Chapter Forty: The Tables Turn

After watching Zheng Yiqing and his group leave into the distance, Ye Mo finally breathed a sigh of relief. He opened a small door in the spiritual wood palisade and let Gao Jian and his companions inside. If it hadn’t been for their sudden rebellion just now, the outcome of that battle would have been hard to predict.

Ye Mo had met Gao Jian before and was not unfamiliar with him. He knew Gao Jian was a martial artist from the Yan Kingdom, proud and ambitious. Such a man would never willingly serve Zheng Yiqing; Ye Mo was not worried that Gao Jian’s rebellion was some elaborate ruse orchestrated by Zheng Yiqing.

Mo Ling and Wang Hu climbed down from the low wooden watchtower, while Yang You remained atop, keeping watch.

“Brother Gao! We meet again. If it weren’t for your timely assistance, we wouldn’t have been able to drive off Zheng Yiqing and his men!” Ye Mo approached Gao Jian and the other martial artists, welcoming those who stayed into the camp. As far as he was concerned, Zheng Yiqing’s enemies were his friends.

“Brother Ye, no need for such words. This was only right. Zheng Yiqing enslaved the martial artists on this island, forcing them to build spiritual wood rafts, tormenting and humiliating them. I, Gao Jian, may have been powerless to resist before, but how could I ever help a tyrant do evil?” Somewhat abashed, Gao Jian followed Ye Mo into the mountain cave camp.

Ye Mo took out some medicinal herbs from the camp’s stores and treated their wounds, earning deep gratitude from Gao Jian’s group.

Though they had driven away Zheng Yiqing and were glad for it, everyone understood that the matter was far from over—a shadow hung over them all.

They gathered in the camp, sitting in a circle to discuss how best to defend themselves.

“Brother Ye, you’re the master here in this camp. My brothers and I will follow your orders in all things. As long as we have a place to stay here, whatever you need us to do, just say the word,” Gao Jian said earnestly. By joining Ye Mo’s camp, he was in effect seeking refuge and would not presume to take charge.

“I’ll definitely need your support in fighting Zheng Yiqing,” Ye Mo replied, not standing on ceremony.

He noticed that Gao Jian was unarmed save for a spiritual wood javelin. As a swordsman, without a sword, Gao Jian’s strength could hardly be brought to bear.

“Let me give you this Azure Edge Sword,” Ye Mo said after a moment’s thought, unfastening the sword and its scabbard from his belt and handing it to Gao Jian.

“This—!” Gao Jian was startled, a look of delight crossing his face, but he quickly shook his head. “Weapons are scarce on this island, Brother Ye. You need a fine weapon yourself. Without it, how can you face Zheng Yiqing and the others? This is too valuable. I can’t accept it.”

“It’s no matter, I still have another weapon,” Ye Mo said with a chuckle.

Strapped to his back was a long weapon, tightly wrapped in coarse cloth. It was the Golden Spirit Sword he’d found in the cliffside cave, though since he had not yet reached the pinnacle of the martial body stage, he hadn’t brought it out to use. Even Mo Ling and Wang Hu didn’t know what weapon he carried hidden there.

“In that case, thank you!” Seeing Ye Mo had another weapon, Gao Jian accepted the Azure Edge Sword with joy. His own treasured blade had been confiscated by Zheng Yiqing when he was captured, and he’d been lacking a suitable sword. While this sword might not be a priceless treasure, it was still an excellent weapon.

“Zheng Yiqing will not give up easily; he’ll come attacking again. Once he returns, he’ll surely have more spiritual wood shields or other siege equipment made for attacking the camp. He has many henchmen and remains very powerful,” Gao Jian said gravely. “Counting myself, Huang Yi, Little Dao, and the few brothers we brought from the prison camp, even with Brother Ye’s people, we are less than ten. That’s far too few. On Zheng Yiqing’s side, including the captive martial artists, he has at least forty or fifty.”

