The village didn't sleep that night. Not really. The air was too tense, the shadows too thick. But Han Li didn't hide from it—he studied it.
Every brittle fencepost, every muddy trail, every face that still dared to hope.
Mianhua's gaze had lingered longer than usual when she handed him a half-cooked yam. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Three days. That's all he had.
When dawn broke, he was already in the fields.
The sun bled over the ridge, casting long shadows across the wet paddies.
Han Li stood alone in the field, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the forested slope where the smoke had started rising. It wasn't the thin, lazy smoke of cook fires—it was thick, purposeful. A bandit signal.
They were close.
Too close.
He exhaled through his nose.
"They'll be here by nightfall," he muttered. "Perfect."
He gathered the remaining villagers in the square—mostly old men, a few middle-aged women, and children. Fear weighed on their faces. They expected orders from the hunter chief, but Han Li was the one standing tall.
Because the chief had fled.
"I'm not going to lie," Han Li began. "We can't fight them in open combat. Not with pitchforks and cooking knives."
The muttering started.
"But," he raised a hand, "we don't have to fight them like men. We fight them like the mountain—quiet, brutal, and full of nasty surprises."
A beat of silence.
Then he began issuing commands.
Over the next few hours, Han Li turned the village into a death trap.
Using his knowledge of physics, leverage, and old YouTube survival videos, he made weapons from tools long left to rot.
Plowspikes: Rusted plow heads buried beneath wet earth, sharpened and angled to stab upward.
Rot-snares: Old fishing lines strung between beams with glass shards and animal bones tied to them.
Grease-fire pots: Clay jars filled with fat, herbs, and powdered chili—buried beneath straw to ignite and blind.
The villagers watched him in a mix of awe and disbelief.
"This was once a harvest field," one man said.
Han Li grinned. "Tonight, it's a battlefield."
Back at his hut, he reinforced the door with iron nails pulled from broken carts. He tied bamboo strips together to form a spring-loaded barrier trap—designed to impale anyone who kicked the door down.
He worked shirtless, sweat glistening over his chest, muscle memory guiding him. Though Lin Xun's body was thin, Han Li's confidence made him feel like a warlord in disguise.
From behind, Mianhua watched him silently.
"You're not afraid?" she asked.
He paused. "I've been afraid all my life. But now... I know fear can be a weapon."
Her eyes softened. For the first time, she didn't look away when he caught her gaze.
That evening, as dusk kissed the treetops, Han Li climbed onto the thatched roof of the granary and stared into the forest.
Then he saw them.
Five dark figures. Leather armor. Mismatched blades. One wore a wolf pelt.
The leader.
They moved like they owned the earth.
Han Li's fingers tightened around the rope in his hand.
Not tonight.
As the bandits approached, their boots sank into the muddy paddy paths—exactly where he wanted them.
> Snap.
The first trap triggered. A spike burst from the ground and drove through the foot of the man in front. He screamed.
> Thunk.
A spring-loaded hoe slammed into the second's ribcage, flipping him backward into a pit of broken pottery.
The leader roared. "AMBUSH!"
Too late.
From the darkness, Han Li stepped into view, torch in one hand, dagger in the other.
"You picked the wrong patch of mud to piss in."
Two more traps went off—chili smoke blinding one of the bandits, who stumbled and triggered another tripwire. His body was flung sideways by a swinging bamboo log. The fourth fell backward screaming as oil-coated grass burst into flames.
The leader surged forward alone, howling with rage.
Han Li lured him in.
Through the old granary gate, past the baited fire pit, to the reinforced door of Han Li's hut.
The bandit kicked it in.
> THWACK!
The hidden hoe blade snapped up—driving straight into his thigh.
The man fell with a gurgling scream.
Han Li appeared behind him and dropped a clay pot onto the back of his head.
Blackout.
The fight was over in minutes.
The village smoldered, not from destruction—but from triumph.
Only Han Li remained standing. He was bleeding, bruised, and grinning like a devil under heaven.
> [ System Ping]
"Emotional Feedback Absorbed — Dominance, Strategy, Fear Triggered."
[New Stat Unlocked: Leadership]
[Trait Gained: Warborn Farmer — Tactical Traps +15% effectiveness]
[Skill Evolved: Improvised Warfare (Level 2)]
The villagers emerged in silence.
Then applause. Cheering. Men clapped his back. Children stared with wide-eyed wonder.
And Mianhua...
She walked straight to him, pressed a cloth to his wounds, and whispered, "Come. Let me treat you... thoroughly."
Han Li raised an eyebrow.
> [ Dual Cultivation Opportunity Detected]
Target: Mianhua
Compatibility: 83%
Desire: Activated
"Would you like to initiate healing through intimate channeling?"
He smirked.
"Oh, I'd like that very much."