Chapter 2706: The Capital (Part 62)

Small creatures startle and flee only when you stumble upon their hiding places. This is why, in the wilderness, animals always seem to dart out from directly underfoot.

Liao Sanniang had been meticulous, carefully managing any potential light reflections and noise. She kept her body hidden in shadow, wore no jewelry or reflective metal, avoided snapping branches or treading on dry leaves, and used trees for cover as she searched and advanced in segments.

She had performed admirably—her movement nearly flawless, engaging the enemy in total secrecy.

But animal instinct is like a master martial artist: impossible to anticipate. The pheasant burst upward in a flurry of wings, reducing all her efforts to nothing.

After a moment of startled eye contact, the sturdy man nearest to her drew his waist saber and charged.

Liao Sanniang fired first.

A muffled report sounded, and a puff of white smoke rose. The connection between the cylindrical magazine and the barrel fractured; the barrel fell away as flying steel fragments and gunpowder gas sprayed in all directions.

Lingao's industrial products suffered from poor consistency, with significant variations between items of the same batch.

With such quality control, in the Old Time Space, many would have been classified as scrap.

Escort masters understood the importance of firearm maintenance, but they had no concept of a firearm's lifespan.

Liao Sanniang's gun was a refurbished factory weapon. Its quality had been low-tier even for its period, and before reaching her hands, its firing count had far exceeded design parameters. The barrel had already been replaced once. This time, the damage wasn't a chamber explosion—the exact malfunction remained unclear.

Had she gripped the gun with both hands, the burning gas and fragments would have sliced her fingers. Fortunately, she had fired one-handed and escaped injury.

Facing the unexplained flash and white smoke, the sturdy man with the waist saber retreated a step in terror, instinctively raising his left hand to shield his face while holding his saber defensively in his right.

Liao Sanniang remained calm amid the sudden disaster. She discarded the ruined gun and stepped back to create distance. Drawing the sheathed double sabers from her waist, she pushed the scabbard forward with her left hand while pulling the hilt back with her right—her arms moving in opposite directions. The double sabers unsheathed, and the scabbard flew forward like an arrow.

Chinese double sabers are of equal length. Their hilts are semi-circular; when brought together, they form an ellipse that fits into a single scabbard.

The scabbard hurtled toward his face, and the man parried with his saber.

Seizing the opening, Liao Sanniang rubbed her hands together, separating the double sabers to hold one in each.

Having faced an explosion and a flying scabbard in rapid succession, the man remained shaken. He appeared momentarily bewildered, frozen with indecision.

Exploiting the gap, Liao Sanniang pivoted and advanced. Both sabers pointed forward at an angle, parallel to each other, charging in like a "//" symbol.

Her left saber flipped and deflected obliquely, catching the waist saber's upper attack; her right saber stabbed forward. Offense and defense as one.

Thin cloth and skin parted like paper. The right saber's tip pierced the enemy's upper abdomen from below the xiphoid process of the sternum.

Liao Sanniang stepped back, shifting her body right and rear to guard against a counterattack. Borrowing momentum from her turn, she drew the right saber horizontally across. The blade sliced through muscle, lacerated the liver, slit the diaphragm, and diagonally dissected the enemy's abdominal cavity.

She retracted her sabers. The wound was massive—no need to concern herself with him. He would die on his own.

Liao Sanniang counted silently: One.

She whispered toward Little Bazi's hiding spot: "Stay hidden. Kill from behind."

Half of Little Bazi's face flickered behind the bushes, then vanished.

After speaking, Liao Sanniang let out a terrified scream and fled in the direction she had come from.

Lingao had puppet troupes where actors hid behind curtains, bringing all manner of characters to life through vocal mimicry. They were called voice actors—Seiyuu.

Disguising one's voice could serve to lure enemies. Liao Sanniang had found the technique fascinating and had consulted with the actors, learning introductory vocal methods and emotional performance.

Her scream of terror sounded like a helpless woman being assaulted. The desperate cry formed an eerie contrast with her cold, expressionless face.