Gao Jian couldn’t help but feel downcast. He had thought that even if some prisoners continued to follow Zheng Yiqing, it would only be a few, but the reality was that most were pragmatic, believing their chances were better with Zheng Yiqing—an outcome he found hard to accept.

The five or six new martial artists were all Gao Jian’s companions. The other captive martial artists did not stay, but left with Zheng Yiqing.

“He An has already been poisoned. Once he dies, the other martial artists will find it hard to attack our camp.”

“He won’t die. He’s been poisoned with ‘Ghost’s Sorrow,’ concocted by the poison master Lin Zhi. Lin Zhi has returned with Zheng Yiqing and will certainly give He An the antidote. He An won’t die; in a few days, he’ll recover.”

“Ah, is that so?”

“If we want to withstand Zheng Yiqing’s next assault, we’ll have to build more watchtowers, add three mid-level martial artists to man them, and increase the use of spiritual wood javelins and arrows to strengthen our long-range defenses.”

“I, Brother Gao, and Huang Yi will be responsible for intercepting any enemies who try to climb over or break through the palisade!”

Their momentary relief faded, and the group discussed details of their defense with heavy hearts.

The two-zhang-high spiritual wood palisade around the camp gave them some comfort. The recent scene—when the four of them had held off more than twenty of Zheng Yiqing’s men at a distance of ten zhang—gave them a measure of confidence.

“Ten men! If we can hold out for four or five days, that should be enough,” Ye Mo thought to himself. This battle had bought him precious time.

What he needed most now was time—to take a second Vitality Pill and push himself to the ninth level of the martial body stage. Once he broke through, mastering the ultimate three-fold Wave-Cutting Strike, he could match He An in strength.

...

The sunset was blood-red in the depths of the forest.

Far from Ye Mo’s camp, Zheng Yiqing’s battered group of martial artists stopped to rest. After venting his fury with a torrent of curses, Zheng Yiqing’s rage finally subsided, and he regained his composure.

“A bunch of useless wretches! You can’t even take a camp with just four people—what use are you?” Zheng Yiqing’s glare swept over the captives and his own followers.

Most of the captives had not defected in the chaos, but Zheng Yiqing knew they were cowed by He An’s formidable strength and the martial artists loyal to him. If He An were to die from poison, they might well switch sides to Ye Mo and Gao Jian, leaving him in grave danger.

Not only had he failed to capture Ye Mo, he’d lost several martial artists, with others wounded or defected, seriously weakening his forces. Worse, Ye Mo’s camp had grown stronger, and his own plans to build large rafts and set out to sea were now delayed.

The prisoners kept their heads down, silent, not daring to meet his eyes. Most continued to follow Zheng Yiqing, not out of loyalty, but because Ye Mo’s side was too small—just a handful, and lacking in decent weapons, with most of their arms made of spiritual wood, too shoddy to inspire confidence. Zheng Yiqing and He An, by contrast, had numbers and superior arms. If Zheng Yiqing returned with his men and took Ye Mo’s camp, those who had defected to Ye Mo would face a bloodbath.

Zheng Yiqing ignored the prisoners now. His face filled with anxiety as he looked down at He An, who lay on the ground unconscious.

He An’s body was darkened, and he was resisting the poison’s effects with all his internal strength, but it was clear he was deeply poisoned.

“He An, wake up! How are your injuries?” Zheng Yiqing cried anxiously, turning to Steward Cao. “Steward Cao, you have experience—think of something! Save He An! He’s the top martial artist of the Zheng Kingdom. My father paid a tremendous price to have him escort me to the Eastern Sea in search of immortals. Without him, how can I safely seek the island of the Immortal Village? How can I take revenge and reclaim my throne?”

His desperation was clear. With He An present, the captive martial artists would obey him, building large spiritual wood rafts to escape the island. If anything happened to He An now, morale would collapse and chaos would ensue—an outcome he could not bear to imagine.