Chapter 94

Chapter 94

Deep in the Miemeng Mountains, a crew of twenty-plus men was holed up under a jagged cliff face, staring straight at a peak made of weirdly piled-up boulders ahead.

Under the cliff were bedrolls and a fire that had just gone out, with scraps of food around it—dried rations or a few bones chewed clean.

Plainly, this bunch had been camped here for a good while. Even being extra careful, they'd still left signs of living here, but they didn't have the time or the mind to clean up now.

The diggers had been drilling and chipping into the mountain for days. Whether they'd hit the gold vein was the make-or-break question right now.

The boss stood at the mouth of the deep cave, picking up a chunk of rock that had fallen from the dig. The rock had faint gold streaks on it. The only reason they'd found this spot was that the vein's gold was already showing on the surface—if they dug deeper and found more, they'd be sitting on a fortune!

The flunky next to him stared at the gold rock in the boss's hand, eyes bugging out. In all his years chasing gold, he'd never seen ore this pure.

"Boss, this is obviously a top-notch gold mine. How come after all these years, nobody's ever heard of it or worked it?"

The boss hefted the ore in his hand. "How many famous mountains and rivers are there in this world? You think you can count 'em all at your age? Now get your ass back to hauling rocks."

That shut the flunky up. He knew he'd asked something he shouldn't have. The head gold hunter was the most seasoned of the bunch—his knack for reading mountains and calling out gold was something he never passed on, and nobody dared even poke around it, since it was the skill that put food on his table.

Not one grain of gold smelted from these wild mountain mines came without blood on it. Men died for money, and the open and behind-the-scenes fights over a giant gold mountain never really ended. Any gold hunter who lived through it was no ordinary man.

Backstabbing and switching things up—in this line of work, anyone with a conscience had long since ended up dead in a ditch.

The flunky scurried off to haul rocks, while the boss stood there, frowning hard.

The more obvious the gold mine, and the fact that nobody had ever worked it or smelted it, the bigger the danger. The Miemeng Mountains stretched out huge and almost endless—a range that big wasn't just crawling with beasts, it was almost certainly patrolled by Mountain Guards.

Gold hunters dealing with mines and gold dust couldn't avoid scouring mountains and digging holes, which meant they couldn't avoid running into Mountain Guards now and then.

But this bunch was extremely tight-lipped, every member keeping deep cover, almost never coming out of the mountains. Even the most experienced gold hunters only knew the name—most had never laid eyes on a real Mountain Guard.

In the last few years, a bunch of big gold gangs in the mountains had been wiped out, supposedly at the hands of the Mountain Guards. But since no gold digger ever walked out alive, it stayed a mystery, so they just let it go.

The most pressing thing now was finding the gold vein and keeping it quiet. Too many eyes were watching from the outside—plenty of gold hunters had died at this exact step, busting their backs to find a vein, only to get jumped and killed by rival crews who took the mine for themselves.

When it came to serious money, the only way to keep loyalty was through cold-blooded ruthlessness, tied together by shared greed.

Keeping your mouth shut gets things done. To cover their tracks, they'd quietly killed who knows how many people along the way—turncoats in their own ranks, and villagers who'd guided them. Anybody who saw them outside the mountains was a dead man.

The boss ran through every one of his crew in his head again, picking apart the smallest details to figure out who needed to go. He cut a sideways glance—that Sun Ji, who'd somehow lost his digging shovel without even noticing, was probably a problem.

Just then, a few guys came bursting out of the narrow mine shaft, all hyped up, clutching ore samples with crazy-high gold content, their teeth practically chattering.

"Boss, we hit gold on the shady slope!"

The second those words hit, Sun Ji—the one who'd lost his shovel—stepped right up to look at the mine entrance, thinking it might be a bluff. But the second his back was turned, a cold glint flashed in the boss's eyes. He pulled a throwing knife from his coat and whipped it hard—it slammed into Sun Ji's back dead center. He let out an "Ah!" and dropped dead.

Nobody dared make a peep. The boss took the high-grade gold ore and sneered, "He was more trouble than he was worth. A little blood now—call it an offering to the mine."

