The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

While Qin Tiehua fought desperately for his life, the wind and snow on the front lines in Junzhou, where Wang Zhonghua was stationed, intensified.

Wang Zhonghua's vanguard battalion had penetrated a hundred miles into the heart of Junzhou. The night was as dark as ink, and the wind and snow blinded their eyes. The troops struggled forward through knee-deep snow. With each step, someone groaned—the sound of frozen boot soles chafing their ankles, the most silent footnote to war in this era.

Wang Zhonghua wiped the ice from his brow, his palm caressing the hilt of the "Snow Chant" sword. He'd only had this sword for half a year, but the rope binding the hilt was already soaked in blood and frozen solid by the snow, holding it felt like holding a piece of history frozen in time. He still remembered when he first transmigrated, he'd murmured to himself, looking at this unfamiliar face in the clear water, "Wang Zhonghua? That name is certainly 'red and expert' (meaning 'red and expert', implying loyalty and integrity')." Back then, he only wanted to be a scoundrel, relying on his limited modern knowledge to survive in this chaotic world. But when he first witnessed bandits massacring a village, saw infants nailed to doors for public display; when he first wielded the sword, warm blood splattering into his mouth, salty and nauseating—he understood that this era didn't accept bystanders. It accepted only the "King of Knowledge" theory—either sit at the table or be placed on the plate.

"Reporting to the Commander, the 'Ghost's Sorrow' Gorge is just ten miles ahead. The terrain is treacherous, and there may be an ambush," the scout reported, his voice trembling in the cold wind.

Wang Zhonghua reined in his warhorse and gazed at the dark chasm that swallowed the stars and moon. Three years ago, he might have asked, "Is there GPS?"; six months ago, he might have thought, "This terrain is suitable for drone reconnaissance"; but now, he only asked one question: "What is the wind direction?"—he has learned to think like the ancients, using wind and snow, smells, and the movements of birds and beasts on the horizon to judge danger.

This is a terrible habit, meaning he is irreversibly becoming one of "them".

"Order the entire army to be on alert! Scouts, scout again! Lü Maoyi, take your men and occupy the high ground on the left. Duan Gong, crossbowmen, disperse into the forests on both sides." His orders were concise and powerful, echoing through the wind and snow. Each word was like a firecracker, exploding in the soldiers' frozen ears. Wang Zhonghua knew that behind these orders lay the shadow of modern military science: firepower suppression, high ground advantage, and tiered defense. But he also knew that what truly determined life and death was the unwavering resolve of these ancient soldiers to carry out orders with their flesh and blood—something he could never learn.

However, the Zoroastrian ambush came faster and more ruthlessly than expected!

The instant half of the vanguard entered the canyon, countless torches suddenly blazed up on both sides of the cliffs, like stars falling from the sky, instantly turning night into day. The rolling logs and boulders were no longer just wood and stone; they were the fists of death, slamming against shields with a muffled thud as if shattering internal organs. Even more deadly were the rockets wrapped in tarpaulins, whistling through the wind and snow, piercing the snow, the withered branches, and the bodies, flames climbing up everything like living things. The melting snow was instantly scalded into boiling steam, mingling with the stench of burning flesh, transforming the entire canyon into a living hell.

"Form ranks! Shieldbearers, hold!" Wang Zhonghua's roar was shattered by an explosive roar. He saw a young soldier's shield crack by a boulder, and before he could even scream, he was crushed into a bloody pulp by a second boulder—blood splattered on the snow like an abstract painting. He saw flames lick the face of a crossbowman, who screamed and rolled down the hillside, leaving a trail of charred flesh and exposed bone.

Wang Zhonghua's "Snowy Chant" danced like a silver light, cleaving through falling rubble and severing incoming arrow shafts. But more fragments embedded themselves in his armor, like the fangs of a hungry wolf. He felt a heat in his left arm; a stone shard tore through the armor, carving a deep, bone-revealing groove in his biceps. Blood gushed out, instantly freezing into dark red icicles. Strangely, he felt neither pain nor cold, only a peculiar numbness—a numbness he knew all too well. How many times had he been wounded? The seventh time? The eighth? Each time, he wondered if this would be the last.

"Be careful, China!" Qin Tiedan's roar exploded like thunder in my ears.

A poisoned crossbow bolt pierced the wind and snow, its tip gleaming with an eerie blue light, like the pupil of death. Tie Dan's iron club swept across, deflecting the bolt, but another boulder smashed into his shoulder, producing a cracking sound of bones shattering. The man who had grown up with him groaned, spitting a mouthful of blood onto Wang Zhonghua's breastplate, the steam instantly turning to frost.

"Iron Egg!" Wang Zhonghua was terrified.

"Leave me alone!" Qin Tiedan's eyes were bloodshot, his face displaying the most ferocious expression Wang Zhonghua had ever seen. "Watch out above!"

Wang Zhonghua looked up, and the figure draped in a dark red cloak stood atop the cliff like a mountain demon. Sha Tongtian, the leader of the Junzhou branch of the Zoroastrian Church, his face, which Wang Zhonghua had seen in portraits, now appeared breathtakingly real. Three poisoned arrows were arranged in a triangular pattern on the strange longbow, their arrowheads glowing with a bluish phosphorescence, aimed precisely at Wang Zhonghua's brow, throat, and heart.

