Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

The one-eared soldier's short blade had just left its sheath three inches away.

Zhu Cilang had already reversed his grip with his right hand, the back of the blade moving along his arm, the blade cutting in with lightning speed along the gap in the soldier's neck guard.

A strange sense of familiarity controlled his arm; muscle memory moved faster than thought.

With a sudden burst of force, he slashed his right hand to the left, precisely cutting across the soldier's throat.

Fresh blood gushed out with a "plop," and the warm blood mist splattered onto Zhu Cilang's chin.

The one-eared soldier's eyes widened, a gurgling sound came from his throat, and his body stiffened for a moment.

He then collapsed to the ground as if his bones had been removed, his hands instinctively covering his throat, but blood still gushed out from between his fingers.

Blood splattered on the bark of the poplar tree, steaming hot. His right leg convulsed, breaking half of a mud brick, and he finally collapsed motionless in the bloody mud.

Zhu Cilang gripped the hilt of the knife tightly, his chest heaving violently, the sticky sensation of the blade against his throat making his stomach churn.

In his previous life, he was a "short weapon champion," and the instincts of this body have been fused with the nerve reflexes of a short weapon king.

Without thinking twice, he immediately shouted at the dazed refugees around him:

"They're going to kill innocent people and claim credit for it! Everyone run!"

The blood droplets that Zhu Cilang flung off as he swung his sword were still in mid-air when his hoarse roar exploded.

In an instant, the previously dazed refugees were awakened by the shout and scattered in all directions.

The limping old man, thirty paces away, suddenly looked up and rammed his shoulder into the soldier, who fell into the pit.

"Damn your ancestors!"

The soldier cursed as he got up, swung his scabbard at the crowd, and with a muffled thud, someone's collarbone shattered.

A teenager charged forward headfirst, knocking him to the ground with a headbutt.

Zhu Cilang caught a glimpse of Song An beside him out of the corner of his eye, and with a swift motion, cut the ropes binding him.

Song An quickly ripped the rag out of his mouth, took a deep breath, and stood warily beside Zhu Cilang, looking around.

"Block the entrance to the East Ditch!"

From afar came the roar of Commander Wang.

Zhu Cilang turned his head casually and saw the young woman.

Her hands were tightly bound with hemp rope, and she was struggling with all her might. Her slender wrists were already red from being strangled.

He stepped forward, a flash of light from his knife, and the rope snapped in two.

The woman looked up and met Zhu Cilang's gaze. Her face was cold, and her eyes showed a hint of surprise, which quickly turned into determination.

"Hurry up!"

At Zhu Cilang's low shout, the woman's embroidered shoes crushed the dry branches, and the three of them quickly broke through the encirclement, escaping along the mountain path towards the main road.

The three of them were already at the back of the group, so escaping was relatively easy for them.

The tremor of the throat-cutting wound still lingered in Zhu Cilang's hand; he knew better than anyone the limits of his body.

The arena and the battlefield are ultimately different.

What he honed on the stage in his previous life was ultimately just the courage of a common man, but now, facing armored soldiers, he is like a lone wolf lost in a thicket of armor.

Right now, all we can do is escape as quickly as possible and rescue the two people along the way; that's the limit.

A hellish sound surged from behind, with the sounds of bones cracking, whimpers, cries, and the snapping of withered branches rising and falling.

The refugees, bound like rice dumplings, were falling like stalks of wheat under a sickle, their ropes already cut.

The three of them ran south along the main road.

Blood seeped from Song An's trouser leg, which was torn by thorns, and strands of the young woman's hair clung to her sweat-dampened neck.

The rapid sound of horses' hooves suddenly approached from behind.

Zhu Cilang suddenly turned around and saw two green horses galloping past the old locust tree at the bend.

"Damn it, it's cavalry!"

Song An's expression changed drastically, and he shouted something.

The white foam spewed from the horse's snot shimmered iridescently in the sunlight, and the cotton armor of the leading cavalryman was splattered with blood.