Nobody gave a second thought to their buddy's death. They hacked Sun Ji a few more times to get more blood smell out, then tossed him into a ravine in the woods. Inside a day, the animals would eat him clean.

Elsewhere in the mountains, Rong Feng was trying to figure out the group's route using plain common sense, tracking alongside Bian Hong.

But they'd been moving fast for days without finding a trace of the crew. Occasionally they'd run into faint signs, but nothing more. Their tracks were clean—totally different from the poaching bandits.

And far harder to deal with. That made Rong Feng pause the search and instead go find the wolf packs that hunted and dwelled nearby.

Rong Feng stood on a rocky outcrop, tilted his head back, and let out a long, drawn-out wolf howl from his throat. Bian Hong listened—he couldn't tell the slightest difference from a real wolf's cry.

As Rong Feng's voice faded, responses echoed from the distant and near mountain ridges, rising and falling in succession. Judging by the strength of the sounds, several different wolf packs were answering. Wolf packs had strict territorial lines—trespassing into another's turf meant getting chased off at best, or bitten to death at worst.

So the more distant packs held their ground, while only the wolves within this territory responded and started heading their way.

This commotion wouldn't raise suspicion even in the most careful person—after all, in the wild forest, wolves gathering to hunt was the most natural thing in the world.

Taking advantage of this break, Rong Feng and Bian Hong rested in place, eating some dried rations to regain strength. Before long, a rustling sound came from the nearby woods. Bian Hong tensed at first, but Rong Feng patted his shoulder and pointed in a direction.

Bian Hong followed his gaze and relaxed. The sound wasn't from people—it was several wild wolves with black fur and yellow eyes.

These wolves were different from the pack Bian Hong had met in the mountains before. They looked more ferocious and more wary. Even summoned by Rong Feng, they only gathered in small groups at different spots—Bian Hong glanced around and saw they were all positioned for attacking.

The black wolves weren't doing this on purpose—it was their nature. Even facing a Mountain Guard, they instinctively held back.

Rong Feng was used to it. The Miemeng Mountains were vast and boundless, home to countless species. Even though he'd grown up in these mountains, there were still plenty of places he hadn't been and many packs he hadn't seen.

No matter where he was in the mountains, he could rally all with a single call—half of it came from familiar faces, and the other half was the hard-won result of generations of Mountain Guards living in harmony with the forest. Those before planted the trees; those after enjoyed the shade.

After quietly observing for a while, the wolves at the forest's edge gradually parted, all looking toward the rear. A massive black wolf then strode out from the deep woods—presumably the wolf king.

The black wolf king was immensely imposing. Even covered in glossy black fur, the contours of its muscles were visible—extraordinarily powerful.

It didn't approach the two men first. Instead, it raised its head and carefully sniffed the scents carried on the wind. Only after confirming again did it walk calmly to stand before Rong Feng.

Bian Hong marveled, gesturing with his hand—the wolf king's frame was enormous. Standing there, its back came up to his waist.

Nature possessed wondrous creative power—not only beings like the Mountain Lord that were nearly spiritual, but also a dazzling array of magnificent life forms.

Then the black wolf king looked at the two men and raised its head, as if asking: what do you want with me? If you've got something to say, say it.

To Bian Hong, the wolf king was already a fearsome beast of extraordinary bearing. But to Rong Feng, it was ordinary—a common species in the Miemeng Mountains.

After all, even if its back reached Bian Hong's waist, horizontally it only came up to below Rong Feng's thigh. Rong Feng believed that no matter how fierce an individual wolf was, it posed little threat alone. What truly let them hold territory was their pack strength and strict social structure.

Seeing Bian Hong staring unblinkingly at the black wolf king, Rong Feng knew exactly what he was thinking.

Bian Hong found the black wolf remarkable—most likely because he'd never seen the Mountain Lord with his own eyes. Even Rong Feng himself, craning his neck upward, could only see the underside of the Mountain Lord's raised chin.

That was the true divine beast of the Miemeng Mountains. Wherever it passed, it carried wind and mist—magnificent, awe-inspiring, and commanding.

