Zhang Fengyi spoke calmly, her tone steady and precise.
"Though the bandit army numbers in the tens of thousands, only about half of them are true fighters. The rest are old men, youths, women, and hangers-on. Their camps are scattered carelessly across the slopes below, with no coordination or defensive structure. It's clear they understand nothing of military formations."
She raised her hand and pointed toward a shadowed ridgeline.
"I'll choose a concealed mountain path and strike one corner of their encampment tonight. At most, only a few hundred bandits will be able to react in time. They can be routed easily. We'll set fires, sow chaos—and withdraw immediately."
Her decision was swift.
That very night, the White Pole Soldiers moved.
Under Zhang Fengyi's command, they slipped down the mountainside like shadows peeling away from the forest. In the deep wilderness, they moved with the silence of beasts born to the mountains—stepping lightly, breathing quietly, leaving no trace behind.
Before long, Zhang Fengyi halted the formation.
Ahead lay a bandit camp at the foot of Laoye Mountain.
It was a mess.
Tents were scattered at random. Fires burned without watch. No sentries, no palisades, no trenches—nothing that could be called even the barest defense.
Zhang Fengyi didn't hesitate.
At her signal, the White Pole Soldiers surged forward.
Flames bloomed.
Tents collapsed.
Shouts and screams erupted as bandits stumbled out half-dressed, clutching weapons in panic. A handful tried to organize resistance, but they were instantly crushed by tightly coordinated white pole spear formations.
The raid was clean. Brutal. Efficient.
Within moments, the camp was engulfed in fire.
Torches flared in neighboring encampments as reinforcements rushed toward the blaze—but by the time they arrived, the White Pole Soldiers were already gone, vanishing back into the mountain paths with terrifying speed.
When Zijing Liang finally reached the scene, he could only stare.
The camp of Green-Backed Wolf lay in ruins—charred tents, scattered corpses, wounded bandits wailing in pain.
Zijing Liang sucked in a breath.
"The Sichuan White Pole Soldiers…" he muttered. "They truly live up to their name."
Deep in the forest, the White Pole Soldiers regrouped.
Zhang Fengyi, however, did not look pleased.
"The bandits are too numerous," she said gravely. "Tonight's raid hurt them, but it was nothing more than a pinprick. Tomorrow, they'll attack the mountain with everything they have. We won't be able to hold the position."
Li Daoxuan nodded. "So—hit and run."
"Exactly."
Orders were passed down at once.
The White Pole Soldiers abandoned their defensive platforms, withdrew silently, and reassembled deeper within the forest. Soon, the entire force advanced again, slipping through dense undergrowth.
Their path was suddenly blocked.
Ahead loomed a sheer cliff—smooth, steep, and unforgiving.
Without hesitation, the White Pole Soldiers linked the hooked ends of their spears together, forming a long chain. One by one, they gripped the improvised spear-rope and scaled the rock face with practiced ease.
The fifty militia soldiers froze.
They stared upward, pale-faced.
They couldn't do that.
In the end, ropes had to be tied around their waists. The White Pole Soldiers hauled them up like sacks of grain. Every man felt his face burn with humiliation.
Then, it was Li Daoxuan's turn.
"…Oh hell," he thought.
Being pulled up was out of the question. His weight would expose everything.
He looked up at the White Pole Soldiers waiting above, shook his head, and waved.
"Forget it," he said calmly. "I'll do it myself."
He pulled his right hand into his sleeve. His left followed, fumbling briefly.
With a subtle motion, he peeled away the silicone outer layer.
What emerged was not flesh—but metal.
His right fist now resembled a solid iron hammer.
Wrapping it back in his sleeve, Li Daoxuan drew his arm back—and punched.
Thud!
The rock wall dented.
Everyone above froze.
Zhang Fengyi's eyes widened.
Li Daoxuan struck again.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Each blow carved out a shallow pit—perfect handholds and footholds appearing one after another. He climbed, punched, climbed again, rhythmically hammering the cliff face.
The smooth rock was transformed into a jagged wall, like a purpose-built climbing route.
In moments, Li Daoxuan reached the summit. He vaulted up, landed firmly, slid his hand back into his sleeve, restored the silicone layer—and only then revealed his fist again.
Normal.
Human.
The White Pole Soldiers were stunned into silence.
The Gao Family Village militia didn't even react.
To them, such a feat was nothing unusual for a god.
Zhang Fengyi finally found her voice. She stared at his fist.
"Mr. Xiao… is your hand injured?"
Li Daoxuan raised it and flexed his fingers. "See? Not a scratch."
"…What martial art was that?" she asked slowly.
Li Daoxuan smiled faintly. "In the jianghu," he said, "people gave me a nickname."
He clenched his fist.
"Iron Hand."
Zhang Fengyi fell silent.
You don't look like a jianghu master at all, she thought.
Before she could speak, shouts echoed from below.
The bandits had caught up.
Their scouts had discovered the retreat and pursued relentlessly—only to be stopped cold by the sheer cliff.
Both sides faced each other across the abyss.
The bandits stared upward, dread creeping into their hearts.
How had anyone climbed this?
Li Daoxuan leaned forward, pointed at the pitted rock face, and grinned.
"I've already carved a path for you," he called down. "Don't be shy—come on up."
The bandits stared.
One or two men might manage it.
An entire army?
Impossible.
Worse still, the White Pole Soldiers now guarded the summit.
A perfect choke point.
Below the cliff, the bandits could only watch helplessly as the White Pole Soldiers disappeared into the forest once more.
Two days passed.
Zijing Liang felt something was wrong.
Before, it had always been him darting through mountains, toying with government troops.
Now?
The roles had reversed.
The White Pole Soldiers struck like ghosts—appearing from one direction one day, another the next. Despite commanding tens of thousands, he couldn't pin down Zhang Fengyi's thousand men.
Enough.
"I'm done wasting time here," Zijing Liang growled.
He turned his army north.
After marching more than twenty li, a small village appeared ahead.
A crooked wooden sign stood at its entrance.
Houjia Village.
The bandits surged in without waiting for orders.
Fire.
Blood.
Screams.
By the time it was over, nearly all the men lay dead. Only women and children remained, huddled together, shaking.
Ge Goufei sidled up, lowering his voice.
"Boss, I've got an idea."
Zijing Liang turned. "Speak."
Ge Goufei grinned darkly. "The Sichuan White Pole Soldiers pride themselves on righteousness. They won't ignore innocent civilians. Why don't we use these women and children as bait?"
Zijing Liang frowned. "This…"
Ge Goufei sneered. "Worried about your reputation in the jianghu? Hah. What reputation? The only justice left in this world is the strength of one's fist."
Zijing Liang hesitated.
Then nodded.
"…Very well."