Greed flickered in Dong Haodong's eyes as he glanced toward the distant West Pass. After a moment of reflection on the recent changes, he nodded slowly.
Zhao Xunan watched him, a smile tugging at his lips. "Old Dong, few can make decisions as swiftly as you. With such resolve, a mere colonel of the frontier guards is too small a title for you."
Dong Haodong froze, then chuckled, gesturing to the city below. "A man must know his limits. I'm just a shifty old man—my skills are limited, so my ambitions are small. Holding onto Yinshan Garrison is enough for me."
"The grassland raids… they go against Great Qin's values. A fourth-rank frontier general like me can't control such things. Honestly, it all rests on you."
"Overstepping invites trouble. Before, you bore the brunt. Without you, the punishment would've fallen instantly."
"Besides, we've made enough. Greed leads to hell—don't forget that."
Dong spoke earnestly, and Zhao nodded, amused. "Pass the order: say it's my command. You're retiring to Yinshan—let the messy stuff fall to me."
"And send a hundred thousand taels to the Longyuan Provincial Administration. No one should hoard wealth alone. Tell them it's my doing, as a lieutenant general overstepping bounds."
Dong bowed first, then hesitated. "Your generosity humbles me, Lord Zhao. But pushing all the blame onto you… I fear some fools might plot against you."
His words held weight. Northwest frontier soldiers were battle-hardened veterans—once, they'd been manageable. Now, blinded by profit, they might act on greed if their gravy train derailed. This was why Dong had acted so decisively these past days. In weeks, he'd felt the shift in morale among Yinshan's thirty regiments.
"…Let them act. Truthfully, I never imagined money could corrupt men so quickly."
Zhao sighed. The transformation of once-honest soldiers into greedy brutes left him uneasy. He already regretted the raids.
Dong nodded solemnly, understanding. If they crossed the line, many of these "brothers" would lose their heads.
On the 26th day of the fourth lunar month in Kaiyuan Year 3, all of the Northwest except the ten li around West Pass had been reclaimed.
The Ministry of Personnel, War, and Revenue coordinated a massive effort: officials, refugees, and 350,000 troops from the Left and Right Guard Divisions, Left and Right Leading Divisions, poured through the Ancient Pass into the northwest to rebuild civil administration.
But sharp-eyed observers knew the true target: West Pass.
With the raids banned, resentment festered in Yinshan and Longcheng. But when 350,000 imperial troops marched out, the grumbling vanished.
The War Ministry decreed: "Frontier troops have acted improperly. For past hardships, we overlook it—but repeat offenses will relocate entire regiments to the Western Seas for farming!"
Most frontier soldiers were from the northwest or adjacent provinces. They hated leaving home, but the Western Seas lay south of the Sixteen Prefectures of the Western Frontier. Everyone knew Prince Liu harbored ambitions. Send them there, and any mishap meant death.
Money tempted, but life was dearer. Resentment faded.
Watching Yinshan's transformation, Zhao marveled: the tide of the state outweighed individual whims.
With 350,000 imperial troops entering the northwest, West Pass's morale plummeted.
Including the 200,000 frontier soldiers, Great Qin's forces now neared 600,000. The grassland khanate knew: Great Qin intended to take West Pass.
Zhao received a secret letter from the Right Leading Division, penned by Song Qiancheng, Vice Minister of War:
Ten days hence, 350,000 troops and 500,000 refugees will reach West Pass. Prepare. Once in position, war begins.
Feeding millions daily would strain resources—if they failed to attack, the court's supporters would suffer. But a battle would claim tens of thousands of lives, a karmic burden that might derail his cultivation path.
He burned the letter. "Influence in court opens doors," he mused. He'd planned to proceed cautiously, but the court's scale forced haste. He needed to find the "Reverse Scale Path" from his past life—a shortcut to power.
"Lord, aren't you taking Ma Lan?" Dong asked quietly.
"Though the regiments and court decrees have calmed them, I sense unrest in Yinshan—many daggers point at you."
"Ma Lan's too striking to stay alone in Jiaojiao. Too dangerous."
Zhao laughed, clapping Dong's shoulder. "Don't underestimate her. Even you, Yinshan's commander, couldn't last three rounds against her."
Dong blinked. Zhao sighed. "Never mind. The northwest frontier won't last. It's been under the War Ministry too long—it's time to normalize."
With that, Zhao turned to leave. Dong frowned, lost in thought.
After informing Ma Lan, Zhao packed lightly, grabbed dried cakes and pickles from the mess hall. The cook grinned, handing him a cloth bag. "Lord, cakes and pickles are too plain. Try this preserved meat—lasts longer than pickles."
Zhao thanked him, then paused, scratching his cheek. It itches… Did someone tamper with me before leaving?