Stimulated by the female voice, the bandits gave chase. One bandit wielding a short spear outpaced the others and surged to the front.

Liao Sanniang ran a few steps, then slowed, allowing him to close the distance. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the man behind her holding the spear one-handed.

Proper spear work requires rooting in the horse stance—mabu—using the waist and hips as the foundation of power. Running made one's footwork floating and unstable. The pursuer was breathing rapidly; he was mediocre at best.

Mid-stride, Liao Sanniang suddenly dropped into a crouch, changing the height and distance between them. Her right saber slashed backward in a reverse grip. This was a technique of the Mongolian cavalry saber: when two horses charged past each other without a decisive blow, the rider would slash backward as they crossed. She was using cavalry saber techniques on foot—the so-called "Dragging Saber Stratagem," Tuodaoji.

The distance was judged with precision, as if measured by a ruler. The saber tip traveled from bottom to top, slicing from inner thigh to crotch. First, it severed the superficial arteries of the thigh, causing massive bleeding. The tip continued upward; the intense agony of steel tearing through his lower body sent him into painful shock. The man's eyes rolled back and he pitched forward, all combat capability gone.

Liao Sanniang held the saber in a reverse grip with her left hand, braced her fist against the ground, and with three limbs touching earth, she propelled herself forward, quickly regaining her balance.

She didn't pause at all, continuing onward. She counted silently: Two.

A third man pursued with a saber. Seeing his fallen companion, he halted, debating whether to continue.

Ahead, Liao Sanniang stumbled and let out a pitiful scream, seemingly about to fall, then dodged behind a tree.

The saber-wielder hesitated but finally gave chase. He wove between trees, taking a shortcut to intercept.

Suddenly his body jerked to a halt, his head yanked backward by something unseen.

The steel wire she had strung earlier was right here, with several fishhooks dangling from it on fishing line.

This was an indoor trap mechanism, typically set in hallways. When entering a room—whether eyes were adjusting from brightness to darkness or the reverse—the matte, hanging fishhooks would snag scalp or hair. It was an alley warfare tactic, but deployed properly, it could work in the jungle too.

Bandits had no means to wash their hair. Their locks had matted into felt; when loosened, they formed sheets of dirty, hardened hair plates. Ancients bound their hair in buns. Filthy hair combed into a bun became a knotted mass impossible to untangle. Once snagged by a fishhook, there was no breaking free.

The fishhooks hung at varying lengths to accommodate different heights. This man was unlucky: one hooked his hair bun, and another caught his right eyelid. His forward momentum was too fierce—the fishhook pulled, tearing off the entire eyelid and leaving the eyeball exposed without cover.

Liao Sanniang emerged silently from behind the tree. Her double sabers faced outward—left hand on guard while her right saber leveled and stabbed horizontally.

The tip struck a rib. Liao Sanniang tilted the handle, adjusting the angle slightly. Lubricated by blood, the blade slid along the gap between ribs and pierced the heart. A subtle beating transmitted through the blade tip.

With a twist of the steel, the man's features contracted with the turning blade. The expression of agony was carved onto his face as he stiffened into a corpse.

She withdrew the blade and casually wiped it back and forth on the corpse's clothing. Blood is viscous; if allowed to gum up the blade, the edge grows dull. Frequent wiping kept it sharp.

Lingao fishing line wasn't particularly strong and couldn't bear the weight. The corpse snapped the line and crumpled to the ground.

Liao Sanniang counted silently: Three.

The bandits behind had realized something was wrong and shouted: "This woman is extremely formidable! Don't go alone—gather together and kill her with combined force!"

Another voice called out: "Forget the woman! Hurry and join up with the Leader!"

Voices clamored and opinions clashed. Unable to unify command, they split into two groups, each acting independently.

Liao Sanniang stood in a small clearing. The surrounding branches grew extremely dense, with a barely discernible wild path connecting both ends.

Moving through thick bushes meant clothes, bodies, and weapons snagging constantly—one became a living target. The enemy could only approach via the wild path.

