Mianhua's touch lingered longer than the wound required. The cloth trailed from his ribs to his hip, her eyes meeting his with something unspoken but heavy between them.
The Heavenly Root Dao System's prompts still flickered faintly in his vision, tempting him. Han Li almost gave in — almost. But the echo of iron-shod boots in his memory cut through the heat in the air.
The bandits would come. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.
By the time Mianhua finished binding his side, his mind had already shifted. Plans took shape. Paths through the paddies. Weak spots in the fence line. Places where a man could vanish in fog.
That night, while the village slept, Han Li moved like a shadow. He checked every pit and snare, packed fresh clay for the slick patches, and whispered quiet instructions to the few men willing to fight.
When the eastern horizon began to pale, the mist rolled in thick and heavy. It wrapped the paddies in silence, swallowing the shapes of huts and trees.
The mist rolled low over the paddies, turning the world into shades of grey and silence. Han Li crouched behind the half-collapsed fence, breath slow, eyes fixed on the treeline.
Every trap was set. Every villager was hidden.
He'd walked the lines twice before dawn, making small adjustments — tightening snares, adding extra weight to the spring poles. The success or failure of this morning came down to whether the bandits followed their greed instead of their sense.
The first shadow emerged from the fog.
A man in ragged armor, spear slung over one shoulder. Another followed. Then five more. They moved with the lazy confidence of predators who'd never been punished for hunting.
At their head walked a broad-shouldered brute with a cleaver that looked more like a slab of iron than a weapon. A jagged scar ran down his face like lightning frozen in flesh.
"Small place," the leader said, grinning. "Men first, women after. Make it quick."
Han Li stayed low. The first trap would spring in…
A scream tore through the mist as the frontmost bandit dropped into a concealed pit, his leg punching through sharpened stakes. Another curse came as a second man staggered into a taut snare, the rope snapping tight around his ankle before yanking him off his feet.
The leader's grin twisted into a snarl. "Spread out! Find whoever's playing games."
Perfect.
Han Li moved along the fence line, keeping the fog at his back. A young bandit spotted him and charged, hatchet raised. Han Li stepped aside at the last instant, caught the man's wrist, and slammed the butt of his spear into his ribs. The air left the bandit in a wheeze before he crumpled into the mud.
Two more came from the side — and immediately hit the oiled clay patch Han Li had laid down. Their boots slid out from under them, sending both flailing into the thorn hedge coated with Mianhua's stinging resin.
Han Li didn't stay to watch them scream. He had bigger prey.
The scarred leader spotted him. "You've got nerve, farmer."
Han Li smirked. "Better than having your face."
The cleaver came down in a brutal arc. Han Li slipped left, then back, letting the man swing again and again, each miss dragging him closer to the ashy circle by the old forge.
The leader didn't notice — not until his boot punched through the thin crust and straight into the pit of smoldering embers beneath.
The scream was raw and animal. The smell of burnt flesh curled in the air.
Han Li's spear darted out, cracking down on the man's wrist. The cleaver fell, splashing mud.
He stepped close enough that their faces were inches apart. "Next time you step into my village, you won't walk out."
Around them, the fight had already ended. The surviving bandits were groaning in the mud or dragging themselves toward the treeline.
The leader glared through pain. "This isn't over."
Han Li pulled the spear back. "No. It's not."
The man stumbled away, clutching his burned arm, his pride in tatters. The others followed, disappearing into the fog.
The square erupted. Villagers poured out, voices loud with relief. Hands clapped Han Li's shoulders. Children stared at him with wide eyes.
Through the noise, Mianhua appeared — skirts damp, basket in hand. She froze when she saw the blood seeping down his side.
"You're hurt," she said, voice tight.
Han Li glanced down. The cut was shallow, but her gaze made it feel deeper. "Nothing serious."
Her fingers brushed his arm as she steered him toward her hut.
Inside, the air was warm with the scent of crushed herbs. She knelt between his legs to clean the wound, her touch careful but lingering just enough to make the Heavenly Root Dao System flicker to life at the edge of his vision.
[Emotional Energy Detected]
[Dual Cultivation Potential: High]
Han Li kept his breathing steady. Not yet. But soon.
Outside, the village celebrated their victory. Inside, Han Li was already thinking ahead. The leader would return. And when he did, the traps wouldn't just be for defense.
Next time, Han Li planned to hunt.