The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

After Wang Zhonghua forced the bandits to reveal that they came from the Black Wind Village of Qinxiang Lake, he ordered his men to throw the bandits and their corpses into Laomentang to feed the fish and turtles.

Wang Zhonghua really didn't want to indulge in "humanitarianism" and talk about "saintly compassion" towards these inhuman bandits. He hoped to use this battle to give those overt and covert forces that coveted the "Drunken Eight Immortals" secret recipe a due deterrent, so that they would not dare to act recklessly for at least a short period of time.

Master Huiming also came.

He first performed a rite of passage for the fallen guards. The sandalwood prayer beads, steeped in time and the scent of sandalwood, twirled between his fingers, the chanting deep and resonant, like a comforting murmur rising from the depths of the earth, each syllable landing heavily on the hearts of the living. He bowed deeply before the still-young bodies, his brow furrowed with profound compassion—not mere sympathy, but a quiet sorrow born of understanding the cyclical nature of all things and the impermanence of life. The rain soaked his faded monk's robe, but he seemed oblivious, as if his entire being was absorbed in the power of his vow to guide those to the afterlife.

He then slowly walked to the edge of the Old Gate Pool. The pool water still churned with an ominous dark red hue, the stench of blood mingling with the stench of water lingering in the air. Wang Zhonghua and the others stood solemnly to one side, their expressions complex. In their view, these bandits deserved to die; throwing their bodies into the pool was already their retribution.

Master Huiming, however, faced the turbid pool, clasped his hands together again, and bowed deeply.

Some hesitated to speak, seemingly feeling that the master's actions were too "pedantic," and that there was no need to show mercy to such wicked people.

As if knowing what everyone was thinking, the master did not turn around, but gazed at the pool that seemed to drown everything. He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but clear enough to pierce through the rain: "The Buddha sees eighty-four thousand insects in a bowl of water. What you see are bandits and villains, and what I see are beings who have lost their true nature and fallen into the sea of ​​suffering of Asura. Their actions deserve to be punished, but their souls are pitiable. The purpose of deliverance is not to forgive their sins, but to purify their spirits, so that they will not be forever trapped in the cycle of resentment and create new evils."

Having spoken, he closed his eyes and concentrated, reciting the scriptures once more. This time, the scriptures differed slightly from those recited during the previous ritual to deliver the souls of the village protectors. The tone was more desolate and majestic, like a morning bell or evening drum, attempting to pierce through the layers of bloodshed and resentment. He stood there, his slender figure seemingly confronting the desolate mountains and surging pools behind him, using his own compassion to balance the violence and death that had just been poured out upon this world.

The wind seemed to have subsided, and the rain had become softer. The suffocating, chilling atmosphere by the pool seemed to dissipate slightly in his calm and peaceful chanting. It wasn't that the hatred and vigilance had disappeared, but rather that the string of violence that had been taut in people's hearts had loosened a little, allowing them to glimpse a trace of compassion and reflection that belonged to "humanity" beneath the cruelty.

After finishing his chanting, he turned and nodded slightly to Wang Zhonghua and the others, his gaze clear and wise, as if he had seen through the bloodshed of the night, yet also embraced everything. He did not comment on Wang Zhonghua's handling of the situation, but the understanding and profound compassion in his eyes spoke louder than a thousand words.

Finally, he drifted away, retracing his steps, and returned to Shousheng Temple on Ziyun Mountain. His figure gradually disappeared into the vast landscape of mountains and water, as if he had come here to draw a line between life and death, between killing and salvation, a line that belonged to "compassion," both gentle and powerful.

After everything was settled, Wang Zhonghua made a decision that surprised everyone—the entire manor protection team set off for Misty Mountain for a month-long closed training program, which was also a special training and devilish training program that he had summarized from the "Writer's Library" in his previous life.

Wuyan Mountain is located on the northwestern border of Chenzhou, belonging to Fugou, a prominent county under the jurisdiction of Kaifeng Prefecture. The mountain is high and the forest is dense, shrouded in clouds and mist all year round, making it a dangerous place rarely visited by people. The word "dangerous" here is by no means a lighthearted sentiment expressed by literati.

The Misty Mountain boasts a bizarre and enigmatic shape, resembling a coiled dragon. Its main peak is perpetually shrouded in a thick, greyish-white fog, its true form rarely seen. The mountain is not a continuous, smooth path, but rather a jagged landscape of craggy rocks and sheer cliffs. In many places, there are no paths at all, only vines clung to by monkeys and bottomless fissures carved out by years of flash floods. White steam, carrying the smell of sulfur, constantly billows from these fissures; a person who slips will be swallowed up in an instant, without even a sound.

