Chapter Thirty-Two: Su'er

Li could swear that the grain before his eyes surpassed all he had ever seen in his life, combined.

As the most outstanding chieftain in history—at least in his own view—Li prided himself on his patience and composure. So, after fording the river, he led his clansmen to quietly hide by the riverbank, eyes blazing as they watched basket after basket of grain being carried into the valley.

“Chief, are you checking for an ambush?” one of his men asked, barely restraining the restless crowd, his tone full of flattery.

Li nodded with feigned reserve, though inwardly he cursed: What ambush? Can’t you see I’m waiting for Miss Su’er?

Still, the admiration in their eyes felt rather pleasant, and Li was somewhat intoxicated by it.

But then, because of a Cold Tribe man’s mistake—perhaps his basket was overloaded, or maybe he stumbled—one basket tipped, and golden rice spilled like a cascade. In an instant, the air froze. The sunlight made the rice gleam dazzlingly on the ground.

No one could resist such temptation. No one knew who moved first, but suddenly everyone let out wild cries, rushing headlong into the valley—Li among them.

The Cold Tribe men panicked, abandoning their loads and fleeing.

There was no time to mock these cowards—unfit to be called true Mountain Folk. Everyone charged deeper into the valley; from the riverbank, they’d seen with their own eyes that even more grain lay within.

“Chief! It’s... it’s all here!” someone cried, too excited to finish his sentence.

“Wait, why are these stones?”

“Stones?”

“There are stones here too!”

The bliss lasted but a moment. Basket after basket, opened one by one, revealed nothing but yellow and black stones.

Unable to accept this crushing disappointment, Li’s people frantically tore open every basket, but not a single grain of rice could be found.

“Retreat, quickly!” Li shouted, living up to his title of chieftain. With a jolt, he began herding the stunned clansmen back the way they had come.

But it was already too late. At the valley entrance, rows of armored soldiers stood in formation, longbows drawn. The moment anyone appeared, arrows rained down, felling those in the lead with cries of pain.

It was over. The Army of Yue had arrived! Li’s heart plunged into an abyss as he retreated with his people back into the valley.

Though the valley was large, it had only one exit. The other three sides were sheer cliffs, dozens of yards high, slick and bare of even a blade of grass. The best climbers tried their skills, but could only shake their heads and fall back.

Even the dullest among them now realized they had walked into a trap. It was the same method they used when hunting wild boar—driving their prey into a valley.

“Chief, let’s charge out!”

“Charge? How? Don’t you see they’re all armed with bows and arrows?” Li shrieked in panic.

“Chief, I saw—they’re not Yue soldiers, they’re from the Cold Tribe,” someone with sharp eyes called out.

“The Cold Tribe?” Hope flickered in Li, only to die at once. What difference did it make? The Cold Tribe wore leather armor and carried longbows—his people were no match.

Now they were penned up like wild pigs, waiting for the hunters to cull them, one by one. If the boars were too many or too fierce, the hunters would set fire to drive them out, or simply roast them alive and collect the carcasses later.

Roast alive! At the thought, Li looked anxiously toward the entrance—and sure enough, many Cold Tribe men approached, torches in hand.

I refuse to become roast pork! Wails and cries erupted everywhere.

Terror is contagious; even the bravest warrior could not hold out for long.

Staring at the trembling, overweight man before her, Meng Di asked curiously, “So you are Li?”

The fight had ended before it began. Soldiers of the First Company herded Li’s people to one side.

Receiving confirmation, Meng Di grew even more puzzled. Wasn’t the chieftain supposed to be the finest warrior or the wisest elder? This fellow looked like neither.

Li hung his head in shame. “Wild boar meat,” he stammered.

“Hmm, eat less of it in the future.” Meng Di waved magnanimously.

The operation had gone even better than expected. The soldiers were jubilant, and the Cold Tribe men bustled about, eager to help.

Meng Di’s plan was to set up an ironworks in the valley. Now, with free labor at hand, all that was needed was to build a barracks at the entrance and keep watch day and night.

No one thought it cruel to set captives to work—after all, sparing their lives was already a great mercy.

Just then, a commotion arose from the riverbank. Everyone looked up to see a flash of white skimming across the water.

In an instant, the figure was upon them, heading straight for Meng Di. Only then did they see that it was a young woman in white, holding a freshly cut bamboo branch, leaves still clinging to its tip.

Soldiers moved to block her, but with a swirl of her bamboo, she dispatched them effortlessly. Her movements were graceful, as if she danced upon the breeze.

In the blink of an eye, the woman stood before Meng Di, but could go no further. Archers had already surrounded her, bows drawn and ready.

Meng Di pushed aside Han Zhan, who stood protectively in front, and asked coolly, “Are you the swordswoman from Li’s tribe?”

“I am.” Her voice was clear and cold, like jade chimes.

Meng Di had trained in martial arts since childhood, learning all the techniques of war—he was skilled with bow and horse, yet had never seen such extraordinary swordsmanship. Secretly, he was full of admiration.

“Did you come to save this man?” Meng Di glanced at Li, whose eyes now shone with hope. “You can’t take him away.”

The woman paused, then said, “Yes,” and casually tossed aside her bamboo branch.

“In consideration of the fact that you did not harm my soldiers, I will not hold you accountable for storming our ranks. You may go.” Gazing into her limpid eyes, Meng Di found himself unable to give the order, and signaled for his men to lower their weapons.

“No, this can’t be!” Li suddenly howled. “You still owe me! You owe me one intervention!”

“I have intervened,” the woman replied calmly. “But I cannot save you.”

Li opened his mouth to protest, but Jing Chuo, standing nearby, found him tedious and kicked him to the ground.

Facing this ethereal woman, no one felt the urge to harm her, and the crowd parted to make way.

She looked at Li, writhing on the ground, then raised her head and asked Meng Di, “May I exchange myself for this man?”

A strange sense of unreality swept over everyone. Could this squat, bumbling fool truly be worth trading for a woman as graceful as an orchid?

Meng Di spoke slowly: “Why would you do this, miss?”

She stood silent, gazing at him without another word.

In the end, he agreed. After all, Li would only be used as a miner—one more or less made little difference.

“Your name is Su’er?”

“Yes.”

“Such amazing swordsmanship—where did you learn it?”

“My master taught me.”

“Oh.” Meng Di stroked his chin—a habit he had developed lately, especially when he felt mildly embarrassed.

Su’er naturally assumed the role of a servant. She was always calm and indifferent, neither warm nor aloof, and conversation with her soon grew dull.

Meng Di intended for Su’er to teach swordsmanship to his soldiers. He’d expected to have to persuade her, but to his surprise, Su’er agreed without hesitation.

With the absorption of Li’s tribe, the number of able-bodied mouths to feed had increased by about a thousand. For now, Meng Di had no means to campaign against other tribes, nor could he expand his army, since the food supply was only so much.

Thus, he resolved to cultivate an elite force. Su’er’s arrival would greatly enhance the soldiers’ martial skills—a major problem solved.