Chapter 23.2

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The blade edges bit deeply into Xie Zheng’s palm, leaving fresh gashes. Blood seeped through the soaked bandages and dripped onto the snow, scattering like fallen plum blossoms.

The sharp pain cleared his mind, jolting him back into full awareness.

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, and when one of the masked attackers lunged forward, their sword glinting coldly, aiming for the small child, Xie Zheng’s hand moved swiftly. His sword met theirs with a crisp clang, sparks flying as the two blades collided.

His gaze sharpened, and with a deft motion, his sword slid to the hilt of the attacker’s weapon. A flick of his wrist left a deep, jagged gash across the man’s shoulder and arm. With a powerful kick, Xie Zheng sent the attacker flying a dozen feet backward, landing heavily in the snow.

“Hide behind the tree,” he ordered coldly, his voice steely and commanding. His eyes, now bloodshot, burned with the intensity of a cornered wolf ready to fight to its last breath.

The remaining masked men hesitated briefly, glancing at the lifeless bodies of their comrades littering the snow. But after exchanging a glance, they steeled themselves and charged at Xie Zheng, their swords aimed mercilessly at his vital points.

Behind the tree, little Changning cowered, her tears falling uncontrollably despite his repeated admonitions not to cry. Watching the chaotic battle unfold, she instinctively reached into her collar and pulled out a small whistle hidden beneath her clothing.

Desperately, she blew into it with all her might.

The sharp, piercing sound of the whistle cut through the cold air, carrying far beyond the grove, echoing into the vast, snow-covered forest.

The whistle was something her elder sister had made for her long ago. Once, while playing hide-and-seek with the children in the alley, Changning had accidentally fallen into a dry well. She had cried until her voice was hoarse, but no one found her.

When her family finally came looking, she couldn’t even call out because her voice was completely gone. After that, her sister crafted the whistle for her, saying that if she were ever in danger again, she could blow it so the family would know where to find her.

During this harrowing escape with her brother-in-law, Changning had blown the whistle once out of fear, but it had only attracted more pursuers. After being harshly scolded by Xie Zheng, she had kept it hidden ever since.

But now, in the face of dire circumstances, Changning couldn’t think about past warnings.

The sharp, piercing sound of the whistle echoed through the pine forest, shrill and desperate, like the cry of a wounded fledgling.

One of the masked men noticed her immediately. With a blade in hand, he turned and started toward her. Changning scrambled to her feet, trying to run, but the fur coat she was wearing—the one taken from another attacker—was far too long. After only a few steps, she tripped and fell hard into the snow.

The masked man raised his blade high, ready to strike, when suddenly a gray falcon darted out of nowhere, slamming into him with tremendous force. Its talons, sharp as iron hooks, missed his throat but raked across his face, shredding it into a gruesome mess. The attack also tore away his black mask, revealing his bloodied, disfigured face.

The man staggered backward, shrieking in pain, as the falcon circled back into the sky, its cry fierce and piercing.

From deep within the dense forest came the faint sound of dogs barking, a chorus of aggressive growls that pierced the cold air. The barking wasn’t from just one dog—it was a cacophony, echoing menacingly. The birds nesting in the trees nearby took flight, creating a dark cloud that scattered across the snowy sky.

Changning’s eyes lit up with hope. She quickly puffed up her cheeks and blew the bamboo whistle again, the sharp notes cutting through the chaos around her.

The masked man, having swatted the gray falcon aside with a swing of his sword, turned to grab Changning. But before he could reach her, the sound of something slicing through the air came from behind him.

Acting purely on instinct, he threw himself backward just in time to avoid a cleaver aimed directly at his head.

The black iron blade embedded itself into the trunk of a pine tree behind him, sinking deep. The impact caused the tree to shudder violently, shaking loose the snow clinging to its branches. The sudden flurry of snow obstructed his vision momentarily.

In that brief moment of disorientation, the man felt a cold sting in his chest. He looked down just in time to see blood gushing from a fresh wound, the knife having been withdrawn just as swiftly as it had struck.

Though he had killed many in his life, the sheer efficiency of this cut left him stunned. The amount of blood pouring from his chest wound told him exactly what kind of injury it was—merciless and fatal.

A butcher’s cut, he realized, even as his thoughts grew sluggish.

Through the cascading snow, he strained to lift his gaze. His dimming eyes caught a blurry image of the weapon that had struck him—a cleaver, dripping with fresh blood.

Was that… a butcher’s knife?

He tried to look higher, to see who had wielded such a weapon. Though his fading vision couldn’t make out the face clearly, he saw enough to know it was a woman.

And with that realization, his legs buckled, and he fell lifelessly into the snow.

The masked man knelt in the snow, his head drooping lifelessly. The blood pooling beneath him melted a significant portion of the snow, far more than the combined blood loss of the other masked men who had fallen.

It was Fan Changyu’s first time using her butcher’s knife on a human being. Instinctively, she had employed the same technique she used on pigs, focusing on draining as much blood as possible.

The extreme tension and the fierce need to protect her sister had sent her blood rushing to her head, leaving her fingers numb and hot. She hadn’t yet processed any emotions about the act of killing—there simply wasn’t time.

Changning, the moment she spotted her elder sister, felt her lips quiver as tears threatened to spill. But the urgency of the situation didn’t allow for breakdowns.

Fan Changyu, taking in the scene at a glance, saw Xie Zheng struggling against his attackers. Though already severely injured, he had sustained another gash on his arm, and it was clear he was outmatched. Without pausing to speak to her sister, she yanked her cleaver from the pine tree trunk and hurled it at one of the masked men aiming for Xie Zheng.

To her dismay, the target’s companion pulled him aside at the last second, causing the cleaver to miss. Instead, it flew straight toward Xie Zheng, who was directly behind them.

Fan Changyu’s heart leaped to her throat, her breath caught in sheer panic.

Fortunately, Xie Zheng reacted with incredible speed. He tilted his head just in time, and the heavy cleaver embedded itself harmlessly into another pine tree trunk behind him.

When the attackers turned to see who had thrown the weapon, Fan Changyu’s expression betrayed her embarrassment. For a fleeting moment, she almost seemed apologetic before she recomposed herself, her grip tightening on the next weapon in her hand.

As the snow from the shaken tree branches cascaded down, Fan Changyu wasted no time. Using the same butcher’s techniques, she swiftly closed in and stabbed several more masked men in rapid succession. Nearby, Xie Zheng’s sword flashed as he slit another throat with a single clean stroke.

Blood splattered onto the snow-covered ground, mixing with the falling snowflakes into a grotesque, crimson-streaked mess.