Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Mantis Stalks the Cicada

With the thunderous sound of galloping hooves, Qin Cheng spurred his horse, carrying Wang Xiao’er with him as they left the military camp behind and raced toward home.

In this life, Qin Cheng’s elder sister was named Qin Yue—the only family he had relied on since childhood, older by three years. When Qin Cheng was ten, their parents passed away one after another, and it was this sister who single-handedly raised him. The hardship they endured could be imagined; that the two survived without starving was itself a small miracle. Sharing the horse with Qin Cheng was Wang Xiao’er, whose house was nearby and who had often helped Qin Cheng’s family since they were young. In this life, Qin Cheng’s memories were filled with deep respect and gratitude toward Wang Xiao’er. Now, Wang Xiao’er had come in haste to inform him that his sister, Qin Yue, was gravely ill; for both emotional and practical reasons, Qin Cheng could not afford any delay.

These days, the weather had turned cold and the northern wind grew fiercer. Qin Cheng charged forward, his robes fluttering wildly, cloak billowing, sweat beginning to bead upon his brow.

After leaving the main road, the two turned onto a narrow path—rougher underfoot, with thick woods rising on either side. Though it was already late autumn, the undergrowth and brambles made it difficult to see into the forest. Qin Cheng seemed not to notice, intent only on driving his horse onward.

Throughout the journey, Qin Cheng did not exchange a single word with Wang Xiao’er, nor did he inquire about Qin Yue’s condition. Seated behind him, Wang Xiao’er wore a complicated, pained expression, perhaps struggling to adjust to the jostling of a military steed.

“Qin Lang,” Wang Xiao’er called from behind.

“Brother Wang, do you wish to say something?” Qin Cheng did not turn his head, but his tone betrayed a faint urgency, as though deeply worried for his sister.

“Uh… it’s nothing,” Wang Xiao’er stammered. “I just wanted to ask… how are you getting on in the camp?”

“You need not worry, Brother Wang. All is well with me in the army,” Qin Cheng replied.

“That’s good. After all, you’re a general now! The announcement from the commandery reached the village; everyone’s proud of you. We’re not sure what sort of officer a Cavalry Commandant is, but everyone knows the rank of ‘Noble of the Ninth Degree’… You’ve really made something of yourself. Your sister was overjoyed when she heard the news, saying more than once she wanted to visit you in the commandery city. Alas… but now that you’re returning, she’ll finally get to see you.” Wang Xiao’er’s words were sincere, but as he spoke the last few lines, his voice waned, as if uneasy.

A faint smile flickered across Qin Cheng’s face. He did not bother to correct the ambiguities in Wang Xiao’er’s words. “It was all thanks to General Li’s support. I was simply fortunate. Who knows if luck will favor me again? You know, Brother Wang, I’ve never been particularly capable.”

After a moment’s silence, Wang Xiao’er replied, “Don’t say that, Qin Lang. Now that you’re a general, things aren’t as they were before. I believe, even if difficulties arise, you’ll be able to handle them.”

With that, Wang Xiao’er fell silent. Qin Cheng chuckled softly, saying nothing more.

At that moment, Qin Cheng happened upon a broad stretch of road where the woods on either side grew denser and the underbrush higher.

Suddenly, a thick rope appeared across the path just ahead. There was no time to rein in the horse; its forelegs struck the rope and, with a lurch, the animal toppled forward.

As the horse fell, Qin Cheng, as if prepared, used the momentum to vault clear, rolling across the ground. With a powerful thrust of his feet, he launched himself off the path and into the nearby woods.

No sooner had his body left the ground than several iron arrows whistled out from the trees, striking the spot where he’d just landed.

Within the brambles, two screams rang out; blood spurted from the undergrowth.

No sooner did those cries die than nearly ten men burst from the woods flanking the path, rushing toward where Qin Cheng had disappeared into the trees—silent, determined.

