Chapter 10: The World of Martial Arts, Peril Lurks Everywhere

Seventh day. The sun rises as usual.

Su Yi woke early, enjoyed a hearty and lavish breakfast, then sat idly on his bed, waiting for the new instance to begin. It was almost noon when that mysterious voice once again echoed in his mind: “The instance world is about to open. Countdown: one minute. Please prepare yourself.”

He sprang from the bed. All his supplies were already organized—two massive mountaineering packs, one strapped to his chest and one on his back, filled with a dazzling array of gear, everything imaginable and more. In each hand, he gripped a canister of liquefied petroleum gas. Ever since he’d used a dust explosion in the last instance to obliterate a vampire fiend, he’d developed a fondness for that overwhelming, destructive force.

As the countdown ended, a black hole less than a meter wide appeared above his head, casting down a pillar of milky white light that enveloped his body. An irresistible suction drew him upward toward the void.

“Warning: The host may not bring powerful explosives into the instance world.”

With no choice, Su Yi released his grip.

“Warning: The host may not bring regulated blades or crossbows into the instance world.”
“Warning…”

“Due to excessive contraband and over-limit protective gear, prohibited items will be automatically cleared upon entering the instance.”

The black hole would tolerate no further delay. With a sharp sound, it sucked him inside, then vanished entirely.

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Dawn was breaking, the pale light of early morning tracing the distant ridge. On a large green stone deep in the forest, Su Yi’s figure appeared abruptly.

The instance world opened, and basic information began to transmit:

More than two centuries after the founding of the Great Xing Dynasty, the Di tribes of the northern grasslands had grown ever stronger, repeatedly crossing the border walls to ignite war. The people of the northern provinces suffered ceaselessly. In the rugged mountains of the southwest, seventy-six mountain strongholds of the native tribes raised the banner of revolt, resisting the dynasty’s century-old rule south of Cang Mountain. The devastation of war spread far and wide; imperial forces were dispatched again and again, but to no avail.

Twenty years ago, Chi Lingxiao, born into poverty in Guangyang Prefecture, abandoned the pen for the sword and rose like a meteor through the ranks. He accumulated merit in battle and was promoted to Grand Protector of the Realm. He struck north against the Di, suppressed the southern rebels, and after seventeen years of relentless campaigning, at last brought peace to the land.

Thereafter, weapons were put in storage, horses were set free to graze. For three years, the empire enjoyed bountiful harvests and tranquil waters, and the Great Xing returned to its former glory—a time of prosperity and splendor. Six months ago, the new emperor ascended the throne, and turmoil rocked the court. All regents and ministers were dismissed, and Chi Lingxiao was implicated, stripped of office, and sent home. Soon after, his old wounds flared up, and two months ago, he died gravely ill in his home.

After Chi Lingxiao’s death, only a young son remained. Ten days ago, the boy set out with a family servant, traveling by boat down the Han River from the capital Luojing, seeking to return to their ancestral home in Guangyang.

“In this world, your mission is to escort Chi Lingxiao’s young son safely back to Guangyang.”

When the mysterious voice faded and Su Yi regained his mobility, he couldn’t help but curse under his breath when he saw his empty hands.

The two mountaineering packs, stuffed with supplies, had vanished. All that remained was a tattered scrap of cloth—a remnant of a pack—wrapped around a handful of items: a harmless nail clipper, a pair of binoculars, a flashlight, a protective mask, and a lighter. There was also a small pouch of synthetic diamonds and a bar of silver.

He checked himself over—thankfully, the stab-proof vest and bulletproof jacket he wore had not been confiscated. Otherwise, he would have been truly miserable.

He’d spent days planning, signing for endless deliveries, painstakingly assembling a lavish kit of gear, only to have it all stripped away the moment he entered the instance world, leaving him practically a blank slate. At least he was spared total deprivation—they’d left him with the bare essentials. With a grim expression, Su Yi bundled the remaining items in the scrap of cloth, tied it off, and slung it over his shoulder.

Calming himself, Su Yi sat on the stone and reviewed the information and mission he’d just received. Like the previous instance, the Great Xing Dynasty of this world was unfamiliar—unrelated to any dynasty he knew. Judging by the vague details, this was a typical low-martial world: no superhuman warriors, no one-man armies; even the strongest could be overwhelmed by numbers. The art of gunpowder had yet to appear in warfare here.

Su Yi felt a spark of excitement. Before entering, he’d memorized the recipe for black powder and pored over countless agricultural manuals, hoping to use them to his advantage. Yet—

His mind suddenly went blank—the knowledge he’d memorized was now a muddled haze, impossible to recall. Clearly, they were determined not to give him too many advantages.

As for the task in this world—

Su Yi closed his eyes, and a phantom map appeared in his mind. A dotted line traced the winding path of the Han River; a red dot moved slowly along its course. Beside it, a note identified it as the boat carrying Chi Lingxiao’s young son, still two days from Jiangting, Su Yi’s current location. According to the annotation, these two days were his opportunity to familiarize himself with the world.

He was now at Mount Tu, more than eighty li from the city of Jiangting. It seemed his first order of business was to reach the city and find a place to settle.

He got to his feet, oriented himself using the mental map, and set off in the direction of the nearest mountain trail.

The stone where he’d arrived was in a secluded mountain hollow, dense with vegetation and brambles—a difficult path for any ordinary traveler. If not for his own skills, he would have been in for a hard time.

The terrain was rugged. Su Yi found two sturdy tree branches, stripped them of leaves, and used them to clear a path as he went. Emerging from dense undergrowth onto a mountain trail, he brushed himself clean, then continued at a brisk pace. Perhaps because it was still early, he saw not a single traveler along the way. Covering more than twenty li, he reached the crest of a hill when a sudden sense of danger seized him.

Before he could react, several cold arrows whistled from the forest. He dove into the grass at the roadside; three arrows thudded into the woods behind him.

But he wasn’t unscathed—pain lanced his waist as a sharp object pierced his clothes and struck his stab-proof vest. Fortunately, he was uninjured. Keeping low and perfectly still, he calmed himself.

Who had ambushed him?

In the forest ahead, several burly men in coarse clothing emerged, fanning out, bows drawn and blades in hand, faces fierce and wary as they watched the place where Su Yi hid.

He understood at once—these were mountain bandits.

He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: The martial world is fraught with peril; the ancients spoke true.