which a pot of porridge was simmering—the rice grains bubbling and releasing an enticing aroma, mingled with the scents of wild mushrooms and some unknown dried meat. Smoke curled upwards, and the fragrance wafted into Qin Cang's nostrils, a taste of heaven he hadn't experienced in three days.

His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and his lips were already unconsciously moist. That pot of porridge was like a trap to lure him in, but he knew—even if it was a trap, he was willing to jump in.

Outside the shack, a figure was squatting with her back to him, holding a wooden spoon and slowly stirring the porridge in the pot. The person was wearing a gray cloth shirt, and her hair was still in a bun; it was the same woman from the pond earlier.

She hummed a very low tune, a strange melody, like some unknown dialect nursery rhyme. Qin Cang didn't understand it, but the tone seemed to carry a chilling coldness.

He hesitated.

Should I rush over and grab the whole pot of porridge now? Or wait until she leaves and secretly take a small bowl?

His knuckles were white from clenching his fists, and his internal organs seemed to be burning his will. He wanted to rush out, snatch her food, take her pot, and then run away—but he knew he didn't even have the strength to rush over there.

As he was weighing his options, the woman suddenly spoke, her voice clear and cold, devoid of any emotion: "If you hesitate any longer, the porridge will burn."

Qin Cang was startled and instinctively shrank back. She didn't turn around, but she clearly already knew he was there.

"You... you knew all along that I was following you?" he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and hoarse.

The woman nodded and slowly placed the wooden spoon aside: "Your footsteps are light, but your breathing is unsteady. You've never been good at tracking since you were little, remember?"

She spoke softly, but her words stirred up a tidal wave in Qin Cang's heart.

He suddenly caught his breath, his eyes fixed on her retreating figure: "Who exactly are you?"

The woman finally slowly got up and turned around.

At that moment, Qin Cang's eyes widened instantly, almost unable to believe what he was seeing—her face was extremely familiar, the outline unchanged, and the eyebrows and eyes overlapped with someone from his youth, almost exactly the same.