Linxi Town sat at the southernmost edge of Si'an County, a place where two worlds divided—to the north stretched broad plains, while to the south, rivers, creeks, and mountain ridges rose one after another, small hills linking into larger ones until they became great mountains.
Panlong Mountain was the most famous among them, named for its shape resembling a coiled dragon.
The mountain was rich in resources—timber, medicinal herbs, flowers, and wild game were everywhere. But apart from generations of hunter families, ordinary people dared not venture up the mountain.
Because beyond the pheasants and wild ducks, the mountain's wild beasts included wild boars, venomous snakes, leopards, and even tigers and black bears in no small number. Every year, news of deaths in the mountains spread, and in years of famine, wild beasts even descended to cause havoc, forcing those living near the mountain to move again and again.
Linxi Town had no such worries. From the town to the mountain's foot was ten li, and to Panlong itself was twenty li more—all rolling hillsides. No matter how much the beasts at the summit caused trouble, it wouldn't reach them here.
But though beasts didn't come, people could go.
Deep in Panlong Mountain, atop an ancient tree nearly a hundred meters tall—
Song Jin crouched among the branches. She wore deep green clothing, simple and fitted—a single-layer tunic and trousers, with cloth strips tightly bound at her wrists and ankles. At her waist hung a long blade and dagger, and in her hands she held a taut longbow with a pitch-black iron arrow gleaming coldly, just like the phoenix eyes hidden beneath her blue-and-green painted face.
With a sharp cry, the arrow pierced the air, weaving past branches and leaves along the way, precisely threading through the neck of a sika deer grazing below, bringing it down along with its fall.
In an instant, the deer herd scattered without time to communicate. The sounds of running and mournful cries startled the crows and magpies resting among the trees. The previously quiet mountain forest suddenly came alive.
"Yoo~"
"Flap flap"
"Roar"
…
Song Jin stood among the trees, accustomed to such scenes. Yawning, she deftly snatched a wild bird that flapped past, snapped its neck in one motion, slung her longbow onto her back, and began climbing down the tree.
With such a commotion, most of the nearby wild game had scattered. She calmly wove through the underbrush, intending to retrieve the deer carcass.
Deer blood, deer heart, and deer antler were all fine things—her mother was in poor health and needed such nourishment.
There was too much venison to eat all at once; she could make it into dried meat strips. The deer hide could be tanned—whether kept at home or sold, it was a good thing. The deer bones could be soaked in wine or ground into medicine…
Song Jin, who had come from the harsh environment of the Apocalypse, strove not to waste a single ounce.
After all, this was the ancient era now. Though their days were peaceful and the townsfolk could eat their fill, productivity was low, royal authority reigned, and laws were incomplete. Who knew when those above might change their minds, impose a new batch of exorbitant taxes, and stir up turmoil outside?
Song Jin remained constantly vigilant. Her family's granary was stocked to the brim, yet like a little mouse, she had hoarded supplies in other places as well.
Though much of it had fed the wild birds, squirrels, and jackals, just thinking about her hidden reserves brought an involuntary smile to Song Jin's face, and her steps grew lighter.
She walked through the forest, the crack of dry twigs beneath her feet, the rustle of clothing brushing against branches on either side. The sounds weren't loud, but they masked the subtler traces.
Something was approaching silently.
Song Jin had already reached the sika deer. She had tracked this herd for a full day, deliberately choosing an older, large buck weighing nearly three hundred jin. Relying on herself alone, she wouldn't make it home until tomorrow.
That wouldn't do—her family had a curfew. Song Jin had come prepared. She found the backpack she'd stashed earlier, pulled out a clay jar, and slashed the deer's neck. Blood gushed into the vessel.
Deer blood jarred, antlers bagged, meat sliced into strips, the penis carefully stored away…
As for the heavy, cumbersome deer head and skeleton—
Song Jin, expertly skinning the animal, curled the corners of her lips. She raised her elbow to wipe away the fine sweat, sticky-sweet deer blood running down her wrist and dripping onto the earth.
The breathing around her grew quicker.
Song Jin paused for a few seconds, then rolled aside in one motion. The next moment, something pounced at her. Unhurriedly, she flipped backward, deftly seized the fur of her attacker, turned the tables to pin it to the ground, and raised her gleaming blade tip upward—a faint sting of cold steel, a hair's breadth from piercing the thick hide.
"Mew~"
The fierce, ferocious creature stiffened for an instant, then went limp, exposing its soft belly and letting out a clingy, coquettish cry.
Song Jin raised an eyebrow, satisfied as she withdrew her long blade. She reached out and rubbed the big tiger's head firmly, then squeezed and prodded it all over to confirm no limbs were missing. Only then did she relax, stand up, and walk over to portion out the remaining deer head and legs for it.
