Chapter Five: The Struggle

"We've been discovered!" Zhang Qili's mind buzzed, her face turning deathly pale as she made to spring up. Yang Lian reacted instantly, pressing her down with all his strength.

There was a rustle in the undergrowth. The newcomer turned around in surprise and then broke into laughter. With measured steps, he approached to within twenty paces of Yang Lian and shouted, "Ha ha, come out now, or the blade in my hand won’t care who you are!"

Yang Lian's eyes gleamed as he glanced at Zhang Qili, who was looking at him apologetically. He shook his head and pressed her thin shoulder, signaling her not to move rashly.

"Hmph, what’s this? Want me to come fetch you myself?" the man sneered coldly.

Yang Lian's sleeve twitched; in a sudden motion, he flicked his wrist and sent an object flying toward the intruder.

The man was prepared. He shifted his body quickly and dodged Yang Lian’s attack. Now more convinced that someone was lurking in the thicket, he hesitated to step in, as dusk had fallen and visibility was low. Still, Yang Lian’s attack had betrayed his position.

Step by step, the man advanced on Yang Lian, his footfalls light yet falling on their hearts like muffled thunder. If he got closer, the consequences would be dire.

Yang Lian pressed heavily on Zhang Qili’s shoulder and whispered urgently into her ear, "Remember, don’t come out. Wait for me!"

The breath against her ear startled Zhang Qili, but in her surprise, Yang Lian had already stepped out.

He crossed the thicket. He could have stayed hidden, but his concern for Zhang Qili’s safety, a man’s instinct and sense of responsibility, propelled him forward.

The man narrowed his eyes, sizing Yang Lian up. He knew Yang Lian wasn’t alone—the wooden hairpin he’d spotted belonged to a woman.

"Where is she?" the man asked in a low, hoarse voice, brimming with murderous intent. His question was skillfully put, making it hard to discern what he’d truly deduced.

"Who are you?" Yang Lian retorted coldly, hiding another wooden spike in his sleeve. He’d whittled two while Zhang Qili slept—he’d just used one, and now only one remained. Not much, but better than nothing.

The man was annoyed by this deflection. He sneered, "On the brink of death and still so stubborn." He paused, then added, "Whoever’s hiding, if you don’t come out, I’ll kill him."

Yang Lian laughed heartily, feigning calm. "Just you and me here. Say whatever you have to say. I'll ask you one last time—who are you?" As he spoke, he stamped the ground hard, both to bolster his courage and intimidate his opponent.

The man grew impatient and was about to speak when Yang Lian suddenly flicked his wrist. The wooden spike shot out, striking the man's arm. Though the makeshift weapon wasn’t lethal, the pain made him lose his grip on his dagger, which tumbled to the ground.

This was the moment Yang Lian had been waiting for. After resting for over three hours, he’d regained much of his strength. Seeing his chance, he sprang forward, launching a punch.

The man reacted swiftly. Despite his wounded shoulder and lost dagger, he heard Yang Lian’s rapid approach and struck out with his left palm, hitting Yang Lian’s shoulder. The force was unsteady, but Yang Lian stood firm, landing both fists squarely on the man’s cheek.

The man grunted and fell to the ground. Yang Lian pounced, and the two rolled and grappled like children. Though Yang Lian was no match in strength, the other’s injuries had sapped his power, making them nearly even.

Yang Lian, though not especially strong, was tall and long-limbed. He wrapped his hands around the man’s neck, choking him. The man fought desperately, but with an injured leg and being caught off guard, he quickly lost ground.

Heavy breathing and the sounds of their struggle echoed at the forest’s edge. Blood seeped from cuts made by sharp stones, but neither cared; this was a battle for life or death.

At last, the man’s strength failed him, and his arms fell limp.

Delighted, Yang Lian sat astride him, gripping his throat tightly. The man’s eyes bulged, glaring fiercely, but he made no move. Yang Lian, too, was nearly spent, his grip weakening.

A thought struck Yang Lian—he had an idea and was about to rise when the man suddenly struck, landing a heavy blow to Yang Lian’s waist. A searing pain shot through Yang Lian, his body going limp as he toppled to the side.

"Curse you, I’ll see you dead yet," the man growled.

Yang Lian lay slanted on the ground, half his body numb and unresponsive. He realized the man was cunning, feigning weakness to lure him into dropping his guard before delivering a crippling blow. Yet, having struck, the man only cursed and did not attack further, suggesting he too was spent. If not for his own injuries, Yang Lian might already have subdued him and avoided this predicament.

