Chapter 128: Mr. Xu, Mr. Wu

Having martial arts techniques alone isn’t enough; time is also needed to elevate one’s realm. Moreover, the current team is too weak. When quality can’t match the Border Army, it’s even more crucial to gain an advantage in numbers. Xu Xi turned around, accompanied by a spirited young girl. Leading the team, they stepped back into the snowstorm. “Huff—” “Huff—” The wind howled, freezing their ears. Every breath turned into white mist. Along the vast, endless border, there were still many “criminals” struggling to survive, yearning to live. In this vast world, eating is the greatest need, and those who are hungry will eventually come together, forming the sharp edge of rebellion. “Brother Xu, I’m hungry again.” “…A Niu, has your appetite grown recently?” “Hehehe, I’m dumb, all I know is how to eat.” The sound of their conversation was gradually covered by the snowstorm, growing fainter and fainter until it completely disappeared into the white, boundless world. … … Two months later, winter became even harsher, with fierce winds carrying snowflakes that stung the face. The Border Army soldiers, tasked with guarding the border and keeping watch over the “criminals” against demons, all found tattered clothes to wrap around their faces, leaving only their eyes and noses exposed. San Mao was a veteran soldier who had been stationed at the checkpoint for some years. With practiced hands, he wrapped cloth strips around his weathered face. “Old San Mao, why are you wrapping up so tightly?” A young recruit teased San Mao, thinking the old soldier was making a fuss over nothing. “Hmph,” San Mao snorted disdainfully, “You kids have no idea how fierce the white wind can be. Just wait until your flesh rots off!” His tone was so confident that even the mocking recruit hesitated and started wrapping his face too. Seeing this, San Mao nodded in satisfaction, like a victorious cricket general. Proudly, with his ugly wrapped face, he donned his armor, grabbed his spear, and headed toward the watchtower. “Old San Mao, good morning!” “San Mao.” “Old San Mao.” Along the way, people kept greeting San Mao. In truth, San Mao wasn’t his real name. His original name was something rustic like “Dog Egg” or “Tiger Cub.” But in his life as a soldier, there had been three incidents where he was left penniless, earning him the nickname “San Mao” (Three Pennies), and he felt it was fitting. The first time he was left penniless was in his youth when he couldn’t afford to bury his deceased parents or hold a proper funeral. The second time was as a young man when he fell in love with his neighbor’s daughter, Cuihua, but couldn’t afford the betrothal gifts, eventually marrying amid her father’s curses. The third time was in middle age when his wife and child were trampled to death by a passing nobleman’s horse, and he still couldn’t afford a proper funeral, burying them hastily. These three incidents of being penniless marked three turning points in his life, leaving the old soldier both bitter and amused. Drafted into the army, he donned armor he once never dreamed of wearing and carried a majestic spear, ending up at the border checkpoint in a daze. San Mao’s talent for cultivation wasn’t great. His temples were gray, and after many years in the army, he had only reached the first stage of Body Tempering, barely stronger than a mortal. Other Border Army soldiers often mocked him, but he didn’t care. San Mao had a clear perspective: “I was born with a lowly fate. Being able to practice martial arts is already a blessing from my ancestors!” Feeling the faint flow of energy within him, San Mao’s pride swelled. Even with his face wrapped, his smugness was palpable. Soon, San Mao skillfully climbed the watchtower to perform his guard duty. Other Border Army soldiers were gathered there, discussing things San Mao couldn’t understand. “Hey, have you heard?” “Are you talking about the rebels or…” “Of course, the rebels! They’ve caused quite a stir.” The Great Qian’s Border Army was vast, but the border checkpoint had never seen major incidents, so the soldiers had grown lazy. Under the winter sun, they animatedly chatted about something. San Mao couldn’t help but join in. “Where did the rebels come from? Which province is in chaos again?” San Mao thought it was a rebellion within the Great Qian’s thirteen provinces. But the others shook their heads, saying the rebellion didn’t start in the thirteen provinces but among the “criminals” along the border, who boldly sought to revolt. “Those rebels are fierce. In just over a month, they’ve gathered tens of thousands.” “I heard their leader is a demonic sorcerer who can summon soldiers from beans, which is why there are so many rebels.” “Huh? I heard their leader is a demoness.” “No, no, there are two leaders—one called Great Master Xu and the other Little Master Wu.” “Well… never mind, it doesn’t matter. Those rebels won’t break through.” The Great Qian Border Army, including San Mao, all nodded in agreement. What were the rebels? Just a bunch of peasants. Everyone present had peasant origins and knew that rebelling against the “masters” was impossible. The army guarding the Great Qian’s checkpoints far surpassed mortals in strength. The lowest-ranking officers were at the Innate Realm. At key, large-scale checkpoints, there were even Third Stage Innate Realm experts who could “see the divine.” How could a ragtag army of “criminals” stand a chance? “Wishful thinking…” San Mao shook his head, unable to comprehend the actions of those criminals. The other soldiers continued to recount exaggerated and outrageous tales about the rebels. Some said the homeless refugees were fiercer than the demons in the Ten Thousand Mountains, having repeatedly attacked other checkpoints, though they always failed. Others claimed the refugees were like demons returned from hell, fearlessly wielding pitchforks even under the trampling of iron hooves. They were like heavenly soldiers from mythological stories, devoid of the fear typical of peasants. No matter how they were scolded, their eyes burned with pure killing intent, utterly fearless! What could drive them to such extremes, even risking their lives? San Mao couldn’t help but ask again. “Boom—” “Boom—” As if answering San Mao’s question, a dark mass of people suddenly appeared in the distance, wielding various weapons, charging toward the checkpoint. “It’s the black rebels!” someone shouted, seeing the muddy, stinking filth. “It’s the red rebels!” another cried, spotting blood-soaked clothes. “It’s the yellow rebels!” yet another yelled, noticing the tattered, dirt-colored rags from long-unwashed clothes. The starving refugees shouted for survival, their eyes hollow yet burning with fire. In a chaotic, undisciplined formation, they surged toward the checkpoint, intent on breaking through. “Outrageous!!” The two Great Qian generals stationed at the checkpoint roared. They were Innate Realm martial arts grandmasters, but within the refugees’ ranks, two bursts of Innate Gang Qi erupted, confronting them from afar. “Sir, watch closely. This is my first spear strike after breaking through to the Innate Realm!”