Song Jin was a formidable figure during the Apocalypse.
Among the eighteen chief captains in their base, she was one of them—and the youngest at that.
Over the past twenty-odd years, she had lost count of the missions she'd undertaken, large and small. But the variety was staggering—mountain climbing, chemical protection, physical hauling, all of it mandatory…
Given all that, she'd picked up a fair bit of physics and chemistry along the way, and biology went without saying—that was life-or-death knowledge. In a sense, she was a textbook science student—the kind who could do it in practice but couldn't write it down on paper.
The knowledge she used regularly was like that, let alone subjects like language and history that she never touched in daily life.
In the Apocalypse, only the upper-class families and great clans had the inclination to study such things. Someone like Song Jin, who served as the muscle, never lacked food or supplies, but in the end, it was all just for survival.
She was a textbook illiterate—could only barely read the characters.
So Song Jin didn't know much about ancient life in that era. But no matter how little she knew, she was certain of one thing: the dynasty she'd transmigrated into wasn't any dynasty from history.
After all, she'd never heard of any dynasty called Dayan, nor had she heard of ancient times having so many bizarre contraptions.
Like this Dull-headed Bee in front of her.
Was this scientific? Was it?!
A lousy bee that could track a person without letting go?
Song Jin narrowed her eyes, glaring threateningly at the Dull-headed Bee. "What if I just swat it dead?"
Wang Lao'er could only rack his brains to recall, then sighed. "Its scent would stick to everyone present. Hard to wash off. Makes tracking even easier."
Song Jin ground her teeth. "Then lock it up."
Wang Lao'er said mournfully, "Touch it and the scent stays. Can't wash it off."
Song Jin: "…"
What kind of proper ancient world has stuff like this?
Then again, thinking about it—this place even had internal energy and lightfoot techniques. A few odd little gadgets weren't that strange.
But still—
Song Jin stared at the Dull-headed Bee with a face full of grievance. "So what do we do now?"
Wang Lao'er squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, taking a deep breath. "Miss Song, you go. Just go alone. Let me face those big shots by myself. I have no children, no wife, no father, no mother—if it weren't for you taking me in back then, I'd have died long ago. Please remember to take the money jar hidden in the corner of my wall, so it doesn't end up in that bastard Jiang Qian's hands."
"Stop, stop, stop—quit with the doom and gloom," Song Jin cut him off, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
"It's not that big a deal. Don't assume it'll even come to that. And even if it does—"
Wang Lao'er asked, "Even if it does, then what?"
Song Jin paused. "Then… we'll deal with it then. You head back first. One person bears their own deeds. If it really comes down to it, then—"
Wang Lao'er saw the smile suddenly appear on her face, and a sense of dread welled up in his heart. "Then what?"
"Then we'll figure it out."
Song Jin yawned, stretched, and draped her arms behind her back as she sauntered off, concealing the dark glint in her eyes.
What else could she do?
Reason with them, of course. If the man was reasonable, great. If he wasn't—well, what a coincidence. She wasn't a reasonable person either.
**
Meanwhile, on the other side—
Song Xingzhi had been viciously beaten for no reason and mocked to boot. He didn't show it on his face, but inwardly he was seething, and he'd gone straight for the trump card he'd been saving.
The Thousand-Mile Bee.
It was their family's signature killing move. The bees had to be raised from childhood with their blood as the lure, mixed with precious secret medicines, cultivated for a full six years before they were considered successful.
Even then, a hive of Thousand-Mile Bees had far fewer numbers than ordinary bees, and only one in ten were actually usable—each one capable of tracking only a single time.
Their preciousness went without saying.
And now, for the sake of this unknown little thief, he'd used up a pair.
Song Xingzhi ground his teeth just thinking about it. "You thieving dog—you can die without regrets in this lifetime."
As he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on the Dull-headed Bee ahead, the silk thread in his hand slackening as it flew, limping along behind it.
That thieving dog had struck far too viciously. He hadn't lost any limbs, but his external injuries were no joke—bruises that would take ten days to half a month to fade, and the internal injuries went without saying.
