Chapter 22: Roaming the World with Sword in Hand (Part 2)

Spring winds swept across three thousand miles, coaxing green buds to burst open along the mountainsides.

Wu Yueling rode her horse at a gentle pace along the sun-dappled path that wound through the hills. Nestled within the folds of her clothing, a small lynx refused to budge from its cozy nest, even with the morning sun warming its back. It simply rolled over and continued its slumber.

Amused by the little lynx’s laziness, Wu Yueling reached in, plucked the creature from her chest, and tossed it onto her shoulder. The lynx let out a disgruntled meow, squinted its eyes, yawned, stretched languidly, its six short whiskers trembling in protest, as if to complain: Can’t I sleep a bit longer? Mistress’s embrace is far too warm to leave.

As she made her way toward Xiang County, Wu Yueling would occasionally pluck the newly sprouted leaves from passing trees, rubbing them between her fingers and inhaling their fresh scent—relishing the vivid breath of spring.

Crossing a ridge, she came across a tea tree. Dismounting, she fetched a bag from her pack and began to gather the tender, emerald leaves, humming a tune as she worked her way through thickets of wild tea, picking the delicate new shoots that had just emerged on the branches.

The lynx, now on the ground, scampered through the grass, occasionally catching a bug, which it would proudly present to Wu Yueling with a shake—offering it up as if to say: Look, Mistress, I caught a fat one! We have dinner settled for tonight.

Wu Yueling eyed the bug-bearing lynx with distaste. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Time to give you a name, meow meow meow.”

The lynx replied with a puzzled chirp, then darted back into the grass to continue its playful explorations.

When she had gathered as many tender tea leaves as she could, nearly filling half a sack, Wu Yueling called to the lynx, mounted her horse, and continued onward. Along the way, whenever she found another tea tree, she stopped to harvest more leaves, until the sack was nearly full. In this era, tea was a rare luxury, found only in taverns; common folk seldom had the chance to drink it. Now, with so much fresh tea at hand, she could finally enjoy a hot cup amid the wilderness.

So the day passed. That evening, with her sniper rifle, Wu Yueling shot a rabbit to roast for dinner. She had packed plenty of salt—knowing her journey to Chang’an would take months, with no villages or inns along the way, she made sure to bring extra, so even wild game would have flavor.

She alternated between walking and riding, resting when tired, gathering firewood, striking flint to light a fire, and boiling water for tea. Each night she held her own little campfire gathering—though alone, she found ways to amuse herself, sometimes singing wistful ballads to the empty wilds.

Now and then, as she gazed into the flames, the little lynx would come to comfort her, a loving companion. She felt fortunate she’d never been so hungry as to eat the creature, choosing instead to raise it as a pet. Having such an adorable friend truly made all the difference.

Another fine spring day dawned. Wu Yueling crossed a ridge and reached a wild river—not large nor small, but like a ribbon draped across the landscape.

The water flowed down from the mountains, winding away below—blocking her path ahead.

Wu Yueling rode along the riverbank, searching for a shallow ford to cross toward Xiang County. Seeing her own reflection in the clear water, she noted she looked more wild hermit than gentlewoman—her hair disheveled, her face grimy, anything but presentable. The fish, apparently alarmed by her appearance, darted away in fright.

Suddenly, Wu Yueling’s ears twitched. She thought she heard voices. The little lynx, too, poked out its head, ears pricked, listening intently. There really were people ahead.

Wu Yueling pulled on the reins and peered forward, alert.

“Big brother, that wretch fell off the cliff—she must be somewhere in this river.”

“You’re right, second brother. With over two hundred from Leopard Manor, plus us three top fighters, she had no chance. Even a grandmaster would have been forced to flee, and she tumbled, gravely wounded, off the cliff into the river.”

“Exactly! The little wretch dared steal from us at Leopard Manor—must be tired of living. Don’t they know the Three Leopards’ name strikes fear throughout the martial world?”

“Hey, big brother, something’s moving ahead.”

Then, silence fell. Wu Yueling could no longer hear their voices.

She paused atop her horse, drew her sword, and pulled out her revolver. Soon, three men appeared ahead—the very same whose voices she’d heard. She felt a fleeting relief; only three of them. But then, behind them, she heard the thunder of many footsteps. Her heart lurched—this wasn’t a handful, but a whole gang.

“Who goes there? Name yourself at once! Beg for mercy and we’ll spare your life!” roared the leader, brandishing twin axes, his coppery eyes fierce.

Wu Yueling counted quickly. There must be over fifty of them, each one as fierce as a tiger. She realized she’d stumbled into real trouble—these were seasoned bandits. Should she respond or keep silent? She didn’t know the rules of the martial world, and the three leaders looked like top-tier fighters. Could she, with her third-rate skills, possibly win?

She hesitated, weighing her options, then decided to answer. She summoned her internal strength, but could not quite gather it—remembering suddenly the words of the Enlightened Monk, that she could only release, not gather qi. Still, her voice rang out, strong and unwavering: “The road is wide enough for all—let’s each take our own path!”

The three bandit leaders huddled together, whispering among themselves. Wu Yueling watched as the bandits fanned out, her mind racing. She could not just sit and wait for death, but striking first would lack justification. She sheathed her sword, retrieved her Whirlwind AK from storage, and fired several shots into the sky.

“If you know what’s good for you, clear off! Don’t block my way!” she shouted, mimicking the leader’s tone, which came off somewhat comical.

But the thunderous bark of her AK startled the bandits. The three leaders stared at her in shock, unable to comprehend where such a tremendous noise could have come from.