"Huanghuang, I can't carry these back. You keep them."
The golden tiger rolled over, padded over to Song Jin, and nuzzled against her, following with two more mews—utterly clingy.
When Song Jin was ten, she had found Huanghuang in the mountains. Born weak and abandoned by its mother, it was Song Jin who had raised it with every trick she could devise. But tigers were frightening creatures after all, so once it grew a bit bigger, she released it back into the mountains. Every day, Song Jin went into the hills to hunt, feed, and train her tiger daughter, until Huanghuang grew from a timid cub into a true sovereign of the mountains.
For Huanghuang, this mountain was his own backyard, and Song Jin was his hairless adoptive mother whom he could act spoiled with whenever he pleased.
Song Jin was used to it. She crouched there, butchering the deer, occasionally slicing off strips of meat and bone to feed Huanghuang. By the time she finished, the sun was already nearly setting.
"Damn it."
Song Jin hastily packed everything up, then rubbed Huanghuang's big head and sighed, "It's all your fault. If you hadn't been messing with me, I'd have been back ages ago."
Huanghuang blinked his big round golden eyes: "Mew?"
Song Jin raised an eyebrow. "No acting cute. You're all grown up now. Take the stuff back to your den—I'll come collect the bones in a couple days."
Huanghuang couldn't understand her words, but he could read her intent. Knowing she was about to leave, he nuzzled against her, then obediently trotted over and clamped his jaws around the deer skeleton, not wasting a single bit.
Like mother, like daughter.
A thrifty Song Jin could never raise a wasteful tiger.
Song Jin slung her backpack basket over her shoulders and, regardless of whether the tiger could understand, spoke earnestly: "The mountain's been restless lately. Don't go running around everywhere. I'll come by when I have time."
Huanghuang tilted his head: "Mew?"
The golden great tiger had been a little sweetheart when young, and even now that he was a massive lump who could bite two people in one snap, he still loved acting spoiled in front of his "dear mother."
Song Jin couldn't help but rub her tiger daughter's head again. Seeing that if she didn't leave soon it really would be too late, she hefted the hundred-plus-jin backpack basket and moved nimbly through the mountain forest—over hills, across slopes, leaping between trees as if walking on flat ground.
Nothing special—just practice.
In the Apocalypse of Song Jin's past life, disasters and man-made calamities were everywhere, and mutated flora and fauna were piled up in droves. Born into that world, she had trained since childhood, gone on missions at ten, become the twelfth squad captain of the camp at twenty, and at twenty-five—
She had transmigrated here, to an unknown ancient era.
The mountains were fine, the waters were fine. No man-eating flowers that could bite off a head in one snap, no fish that shot poison spines, no mutated plants that grew and wrecked the house in a few days, and no strange beast armies comparable to military forces.
All she had was one old mother—with a house, a carriage, land, savings, and looks, but a dead husband—and a great mountain as resource-rich as her own backyard garden.
Song Jin had chosen to lie flat without a moment's hesitation. Every day, aside from practicing her martial arts, she just played with her cat and walked her dog.
Life was too comfortable for words—making her past self, who had done nothing but train, go on missions, and complete tasks until she was worked to death, look like a fool.
Thinking back on those memories, Song Jin couldn't help but wipe away nonexistent bitter tears as she swiftly made her way down the mountain.
Normally, to get from Panlong Mountain to Linxi Town, one had to descend via Da'an Village on one side, then take a sixty-li detour around. But for her, she could cut straight through two patches of forest—two hours at a slow pace, one hour at a fast one.
Song Jin wasn't carrying much today, so normally she'd be home in about an hour and a half. Going back at this time, she'd have dinner and coax her mother a bit—just about right.
But as luck would have it, just as she neared the foot of the mountain, she was blocked by people.
Actually, they weren't blocking her specifically. But these few men were acting suspiciously, clearly up to no good. Song Jin didn't want to face them head-on, so she simply climbed up a tree to avoid meeting them directly.
Night had fallen deep now, with only faint moonlight filtering through the forest. The tall trees with their thick, lush branches and leaves concealed her curled-up form well.
Both in her past life and now, Song Jin was tall—though in her previous life she'd been an ordinary five-foot-two, in this one she'd become exceptionally tall, and it looked like she was still growing.
Song Jin had seen her mother sighing and shaking her head at her height more than once. A couple years back, the old woman had even snuck into her room and patted her head, trying to press her shorter—sneaky as could be.
Thinking of that, Song Jin gave a soft snort inwardly, then let her gaze fall on the man at the very center of the group below.
Too tall.