Most importantly—his face. His face! Not only was it black and blue, but now it was swollen too.
He'd even asked that bastard to apply medicine, but the man had refused. Now he was walking around with that swollen face—who could even tell if he was a toad or a swan?
Song Xingzhi swore that when he caught that little thief, he'd chop off his hands and feet, tear him apart with five horses, and soak him in a wine jar so he'd never forget it in his next life.
You don't hit a man in the face!
Song Xingzhi was furious, and despite his limp, he moved quickly, his desire to catch the culprit burning hotter than anything.
Li Qingshan walked behind with Qi Zheng, looking at Song Xingzhi's state with utter disdain. He muttered quietly,
"Who knows what this guy's even here for."
With no one else around, his tone was considerably more casual.
Li Qingshan was from a moderately wealthy family in a small county south of the river. When his family's fortunes declined, he'd taken up escort work with a courier company.
As a child, he'd learned martial arts from a wandering Daoist who passed through, and with decent skills and literacy, he'd decided to try his luck at the military examination. To his surprise, he'd passed with respectable results and was allowed to stay in the capital as a minor military officer.
Back home, that was cause for great celebration. But in the vast capital, he was no more than an ant—utterly insignificant.
After a few years on the job, he was already planning to find a way to transfer out of the capital, or resign and go back to running a martial arts school. Unexpectedly, he was selected by his superiors to serve as a guard for the newly recovered prince.
A meteoric rise in one step.
Li Qingshan was quite puzzled by this. After all, although he had performed decently in his cohort and had made no mistakes in his post, he hadn't done anything particularly outstanding either.
He met with the prince with a worried heart.
Only then did he discover that this man was actually a master he had once worked with at an escort agency. At the time, they were transporting a shipment of priceless goods and, fearing an accident, had paid a high price to hire outside help.
That was Qi Zheng, who went by the name Yan Zheng back then—a young lad just entering the jianghu. Young in years but a formidable martial artist, mysterious and unfathomable, he traveled the world alone.
Li Qingshan had gotten along well with him back then, and had even considered roaming the world together with him. But—
The young, naive Yan Zheng had glanced at him with those pitch-black eyes and said flatly, "Your martial arts are too weak. You can't keep up with me."
Now Qi Zheng stood tall and resolute, his dark eyes deep and long. Facing Li Qingshan's disdain, he said flatly, "You're too dull-witted. You can't compare to him."
Song Xingzhi was indeed a flirtatious sort, sometimes looking sloppy and unreliable, but he was meticulous in his thinking and had accomplished no small number of major deeds, earning him considerable regard.
From the very beginning, he had formulated a search plan—except Qi Zheng himself had replaced the mountain scout he'd originally arranged for, improving efficiency while also raising the difficulty.
Song Xingzhi's task had shifted from simply finding the mine and capturing the mastermind behind the bandits, to protecting Qi Zheng's safety, making it look like he wasn't doing much.
But that wasn't the case. He had calculated everything from the start; with or without Qi Zheng, no major problems would arise. His primary purpose was still to keep watch over him.
Qi Zheng's gaze swept over Song Xingzhi, who was charging ahead like a madman, and he would not let his guard down in the slightest.
The struggle for the throne had always been like this.
He was someone brought back from outside, with no roots or connections—who knew what schemes those other "brothers" might be plotting? He had to be cautious.
Qi Zheng reminded him, "No matter what, he is the eldest son of Grand Secretary Song."
As a prince, though danger lurked all around him, on the surface no one could give him a cold shoulder except his own father.
As a guard, if Li Qingshan were truly caught with evidence or specifically targeted, even as a personal bodyguard, this rootless prince of his might not necessarily be able to protect him.
Qi Zheng thought about it, and his expression turned several degrees colder. He pressed his lips together and said, "Don't let your guard down."
Li Qingshan was taken aback.
When they had first left the capital, he had been very wary of Song Xingzhi—the eldest son of Grand Secretary Song, the Vice Minister of Revenue who was on excellent terms with the eldest prince. But now…
He didn't know when it had started, but his wariness had vanished without a trace, leaving only suspicion of the man.
