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

But that thought lasted only a moment before he extinguished it himself.

"If my brother dies here, I have no face to leave alive." He gritted his teeth, his steps becoming heavier.

"Brother Cang..." Liu San said weakly, "If... you really can't hold on anymore, then don't worry about me..."

"Shut up." Qin Cang coldly cut him off. "Stop talking nonsense. You deserved to die, but if you're alive, shut up."

The weasel felt a chill run down its spine, but didn't try to persuade it further. It suddenly realized that even in this desperate situation, it had begun to inexplicably believe Qin Cang's words, "We can get out of here." This man wasn't just putting on a brave face; he was determined to escape.

Qin Cang didn't respond to him, nor did he have time to pay attention. He scanned his surroundings; there was no one there, only the sound of the cold wind rustling the leaves. This place was one of the relatively safest corners they had encountered during their escape. Ahead was a barren slope, and beyond that was the mountain pass. And now, if Liu San didn't take some time to recover, he would surely not survive until dawn.

"Wait here, I'm going to find something." Qin Cang whispered these words, and without waiting for the weasel's reply, he silently slipped into the night. His steps were extremely light, avoiding mud and withered branches, his mind carefully assessing the terrain and any movement. In the darkness, his gaze was sharper than in the daytime; every inch of land, every blade of grass, held meaning for him. It was their means of survival.

Herbs. He's looking for some herbs.

Although Liu San's wound had been stopped from bleeding, the injury was too deep, and he was severely depleted of qi and blood. Without some recuperation, he wouldn't survive the mountain journey. Images of the herbs flashed through his mind, their names vague, relying only on his rudimentary knowledge gained in the mountains. That knowledge became his lifeline tonight.

Brushing aside a pile of withered branches, Qin Cang's eyes finally lit up. He gently pinched a small cluster of leaves between his fingers, sniffed it, and then crushed it in his palm. A faint, bitter aroma wafted out, just what he needed. He found some small stems and leaves with fine down nearby. Although they were numbing to the taste, they could astringe blood and promote salivation. Although they weren't top-grade, they were a lifesaver in this moment.

He didn't dare linger and quickly returned to his original spot. The weasel was guarding Liu San's side; seeing him return, it lowered its voice and asked, "Found it?"

"It'll do for now." Qin Cang squatted down, deftly tore off a piece of his clothing, spread out the herbs, crushed the leaves, squeezed out the juice from the stems, and mixed it with some mud and water to make a paste. His fingertips were stained with blood and mud, and the warmth of his palm seeped into the cold paste, giving one a strange feeling: Could this little bit of warmth really save a life?

"Liu San," Qin Cang gently patted his cheek, "wake up, don't fall asleep."

Liu San opened his eyes, which were terribly lifeless, as if veiled by a layer of murky mist. But Qin Cang could tell that he still clung to a sliver of will to live.

"Swallow this." Qin Cang used his finger to pick out some grass pulp and forced it into Liu San's mouth. It tasted extremely bitter and astringent. Liu San coughed twice, instinctively wanting to vomit, but Qin Cang pressed down on his jaw and said coldly, "Don't vomit if you don't want to die."

Liu San swallowed with great difficulty, his throat moving with tremendous effort. The little bit of liquid went down his throat, feeling like a fire burning his heart and stomach, but Qin Cang felt a slight sense of relief. At least, there was a reaction; he was alive.

"The rest is for external wounds." Qin Cang applied the herbal paste to the wound on Liu San's side. The wound was already covered with some cloth, which was soaked with blood. Now that it was removed, fresh blood seeped out again. His movements were very steady. The paste, which was applied, carried a slightly astringent smell. Mixed with the smell of blood, it made people dizzy.

The weasel watched in horror and couldn't help but whisper, "Really? I've seen this stuff when I was a kid. It only stops a small blood clot at most. But Liu San's... his life is at stake."

"Are there any other methods now?" Qin Cang asked without looking up, his voice as cold and hard as a knife.

The weasel immediately shut its mouth. It understood that if Qin Cang truly didn't trust these herbs, he would have abandoned Liu San and run away long ago. The fact that Qin Cang was willing to act now meant that Qin Cang believed these things could save lives. And if he believed, he would act.

After applying the herbal medicine, Qin Cang tightened his clothes even more to seal the bleeding wound before finally catching his breath. His forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat, not from exhaustion, but from the tension in his heart that had been stretched for too long and was about to snap.

"How much longer can we hold out?" the weasel asked again, its voice tinged with fear.

Qin Cang glanced at him, a glance that seemed to say, "Do you think I can predict fate?"

“Wait until dawn,” he said. “We must get out before dawn.”

"How about... I go scout it out?" the weasel tentatively suggested, but instinctively shrank back. He knew that once he went out, it would be difficult to come back.

"You stay here and keep watch," Qin Cang said in a hoarse voice, carrying an undeniable coldness. "I'll go."

The weasel was taken aback. He wanted to say something, but in the end, he nodded. In the current situation, if he went out, he would be committing suicide, while if Qin Cang went out, at least he would have a chance of survival.

Qin Cang rubbed his aching temples, his fingers stained with blood, but he didn't care. He slung the dagger over his shoulder, then checked the small knife and rope hidden at his side; everything was there. He crouched low, like a hungry wolf in the forest, and silently disappeared into the darkness.

Silence reigned, the night wind howled, and his heart pounded steadily like a drum. With each step he took, his thoughts grew colder—the enemy must now know they were heading this way. They might not have set up checkpoints, but scouts would be following them like shadows. The main road was impassable, and the side paths would be long and winding, but that mountain pass was the only one. If the enemy was indeed stationed there, he would have to find a way to survive in the shadows.

The forest floor was covered with fallen leaves, yet he moved silently, the chill seeping into his spine and making him increasingly alert. He constantly planned his route, avoiding hiding places and making subtle marks along the way for his return.

Suddenly, he stopped.

There is light in the darkness not far away.

Extremely faint, like a tiny spark, hidden behind the dense forest. Not a campfire, but a cigarette butt. Someone. A living person. An enemy.

Qin Cang held his breath and slowly bent down, his body almost blending into the mud. His heart pounded slightly, but his mind remained unusually calm: this person was extremely well hidden, which meant he was very familiar with the terrain, or had been watching them for more than one night. If he approached rashly, he would be ambushed; if he didn't investigate thoroughly, the mountain pass would surely be a death trap tomorrow morning.

He looked up, and the spark flickered before disappearing into the deeper darkness.

One person, or perhaps more.

Qin Cang's fingers twitched slightly, tightening his grip on the dagger. He had no way out; this step had to be taken to find out the truth. His body moved like a snake, silently closing in, the suppressed, almost suffocating killing intent already materializing in his chest.

Qin Cang slowly retreated, his palms already drenched in cold sweat, yet he forced himself to proceed cautiously. That sliver of light had been enough for him to pinpoint the enemy's location. He quickly calculated in his mind: if he continued forward, he would be ambushed within ten steps; but if he went around and sneaked back from the eastern slope, there would be a glimmer of hope. But that glimmer of hope also meant taking a detour, wasting time, and that whether Liu San could survive would be uncertain.