Perhaps once things settled down a bit, he'd take Bian Hong into the mountains to track the trail of the mightiest creature in these peaks, and then visit the sacred pool atop the summit. Bian Hong would surely love that.

But for now, he needed to finish the task at hand. So after the black wolf's signal, Rong Feng took out the bloodstained gold-digging shovel and presented it to the wolf king.

The wolf king lowered its head and sniffed, then a sound rumbled from its throat. Only then did the pack in the woods emerge fully. They came near Rong Feng, each stepping forward to memorize the scent, then scattered into the forest at the wolf king's command, vanishing into the trees.

No matter how well-hidden the gold seekers were, they could never escape a wolf's search.

Rong Feng and Bian Hong waited at ease, preparing arrows on the spot. To test the arrows, Rong Feng went deeper into the jungle and cleanly shot a wild deer—considering it payment for the black wolf pack's help in tracking.

By late afternoon, the wolves began returning one by one. The wolf king wasted no time, tearing open the deer's belly with its fangs, eating the liver first, then sharing the rest with the returning pack members.

Finally, half was left. Several wolves dragged the remaining deer away—likely taking it back to the den to give the pups a taste. This type of deer was hard to hunt, incredibly fast; even wolf packs with exceptional hunting skills rarely caught one.

And finally, just before sunset, several wolves covered in leaves and grass seeds came running back. They turned to signal, then led the way ahead. Rong Feng got excited and, without hesitation, swept Bian Hong onto his back. Channeling energy into his legs, he strode swiftly after the racing wolves.

On Rong Feng's back, Bian Hong felt the incredible speed—the scenery blurring past. The wolves ahead kept running, and finally, in the glow of the evening sunset, they stopped in a forest before a barren mountain.

At the entrance of the gold mine, three men stood armed, faces wary but with a hint of resentment. The boss and his right-hand man had gone into the mine to prospect, leaving them outside to guard—hardly fair treatment. Given the gold purity of this mine, one could pocket a piece and later smelt it in private, earning more than several life-risking expeditions combined.

But they didn't dare complain. The Chieftain was ruthless—if any one of the three leaked a word to him, they'd be dead. In truth, the men's hearts weren't united either; they schemed against one another, especially now that they'd struck a rich vein. Even if they lived to take the gold, they'd have to live to spend it.

After a long wait, the Chieftain finally emerged with his men, hauling out several large chunks of ore. The moment the gold ore appeared, bathed in the setting sun's glow, it was truly dazzling!

"Boys, this trip wasn't wasted. This mine's rich—the ore's right on the surface, no digging needed. Hahaha! Old Eight, take my golden rat-tail and get the word out. Tell everyone to bring their gear—we're cracking this mountain open and smelting on the spot!"

Given the manpower involved and the fact they were deep in beast-infested mountains, hauling heavy ore out of there would be sheer madness. Usually, tempted by such high-grade deposits, gold seekers would round up every ally they could trust and open up the mountain around the mine.

First, they'd chop down trees or torch the brush to clear a space and put up a smelting pen. Then, ore hauled from the tunnel would be ground to powder inside, and the gold extracted from the stone dust.

This trade had existed for ages, especially during these war-torn years, when many skilled smiths who once worked for the court had fallen into the folk, swelling the ranks of these cutthroats.

The head man was finally feeling smug. He'd already carved up the mine's take in his head, calling in his cousin and the big shot of the trade—one he trusted, the other to wave a big flag and keep others from swallowing the mine outright.

As for those legendary Mountain Guards, not a single one of whom had ever been spotted—if the ore was pure enough, he could gather a few hundred men here. Even if those Guards were iron men, they'd get melted down to slag here, huh.

It wasn't fully dark yet, and the group hadn't let their guard down. Besides those cooking, a few had gotten the okay to head back into the tunnel for another scavenge, lighting kerosene lamps and crawling in all hyped up.

The lookout was pissed but didn't dare say a word, so he slacked, ducking behind a tree to take a piss.

Just then, an arrow "whooshed" through the rugged terrain, punching through his artery and slamming into his throat. He dropped dead behind the tree without so much as a peep.

