Chapter 87: Hostile Military and Civilians

He steadied himself. “Right now, who commands the army? Is it Zhong Shengguang or the Red General?”

What kind of question is that?

The soldiers exchanged surprised looks. One of them replied, “In both major and minor battles, the Red General holds command.” This was not exactly a secret, as everyone knew it, but this stranger’s questions were getting stranger by the moment. Clearly, they ought to tie him up and question him properly.

With that thought, the last soldier in the group turned and jogged off to summon reinforcements.

He Lingchuan saw it but paid no mind. Instead, he told the others, “Stay where you are, and I’ll release him in half an hour. Otherwise, you can take your comrade’s corpse home.”

He knew this ploy would work on the soldiers of Heishui City, but these men only traded hesitant glances before continuing to shadow him step for step. They clearly did not care much about his threat.

The captive uttered what little he could with the rope around his neck, “Kill me, and they still won’t let you go!”

He Lingchuan glanced around. There were rolling hills in every direction; the low scrub offered no cover, and the nearest village was about a kilometer and a half away.

Worse, the farmers on the other side of the canal, having seen him seize a soldier, were now making their way through the water to come after him.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place.

He could not stay here; he needed a way out.

Grabbing his captive, he began dragging him toward the irrigation canal.

Fortunately, the man was relatively light, and He Lingchuan was strong. He Lingchuan was thus able to simply haul him along, half-running in a backward trot.

The canal had been built to carry water for irrigation, and this being early summer, the current was still brisk. His eyes locked on a small wooden boat tied to the bank.

If he could ride the current downstream, it would outpace any man on foot.

Whatever happened, he had to shake the pursuit first.

He sprinted another hundred and fifty meters. The soldiers, though unwilling to halt their pursuit, still valued their comrade’s life and dared not rush in.

That was when he heard hoofbeats.

A dozen riders came thundering out from a fold in the hills. One look at their attire, and He Lingchuan instantly recognized who they were.

The Gale Army!

There are Gale Army cavalry scouts even here? Just my damn luck.

He abandoned the captive on the spot, slashing the man’s thigh for good measure before shoving him away, then spun and bolted.

Two legs would never outrun four, and dragging a burden was suicide.

Luckily, the canal was quite close now.

He put on a burst of speed, hurtling forward like a gust of wind. He used his momentum to leap straight into the water. A slash of his saber cut the mooring rope, and the current began to nudge the boat free.

The hoofbeats were louder now, the horses closing in at a gallop.

Too slow.

He bent to shove the boat forward.

But then, a sudden chill prickled down his spine.

With no time to think, he dove forward in a rolling tumble, pitching headfirst into the boat.

It was a perfect dog-eating-mud sprawl. It was utterly undignified, but it saved his life.

An instant later, two feathered arrows came rushing in. One buried itself ten centimeters deep into the mooring post, while the other hissed past the wooden gunwale and vanished into the water.

If he had still been standing there, it would have been a throat-shot or a heart-shot. Either way, he would have been absolutely finished.

Unfortunately, his movement had been too much for the narrow hull; the boat capsized at once, flipping bottom-up.

“...” Young Master He silently recited a string of curses.

Now what?

He could right the boat easily enough, but the cavalry, who were clearly as predatory as wolves, were surely at the bank by now. Even if he managed to flee downstream, he would only be rid of the foot soldiers and farmers. The cavalry would stick to him like glue, waiting for the perfect moment to drag him out.

Sitting in the boat would make him a perfect target for whoever was shooting from what seemed like a relatively short distance away.

Truth be told, the moment he recognized the Gale Army, he knew running was the only option.

Barely three or five breaths later, the riders reached the edge of the canal.

The terrain of the Chipa Plateau was unusual. While large armies could not climb up easily, swift, agile scouts often slipped in to reconnoiter, spread poison, or carry out assassinations. The people of Panlong City loathed spies with a passion. If they caught one, they would beat him half to death without a word, and as long as he still had a breath left when handed over to camp, no officer would ever hold them accountable.

The riders weighed their weapons, ready to hurl them like javelins.

He Lingchuan had seen this technique before in the Panlong Ruins. Sun Fuping’s barrier had nearly been shattered by it. Now it seemed this was not some secret skill, but a standard tactic of the Gale Army, something every soldier appeared to be trained to do.

But when they reached the bank and looked down, they froze.

In the canal floated only a single wooden boat, still drifting along bottom-up, moving downstream at a decent speed. At first glance, there was no trace of the spy.

The water was so clear that even fish and shrimp could not hide, let alone a full-grown man.

Then one rider suddenly pointed and shouted, “There! He’s hiding under the boat!”

Everyone leaned forward. Sure enough, part of a human form protruded from beneath the hull.

The bastard had actually curled himself up under the overturned boat, drifting along with it.

A rider wasted no time, hurling his spear, which struck the hull with a solid thunk. However, the little boat continued bobbing downstream, and no blood seeped into the water. Clearly, they had failed to hit him.

The rider cursed furiously.

The hull’s rounded bottom left no footing for them, and they could not very well jump down into the water.

Meanwhile, He Lingchuan was treating the entire boat as a shield. The overturned hull was full of air, enough to let him breathe comfortably for quite some time.

With himself hidden underwater and the boat blocking him from view, the archers on shore were helpless.

Tucked inside, he kicked along the canal bed, shoving the boat forward, moving faster and faster.

With the current aiding him, the overturned boat managed to pick up speed. In no time, the foot soldiers were left far behind; only the riders could keep pace.

He drifted downstream for over three kilometers.

By now, his heartbeat and breathing had steadied, but unease still gnawed at him.

He could not see the banks, nor did he know where he was drifting. Worse yet, he could feel the water level dropping.

This meant that the canal was getting shallower and losing its current. Before long, the boat would stop moving, and he would then have to face the riders directly.

What do I do?

Back in the countryside, such irrigation canals used to crisscross the land, and every so often, there would be a bridge, else no one could cross.

An idea sparked. He reached over the hull, gripped the spear lodged there, and yanked it free.

Then, he poked his head out beneath the gunwale to check the banks.

Bad news, the riders were still right on him, and the instant they saw him, their eyes turned cold. One of them swung a bow off his back, forcing He Lingchuan to duck right into the overturned boat swiftly.

Good news, on both sides of the canal, scattered buildings were starting to appear. Up ahead had to be either a village or a market town.

As long as it was not open flatland, his chances of slipping away would go way up.

A plan already formed in his mind. He timed it carefully, gauging the speed of the current, edging the boat toward the bank. Then, all at once, he let go and crouched low.

The overturned boat drifted right beneath a small wooden bridge.

It was around midday, the sun high overhead, casting the bridge’s shadow straight down onto the water.

And then the boat drifted on, exactly as before.

The riders suspected nothing and kept moving onward, chasing the little boat downstream.