Twenty li from Jiaojiao, North Yin Mountain loomed. Zhao reined in, wiping his face with a cloth. A faint red stain caught his eye—Someone's already acted.
From the woods emerged several figures. Zhao smiled at the leader. "Miao Wenqing—I didn't expect you. The raids' backlash hit you that hard?"
Miao, a master archer with a hornbow and three eagle-feather arrows, shook his head. "I care little for wealth. Raid profits were split among my men."
"Then why this?" Zhao scanned Miao's companions—strangers, not Yinshan soldiers.
Left: a black-robed man with eerie tattoos, holding a grass effigy—his aura reeked of dark magic.
Right: two bald men with bloodshot eyes, wielding bone swords—no decent fighters.
Miao chuckled. "Lord, do you recall the old Taoist on Wild Mountain?"
Zhao's eyes lit up. "The one who grew mushrooms with human flesh? You're his disciples?"
"Not disciples. The old Taoist was a minor figure, but he was the only successor to the Left Path's founding patriarch."
"You killed him—you've made enemies of all Left Path cultivators. The Shepherd King commands us: kill the murderer!"
Miao waved; the two bald men lunged with bone swords. Zhao dismounted, darting forward.
Clang! A circular slash deflected both bone swords. Zhao stabbed, but the tall bald man charged, taking the blade through his chest. The short bald man aimed for Zhao's dantian.
"Open!" Zhao roared, channeling true energy. Tianji blazed gold, splitting the tall man's upper body.
"Clever!" The grass effigy's voice croaked. A needle pierced its heart—black smoke billowed, seeping into Zhao's pores.
Zhao staggered, blood pouring from his orifices. The short bald man lunged again, sword aimed for his dantian.
"Die!" Zhao screamed, forcing true energy. Tianji shot a ten-zhang blade, blasting the short man away.
Miao loosed an arrow—glowing green, it pierced Zhao's right arm.
"Why aim wide?" Zhao slurred, shaking his head.
Miao grinned. "A thousand red spirits, a thousand yellow spirits—one thousand soul fragments. We lack soul-summoning skills. Which is worth more?"
A thousand red spirits—Zhao's heart raced. His life was worth that much?
"Earlier you said you cared little for wealth—lies!"
"Money's trivial. Spiritual stones for cultivation? Priceless."
As the poison seeped, Zhao gritted his teeth. "What realm are you?"
"Second Heaven of Qi Refinement."
"Cunning. Hiding your cultivation well!"
"All Yinshan thinks you're a low-rank martial artist. Who knew you walked the immortal path?"
Zhao snorted, popping pills. Miao laughed. "Useless—they're not poison, just cursed needles. Antidotes won't help."
"Just pass out. Save yourself the pain."
The black-robed man inserted more needles into the effigy. "Liver exhaustion… Spleen exhaustion… Lung exhaustion… Kidney exhaustion!"
Zhao collapsed, pale and gasping, blood and fluids streaming from his orifices.
"You're too harsh—he'll die, and we lose our prize!" Miao stopped him. The tall bald man regenerated in twenty breaths, fully healed.
"Left Path sorcery… impressive." Zhao panted. In his past life, he'd fought many, but never cultivators of this ilk. Same realm, yet far deadlier.
"Master Zhao, the 'Scholar-Warrior'—enduring five exhaustions and cursed needles. Truly extraordinary!"
Miao waved; the bald men attacked again. Zhao smiled weakly. "You know my name—you know I learned the Celestial Decree from Master Mo Wentai of Mount Dao Palace?"
He raised two fingers, pointing skyward. "Great Dharma Seal of the Demon-Slaying Celestial Lord: Great Relief from Calamity!"
Golden light erupted, blinding as the sun. Zhao rose, his aura pure. The curse dissolved—Miao and his men howled in agony.
The grass effigy crumbled to ash; Miao's tattoos flared green, burning to cinders. The tall bald man melted like snow, revealed as a controlled zombie. The short bald man convulsed, his mind half-gone.
Miao, the last standing, spat blood. "You… you'll be flayed alive by the Left Path someday!"
"Quiet!" Zhao slammed Tianji into his forehead. Miao shriveled to a corpse in seconds.
Using the same method, Zhao dispatched the bald men. He pointed at their bones. "Fire Deity's Decree: Hellfire Burn!"
The corpses ignited, turning to ash in half a incense stick.
Zhao nodded. With Six Ding Divine Fire, the Celestial Decree's power had surged—if he reached Core Formation, it'd be unstoppable.
Picking up the bone sword and bow, Zhao felt a chill. No warning… They had a barrier. Without the Demon-Slaying Decree, I'd be dead.
He mounted Zahua, riding north toward Yinshan. Must be more cautious. No more blind spots.