A few black wolves dragged his body off right after. Behind the tree, nothing was left—even the blood soaked into the dirt beneath the thick grass, like nobody'd ever died there.

But gold seekers had a rule: buddies couldn't be out of each other's sight for too long—partly to avoid trouble, partly to keep anyone from ratting them out.

So when the guard was gone too long, the remaining few exchanged glances, figuring he was a snitch who'd slipped away to tip someone off about the mine.

When they all went to check, they found the arrowed guy, and two more got their throats slit by a dark figure as they turned.

The quiet killing had just wrapped up when the leader, eating by the fire, suddenly froze. A gut feeling made the hair on his neck stand up. A guy who'd made his living by the blade trusted his instincts more than anything—that's how he'd survived this cutthroat racket and gotten this far.

So he barked out an order, rounding up his boys. A quick headcount: besides Old Eight out delivering the message and the three in the tunnel, six more were gone.

"We're under attack! Grab your damn weapons!"

But what they raised their blades against wasn't men—it was a pack of wolves closing in from the woods, savage, slobbering, lips peeled back in a snarl.

Old hands at mountain life had their tricks for dealing with wolves. They held up torches and chucked powder packets from their gear into the flames, kicking up thick, choking smoke.

The wolves couldn't push in, just circled the edges. But they hadn't planned to charge anyway—their job wasn't to kill, just to hem everyone in so nobody got away.

Then it was man against man. The black wolf king perched on a rock upwind, watching arrows zip out of the woods, aimed right at the guys making smoke. The head man wasn't easy prey—he ripped open his shirt, pulled out a rack of throwing knives, and flung them at the arrows. A few arrows "whistled" in, nailing the knife tips dead-on, steel on steel, and deadly hardware littered the ground.

The wolf king was taking notes. "Humans" were something else—frail frames making deadly weapons that even wolf-hard flesh had to bow to.

When the knives and arrows ran out, two figures burst from the dark and charged into the fight.

The two moved in perfect lockstep, back to back—one with a curved blade, one with a staff; one for distance, one for up-close. Even with way more men, the bigger group folded fast in that brutal scrap.

One guy saw the writing on the wall—the Chieftain had just caught a staff to the neck from the tall man and dropped dead on the spot. So he quit fighting and ran for it.

He couldn't win anyway. He knew where the mine was now—forget the gold he could dig; that info alone would set him up for years!

But when he ran from the fight, he didn't find a clear path out—just a pack of black wolves with glowing green eyes.

The black wolf king took it all in with a heavy stare, his eyes locked on Bian Hong in particular. He thought "humans" were unreal—unlike wolves, who judge by raw strength, these puny bodies could cut loose with such savage power, every swing of the blade landing a killing blow on the softest spot a man's got: the neck.

When it's kill or be killed, fights end fast—plain and simple.

At the end, Bian Hong walked the field, putting a blade in every downed man. It was standard battlefield practice—otherwise, you never knew when some "corpse" might jump up and cut your throat.

Sure enough, that got him two more kills. Rong Feng came over and checked Bian Hong for injuries. Finding none, he reached out to wipe the blood off Bian Hong's face.

In the fading light, Bian Hong could hardly read the man's face, but he felt the complicated, stuck-in-his-throat emotion. So he flicked the blood off his curved blade and wiped his own face with his hand.

"I'm fine. It's all theirs."

Rong Feng's chest tightened—he hated that Bian Hong had been put at risk. Bian Hong hated blood more than anything; he used to shake at the sight of pig's blood. He'd gotten better, but Rong Feng still let out a sigh.

He'd wanted to go it alone, but Bian Hong wouldn't have it, charging out with him, knife in hand. They fought different—Rong Feng could brain a dozen guys with his staff and not get a drop on him, while Bian Hong, up close with his blade, always came out soaked.

But Bian Hong didn't flinch from the blood like he used to. Instead, his eyes lit up, his gaze sliding past Rong Feng's tall build to the pitch-black mine mouth.

"There might be more people in there."

Rong Feng snorted—those inside had to have heard the racket and were laying low.

He went through the bodies, pulling a pouch of powder off the leader's belt—the same stuff they'd used to smoke the wolves out. Rong Feng sparked a fire at the tunnel entrance, doing the same trick, and smoke started pouring in.

