Volume 1, Chapter 22: Can He Dodge Three Arrows?

The howling cold wind lashed against the windowpanes of the thatched cottage, creating a crisp, rhythmic rattling. Zhang Muyang lay on the earthen kang, his eyes slightly open, devoid of any sleep.

In three days, he would return to the battlefield to face the threat of Wei Wentong, the conspiracies of Northern Yan, and the impending bloodbath. He turned over, his fingers unconsciously stroking the hilt of his Hanling Blade; the icy touch cleared his thoughts.

"If only I could replicate the equipment of a modern special forces soldier..."

Images flashed through his mind: the blood-letting grooves of a triangular bayonet, the lethal stealth of steel needles, and the climbing utility of a flying tiger claw. In this chaotic world dominated by cold steel, these seemingly simple gadgets might prove more life-saving than brute force.

Once the thought took root, it could not be suppressed.

Zhang Muyang sat up, threw on a coat, and pulled out a piece of charcoal to sketch rapidly on rough paper.

Triangular Bayonet: Three blood-letting grooves extending to the tip, with a ring at the base for a tether, allowing for both close-quarters combat and retrieval after throwing.

Flying Tiger Claw: Iron forged into finger hooks attached to oil-soaked rope, capable of scaling walls, locking throats, or even snatching enemy weapons.

Steel Needles: Twenty centimeters long, weighted slightly toward the tip to ensure that when flicked from the wrist, they would strike like a swarm of bees, targeting vital points.

"Liang, could you help me craft some small items?"

"What kind of items?" Han Li rubbed her eyes, her cheeks still flushed from their recent intimacy.

Su Ying leaned in. As her eyes swept over the blueprints, her pupils constricted. "Husband, these... they are even more ingenious than the craftsmanship of Northern Yan! Where did you learn these?"

"From an old, tattered manual on warfare," Zhang Muyang replied dismissively, tapping the paper with his fingertip. "Liang, can these be made within three days?"

Han Li stared at the drawings, her eyes burning like the forge fire. "Yes. I will go find Father right now."

"I'll go with you. I have some suggestions for him."

"Alright."

The two hurriedly dressed and trod through the snow toward the mountain behind the village. The forge fire burned day and night, and Blacksmith Han was sprawled on a wooden board, snoring like thunder.

When he saw the drawings, the old blacksmith sat up abruptly, his eyes widening in astonishment. His calloused fingers brushed over the paper as if touching a rare treasure. "Muyang, the design of these grooves... once they pierce flesh, the wound would be impossible to close!"

"Exactly," Zhang Muyang nodded.

"Liang! Fire up the furnace!" The old blacksmith grabbed his hammer and struck the anvil, sending sparks flying. "Tonight, I am going to forge something that would make the King of Hell himself tremble!"

Han Li agreed, casting a deep, lingering look at Zhang Muyang. "Husband, go back and rest. Leave this to me and Father."

"Hmm."

Zhang Muyang kissed her lips, causing her frame to tremble and nearly sparking further "trouble." When he returned to the room, the oil lamp was still burning.

Yang Wenxiu sat kneeling by the kang, her fingers pricked red, stitching a piece of tanned cowhide onto the lining of a scale-patterned cuirass. Seeing him enter, she hurriedly hid her fingers in her sleeves. "Your armor is old; I’m adding a layer of soft padding... there are many stray arrows on the battlefield, and every inch counts."

The lamp wick popped, casting shadows that made the dark circles under her eyes even more apparent.

"How long have you been at this?"

"Not long." Yang Wenxiu bit off the thread and whispered, "Wenjuan helped me mark the vital points. She said these areas are the most critical..."

Zhang Muyang grabbed her wrists, seeing the dense cluster of needle pricks on her palms, and pulled her into his embrace. "Sleep."

Outside the window, the snow rustled; inside, the kang was warm and cozy.

At the first light of dawn, noise drifted from the courtyard. Zhang Xiaobei, Gousheng, and the others were already up, running, splitting logs, and practicing their stances just as they had in the military camp, showing no sign of slack.