"Stop—"

The droplets of blood that Zhu Cilang had flung off with his sword were still hanging in mid-air.

"Two legs can't outrun four hooves!"

When a drop of blood fell "plop" onto Song An's shoulder, the three of them stopped in their tracks.

We have no choice but to take the plunge! Zhu Cilang looked around, his gaze sweeping over the piles of withered grass by the roadside.

A angular bluestone, about half a palm's width, came into view, its edges marked with broken spikes.

He picked up the stone, clenched it in his right palm, turned it along the seam of his trousers so that the sharpest angle was facing forward.

The two green horses had now completely broken free from the shadow of the locust tree.

The sound of horses' hooves echoed like war drums, and he smelled a strong stench of blood.

The cavalryman leading the charge had already drawn his saber three inches from its sheath.

Zhu Cilang slightly bent his left knee to stabilize his center of gravity, held the knife in reverse with his left hand, and gripped the stone tightly with his right hand.

Stay calm, just like when you were throwing a baseball.

Twenty steps, fifteen steps, ten steps—

He suddenly exerted force with his shoulder blades, the stone drawing an arc along his ear, his sleeve whistling as it brushed against the air.

The stone, carrying a strong wind, shot out like a cannonball, striking the head of the horse in the lead with pinpoint accuracy.

The combined force of the charging horse and the hurled stone created a tremendous impact.

"Bang!"

A low, muffled thud.

The green horse immediately reared up, letting out a terrified neigh, and instantly lost its balance.

The cavalryman on horseback was thrown into the air and crashed heavily to the ground.

Zhu Cilang seized the opportunity, rushed forward, and stabbed the cavalryman in the chest with his sword.

Another cavalryman charged straight at Song An, and with a flash of light, the blade grazed past his ear.

Song An, with his lean figure, glided to the side of Zhu Cilang's green horse, grabbed the saddle with his left hand, and used the momentum to leap up and mount the horse smoothly.

"then!"

Zhu Cilang threw the blood-stained waist knife over.

When Song An took the knife, his eyes sharpened, revealing a fierce determination to fight to the death.

In the distance came the urgent snorting of warhorses; the cavalryman was tightening his reins and turning around.

Suddenly, Song An lowered his back, gripped his knife in one hand, and spurred his horse's flanks with both legs. His mount shot off like an arrow towards the cavalry.

The moment the two horses met, a scream pierced the sky.

The cavalryman's thigh was cleaved in half by Song An's waist knife, blood gushing out and staining the ground red, and he fell off his horse.

The man who had fallen from his horse was still clutching his broken leg and howling in pain when Song An rode back around and slit his throat with a swift stroke of his knife.

Zhu Cilang and Song An exchanged a glance and nodded in tacit agreement.

Three people on two horses. Zhu Cilang, with the aloof woman in his arms, saddled her up. The ends of her hair brushed against his chin, and the wind ruffled their clothes, causing them to flutter backward.

The green horse neighed and galloped south along the wide road.

Shortly after, Zhu Cilang suddenly tightened the reins, and the horse neighed loudly before coming to an abrupt stop.

He listened intently and could faintly hear more hoofbeats approaching.

No, this is a dead end. We need to use some military tactics.

He then looked at Song An:

"Turn around and turn back."

"Turn back?"

Song An frowned, his hand unconsciously tightening its grip on the reins, a look of surprise on his face.

"Wouldn't going there be like walking into a trap?"

"No!"

Zhu Cilang pulled the reins, making the horse turn in a circle.

"The pursuers will surely expect us to head straight for the main road; if we continue forward, we will find it difficult to escape."

He pointed to the path beside him.

"Why not take the opposite approach, detour back to Qingyuan Town, rest there briefly, and then make a decision around midnight?"

Song An squinted at the dust rising from the path he had come from, and with a backhand motion, slapped his long sword across his horse's rump:

"What you say is absolutely right, young master. I have learned a lot from you, Song An."