The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

Dusk, like layers of damp cloth, slowly enveloped the rainforest.

Qin Tiehua's blood roared in her ears; she heard her own breath amplified infinitely, utterly out of place with everything around her. The stream was still flowing, but the sound was no longer cheerful; instead, it grew increasingly heavy, as if coming from a very distant place. The air was filled with the smell of decaying leaves and fungi, but beneath it, something was seeping in—a pungent, murderous aura, carrying the scent of death.

Why didn't she leave immediately when she first sensed something was wrong? The fourteen-year-old girl felt regret for the first time.

The forest birds, which should have been chirping noisily at dusk, seemed to have been choked by an invisible hand. Then, even the chirping of insects fell silent. The entire rainforest fell into a deathly, chilling stillness. Only the wind whispered a mournful murmur as it passed through the canopy. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end—a warning etched into her genes—danger was coming, the predator was coming.

Fourteen-year-old Qin Tiehua held her breath and slowly stood up. Her muscles protested from squatting for so long, but she dared not move. Her eyes swept over every shadow of the bushes, every trembling of the ferns.

Then, she saw it.

Those were eyes that could steal your soul.

In the bushes across the stream, two points of amber light, like emeralds in the darkness, slowly opened in the gloom. There was no curiosity, no probing in their gaze, only a pure and cold scrutiny, as if patiently assessing her flesh, her speed, and how much effort she was worth.

When the spotted leopard emerged from the shadows, Qin Tiehua's liver, gallbladder, spleen, stomach, or even his entire soul clenched in shock.

It wasn't a wild beast at all, but a flowing mass of death. Its muscles rolled beneath its mottled fur, every inch taut like a bowstring. The last rays of the setting sun fell upon it, making the black, mottled stripes seem to come alive, undulating slightly. Its tail hung low, but the tip trembled nervously—the excitement before the kill.

It let out a low, menacing growl.

The sound didn't come from the throat, but from the depths of the chest, resonating throughout its entire body. It was like an ancient bell being struck by a rusted iron hammer, vibrating the air, the stream, and Qin Tiehua's bones.

The girl's teeth tingled slightly from the sound waves.

She instinctively held the sword across her chest, but felt that the short sword was as light as a straw.

The leopard didn't attack immediately. It gracefully strolled to the stream, lowered its head, and its amber eyes never left her. It stuck out its tongue and licked the water's surface. The tongue had barbs that made a teeth-grinding swishing sound as it scraped the water.

Images flashed uncontrollably through Qin Tiehua's mind—what it must have felt like to have that tongue licking her flesh.

Then it leaped over.

Time seemed to shatter into pieces at that moment. Qin Tiehua watched as its hind legs pushed off the ground, its muscles compressing to their limit like springs, then releasing. It didn't splash into the water; instead, like a withered leaf caught in the wind, it glided lightly, almost silently, across the stream. No, not glided across; it appeared out of thin air, its limbs outstretched, its claws like four hooks, drawing an arc of death in the air.

The girl instinctively dodged, but only managed to barely turn to the side.

A leopard's claw grazed her cheek, the force of the blow like a knife, severing a few strands of her hair. The hair drifted slowly through the air, and she felt no pain. The claw was only an inch from her eyeball; she could see the remaining flesh and blood on its tip, the remains of some unfortunate prey. A foul, hot breath hit her face—the leopard's breath, carrying the putrid stench characteristic of carnivores.

She stumbled into the bushes behind her, thorns piercing her back, but she dared not cry out. Only suppressed, animalistic gasps escaped her throat.

The leopard landed almost without pausing. It turned, its muscles bulging, its bones grinding together with a dull thud. Its pupils narrowed to slits, locking onto her. This time, it didn't growl, but instead emitted a hissing sound, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue. That sound was even more terrifying, for it signified pure preparation for attack—no warning, only action.

The leopard pounced again, this time even faster and more aggressive.

Qin Tiehua, the blacksmith's daughter, possessed a robust physique thanks to the influence of her elder brother and father, and had a certain level of martial arts skills under the guidance of Master Huiming.

Thank goodness!

Thank goodness!

