The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

The bandit leader staggered backward, clutching his face, blood gushing from between his fingers. The arrow, though it hadn't pierced his brain and killed him, had completely blinded him in his right eye, leaving him one-eyed!

Duan Gong stood in the shadows of the distant watchtower, expressionless, and nocked an arrow once more. He had waited far too long for this shot.

"I'm going to kill you all! Kill them all!" The one-eyed bandit leader went completely mad, his remaining left eye turning blood red, and he pounced on Wang Zhonghua like a wounded beast.

The final battle is about to break out, and Wang Zhonghua and others have made the last and worst preparations.

Just then, the backyard of the distillery was suddenly ablaze with fire!

"My old brothers in the Northwest! Follow me to kill the enemy—!"

Old Qin's booming voice was like a thunderclap. He held a long sword that had just been quenched, and his whole body exuded a sharp killing intent. Behind him were more than a dozen old soldiers, also wielding various iron weapons, with sharp eyes.

These men, usually silent blacksmiths, now seemed to have returned to the battlefield. They didn't need any formation; a simple exchange of glances was enough for them to automatically split into three groups, like three sharp knives piercing the enemy ranks, or three steel chisels chiseling at the bandits.

"Break through their formation! Pierce them!" Old Qin pointed his long sword, and the three groups, arranged in an arrowhead shape, plunged straight into the most densely packed and core area of ​​the bandits.

These veterans were far more skilled than the village guards. They were ruthless, coordinated perfectly, and targeted vital points. A hammer blow shattered bones and broke tendons; a tongs lock the throat, killing instantly; a red-hot iron bar swept across, charring flesh.

The tide of battle turned in an instant!

Qin Tiehua also came to reinforce the area with his father.

Qin Tiehua, holding a short sword, followed closely beside her father. Her swordsmanship was agile, and she specialized in finishing off bandits wounded by the veterans. The father and daughter worked together seamlessly.

"Dad, there are three on the right!"

"receive!"

Old Qin swept his longsword horizontally, forcing back the enemy in front. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Qin Tiehua rushed forward, his short sword piercing into the ribs of a bandit like a venomous snake.

The morale of the village protection team members soared, and they picked up their weapons and launched another fierce attack on the bandits.

The bandits suffered repeated defeats, leaving behind one corpse after another.

Seeing that the situation was hopeless, the one-eyed bandit leader glared venomously at Wang Zhonghua and roared hoarsely, "Damn it, he actually had a backup plan! Retreat! Retreat now!"

The remaining bandits retreated to the riverbank, where their small boat from which they had come was moored.

"Trying to leave?" Qin Tiedan, covered in blood, still gave chase.

"Brother Tiedan, don't pursue a cornered enemy!" Wang Zhonghua held him back. "Taking stock of the casualties and treating the wounded is the priority!"

Duan Gong stood on the watchtower, his bowstring twanging repeatedly, and three more fleeing bandits fell to the ground. But the one-eyed bandit leader, under the desperate protection of several trusted men, finally jumped onto a small boat and disappeared into the vast rain.

The fighting gradually subsided, leaving only the sound of rain washing away bloodstains and the painful groans of the wounded.

Wang Zhonghua stood in the courtyard strewn with corpses, looking at the fallen guards and the young faces that had closed their eyes forever. His fists clenched tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms.

That night, the aroma of wine in Hulu Bay was mixed with a heavy stench of blood.

That night, the tranquility of Hulu Bay was soaked and torn apart by the wind and rain.

That night, a dark figure, wielding a long spear, kept a close watch on Wang Zhonghua on the battlefield.

That night, neither Yao nor Wang Xiangjun slept a wink.

That night, several villages, including Laomentan, Wangjiagang, Lüjiachang, and Hedukou, centered around Huluwan, were destined to be sleepless.

The rain gradually subsided at dawn, turning into cold drizzle. In the open space in front of the Huluwan Winery, the bodies were neatly arranged and covered with white sheets. Eight bodies—a full eight bodies of the winery's guards—and five seriously wounded men who had been rushed back inside for treatment, their fate unknown. In those days when even a common cold could be fatal, the chances of these five surviving were extremely slim.

Fewer than forty team members were able to stand. Almost all of them were wounded, with bandages wrapped around their heads and slings around their arms, silently lining up before the eight bodies. Rain mixed with blood slid down their young but weathered faces.

Wang Zhonghua stood at the front of the line, his left arm wound simply bandaged, blood still slowly seeping out, staining the bandage red. His gaze swept over each familiar yet unfamiliar face—one that was full of life yesterday, now a cold corpse.

All the team members, whether injured or not, shuddered at the sound and tried to straighten their backs. Those bodies hunched over from pain seemed to be infused with an invisible force, struggling to stand even straighter. The heavy straw hats remained on, rain dripping incessantly from the brims, like a curtain of tears falling for them.

"A bow—a gesture of respect to comrades!"