The forest there was as deep as a prison, fraught with danger. The trees weren't the usual verdant green, but covered in a damp, dark green, their branches and leaves twisted and gnarled, blocking out the sun. The light in the forest was dim; even at midday, it felt like dusk. Underfoot lay a thick layer of decaying leaves, accumulated over countless years, soft and sinking underfoot, yet beneath which might lurk the nests of poisonous insects or rusted caltrops abandoned by hunters. There was also a kind of mist, known locally as "ghost wall," that rose without warning from the valley floor, so thick it was impossible to see beyond three steps, leaving many herb gatherers and hunters forever lost within its confines.

The Jialu River near Misty Mountain adds boundless vitality, along with several seasonal mountain springs that trickle during the dry season and cascade into waterfalls during the flood season. The ravines to the north of the mountain are perpetually damp, commonly known as "Dragon Ravine," and are quite scenic. However, beneath this vitality lies a pervasive sense of death. The streams appear clear, yet they are icy cold and swirling, with slippery moss covering the rocks. Most of the brightly colored wild fruits and mushrooms are highly poisonous. Venomous snakes and scorpions lurk among the rocks and fallen leaves, their colors blending seamlessly with the environment; mosquitoes and horseflies are as large as fingernails, their bites causing red, swollen, and festering wounds that take days to heal. At night, the howls of beasts are mournful, indistinguishable as wolves or jackals, their gleaming green eyes darting through the darkness, watching for any uninvited guests who dare to intrude into their territory.

There is no idyllic pastoral scene here, only the most primitive and savage laws of nature. Wang Zhonghua chose this place to place the "Manor Protection Team" in an environment where they must be constantly vigilant, struggle, and brush with death. Here, danger is not an embellishment, but the air they breathe, the land beneath their feet, the cruelest and most effective crucible for forging truly sharp blades.

The new training is brutal:

They carried 100 pounds of weight and ran 30 miles every day, and the last three to arrive had no dinner.

They lay dormant in the icy stream until they lost consciousness.

Climbing a slippery cliff with bare hands, if you fall, you have to start all over again.

Three days and three nights of wilderness survival, with only one dagger provided.

Even more terrifying was the combat training. Wang Zhonghua divided the village protection team into two groups and conducted real combat exercises. Although they used wooden sticks wrapped in cloth, the blows still caused excruciating pain.

"Haven't you eaten? Hit harder!" Wang Zhonghua roared on the training field. "Being merciful to the enemy is being cruel to yourself!"

A month later, when the guards emerged from Misty Mountain, they had completely changed. Each of them had dark, rough skin, sharp eyes like an eagle, and moved silently, exuding the aura of wild beasts from the jungle.

Looking at this transformed team, Qin Tiedan couldn't help but say to Wang Zhonghua, "Brother, this isn't a team protecting the village, it's a death-reaping horde!"

Looking at his team members lined up neatly in the setting sun, Wang Zhonghua smiled with satisfaction and said softly, "If we don't train them into true demons, how can we survive in this cannibalistic world?"

He turned to face all the team members, his voice firm and resolute:

"From today onwards, you are no longer the farm protectors."

"You are—the hidden arrows!"

"Let all your enemies tremble at the mere mention of your names!"

"Hidden arrow! Hidden arrow!" The shouts echoed through the valley, announcing the birth of a terrifying force.

……

In the distance, the one-eyed bandit leader, who had narrowly escaped, was kneeling before a mysterious figure, begging for forgiveness:

"Uncle (dialect): My dear uncle, please give me another chance! I promise..."

"Useless." The mysterious man, his back to him, spoke in an icy voice, "You, a ruthless bandit who has terrorized the land for years, can't even handle a soup vendor? You're utterly useless! Do you know how much effort my master and I put into training these two hundred assassins?"

The one-eyed bandit leader broke out in a cold sweat: "It's not that we're useless and incompetent, it's just that Wang Zhonghua is too cunning, and those veterans..."

"Wang Zhonghua..." The mysterious man slowly turned around, his eyes flashing coldly behind his mask. "It seems that you, young man, have really given me too many surprises. I am determined to get the 'Eight Immortals' Drunkenness' recipe. I want to see what other skills you have."