TSMDH 6
Chapter 6: Jumping into the River – Playing with Blades? You’re Not Worthy
Nightfall came early in the rain. The ground was soaked, the roads were unlit, the sky was moonless, and the only sound left in one’s ears was the howling wind.
Geng Yao had intended to wait for the rain to stop and had laid down in the pavilion for a nap. But he ended up sleeping longer than expected. When he opened his eyes again, it was pitch black.
He recalled the dream he’d just had—it was about his master again.
His master had always been unreliable, the kind who’d dangle a cigarette from his mouth while cooking noodles. If ash fell into the bowl, he’d just stir it in with chopsticks and serve it as if nothing had happened.
And if caught, he’d shamelessly say, “Won’t kill you.”
They lived a careless life, except for one rule—he wasn’t allowed to slack off in martial training.
While others trained casually, Geng Yao was drenched in sweat, practicing with a blade.
His master said: You’re a blade cultivator. The blade is your core. Spiritual energy is just support.
He also said: When you face a formidable enemy, your spiritual energy will eventually run out. But if your foundation is solid and you become one with the blade, it just might save your life.
Geng Yao remembered these words clearly. That’s why, even when the lightning strike drained all his spiritual energy, he hadn’t panicked.
Hooves thundered down the official road. The wind and rain howled, mingled with sharp shouts. Just hearing the clamor was enough to stir anxiety.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Geng Yao tilted his head to listen. Then he got up and ran into the rain, moving quietly up the nearby slope.
In the dark and stormy night, he could only vaguely make out the shape of the official road. It looked like someone fleeing a disaster—no time to even look back. Rider and horse alike were desperate.
The whip lashed mercilessly as hooves splashed through the muddy water. The rider was headed south from Ning’an County. South of there lay Fengluo Prefecture, and beyond that... the capital.
The hoofbeats drew nearer. Geng Yao squinted through the rain and made out the rider’s rain cloak, which obscured their clothing. But on their back was a flag.
It grew closer and flashed past him like a shooting star. In that instant, Geng Yao saw the color of the flag—yellow.
It was an Eight Hundred Li Urgent Dispatch.
He remembered how Wuping County had fallen, its people massacred. Familiar faces flashed through his mind. His fists clenched. Could this be more bad news?
If the heavens had any mercy, hopefully it was an urgent joyous report this time.
Suddenly, thunder boomed. The horse reared up and screamed in anguish. The cry was filled with sorrow. Geng Yao’s heart trembled. He immediately rushed down the slope, wanting to see what had happened.
Horses often died from exhaustion during such urgent runs. Geng Yao had once seen a fine steed foaming at the mouth before collapsing. That message had been an imperial edict forbidding border generals from mobilizing troops.
He had thought today would be another message like that.
Because of the rain, Geng Yao moved without much concern. He was certain the urgent messenger wouldn’t pay attention to his surroundings while in such a rush.
But... when he saw what lay on the road, he immediately dove to the ground, creeping forward slowly and parting the grass to peek.
In the pitch-black rain, the messenger lay face-down on the ground. It was unclear if he was dead or unconscious.
The horse lay about five paces behind, whimpering weakly.
Two men in black rain cloaks and bamboo hats were uncoiling ropes at the sides of the road.
One held a horse-slashing saber, the other a spiked mace. Both were tall and brawny, exuding the air of hardened soldiers.
Geng Yao instantly understood—it was a trip-rope.
In the pitch-black night, a rope stretched across the road would be nearly invisible. Once it caught a horse’s legs, the animal would fall, and the rider would be thrown off.
What were they planning?
Falsifying an Eight Hundred Li Urgent Dispatch was a capital offense, punishable by extermination of the entire family. If the rider died and the message was lost, the area for ten li around would be turned upside down in investigation.
He watched one man gather up the rope while the other approached the rider, crouched down, and rummaged through his body.
Under the rain cloak, the man pulled out a bamboo cylinder wrapped in yellow silk. He opened it briefly, then sealed it again and stuffed it back.
Though Geng Yao couldn’t see every move clearly, it clearly wasn’t just idle curiosity.
Lightning lit up the night. Geng Yao saw the two men heading up the slope toward him. He retreated quietly.
All around was still. The two black-cloaked men, their mission complete, relaxed and began chatting in hushed voices.
But their words weren’t in Da Jing dialect.
And yet Geng Yao understood them.
The Black-Toothed Tribe outside Wuping County.
The same Black-Toothed Tribe that slaughtered Wuping County.
“Are we really going to take the urgent message back to the lord?”
“The lord didn’t say, just told us to switch it out.”
“He said if this goes well, he’ll talk to Qiti and help us join the Iron Cavalry.”
“Once we’re Iron Cavalry, we can raid Da Jing for food and women. Balai took three from Wuping—said he slept with over twenty, even one ge’er who was eight months pregnant. Played with him until the baby came out. Said it was the most fun he ever had.”
Geng Yao had lived in Wuping for eight years. He’d walked every street and remembered every face. Even if he didn’t know their names, their features were imprinted on his heart.