Wang Zhonghua spoke each word clearly and forcefully, his voice like tearing silk. He then faced the body, clasped his hands together, raised them above his forehead, and then slowly lowered them to his chest, bowing deeply to the ground. This was a solemn ceremony for bidding farewell to comrades in the military.

"Send this to my comrades!"

With tears in his eyes, Qin Tiedan was the first to follow suit. Despite his injured right arm, he supported his right wrist with his left hand, completing the bow with difficulty and solemnity. Immediately after him, Du Ziteng, Lü Maoyi, Zhang Simao… all the team members, regardless of their injuries, did their utmost to adjust their posture. Those with both arms intact clasped their hands in a deep bow; those with one injured arm supported their injured arm with one hand, or were helped by a companion, to complete this solemn salute together; those with both arms injured and unable to raise them endured the excruciating pain, bending deeply, deeply forward, pressing their foreheads close to the cold, damp ground, remaining motionless for a long time.

This is not a perfectly synchronized movement, yet it is more awe-inspiring than any synchronized movement. Every painstakingly completed bow is a profound mourning for the departed, a silent oath of blood from the living to the dead.

Wang Zhonghua walked to the first body, slowly squatted down, and lifted a corner of the white sheet. It was Zhao Xiaowu, the young team member who was complaining about the weather last night; the wound on his throat was shocking.

"Xiao Wu, sixteen years old, an only child." Wang Zhonghua's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears. "His mother has poor eyesight and relies on the money he brings home each month to buy medicine."

He then walked to the next corpse: "He Dashan, 22 years old, his wife is newly pregnant."

"Zhou Wulang, nineteen years old..."

He read them out one by one, clearly stating the name, age, and family background of each fallen soldier. With each name he read, the soldiers clenched their fists tighter.

By the time he read the eighth name, Wang Zhonghua's voice was already choked with emotion. He stood up and his gaze swept across the entire room:

"Did you all see that clearly? This is the consequence of being soft-hearted! This is the consequence of slacking off during training!"

He abruptly ripped off the bandage on his left arm, revealing a deep, bone-revealing wound: "I'm injured too, it hurts a lot. But compared to them, what's this little injury?"

"Tell me!" he suddenly raised his voice, "Do you want to become a cold corpse like them, leaving your parents, wives, and children heartbroken? Or do you want to live and protect the people you need to protect?"

"Live on!" Someone shouted first.

"Live on! Live on!" The shouts quickly merged into one, echoing through the valley.

Wang Zhonghua raised his hand to stop the shouts, and said in a deep voice, "From today onwards, training will be doubled! I want you to remember the pain of today, to remember these eight lives! I want each of you to become a true sword, so that any enemy who dares to invade will never return!"

"No one will return! No one will return!"

Old Qin, Qin Tiehua, and the blacksmiths all looked solemn.

Wang Zhuacai, Yao Shi, and Wang Xiangjun looked at Wang Zhonghua with worry, fear, and pride in their eyes.

The villagers who rushed over were in tears.

When Lü Sanjun, Shen Zhou, and local gentry arrived with a large quantity of medicinal herbs and compensation money, this was the scene they saw: the village guards, covered in blood, stood solemnly in the rain, their youthful innocence gone, replaced by a steely resolve forged in fire.

"Zhonghua, what is this...?" Lü Sanjun was shocked by the somber atmosphere.

Wang Zhonghua turned around, his gaze sharp as a knife: "Sir, the manor protection team needs to be rebuilt. The compensation for the fallen brothers should be doubled, and our Lü family will be responsible for their families' care and funeral arrangements."

"Of course, of course," Lü Sanjun nodded repeatedly. "I have already sent people to deliver the compensation to each family, one hundred taels of silver to each person."

"That's not enough." Wang Zhonghua shook his head. "What I need is a promise, a promise that will give them no worries."

Seeing the determination in Wang Zhonghua's eyes, Lü Sanjun finally solemnly promised: "Alright! I, Lü Sanjun, hereby swear that the parents of our fallen brothers are my parents, and their children are my children! As long as my Lü family has a bite to eat, we will never let them go hungry or cold!"

These words moved all the members of the guard team.

Three days later, the funeral was held on the hillside behind the village. Not only were all the village guards present, but people from the surrounding villages also came spontaneously to pay their respects. As the eight coffins were slowly lowered into the grave, the cries of mourning were deafening.

Wang Zhonghua personally poured three bowls of "Drunken Eight Immortals" for each new grave:

"The first bowl is a toast to your heroic battles!"

"The second bowl, may you have peace and health in your next life!"

"The third bowl," he raised his bowl, his gaze sweeping across the entire room, "I, Wang Zhonghua, hereby swear that I will make Black Wind Stronghold pay for its blood debt!"

"If you don't believe me, let's try it!"

"Blood for blood! Blood for blood!" The roars of the village protectors, along with the cries of the villagers, merged into a monstrous wave that crashed and rippled repeatedly in Hulu Bay, startling countless birds into flight, as if even the sky and the earth were shaken.

Wang Zhonghua's bloodshot eyes stared at the several heavily wounded and captured bandits.