Qin Tiehua's instincts acted faster than her conscious mind. She rolled to the side, her short sword instinctively slashing upwards. The tip of the sword sliced ​​through the air, cut through the wind, and pierced the soft fur of the leopard's belly. She felt a slight resistance from the blade, like cutting through a thick layer of silk, and then touching warm, trembling entrails. But in an instant, that sensation vanished—the leopard twisted its waist in mid-air incredulously, like an eel in water, like a master acrobat, forcefully removing its belly from the tip of her sword.

Qin Tiehua paid the price; the leopard's claws left three bloody gashes on her left arm.

The pain didn't come immediately. First came numbness, like being doused with ice water. Then, a burning sensation exploded from deep within the wound, climbing along the nerves, surging into her shoulder blade, and into her heart. She saw her flesh ripped open, revealing the white fascia; blood beads first congealed into a string, then suddenly spurted out, staining her sleeves red. She could feel the tearing sensation of each muscle fiber being severed, and she could hear the patter of her blood dripping onto fallen leaves.

The short sword almost slipped from his hand.

Her fingers were spasming.

Her nerves were screaming.

But the stubborn girl Qin Tiehua didn't scream; only instinct reminded her:

Kill it!

Kill it!!

Kill it!!!

The leopard landed gracefully and turned around as if Qin Tiehua didn't exist.

It stuck out its tongue and licked the blood from her claws. The action was humiliating, as if reminding the girl:

You're just a snack to me.

A hint of amusement crept into the leopard's eyes; it knew that the snack was already damaged, and it was only a matter of time before it was finished.

Qin Tiehua's breathing became erratic, her heart pounding like a war drum, making her eardrums ache. She knew she couldn't back down. If she did, her momentum would completely collapse, and the machine would toy with her like a mouse, until she was exhausted, and then bite her throat.

She forced herself to stand up straight, her short sword held horizontally once more. Blood trickled down the hilt, making it almost slippery to hold. She stared into the leopard's pupils, and in that instant, she saw it—not the ferocity of a wild beast, but an ancient, pure, and utter contempt for life.

The leopard pounced for the third time, this time holding nothing back. It was determined to fight with all its might and quickly savor its prize.

The wind howled, like the wails of a thousand ghosts. The leopard's silhouette stretched into a blurry golden lightning bolt in the twilight, appearing before them in the blink of an eye.

Qin Tiehua's pupils shrank to their limit. She could see the trembling of every single whisker, the glint of saliva at the corner of its mouth, and the scarlet abyss leading to death deep within its throat.

This time, she didn't retreat; she attacked, she killed it!

She feigned a step back, stomping her left foot heavily on the ground, kicking up a cloud of decaying leaves. The leopard's pupils dilated slightly—its prey was in fear, fleeing; this was the rhythm it knew best. Its body stretched to its limit in the air, its claws extended, ready to tear her chest apart with a single blow.

But the moment it landed, Qin Tiehua's body lurched forward against all reason.

Qin Tiehua's back was almost touching the ground as she slid backward like a fish. The leopard's black shadow, pouncing down from mid-air, completely enveloped her, its sharp claws tearing through the air and grazing her scalp. The cold metallic touch was the instant her hairpin broke and her black hair fell loose.

The hot, pungent breath mingled with the strong, acrid stench emanating from her abdomen—the smell of a predator's guts mixed with death—filling her nostrils. Just as the leopard's strength waned and new energy failed to rise, her curled-up body snapped straight up like a compressed spring!

The short sword in his right hand no longer belonged to human techniques, but was a cold light condensed from the hell of death. From bottom to top, against the flow of fur, it cleaved through the air and also cleaved through that warm, moist, and soft belly. It encountered no hard resistance, only the muffled sounds of leather tearing and flesh being pierced, and the scalding touch of hot blood splashing down.

The sword's edge didn't even reach the hilt.

The moment the blade pierced her, she felt immense resistance, followed by a muffled thud. It was the sound of internal organs being pierced, the sound of warm blood spurting out, the sound of life's life force bursting forth. The leopard's abdominal muscles spasmed violently, clamping down on the blade like a living creature, trying to push it away.

But she exhaled a breath of stale air, then gritted her teeth, and with all her might, twisted the hilt of the sword upwards.