He’d been an arrogant youth after transmigrating, and the aunties and old ladies had been forthright and generous with him, always stuffing him with treats.
The children loved playing with him. He took them climbing trees and swimming in rivers, and all of them got punished when they returned home at dusk.
The place was windy and dusty, but filled with laughter. When border soldiers returned from battle, they’d toss buns and flatbread to the children on the streets.
It should never have ended in slaughter.
The Geng family had left before the massacre, so Geng Yao hadn’t witnessed the rivers of blood. But all those carefree smiles now flashed before him.
Demons in human form, as if born without mothers or fathers, with no sense of morality or humanity.
The sun and moon weep, the wind sobs. The executioners laughed darkly—until a willow branch lashed from behind, wrapping around one man’s throat like vengeance itself.
This wasn’t a job for amateurs. The Black-Toothed man holding the mace grabbed the willow with one hand, spun, and swung his weapon.
The muddy ground was slippery. Geng Yao ripped a strip from his robe to mask his face. His eyes burned like fire, terrifying like a ghost.
The willow whip, though soft, struck like iron. The two enemies attacked from both sides—the saber came for his head, and the mace for his back.
Geng Yao dropped into a slide on his knees, dodging the strikes. Before the mace-wielder could react, the willow whip coiled around his neck again.
The saber came slashing down once more, but Geng Yao twisted like lightning and kicked the mace-wielder into his comrade’s blade.
The saber split flesh. The mace crashed to the ground.
One man dead by his companion’s hand. Enraged, the saber-wielder roared and chopped toward Geng Yao’s face.
Another bolt of lightning illuminated the slope by the peach grove. No one saw how the saber ended up in Geng Yao’s hands.
Its original owner still held the posture of a raised attack, his eyes wide with disbelief.
In death, his final thought was—How did I lose my blade?
“Playing with blades? You’re not worthy.”
It was Geng Yao’s first kill since transmigrating. His blade was soaked with blood, and hatred surged in his chest.
His hand trembled as he held the saber. He couldn’t forget those people, or their tragic fate.
But there was more to be done. He suppressed his emotions, discarded the blade, and retrieved the real urgent dispatch from one of the bodies.
All of this took no more than the time to burn a stick of incense.
He protected the red-lacquered message as he returned to the messenger’s side. The man was still breathing but unconscious. Geng Yao took the yellow silk from his cloak.
Inside was the bamboo tube. The rain had stopped, so the message wouldn’t get wet. Geng Yao compared the two dispatches.
Same red lacquer, same seal—visually identical.
His eyes darkened. A chilling possibility came to mind.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. He repacked the items, tied them back onto the messenger, and wiped away tracks before circling to the slope.
Time passed. The messenger groaned and sat up, clutching his head. He quickly checked his belongings. Everything was still there.
He checked the knots on his saddlebag, then looked around cautiously. Satisfied, he forced himself toward his horse.
Geng Yao had already seen that the horse was dead, though the rain had washed away the foam at its mouth. It now lay still, eyes shut peacefully.
The messenger didn’t know someone had drugged his meal at the last relay station. He simply assumed his fatigue had made him sluggish earlier.
Seeing no signs of theft or danger, he attributed the fall to the horse's exhaustion and thought no more of it.
He ignored the discomfort, abandoned the horse, and sprinted ahead—twenty more li to the next station.
Everything fell quiet again. The clouds dispersed, revealing a few stars. The two corpses remained a problem.
Geng Yao had no great solution, but after some hesitation, he picked a rain-soaked spot and dug a deep pit to bury them, planning to deal with the rest later.
Now that the rain had stopped, footprints would be more obvious. Cleanup was a pain, and any mistake could leave traces.
After burying the bodies, he jumped into the river fully clothed, scrubbing off blood and mud until he was clean.
—
The next day dawned sunny and bright. Geng Yao strolled lazily, sticking to sunlit paths. By the time he reached the city gates, his clothes were mostly dry.
He entered with the crowd and sat at a wonton stall by the gate.
He hadn’t eaten anything the day before and was starving.
“I heard that young master ge’er jumped into the river as soon as he got back.”
“Really? I saw him from afar once—so good-looking. How could he...?”
“Thankfully someone saved him.”
“A toad matched with a swan, and the toad didn’t even want it. Tell me, where in the world does that make sense?”
“Exactly. It’s like a flower planted in cow dung. It’s always the flower that complains—never thought I’d see the cow dung complain instead!”
Two women squatting and sorting vegetables gossiped nearby.
Geng Yao munched on a sesame bun and slurped his wontons, ears perked for gossip. It was quite entertaining.
Then the women paid for their vegetables, turned—and spotted him. Their faces changed instantly, and they tugged each other away quickly.
After all, in all of Ning’an County, there was only one person with a shaved head.
That shaved head belonged to him—the infamous toad... the butcher.
Geng Yao touched his cropped hair. He knew he was tall, strong, maybe a bit fierce-looking, but was he really that scary?