“I am Xue Yong, the Big Leopard of Leopard Manor. We Three Leopards are famed throughout the martial world! Who are you? State your name!” Xue Yong, seeing that Wu Yueling was a woman, had at first meant to rob her outright, but her bizarre weapon had unnerved him, forcing him to ask.

“What is Leopard Manor, anyway? I’ve never heard of it. I could knock you all down with a wave of my hand—do you believe me or not?” Wu Yueling raised her Whirlwind AK and, with a single shot, blew the head off a man who had aimed a bow at her.

Xue Yong tightened his grip on his axes, stunned. When he realized his subordinate was dead, he looked at Wu Yueling in terror, unable to fathom how she’d done it, yet unwilling to lose face. Gritting his teeth, he shouted, “Who cares who you are? I’ve never heard of you either!”

“Enough talk. Be gone!” Wu Yueling snapped, leveling her gun at Xue Yong.

Xue Yong, swallowing his humiliation, dared not risk his own head, fearing that the strange weapon would kill him in a flash. He retreated, leading his men away in haste, cursing under his breath. Who was this woman? She looked frail, but had killed his man at a distance with a single shot through the head. Could she be a grandmaster? Muttering about his bad luck, he herded his men off, regretting that he hadn’t simply heeded her words—each to their own path, no need for conflict.

Once the bandits had gone, Wu Yueling wasted no time. She spurred her horse onward, determined to find a shallow crossing and avoid a possible ambush, the landscape blurring past. As she rode, she caught sight of a human hand among the riverside reeds.

A human hand—there was no mistaking it.

She reined in her horse and, after a moment’s consideration, turned back to investigate.

Sure enough, there was a hand—and a person, half-submerged at the river’s edge. It was a woman, gravely wounded.

Wu Yueling hurriedly dismounted and went to her. The stranger wore black night clothes, looking every bit the thief from some drama series; only the tangled hair and a pale, beautiful face revealed her to be a woman.

Looking closer, and recalling the bandits’ earlier words, Wu Yueling realized this truly was the thief they spoke of—the one they had beaten within an inch of her life.

Leopard Manor—what could possibly be worth stealing there, worth risking one’s life? Wu Yueling couldn’t fathom it.

She checked the woman’s breathing—she was still alive. Wu Yueling’s gaze fell on the woman’s chest, noticing a deep gash nearly tearing through the clothing, exposing the bloody wound beneath. A broken arrow was lodged in her waist.

Wu Yueling frowned. What should she do? She knew nothing of medicine. If she failed to save her, the guilt would haunt her. She couldn’t just walk away. The lynx on her shoulder meowed anxiously, urging her to act.

Not hesitating further, Wu Yueling hauled the woman onto the bank, laid her across the horse’s back, and led the animal in search of a ford. She had to save this gravely injured woman, while also keeping wary of the bandits she’d just antagonized.

After a while, she found a shallow crossing, led the horse over, and sought a concealed spot by the riverbank. There, she laid the woman on a mat, checked her breathing again—still alive. Wu Yueling pressed her palms together in silent prayer: if she failed, it would not be for lack of effort.

Surveying her supplies, she gathered dry branches, lit a fire, and boiled water in a pot. She undressed the woman, removing her blood-soaked undergarments, exposing her fair chest and the ghastly wound. Wu Yueling couldn’t help but whistle in admiration, though anxiety gnawed at her as she saw the injury’s severity—the wound so deep, bone glimmered beneath torn flesh. Yet the woman’s will to live was fierce.

She added salt to the boiling water, cut her hemp robe into strips with her sword, and boiled them in salted water. Next, she took out her sack of tea leaves, spread the boiled cloth over the mat, chewed some tea leaves in her mouth despite their bitterness, then spat the pulp onto the cloth, rolling it up to make a tea-infused poultice.

When all was ready, Wu Yueling took the hot cloth from the pot, waited for it to cool, and gently cleaned the wound on the woman’s chest, disinfecting it. The salt water must have stung, for the woman groaned in agony, her lips blanching.

She wrapped the tea poultice around the wound, binding it tight. Then, with a swift pull, she extracted the broken arrow from the woman’s waist. The body convulsed violently. Wu Yueling disinfected the wound with more salt water and staunched the bleeding with tea leaves. Finally, she wiped the woman clean with dry cloth.

When she had finished, Wu Yueling rummaged in her pack for a spare set of clothes, dressed the woman, changed into her own uniform, dragged the mat into the shelter of the riverside woods, then washed and hung the soiled garments to dry for later use.

Exhausted and sweating, Wu Yueling returned to the woods and found the woman sleeping deeply, her breath steady. All she could do now was pray; she had done all she could. Her gaze drifted to the woman’s full chest, then down to her own flat one, and she chuckled inwardly, consoling herself: lolis are innocent!

She washed out the pot, brewed a fresh batch of tea, poured some into two bowls, and, once it had cooled, fed some to the injured woman.

The situation was uncertain—she didn’t know whether the woman would live or die, nor where she herself was, or whether any settlements were nearby. Wu Yueling almost wished she’d asked the bandits for directions.

She wandered through the woods, gathering mushrooms, washing them, and tossing them into the pot to cook. With her sword, she chopped some more firewood; she would have to spend the night here.

After supper—salted mushroom stew—Wu Yueling inspected the area. The terrain here was low and well-hidden; even if the bandits returned, she needn’t worry.

From her storage she fetched a bunker, sheltering herself, the wounded woman, and her horse. Another wild night would pass, wrapped in the uncertain peace of the wilderness.