Qin Cheng leapt from the brambles with a shout, landing directly before one of the attackers. Before the man could react, Qin Cheng’s bloodied sword cleaved downward. The man saw only a blur before the blade was already above his head; he raised his own sword in defense. But Qin Cheng’s strike, empowered by his leap and landing, was too great. The swords clashed, and Qin Cheng’s blade forced the other aside, slashing obliquely into the man’s neck.

With a fierce tug, Qin Cheng wrenched his sword free, a spray of blood erupting as the man collapsed at his feet, lifeless.

Immediately, two others swung at him from left and right. Qin Cheng’s eyes flashed; he sidestepped one blow, closed with the other, and knocked aside his opponent’s sword with his own. Dropping low, he drew a dagger from his boot with his left hand, plunged it into the man’s chest from behind, and blocked another oncoming blade. He slipped behind the wounded man, yanked the dagger free so that blood spattered the face of the third attacker. In that instant of confusion, Qin Cheng’s sword flashed and sliced clean through the man’s neck.

In the blink of an eye, three lay dead at his feet. Bloodlust ignited, Qin Cheng was ready to cut down the rest when a sudden shout echoed:

“Hold! Or I’ll order the archers to fire!”

At that, the assailants hesitated, beginning to halt their advance. Qin Cheng sneered inwardly and, seizing the pause, closed in on the nearest man. The man, expecting a ceasefire, was caught off guard; Qin Cheng’s blade was at his throat before he could react.

With a kick, Qin Cheng knocked the man to his knees, then looked toward the one who had spoken.

Scattered around the path and at the edge of the woods stood seven or eight men with blades, and nearly as many archers remained in the trees, arrows trained on Qin Cheng at the center. Yet he showed no trace of panic, holding his sword at the throat of the kneeling man, his eyes cold as he faced his adversaries.

The men wore coarse hemp garments and wielded chilling blades, all eyes fixed on Qin Cheng. At their center, clad in red robes and black armor, his scarlet cloak fluttering in the wind, Qin Cheng stood poised and unyielding.

Wang Xiao’er, who had fallen with Qin Cheng, now trembled beside a rugged-looking man, his gaze toward Qin Cheng filled with guilt and unease.

The rugged man at Wang Xiao’er’s side held a sword sheathed by his waist, his face masked and impassive, watching Qin Cheng coldly. It was he who had shouted.

“General Qin, your skill does you credit. All our effort to lure you here was not wasted. But now that you’re here, this is your grave. Any resistance is futile,” the masked man said icily.

The news of Qin Yue’s illness had, of course, been fabricated. Yet Wang Xiao’er was genuine—Qin Cheng, no fool, realized this man had been coerced into luring him out with false news so that these men could ambush him. Killing Qin Cheng in camp would have been impossible; only by drawing him out could they hope to succeed. Their cunning was apparent.

“You said you wouldn’t harm Qin Lang! Why now do you speak of his grave? You lied to me!” Wang Xiao’er cried in shock, pointing at the man.

“Silence! Speak again and I’ll kill you too!” The man kicked Wang Xiao’er to the ground, his voice brimming with menace.

Wang Xiao’er crumpled, unable to utter another word.

“General Zhao, you’ve gone to great lengths for my life,” Qin Cheng said, looking coldly at the masked man, his voice laced with mockery.

The man started at the remark, eyes widening before narrowing again. Still, he persisted, “What General Zhao? You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Zhao Lu, do you take us all for fools?” Qin Cheng sneered. “You truly think I don’t know you’re the one behind Zhang Shiyou and the others?”

The masked man was stunned for a moment, then pulled off his mask with a snort. “Qin Cheng, you’re sharp. So you know who I am? Too late. You’re in my hands now. Do you think you’ll be able to drag me back, take my head? Ha!”

This was Zhao Lu, Cavalry Commandant in the Qiansang City Garrison.

Zhao Lu laughed wildly; Qin Cheng waited for his mirth to subside before replying with disdain, “Zhao Lu, do you really think yourself the only clever one, the rest of us fools? I knew as soon as I returned to camp yesterday that you, not Kong Zhengfang, were Zhang Shiyou’s master.”