There was an ambush ahead, a sea of ​​fire behind, and poisoned arrows above.

He recalled a quote he had read before his transmigration: "Every gift that fate bestows has already had its price secretly marked on it."

Now, Wang Zhonghua's price has arrived.

Flames licked the soles of his boots, the poisoned arrow remained drawn but not fired. He had already made his choice.

……

Two days later, at Liuyuan Ferry on the Yellow River.

The ice on the river was three feet thick, but Qin Tiehua knew that the undercurrents beneath the ice were the most deadly. She mingled with the caravan, stepping precisely on the thickest lines of the ice—a method she used to observe the direction of the current.

But just as they reached the middle of the river, bugles sounded from the opposite bank. The Kaifeng garrison had set up a roadblock half a day in advance!

"Miss Qin, retreat!" roared the peddler's assassin.

But then the ice behind them suddenly shattered, and more than ten black-clad assassins emerged, led by a female swordswoman whose sword was pointed directly at Qin Tiehua: "The magistrate has ordered that he be taken alive!"

Qin Tiehua understood that Chen Shimei wanted to live so that he could be publicly executed by slow slicing as a warning to others.

"Then let's see if you're alive to take it!" Instead of retreating, she advanced, sweeping across with a "Surprising Swan" strike. The scabbard shattered, revealing a gleaming blade. She cleaved the ice with her sword, cracks spreading like a spiderweb, instantly swallowing the three assassins into the icy river.

The female swordsman sneered, "A mere trifle!" Her sword flashed like a venomous snake's tongue, aiming straight for Qin Tiehua's heart.

Qin Tiehua neither dodged nor evaded, but instead met the sword's edge with her left arm. With a "whoosh," the longsword pierced through her arm! She let out a muffled groan, but pressed closer, the hilt of her "Jinghong" saber slamming into the female swordsman's temple. The opponent's vision went black as Qin Tiehua snatched the sword and slit its throat.

"Ah! She's gone mad! She's insane!" The remaining assassins were stunned by her ruthlessness.

Qin Tiehua bit her tongue, the excruciating pain keeping her conscious. She pulled the sword from her arm, blood gushing forth, but she swung "Jinghong" with her wounded arm, laughing wildly: "Come on! Today, I, Qin Tiehua, will kill one and be done with it; kill two and I'll make a profit!"

The assassins seized the opportunity to fire a volley, and the assassins fell into the water one after another. But the ice had reached its limit, and with a loud "crack," the entire ice surface collapsed!

Qin Tiehua clung tightly to a piece of floating ice, swinging her right arm wildly with her sword, cutting down the assassins who tried to drag her into the water one by one. But the current was too strong, and just as she was about to be swept into the middle of the river, a figure rushed over—it was the last member of the Dark Arrow team. He grabbed Qin Tiehua's wrist tightly, but was instantly swallowed by the current.

On his deathbed, he stuffed a sheepskin bag into her hand: "Miss Qin...go...go!"

Qin Tiehua grabbed the sheepskin bag and, using its buoyancy, paddled towards the shore with one hand. When she climbed ashore, her left arm was numb, but she still gripped the "Jinghong" knife tightly in her right hand. She opened the sheepskin bag; inside was a flatbread and a letter written in blood: "We nine are willing to die for Miss Qin. Please live on, Miss Qin, and seek justice for Young Master Wang, for Miss Liu, and for Sanyi Village."

She knelt in the snow and kowtowed three times to the Yellow River. When she stood up, there was not a single tear in her eyes.

Under the sunlight, the city walls can be seen in the distance; that is Bianliang, the capital of the Eastern Capital!

Qin Tiehua laughed, a laugh brighter and colder than the sunlight after the snow.

She turned and looked south, silently praying: Father, Brother Zhonghua, Sister Xinyi, please wait a little longer.

At the same time, on the Junju front line.

The canyon has become a living hell!

Wang Zhonghua's left arm was covered in blood, but he seemed oblivious to the pain. "Snow Chant" trembled in his hand like a dragon's roar, its blade weaving a dense net that shredded the falling rocks and arrows. He looked up, his gaze fixed on the dark red figure atop the cliff—Sha Tongtian.

Three poisoned arrows made a teeth-grinding "crunch" on the bowstring, and phosphorescent light danced on the arrowheads, making Sha Tongtian's face look like a demon from hell.

"Brother!" Qin Tiedan, who was seriously injured, roared and tried to stand in front of him, but was pushed away by Wang Zhonghua.

"Protect the crossbowmen!" Wang Zhonghua's voice was as cold as ice. "Duan Gong! Give me three breaths!"

Duan Gong looked up from the sea of ​​fire and saw Wang Zhonghua's eyes, instantly understanding. He roared hoarsely, "All crossbowmen! Provide cover fire!"

The remaining dozens of crossbowmen, disregarding the falling rocks overhead, forced themselves to their feet and unleashed a hail of bolts towards the cliff top. Although most were blocked by shields, they successfully disrupted Sha Tongtian's vision.

This is the moment I've been waiting for!