Chapter 24: Xichuan Enters the Mountains, Hunting the King on a Snowy Night

The news of the Dongling Navy's crushing defeat caused the momentum of the Three Kings' campaign against Jiang to stall abruptly.

But Meng Qing, the Prince of Xichuan, did not retreat.

He was more cautious than Zhao Yin, and also more ruthless.

The Western Sichuan Army avoided the official roads and did not attack fortified cities; instead, they crossed the mountain ranges southwest of Han Zhou, intending to bypass the main defensive line and strike directly at Jiang Che's rear.

The sixty thousand strong Western Sichuan Mountain Army were all skilled climbers and experts in night raids.

They marched through the Snow Mountains as silently as a wolf pack.

Yet Meng Qing forgot one thing.

Within the mountains of Han Zhou, there were also hunters.

On the third night, the Western Sichuan vanguard entered Broken Wolf Ridge.

The night was pitch black.

Wind and snow covered all traces.

Gao Yue, the Western Sichuan vanguard general, whispered, "Pass the order: cross Broken Wolf Ridge before dawn and make a direct assault on the Han Zhou granaries."

Just as the soldiers were about to relay the order, a sudden scream erupted from ahead.

A scout had fallen into a snow pit, his chest pierced by a sharpened wooden stake.

Gao Yue's expression changed instantly.

"Traps!"

Before his voice had faded, the sound of bowstrings rang out from the forest.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Hunters from the Han Mountain Camp loosed arrows from between the trees.

They did not engage the Western Sichuan Army in direct combat, shooting only horses, eyes, and torches.

The formation of the Western Sichuan Army fell into chaos.

Gao Yue roared, "Raise shields! Charge into the forest!"

A squad of Western Sichuan soldiers charged into the woods.

Moments later, short, sharp screams echoed from within the forest.

Not a single one emerged.

The snowy ground was littered everywhere with ropes, trigger-crossbows, and falling-stone pits.

The Han Mountain Camp acted like true mountain ghosts, using the night to constantly tear at the Western Sichuan Army.

But the Western Sichuan Army were, after all, elite troops.

After the initial confusion, they quickly stabilized and began advancing in small squads.

A brutal slaughter unfolded between the two sides within the mountain forest.

By the time Jiang Che arrived at Broken Wolf Ridge, it was already deep into the latter half of the night.

He had not brought the main army.

He brought only three hundred Sword Cultivators from the Green Blade Camp.

Xie Tingxue asked, "Are we here to behead Gao Yue?"

Jiang Che shook his head.

"To behead Meng Qing."

Xie Tingxue was slightly stunned: "Meng Qing is in the rear army, surrounded by countless experts."

Jiang Che said, "That is why I brought Sword Cultivators."

Jianghu Sword Cultivators are unsuited for holding formations, but most suited for decapitation strikes.

Within the Green Blade Camp, a one-eyed swordsman grinned and said, "The Young Master has finally let us return to our old trade."

Jiang Che looked at them.

"In this battle, we ask not of origin, nor of the past."

"Whoever beheads an enemy general shall be credited with merit."

Brilliant light flared in the eyes of all the Sword Cultivators.

"Kill!"

The three hundred Sword Cultivators plunged into the mountains amidst the chaos.

They lacked the neat order of a military formation, yet each moved with astonishing speed, weaving through the snowy forest like ghosts.

In the rear army tent of the Western Sichuan forces, Meng Qing, draped in a fox fur robe, listened to reports from the front, his brows tightly knitted.

"Han Zhou hunters?"

A strategist said, "Your Highness, they are not just hunters; Jiang Che's Green Blade Camp is among them."

Meng Qing sneered, "A bunch of Jianghu brutes dare to challenge a military formation?"

No sooner had he spoken than the sound of sword humming came from outside the tent.

A personal guard rushed into the tent.

"Your Highness, assassins!"

Meng Qing rose to his feet.

The tent curtain was torn apart by Sword Qi.

Three Sword Cultivators from the Green Blade Camp killed their way in, only to be blasted back by a single palm strike from an old man standing beside Meng Qing.

The old man's double sleeves fluttered, his aura deep and profound.

"Mere Sword Cultivators, daring to assassinate a Prince?"

The one-eyed swordsman spat blood and laughed loudly, "Old thing, who said it was just us?"

Outside the camp, a pale green sword light flared.

Jiang Che had arrived.

Meng Qing's face instantly changed: "Jiang Che!"

Jiang Che entered the main tent, sword in hand.

An old man blocked his path, speaking coldly: "I am the Western Sichuan Supplier; beneath the Earthly Immortal, I am undefeated."

Jiang Che looked at him.

"Then you have not yet reached the Earthly Immortal."

The Green Bamboo Sword left its sheath.

One strike.

The old man's double sleeves shattered; a line of blood appeared across his chest, and he collapsed, unable to rise.

Meng Qing's pupils contracted sharply; he turned to flee.

Xie Tingxue's sword had already sealed the rear of the tent.

Jiang Che walked toward Meng Qing, step by step.

Meng Qing forced calm into his voice: "Jiang Che, I am a Feudal King of Great Yin; if you dare kill me, there will be no path of retreat."

Jiang Che said: "From the day I severed the Imperial Edict, I never thought of retreating."

Meng Qing gritted his teeth: "I can withdraw my troops; I can form an alliance with you!"

Jiang Che asked: "Can those soldiers you sent into the mountains to ambush the grain depot also be withdrawn?"

Meng Qing fell silent.

Jiang Che said: "It is too late."

A flash of sword light.

Prince of Xichuan, Meng Qing, his head severed from his body.

Jiang Che lifted his severed head and walked out of the main tent.

The mountain wind howled.

He hurled the head toward the front of the Western Sichuan Army formation.

"Meng Qing is dead."

"Those who surrender shall not be killed."

In the snowy night, the morale of the Western Sichuan Army collapsed.

By dawn, of the sixty thousand Western Sichuan troops, twenty thousand were dead or wounded, thirty thousand surrendered, and the rest scattered in flight.

Han Mountain Camp paid a heavy price, yet they held the grain depot.

Jiang Che stood atop Broken Wolf Ridge, gazing at the blood-stained snow stretching everywhere, speechless for a long time.

Of the Three Kings, two were gone.

But everyone knew that the sharpest blade of all still lay to the south.

The thirty thousand Black Armored Iron Pagodas of Prince of Nanyue, Han Jin, had already reached the Han Prefecture Plain.