Zhao Lu’s expression shifted from shock to anger. “Don’t try to deceive me! Yesterday you detained Kong Zhengfang because you thought he was Zhang Shiyou’s contact. Now you’re only trying to save face!”

“Why would I bother?” Qin Cheng replied with composure. “Zhao Lu, you think yourself clever, but you made a fatal mistake—the murder of Zhang Shiyou and his men. You feared they’d expose you if caught, so you hastened to kill them. But they were Huns, your own loyalists. When you, their prince, struck at them, they offered no resistance. That, in itself, gave you away. Had they been threatened by Kong Zhengfang, a Han, they’d have fought to the death. Afterwards, I went to the commandery. Once I learned your true identity, I was certain you were their leader.”

Qin Cheng finished, and Zhao Lu was silent for a long moment before laughing bitterly. “You’re sharp indeed. But I don’t understand—after eight years in the army, earning my rank through merit, why would you suspect me solely for being a Hun?”

Qin Cheng smiled coldly. “Why not? Simply because you’re a Hun, I suspected you. And I was right. There’s a saying in the Central Plains: ‘Those not of our kind have different hearts.’ It may not be wholly true, but it’s not wrong.”

Who, other than the Huns, would go to such lengths to sabotage the development of cavalry in Shanggu Commandery? There were no traitors in these times; Qin Cheng had little doubt his reasoning was sound.

Zhao Lu laughed again, the sound tinged with sorrow. “Fine! So the princess was right. You Han will never truly accept us. Only the Huns are kin. Han like you will never be our brothers! Today I’ll slay you first, then all Han!”

“You’re wrong, Jinxie!” Qin Cheng retorted. “It’s not that we didn’t accept you. It’s that you never accepted yourselves as Han. Otherwise, would you have done this?”

Zhao Lu’s eyes blazed red with anger. “Even so, what of it?”

“Qin Cheng, clever as you are, you’ve still fallen into my hands. Today, I’ll kill you!”

With that, Zhao Lu drew his sword and charged.

“You mean to kill me,” Qin Cheng sneered, “then frame it as if I were slain by Qin Qingzhi, spreading rumors that the cavalry in Shanggu lacks support, sowing discord and ensuring the collapse of our plans—is that it?”

Zhao Lu halted suddenly, staring at Qin Cheng in disbelief. “How… how do you know I captured Qin Qingzhi?”

Qin Cheng scoffed. “Since I already knew Kong Zhengfang wasn’t the mastermind, I sent Qin Qingzhi to watch him—deliberately leaving him exposed for your scheme. Rather than have you go to great trouble to seize him, I handed him to you, saving you the effort.”

Speechless, Zhao Lu stared at Qin Cheng, his gaze filled with terror and disbelief.

“So, Zhao Lu, do you understand now—who has whom?” Qin Cheng shouted. “Men! Kill these traitors!”

“Yes, sir!”

With that resounding cry, arrows sang from both sides of the woods, iron-tipped shafts raining down on Zhao Lu’s men. The thunder of hooves rolled in from behind, and dozens of Han cavalrymen charged with shouts.

Zhao Lu’s twenty-odd men realized their fate too late. Arrows felled nearly half in an instant; the survivors scattered into the woods or fell where they stood, shot down before they could escape. Most never reached the trees.

Zhao Lu barely made it into the woods before being surrounded by soldiers. Wounded by an arrow, he managed to kill a few before being kicked out into the open, only to receive a saber blow to the back from a charging cavalryman.

“Don’t kill him!” Qin Cheng burst from the undergrowth, calling out as Ji Zhu was about to take Zhao Lu’s head.

The soldiers in the woods were all cavalrymen—had they been infantry, they might not have arrived in time. Qin Cheng had kept Zhao Lu talking to buy time for Ji Zhu and his men; seeing the signal, he’d ordered the attack.

“Qin Lang… General Qin, spare me! I was forced! For old times’ sake, show mercy! I wronged you…” Wang Xiao’er, who’d avoided the arrows thanks to Zhao Lu’s earlier kick, now crawled forward, pleading as the soldiers approached.