But what puzzled Yang Lian was how the man’s strike could have such paralyzing power.

The man lay panting for breath. After a long while, he forced himself upright, crossed his legs, placed his palms upward, and began to regulate his breathing.

"Is he practicing qigong?" Yang Lian wondered. In his past life, he’d learned a little about martial arts—perhaps this was some advanced technique for recovery.

His body still numb and unable to speak, Yang Lian longed for Zhang Qili to emerge and finish the man off. But the forest remained silent and undisturbed. Helpless, he could only watch as the man meditated and regained his strength.

Yang Lian closed his eyes in despair. With half his body paralyzed, if the man recovered first, his fate was sealed. He prayed for dawn, for someone to witness their plight.

The cold wind rustled the leaves. One man prayed, the other focused on recovery. Yang Lian watched the man’s breathing steady, color returning to his cheeks. Was this truly the end? Yang Lian’s heart ached with unwillingness.

The sky gradually brightened; the rising sun painted the world clear and sharp. Yang Lian’s eyes darted to the thicket—Zhang Qili’s hiding place was still and silent. What had happened?

A cold snort broke his thoughts—the man opened his eyes. After an hour’s meditation, he’d recovered enough strength to kill Yang Lian.

He rose, retrieved his dagger, and with murder in his gaze, strode toward Yang Lian.

"You bastard! You almost killed me. I’ll send you on your way now!" he spat, gripping his dagger, which trembled slightly in his hand.

He raised the blade, preparing to strike. Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the air—a dart shot toward him. The man reacted instantly, springing back two steps, narrowly dodging it.

Startled, Yang Lian lifted his head. In the distance, a figure in black seemed to fly toward them—literally flying! His legs barely touched the ground as he covered a hundred paces in the blink of an eye.

"****! This is unbelievable," Yang Lian couldn’t help but curse, shaken despite his usual composure.

The black-clad figure landed, and another soon followed—a woman in white, long sword in hand, ethereal as a fairy, gliding to a stop.

The two halted, one ahead of the other. The man sneered, "Where do you think you’re going?"

The woman walked silently to Yang Lian’s side, her slender fingers touching several points on his body. Instantly, the numbness left Yang Lian and his strength returned. Without a word, the woman rejoined her companion.

"Curse you both. Are you the Black and White Impermanence, chasing me all this way? Damn you!" the man spat, voice thick with resentment. Having been hunted and wounded by these two, his fury was palpable. Had he not been so injured, Yang Lian would never have been a match for him.

"You’ve committed countless crimes. Last night, under cover of rain, you slaughtered innocent people—your sins are unforgivable. All who uphold justice must punish evil," the man in black declared, righteous resolve shining on his face.

The man laughed bitterly. He knew he couldn’t escape, and today, death awaited him. Still, dying without taking someone with him left him aggrieved.

"My thanks to you both for saving my life," Yang Lian finally recovered his senses, stepped forward, and bowed.

The man in black glanced at Yang Lian, momentarily surprised, but quickly returned his gaze to the criminal. "The pirates of Lake Tai have roamed these waters for years, usually preying on travelers after the autumn harvest. Yet here you are, raiding in early summer. It makes me wonder," he said, his tone meaningful. "Especially now, with the Southern Tang and Wuyue kingdoms about to wage war in the Suzhou and Changzhou region. The timing is... intriguing."

The man chuckled darkly. "You’re clever enough. Let me give you some advice: if you value your life, leave this place. Otherwise, you’ll wish you were dead."

The woman in white finally spoke, her voice as melodious as a songbird, yet laced with deadly intent. "No matter who is behind the Lake Tai pirates, those who rob and murder must die."

The man backed away two steps, then suddenly pulled a bamboo tube from his cloak and pressed it hard. It shot into the sky with a loud bang.

"Call for help all you want. No one can save you now," said the man in black icily, advancing with sword drawn. In a swift, seamless motion, he thrust his sword—the criminal tried to dodge, but was too slow. The blade pierced his throat, blood spurted, and he collapsed.

As the black-clad man sheathed his sword, Yang Lian noticed that not a drop of blood clung to its tip. His sword was incomprehensibly fast. Yang Lian had always believed that with his modern training, he could become a formidable fighter in this world. But now, he realized just how far he still had to go.

"The villain has been dispatched. Let’s go," the woman in white said, her tone calm and emotionless.

The man in black nodded, glanced at Yang Lian, and with a hint of surprise, cupped his hands in farewell. "Take care." With that, he and the woman departed, one after the other.