The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

Jin Mulan watched Hu Jinghui's figure disappear behind the stone gate. The lamp in the stone chamber was still burning, casting large, empty shadows on the walls.

She stood there for a long time, so long that the lamp wick popped several times, and with each pop, her shadow trembled.

Then he turned around, walked back to the stone table, and unfolded the map again.

He pressed his fingers on the location of Xiaolianzi Mountain, his fingertips turning white from the pressure.

"Someone come here."

"Pass on my message: Go to Xiaolianzi Mountain and burn down the mine. Leave no survivors."

The guard looked up at her, then looked down again.

"Yes."

More than 30 people left the ghost town before midnight, crawled out of the crack in the ancestral hall, and walked along the foot of the mountain.

They carried more than a dozen barrels of oil, more than twenty torches, and several bundles of oil-soaked hemp rope. As they walked in the column, they could smell a pungent, oily odor carried by the wind and flowing into the ravine.

Leading the way was a dark-faced man with a dagger tucked into his waistband. Every few steps, he would turn back to check if the others were keeping up.

The mountain path was difficult to walk on at night; the stones were sharp and the dry branches snapped and broke underfoot.

When the torch is lit, you can vaguely see the road ahead; when it goes out, you have to walk in the dark.

The line stretched out long, the footsteps were heavy, and occasionally someone would slip, mutter a short curse, and then fall silent again.

Xiaolianzi Mountain is not close to Ghost Town; it takes more than an hour to walk there even at a fast pace.

They carried heavy loads and dared not make too much noise, lest they disturb the hunters in the mountains.

The dark-faced man slowed his pace, stopping at each mountain pass to listen for a while, making sure there was no movement ahead before waving for the group to follow.

Zhang Rui floated above the group, watching them cross the valley, walk along the stream, and then climb over a low slope.

The torchlight flickered on the mountain path, like a broken snake.

Xiaolianzi Mountain appears as a dark silhouette in the night; it is not high, but its slopes are steep.

The path from the foot of the mountain to the mine entrance is a half-incense stick long, carved out by the miners step by step. It is winding and narrow, with only one person able to pass sideways in some places, and you have to rub your shoulders against the rock wall to get through.

When the group reached the foot of the mountain, it was around the beginning of the Chou hour (1-3 AM).

At the foot of the mountain, there was an open area overgrown with waist-high weeds, which had long since withered and rustled in the wind.

The dark-faced man selected ten men to stay and guard the foot of the mountain, and five more to guard the middle of the mountain path to cut off the retreat route. He then led the rest of his men toward the mine entrance.

They began to climb the mountain path, the torchlight flickering up and down on the narrow trail, like a string of sparks being pushed upwards by the wind.

A small fire was lit at the entrance to the mine. An old man, wrapped in a tattered cotton-padded coat, was dozing off by the shed while on night duty.

The fire was almost completely burned out, with only a few embers still glowing.

The sound of footsteps startled him awake. When he opened his eyes, he saw several figures in black. Startled, he kicked over the pile of firewood, scattering sparks all over the ground.

"Varied--"

Before he could finish speaking, his neck was slit.

The blade went in cleanly and came out with a dull thud.

The dark-faced man pulled his knife back and rubbed it against the old man.

"search."

The group dispersed and searched the shed, finding an oil lamp, a broken sickle, and half a bag of dry rations.

The dark-faced man didn't give it a second glance. He left two men to guard the entrance and led the rest of the men into the mine tunnel.

The mine tunnel was very dark, and torches were the only source of light. The flames flickered in and out of focus due to the wind in the tunnel.

The mine tunnel wasn't dug very deep; after walking less than twenty steps, you could see the miners' dormitories inside.

It was called a dormitory, but it was really just a few big pits dug in the ground, lined with grass, and filled with people, men and women, young and old, numbering at least four or five hundred.

People were packed together, snoring filled the air, and a baby in its mother's arms let out a soft groan before being slapped away.

Some people were awakened by the sound of footsteps. They sat up groggily, but when they saw the light of several torches, they were so frightened that they lay back down and shrank into the haystack, not daring to make a sound.

"burn."

As the dark-faced man spoke, he opened the oil drum and poured it onto the grass.

The smell of oil was so strong that it made him wrinkle his nose.

The oil was poured onto the hay, making a hissing sound as it absorbed the water. Only then did the people in the pit realize what was happening. A scream exploded from a corner, followed by a second and a third. Cries and shouts mingled together throughout the mine tunnel.

Someone handed him a torch, which the dark-faced man took, the flame flickering between his fingers.

Just then, a sound came from the mountain path.

It wasn't just one person's footsteps, but many footsteps, light and quick, pressing in simultaneously from both ends of the mountain path.

The dark-faced man froze, took two steps toward the mine entrance, and then suddenly stopped.

Lights appeared outside the mine entrance, not from torches, but from the cold glint of metal scraping against metal as crossbow bolts were nocked. These lights emerged from the shadows on either side of the mountain path, pointing directly at the mine entrance.

Li Yuanfang stood at the bend at the bottom of the mountain path, his sword already drawn.

Behind him were twenty elite guards from the capital.

Each person had their crossbows nocked and their knives in hand, the crossbow bolts gleaming with a cold, bluish-gray light under the moonlight.

The team lined up along the mountain path, blocking every possible way to run uphill.

The men in black didn't even have time to react when the crossbow bolts came flying from both sides.

They thought they were the only ones who knew this road, and that there were only two old men on night duty at the mine. Little did they know that the Thousand Bull Guards had been waiting on this mountain path for three hours.

The first batch of crossbow bolts felled the three men at the front, and the torches slipped from their hands, rolled a few times, and ignited the dry grass.

Some people rushed up and stomped on it, only to realize after a couple of stomps that what they were stepping on wasn't grass, but a corpse.

Some people turned and ran up the mountain. The five men in the middle of the mountain path came to block their way. Before they could even raise their knives, they were pinned to the ground by crossbow bolts shot down from above.

The ten people at the foot of the mountain heard the commotion and rushed uphill, but stopped halfway up.

The mountain pass was blocked off; the Thousand Bull Guards pressed down from above, sealing off the entire road completely.

The five in the middle have long since stopped moving.

Our escape route is cut off.

The torches flickered wildly in the darkness, and shadowy figures bumped into each other in the firelight.

Someone tumbled down the mountain path, landed in a pile of rocks, groaned, and then lay still.

A man threw down his knife, knelt on the ground, covered his head with his hands, and muttered something that was unintelligible.

The dark-faced man was still resisting, charging towards the mountain pass with his knife in hand. After taking three steps, his legs gave way, and he knelt down.

A crossbow bolt was stuck in his thigh, the shaft still trembling. Blood dripped down his trouser leg, landing on the stone, burning briefly before cooling.

The battle ended quickly; from the moment the crossbow bolts were fired to the moment the last person standing knelt down, it took less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

The mountain path was littered with people lying haphazardly. Torches lay on the ground, some already extinguished, others still burning on the dry grass, flickering intermittently, illuminating the bloodstains on the stones.

Before dawn, Li Yuanfang finished counting the number of people.

Of the more than thirty people, twelve died, eight were injured, and twenty-three were captured; not one escaped.