Recalling the events of these past days, Li Qingshan's heart jolted, and his expression turned grim. It took him a while to calm the shock in his heart before he spoke with solemnity.
"Your subordinate understands. I will be vigilant from now on. However, an abrupt change in attitude would make Lord Song suspicious. Perhaps it's better if I maintain my current demeanor and do some probing instead."
Qi Zheng turned his head to look at him, his expression inscrutable, saying nothing. The silence made a person uneasy. Then he said,
"No need. You're not cut out for that job."
Li Qingshan: …
Ah, what a familiar expression, what familiar disdain.
When he had said he wanted to roam the jianghu with this man back then, this was exactly how he'd looked.
Li Qingshan deflated. "Your subordinate understands."
Seeing him like this, Qi Zheng paused, pondering how to comfort the man, when Song Xingzhi's excited voice suddenly came from ahead.
"It's right ahead—that little thief. Little Jin said so, he's in the mountains ahead. Good boy, Little Jin." As he spoke, Song Xingzhi pulled at the corner of his mouth, hissed, and covered his face with a grimace of pain, snarling fiercely, "Little thief, just you wait. I'll skin you alive."
Qi Zheng walked over slowly, raised his head to look at the tea plantation before him, his gaze deep and silent.
He had seen Song Xingzhi's injuries too—all inflicted by internal energy. The force control was terrifyingly precise, cutting through flesh without harming bone. It didn't look serious, but it hurt immensely.
The one who had struck was a martial artist of profound skill, and one who acted with great restraint.
He was also curious—what was such a figure doing in such an unremarkable little village?
Seeking revenge, fleeing trouble, or harboring some other motive?
Song Xingzhi confirmed the location, grabbed the man the village had arranged for them, and pointed at the tea plantation with a ferocious expression. "What's in there?"
The man arranged for them was none other than Jiang Qian, one of the plantation's stewards.
He had been reluctant about this assignment from the very start. These people were generous with their money, tossing out silver left and right, but with that bruised and swollen face, and going on about a "little thief"—how dangerous did that sound?
Jiang Qian didn't want to go, but he was afraid of offending them, so he could only lead the way with a bitter face. As he walked, he began to feel something was wrong, until they went all the way into the tea plantation.
Following the direction of Song Xingzhi's finger, he looked at his own plantation building, his whole body stiff, his legs going weak. For a long time, he couldn't speak.
Speaking of which… was it too late for him to run now?
Song Xingzhi quickly noticed Jiang Qian's unease, grabbed him by the collar, and flashed a ferocious grin. "What, you know him? Speak up! If you don't, I'll deal with you too—throw you in prison and skin you alive."
Jiang Qian's legs trembled even harder, and with a weak step, he collapsed to the ground, shouting at the top of his lungs: "Your Honor, please spare me! This humble one truly knows nothing! I'm an innocent man—how would I know who had the audacity to strike you? I'm just an ordinary country fellow, with an eighty-year-old mother at home, a three-year-old child, and a simple-minded wife. The whole family depends on me. If something happens to me, how will they survive…"
His voice was so loud that it echoed through the mountains.
Song Xingzhi immediately sensed something was wrong. His ferocious expression faded as he barked at Li Qingshan beside him: "Go in and search directly! I refuse to believe that bastard could have gotten away!"
Li Qingshan didn't move.
Song Xingzhi snapped: "What are you waiting for?!"
Li Qingshan still didn't move, only giving him a look that signaled him to look ahead.
"What are you looking at? You think the little thief will just come out by us staring? If he dares to come out, I'll make him kneel and call me daddy—daddy!" Song Xingzhi said, tossing aside his fierce demeanor as he turned around. He froze instinctively, then his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground, muttering in disbelief:
"Dad?"
Song Jin, who had been swaggering out with an arrogant, six-kinsmen-be-damned stride even in the face of imminent danger: …?
What, city folks are this polite now?