He was the tallest person she'd seen since transmigrating—more than four inches taller than her—yet he didn't have the hunched-back problem common among tall people. He stood there straight as a slender bamboo, but the kind of cold bamboo growing by a frigid pool—sharp, biting, and radiating a dangerous edge.
Not simple.
Song Jin frowned, moving her gaze from the cold man's handsome face to the slightly flashy, roguish man beside him.
The white jade pendant at his waist had intricate patterns—worth no less than a hundred taels.
His clothes were of celestial silk and cloud brocade—also worth no less than a hundred taels.
Even the paper fan in his hand bore the mark of Fengyu Trading House, worth at least ten taels of silver.
…
This man, head to toe, was a walking money vault—his background was absolutely not ordinary. And yet, for someone with such standing, judging by the way he spoke, his status was still lower than the cold bamboo beside him.
Something was off.
Their Linxi Town had developed well these past two years, producing a few fairly famous goods that could earn some silver, but that was only relative to the town itself—nothing compared to the county or prefecture level.
And setting that aside, if there was anything else worth outside attention—
Song Jin's heart tightened. She narrowed her eyes, pressed motionless against the tree, and silently watched them continue searching deeper into the mountain. She didn't move a muscle even after their figures had completely vanished from sight.
After a while, faint murmuring voices drifted back from that direction. Only after confirming there was no sound from her side did they leave again—extremely cautious.
And only after confirming that Song Jin was safe did she jump down from the tree, carefully circling around in a different direction before sprinting home from the other side.
She could only hope these people wouldn't drag the nearby villages into trouble—most of the folks here were still ordinary people.
But if they really did get dragged in, there wasn't much she, a bona fide little landlord's brat, could do about it anyway.
What mattered most right now was—
Getting home.
Song Jin crept all the way back to Linxi Town. Their house was on the south side of town, right at the head of the main street—a place bustling with people day and night, where even after dark, dedicated patrols made their rounds at regular intervals. For law-abiding folks, it was perfectly safe.
For Song Jin, though…
"Shh, shh, shh!"
She'd picked a bad day to come back—she'd barely arrived when she ran straight into this group of patrollers. Song Jin's heart leapt into her throat as she hurriedly cut off their shouts.
"It's me, it's me!" She walked up, lowering her voice furtively. "It's late—don't go waking everyone up. The elderly folks don't sleep well these days, so we should think about them a little."
The patrol team: …
Anyone who believed that was a fool.
Song Jin was dressed in all sorts of odd getup, carrying bags and bundles of every size, but she wasn't afraid of them seeing. She set down her backpack basket, pulled out a two-jin chunk of venison, and handed it over, laughing and joking with them like old brothers.
"Come on, come on—you brothers have worked hard on patrol tonight. Once you're done, go roast this up for a little nourishment. My mother's getting on in years, so when you all pass by this area, keep it quiet, alright?"
The six patrol members ranged from thirty at the oldest to just fifteen at the youngest. They'd either grown up alongside Song Jin or watched her grow up, and they couldn't help but feel exasperated by her complete lack of ladylike decorum.
The captain was the older brother from the house next door. He frowned at the venison. "Went into the deep woods again? There are plenty of wild beasts in there. Don't think you're invincible just because you're skilled. Auntie's health isn't good—what if something happens to you?"
Song Jin let out a theatrical sigh. "So sleepy, so sleepy. Brother Xiaofu, you all keep at it—I'm heading back first!"
With that, she made a show of yawning, hoisted her heavy backpack basket, and dashed off toward home.
The gate was locked from inside, so she simply vaulted the wall—a two-meter-high barrier that looked no more imposing than a fence to her.
The patrol team, though not seeing this for the first time, couldn't help but marvel.
"How did Auntie Niu, someone so gentle and delicate, give birth to such a little monkey?"
"A monkey gilded in gold, at that. Look—she casually hands out venison like it's nothing. Yan Lao'er's got good fortune coming his way."
"Fortune? Would you dare to take that fortune?"
"Hahaha, don't joke around!"
…
Song Jin didn't know about the gossip behind her back, nor did she care. She carefully climbed over the wall—and found herself facing a dense crowd of people.
"…"
Not bothering to hide anymore, she dropped down from the wall with practiced ease. Before anyone inside could speak, she unhesitatingly threw herself flat on the ground with a thud, kowtowed twice to her expressionless mother, and laughed cheerfully.
"Good evening, Mother. Good night, Mother. See you tomorrow, Mother."
With that, she sprang up and bolted to her room, vanishing with startling abruptness.
Niu Tielan, who had been lying in wait like a hunter by a tree stump, hadn't even processed what happened before her troublesome child disappeared without a trace. After a long moment, she recovered and laughed in spite of herself, exasperated.
"Song Jin, you little rascal!"