Every bit of hardship endured now was a chance for survival on the battlefield. Zhang Muyang picked up his Hanling Blade, pushed open the door, and joined the training.

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

Han Li handed him one hundred steel needles, the triangular bayonet, and the flying tiger claw, along with a palm-sized iron heart-protector, polished thin at the edges to be hidden beneath his armor. Zhang Muyang donned his gear, feeling the extra fifty pounds of weight, yet he felt profoundly secure. With his "Meat-Refining" physique, this weight meant nothing.

Han Li looked at him expectantly. "Try it."

Zhang Muyang picked up a steel needle and gave his wrist a light flick.

*Swish—*

The needle struck the wooden post five paces away with precision, its tail vibrating as it embedded deep into the wood.

As for the triangular bayonet, Han Li had wrapped the hilt in wax-treated hemp rope and attached a thin cord to his wrist, allowing for quick retrieval.

Su Ying, watching with envy, snatched up the bayonet to test it, accidentally slicing her finger. Blood immediately welled up.

Han Li chuckled, "You've already drawn blood—still want it so badly?"

"I don't care! I want one too!" Su Ying knew what she meant, but she didn't care.

"I will try to forge more, I just fear there isn't enough time." Han Li smiled, then carefully produced a dark brown, cone-shaped object from her bosom. Her expression turned solemn. "This is a snow-mountain poisonous herb Father traded from a Western merchant. He meant to use it against bandits and never could bear to part with it... now, it will come in handy."

"Is this Aconite?" Zhang Muyang’s pupils contracted. He grabbed Han Li’s wrist. "This substance is highly toxic to the central nervous system and the heart, inhibiting respiratory centers and paralyzing the nerves... do you have an antidote?"

Han Li was surprised. "How does my husband know this? The merchant said it must be taken with honey..."

"That is not enough!"

Zhang Muyang crushed the powder and sniffed it, then quickly wrote down several herbs. "You must boil it with Ephedra and Licorice to suppress the toxicity. Be extremely careful when applying it."

Hearing this, the four women were frightened. It took two full hours for them to coat the steel needles and the triangular bayonet. "Husband, you must come back. We will be waiting for you at home."

"Don't worry, I—"

"Husband, someone is coming." Suddenly, Yang Wenjuan turned pale, pointing toward the village entrance, her voice trembling. "That person... he is terrifying."

The girl had an innate sensitivity to danger, sharper than any hound. Zhang Muyang’s heart tightened, and he grabbed his Hanling Blade, stepping outside.

No sooner had he exited the courtyard than a thunderous roar erupted at the village gate, shaking the snow from the tree branches: "Is Zhang Muyang here? Come out and die!"

The voice was arrogant and overbearing, carrying an unconcealed murderous intent. Zhang Muyang looked up and saw a shirtless youth standing on the snow. His bronze skin steamed with heat, like a god of war. He carried a long blade at his waist and held a massive, pitch-black bow, an armor-piercing arrow nocked to the string, its tip gleaming with a cold light.

On the large locust tree beside him, the limping man was bound tightly, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Zhang Muyang shouted sternly, "Who are you? Whatever you want, come at me!"

"Wei Feng!"

Wei Feng used the tip of his bow to lift the limping man's bloodied chin, licking the blood from his own tongue with a cruel grin. "The Wei Battalion Commander said you would make a fine whetstone? Very well. If you can dodge three arrows, I will let him go. If not... I will slaughter the village!"

Zhang Muyang’s Hanling Blade vibrated in his hand; the frost patterns on the blade seemed to sense the murderous intent, emitting a faint white glow.

*Ding!*

The system interface suddenly exploded into view:

[Urgent Mission: Kill Wei Feng]

[Reward: Mastery of Hidden Weapons (Accuracy +200%)]

[Failure Penalty: Permanent loss of the Hanling Blade!]

Zhang Muyang slowly raised his hand, the Hanling Blade pointing obliquely at the ground.

"Three arrows?"

"I won't even let you fire a single one!"