Chapter 23.3

Our Discord Server: https://discord.gg/PazjBDkTmW

When the last of the snow settled, Fan Changyu’s gaze met Xie Zheng’s. Feeling the need to explain herself, she stammered awkwardly, “I was aiming for the masked man earlier… really.”

Xie Zheng didn’t reply, his silence as sharp as his sword.

The remaining masked men, now reduced to a fraction of their original number, hesitated. Xie Zheng, leaning on his sword for support, looked as if he might collapse at any moment. His face was deathly pale, streaked with blood, and his disheveled hair hung limply around his cheeks. Yet his unyielding aura, like a predator on the brink of pouncing, kept the surviving attackers frozen in fear, unwilling to make a move.

Suddenly, the barking of dogs echoed through the forest, growing louder and closer. Within moments, three or four hunting dogs burst out of the dense underbrush, their snarls revealing sharp, menacing teeth as they lunged at the masked men.

These dogs had been borrowed by Fan Changyu from a local hunter in town. They had been crucial in helping her track the scent of blood to this pine forest outside the city. When she heard Changning’s whistle earlier, she had released the dogs and rushed ahead to the scene herself.

Fan Changyu seized the moment to shout, her voice sharp and threatening, “The county yamen’s soldiers are on their way! You won’t get out of here alive!”

The masked men exchanged glances, silently reaching the conclusion that continuing the fight against Fan Changyu and Xie Zheng was futile. Without hesitation, they turned and began retreating into the forest.

“Catch one alive,” Xie Zheng said coldly.

Fan Changyu sprang into action the moment the words left his mouth.

These people, dressed like outlaws, had murdered Fan Da and broken into her home. It was possible they were connected to the same group responsible for her mother’s death. The thought burned in her mind as she charged forward.

Untying a coil of rope from her waist, she quickly fashioned a lasso as she ran. Spotting the last of the masked men fleeing, she flung the loop with practiced precision. The lasso tightened around the man’s neck, and with all her strength, she yanked backward, causing the noose to cinch tighter.

The man clawed desperately at the rope, but he was no match for her strength. He collapsed into the snow, helpless as she dragged him back toward her, his body flopping like a rag doll on the white ground.

Xie Zheng, observing the scene, couldn’t help but reveal a flicker of surprise in his expression.

Bracing her foot against the trunk of a snow-covered pine tree for leverage, Fan Changyu pulled harder, dragging her captive closer. As she worked, she explained, “This is a lasso often used for catching wild horses or bulls. Once it’s looped around something, it’s almost impossible to break free. The more they struggle, the tighter it gets.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her grip on the rope was unyielding, her determination evident in every movement. The trapped man gasped and choked, unable to break free as he was hauled mercilessly back toward his captor.

Luckily, Captain Wang, worried that Fan Changyu might encounter danger while searching, had ordered his subordinates to provide her with a set of constable tools.

The standard equipment wasn’t much: a single blade and a coil of rope.

The blade was for self-defense, and the rope was used for restraining suspects. Fan Changyu found the yamen-issued blade less handy than her own butcher’s knife, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful for Captain Wang’s gesture, so she had accepted the rope instead.

Xie Zheng paused briefly, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. It was a life-or-death situation, yet somehow, whenever she spoke, the tense atmosphere seemed to lighten, even if just for a moment.

The remaining masked men, seeing their companion captured, exchanged a quick glance. Without hesitation, one of them picked up a sword and hurled it toward the captured man.

The blade struck true, and blood splattered across the snow as the captured man collapsed lifelessly.

Fan Changyu cursed angrily under her breath, abandoning the rope immediately. Grabbing her trusty butcher’s knife, she charged after the retreating masked men.

Xie Zheng coughed up a mouthful of blood but couldn’t let her go alone. Despite his severe injuries, he attempted to follow, lifting his foot—only to feel it strike something hard buried in the snow.

Pausing, he moved his black boot aside and discovered a token partially hidden beneath the snow.

The emblem etched into it made his phoenix-like eyes narrow instantly, a cold glint flashing in their depths.

It was a waist token.

The symbol on it carried a significance he couldn’t ignore.

Xie Zheng picked up the waist token and tucked it securely into his robes. When he glanced at the masked men being pursued by Fan Changyu, his expression was icy, as though he were staring at lifeless objects rather than living beings.

The remaining masked men were in chaos, harried by three or four ferocious hunting dogs while being relentlessly attacked by Fan Changyu, whose brute strength and unyielding persistence made her a formidable opponent. They struggled to fend off both her and the dogs.

However, they soon noticed her weakness. Though she possessed great physical strength and speed, her combat technique lacked refinement, especially when it came to real-life, high-stakes battles. Her experience in life-or-death situations was minimal, leaving her vulnerable to coordinated attacks.

When the masked men began to surround and attack her in unison, her defenses faltered. Before long, she had sustained multiple injuries, the fiery pain of sword cuts slowing her movements noticeably.

Fan Changyu tried to adapt, focusing on blocking instead of brute strength, but her progress was insufficient to counter several skilled opponents simultaneously.

As one of the masked men swung his sword directly at her wrist, Fan Changyu’s heart raced. She realized she couldn’t dodge in time. If her wrist were injured, the consequences would be devastating—at best, she would lose her grip on her weapon; at worst, she could lose the use of her hand entirely.

Her teeth clenched as she braced herself for the worst, determined to risk everything in a desperate attempt to strike back, even if it meant mutual destruction.

If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me, she thought, preparing for the blow.

At the critical moment, a cold, slender hand gripped Fan Changyu’s wrist from behind. Compared to her own warm, sweat-soaked hand, the touch was icy, like the surface of a frozen lake.

With a controlled yet precise force, the hand guided her wrist into a sharp twist. In an instant, the butcher’s knife in her grasp flipped upward, its blade now angled toward her attacker’s arm. The knife slashed upward with brutal precision, cutting deep into the masked man’s elbow.

With the same unrelenting motion, the blade scraped along the bone, tearing through muscle and skin before hooking under the tendons and cartilage beneath his armpit. A swift upward flick dislodged the attacker’s grip, and his sword clattered to the ground as his arm went limp, blood dripping from the mangled limb.

The masked man let out a blood-curdling scream, his useless arm hanging grotesquely at his side.