Bian Hong figured that was too slow, so he grabbed a giant leaf stalk nearby—some plant, bigger than a palm fan, whatever.

Then he planted himself at the tunnel mouth and waved it hard, shoving the smoke deeper in.

The wolf king out in the trees sneezed at the sight, its brawny legs instinctively backing up.

The smoke caught the wind and soon flooded the shaft, bringing harsh coughing and begging from inside.

"Cough, cough, cough! Spare us, boss! What crew are you with? If you're after the gold, cough, cough, we brothers will be your loyal dogs!"

Rong Feng mulled it over, not about to tell the truth. "Came to these woods for the gold, obviously. I've got plenty of men with me. Your boss just didn't know when to fold—otherwise, we'd have cut you in."

Hearing that, the guys inside figured they had an out. The smoke was killing them in that tight tunnel—they'd choke to death if they stayed. They had no shame about turning coat, no guilt whatsoever—just feared getting wiped out.

"Easy, easy, cough, cough, cough! We brothers studied under the court's retired Gold Minister—smelting and refining, cough, cough, that's our bread and butter. Take us in, and from today we're your dogs!"

If they hadn't had those skills, the leader wouldn't have looked the other way when they skimmed ore. So they figured no gold hunter would waste them over nothing, and they relaxed a bit.

Bian Hong squinted. "If you want to switch sides, you gotta give us something solid. Otherwise, you might blab later."

As he talked, he fanned even harder.

The guys inside were hacking hard, barely able to talk, at their limit. They figured they might as well sell everything out—otherwise, when the leader's cousin found out they'd flipped, he'd kill them regardless.

"Boss, listen, cough, cough, cough, cough!"

Another guy, sick of the stalling, jumped in. "A runner already went out ahead of time, cough. In half a month, about fifty men are coming to work the mine. You better get ready, cough, cough."

Rong Feng and Bian Hong's faces went hard.

"Anything else you got?"

"No, that's it! Boss, let's talk when we're out—can't handle this anymore!"

Bian Hong stood by the tunnel mouth, blade ready. "Fine, I'll trust you for now. Get out here."

Then, as the men stumbled out of the smoke, gasping, they looked up and saw everything shift. Their vision seemed to drop from high to low, and as their eyes rolled, they caught sight of their own bodies crumpling beside them.

They'd done their evil to the brim, and now they met their end—heads separated from bodies.

Once it was done, the wolf pack retreated, and Rong Feng decided to search the mountains for the messenger who had been sent out. But with no clue to the man's whereabouts, no scent to follow, and the wolves no help either, it was a tough spot.

If it had been a group, tracking them wasn't impossible, but finding a single gold-seeker skilled in wilderness survival and adept at concealing his tracks was an extremely difficult feat.

The two searched for nearly a day and a night, and finally, Rong Feng called on all the animals in the area. At last, in a grassy hollow, they found the messenger, who had stopped to rest, worn out from the road.

The man was still asleep inside the grassy den, while a fiery red fox crouched at the edge, stomping its foot to get Rong Feng's attention.

And so, the man died without ever knowing that the concealment skills he had spent half a lifetime mastering, almost ruling the gold-hunting trade, were ultimately undone by a fox.

With that loose end dealt with, Rong Feng and Bian Hong returned to the mine entrance at the foot of the jagged peak. Bian Hong looked down and saw that this gold mine was far too conspicuous—even the scattered rubble around it contained traces of gold. It was likely, as Rong Feng had mentioned, one of the exposed mines in Miemeng Mountain.

Unless the exposed mine was thoroughly dealt with, even if these men were killed, other gangs and organizations crazed for gold would come one after another, and Miemeng Mountain would never know peace.

Rong Feng cleaned up the corpses nearby, while Bian Hong stood there in a daze under the "mountain of gold," his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the pitch-black entrance of the mine.

Just as Rong Feng noticed Bian Hong's strange expression and came over to embrace him, Bian Hong raised his dark eyes from within his arms and spoke only one sentence.

"I'm going to blow up the mountain."