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

Liu San's heart tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm, simply nodding slightly without saying a word.

The house stood in front, dimly lit, with shadowy figures moving behind the paper windows. It was a small, old house, yet the presence of some danger made it seem as if it were on the edge of an abyss. Qin Cang crouched at the back corner of the house, raising his binoculars to carefully observe the layout inside, giving hand signals, and each team member took their positions.

"Prepare to move," he whispered. "Liu San, go in through the front door and stall them for as long as possible. We'll break in through the back window."

Liu San nodded. In that instant, his back was no longer hunched, but stood as straight as iron. He pushed open the creaking wooden door, stepped into his familiar home, and entered into an unpredictable, fateful confrontation. The light from behind the door shone on his weathered face, reflecting a long-lost resolve in his eyes.

"You've arrived?" The person inside turned around, stroking a pistol in his hand. He was a tall, thin man with a cold face and sharp eyes.

"It's me," Liu San replied softly, but his voice was firm.

"You dare to come back?" A murderous glint flashed in the man's eyes.

"I didn't come back to see you, I came to take you away."

"You think I'd go with you?" the man sneered.

The room was small, the dim light of the oil lamp flickering, illuminating the man's ashen face. His eyes were wide with rage, the muzzle of his gun originally aimed at Liu San, but when Qin Cang burst in, he abruptly turned, but his movement was a beat too slow—that beat was the boundary between life and death.

"boom!"

The first bullet struck his right shoulder, sending him flying backward and knocking over a porcelain bowl and a worn teapot on the corner of the table. Tea splashed, tracing a scalding arc in the air.

Qin Cang did not fire a second shot. He stared at the man, his eyes cold and stern, his face showing no hesitation or pity. He was no longer a naive young man fresh to the battlefield; after the first shot, he had already learned to lock his emotions deep within the iron box of his heart, focusing only on action, judgment, and results.

Xiao Hu was different. This was his first time killing someone. Although he hadn't fired the bullet, the stench of blood was already filling his nostrils. His grip on the knife tightened involuntarily, his lips turned pale, and a hint of terror flashed in his eyes.

"Relax," Qin Cang said softly, his voice warmer.

Xiao Hu gave a soft "hmm," but his eyes remained fixed on the man groaning on the ground, and he subconsciously took a half step back. At that moment, he truly understood what kind of world he had entered.

"He's still alive." Qin Cang walked over and stepped on the man's gun, which he was trying to pull back.

"You...you betrayed...me...Liu San!" The man gritted his teeth, his eyes filled with venom as he looked at Liu San, who was still standing by the door. "You son of a bitch...you actually dared to bring them here!"

Liu San remained silent. He stood there, his eyes blank, as if he hadn't heard a word the other person said. For a moment, his face was expressionless, only his lips trembled slightly. His gaze fell on the spilled tea on the ground, and in a daze, he seemed to see that morning again, his sister-in-law squatting in front of the house washing clothes, his nephew running wildly barefoot in the mud, while he was still young, with a future to escape to.

"Little Tiger, come with me." Qin Cang's voice rang out again, this time with a stern tone.

“But…” Xiao Hu hesitated, glancing at Liu San, then at the man lying on the ground, “He…”

"He'll leave it to the later stages to handle," Qin Cang said coldly. "We're not an interrogation team. Let's go."

"Okay..." Xiao Hu finally responded, though he looked confused, he still turned and followed Qin Cang.

Liu San remained standing, without moving.

"You go too." Qin Cang glanced back at him from the doorway.

“I…I want to stay,” Liu San said in a low voice, his voice hoarse. “I have to make him understand that I’m not the kind of person he thinks I am.”

Qin Cang didn't speak, but gave him a deep look and then nodded. It wasn't approval, but understanding.

As we left the village, night had fallen, and even the moonlight had hidden behind the clouds, as if it too were avoiding the sudden storm. The mountain path was muddy, and the cold wind, carrying bits of grass, stung our faces.

Qin Cang walked briskly, glancing at Xiao Hu's condition every now and then. Xiao Hu's face was pale, his lips were blue, and he was sweating profusely, clearly due to immense mental stress.

"Is this your first time on the battlefield?" Qin Cang asked.

"Hmm." Xiao Hu nodded, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "I didn't expect that someone would actually be hit and fall down in front of me."

"You think this is a game?"

"I...no, I just..."

"It's alright." Qin Cang interrupted him, his tone cool and calm. "No one is born suited to killing. You should be worried if you start to like it one day."

Xiao Hu looked up at him, and in that moment, he seemed to catch a glimpse of human tenderness in his eyes. He had thought Qin Cang was the kind of ruthless, iron-blooded soldier, but now, he suddenly felt that this man had once been human—only he had lived too long, killed too many, and long since sealed his joys and sorrows into silence.

"Have you... ever regretted it?" Xiao Hu couldn't help but ask.

"Regret?" Qin Cang lowered his head and smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "I only regret trusting the wrong person."

"Like Liu San?"

“He’s not the worst kind.” Qin Cang continued walking. “The worst kind are those who know the consequences but still insist on going their own way, ultimately dragging down a group of brothers.”

"You think I'm afraid of you just because you've done this?" The man on the ground struggled to sit up, blood still flowing from his shoulder, mixing with the mud and staining the ground red. "You're nothing but a coward, a piece of trash we despise!"

Liu San did not respond, but walked over step by step and sat down on the broken wooden chair opposite the man.

"You don't want to ask me why I'm hiding in your house?"

“I don’t want to know,” Liu San said calmly, his gaze fixed on the swaying oil lamp. “All I know is that ever since you showed up, my sister-in-law hasn’t been able to sleep well. What else do you want by dragging her son into this?”

The man paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed: "You're still so cowardly. You don't dare to take action, you don't dare to kill, and you can't even speak clearly."

“You have no idea what I’ve done all these years,” Liu San said slowly. “You also have no idea how I got to where I am today. You may see me as a coward, but I just no longer want to treat human lives like dirt.”

The man sneered, "That's nice to say. You're not afraid of death, you're afraid of retribution."

“You’re right.” Liu San nodded, his eyes clearer than ever. “I’m just afraid of retribution. That’s why I came back, and that’s why I’m standing in front of you.”

Outside, the wind picked up, making the roof tiles rattle and groan like a mournful dirge.

Looking at Liu San's haggard yet resolute face, the man's expression finally wavered slightly. He had originally thought that his old friend had long since degenerated into a spineless opportunist, but now it seemed that those years had left some kind of sediment in his heart.