The path admitted only one person at a time; she wouldn't face multiple opponents simultaneously.

From her earlier observation, there were no archers among them—a relief.

Liao Sanniang transferred both sabers to her left hand, fished a steel dart from the leather strap across her chest, and cupped it in her palm.

Touching the steel dart, she suddenly thought of Old Feng and felt a pang of regret. She should have taken that pistol.

A file recommending Liao Sanniang lay quietly in the archives of the Military Intelligence Bureau. The kraft paper folder had developed fuzzy edges and yellowed with age.

As a peripheral organization of the Intelligence Bureau, every outstanding or exceptional person in the Qiwei Escort Bureau came under scrutiny and became a potential candidate.

Liao Sanniang was an eccentric woman. She possessed a worldly figure and a steel gallbladder that could snap blades—perhaps not lovable, but certainly eye-catching.

Director Jiang Shan of the Intelligence Bureau had once studied this simple personal file for a long while. He appreciated this woman who dared to embrace new things and possessed strong characteristics of modern femininity. However, many of her traits clashed with intelligence work. A field intelligence officer needed to evaluate, analyze, develop, and control; they were builders and maintainers of networks, directors behind the curtain—not protagonists in the spotlight.

Liao Sanniang possessed an adventurous spirit and was insensitive to fear and overstimulation. This gave her the ability to remain calmer than ordinary people in cruel and bloody environments.

Callousness in slaughter was common in medieval times, but viewed through a modern lens, it marked her as a cold-blooded killer. This puzzled Jiang Shan, even making him suspect her amygdala was abnormal—that she had an emotional defect and lacked perception of natural feelings.

Jiang Shan wrestled with the decision for a while. Finally, he tossed the file down, shook his head, and muttered to himself: "Render unto the Temple what is the Temple's. Let the Jianghu's remain in the Jianghu."

Liao Sanniang never knew she had once stood at a turning point in her fate. At this moment, she was entirely focused, alert to any subtle omen. The surrounding bushes swayed almost simultaneously; wind stirred the branches and unsettled the mind.

She blinked. The steel dart rested in her hand. A figure flickered in the bushes ahead. People have qi, steps have sound, spirits have awareness. Her senses confirmed it: ahead lay foe, not friend.

Human reaction takes three-tenths of a second. A blade differs from a fist—a hit means injury. Heavy injury means death; light injury means slowness.

The best approach: strike before the enemy can react, forcing them onto the defensive.

In her early wandering days, Liao Sanniang had worn a double-layered dart pouch carrying thirteen darts.

After equipping a short gun, the dart pouch gave way to a holster. She now carried seven darts on a chest strap to fill the gap.

Liao Sanniang's flying darts were narrow and thin like awls, five cun long, weighing seven liang. Their cross-section was triangular—three edges, three faces.

The three-faced dart body had one wide face and two narrow ones. The lower portion was cylindrical with a flat bottom.

Most dart tails had red or green silk cloth attached, called "dart clothing"—biao-yi—which functioned like arrow fletching.

Liao Sanniang used darts with bare shafts and no clothing, resembling large steel needles.

With the steel dart in hand, years of training became instinct. No adjustment was needed; the dart naturally settled into the optimal position in her palm.

The root of the dart pressed against her palm's center. Four fingers barely touched it. The wide face rested on her middle finger while the index and ring fingers pressed against the two narrow sides. The three fingers formed a groove, and the dart lay within. Her thumb lightly pressed the dart tail.

The length of dart exposed from the palm and the angle of her erect palm upon release determined throwing distance and the downward arc of flight. Control relied on experience and feel; such details could only be sensed, not explained.

Chinese darts fly straight. For long distances, they can spin, with the middle finger guiding aim.

Liao Sanniang swung her shoulder and elbow. Upper arm, elbow, and wrist channeled the force; the forearm delivered power. She whipped her hand forward into a flat palm. At the moment of release, her palm pushed forward, middle finger pressing slightly on the dart tip, thumb releasing its hold, and she erected her palm to send the dart flying.

(End of Chapter)