This latest assault by the Meng forces proved to be an almost unsurvivable ordeal for the defenders at Qingshan Ai. Had it not been for Marshal Hong Lin Ying's ruthless decisiveness—deploying over ten thousand soldiers to stall the enemy's siege long enough to complete the fortification of the walls—the city might have fallen before any adequate defenses were even set up.
The battle left an indelible mark on the souls of the city's inhabitants. They spoke in hushed, terrified tones of how the enemy's grim, ferocious faces emerged repeatedly from the battlements. So close were these savage visages that the memory would haunt them for a lifetime. In the aftermath, blood spilled copiously over the ramparts; thick, red streams seeped from the crevices in the stone walls, turning the streets within half a mile of the defenses into nothing less than a vast blood pool. Even the once-bright and orderly avenues, where each step echoed against clean pavement, now squelched with the sticky sound of blood-soaked shoes.
Even Marshal Hong Lin Ying, a man known for his iron discipline, would later admit that the memory of that battle still sent shivers down his spine. He recalled with grim resignation the warning that Ji Wenhe had given him on a previous night—a warning that the enemy might yet be concealing reserves of heavy troops waiting for the right moment. That single mention was enough for Hong Lin Ying to exhale a long, disbelieving sigh.
In the months that followed, Ji Wenhe visited him not once but twice more in the deep of night, each time reporting detailed enemy movements and deployments. Relying on the precise information provided by Ji Wenhe, Hong Lin Ying arranged his forces with surgical precision, and his troops emerged victorious in those engagements with minimal losses.
Yet beneath the military maneuvers lay a secondary—and secret—matter. Ji Wenhe had begun his search for someone worthy of inheriting his sect's legacy. His method of selection was nothing like the conventional tests of martial skill or internal energy. Instead, he relied on a set of finely crafted silver needles to examine the meridians of his candidates. According to him, his sect's unique internal cultivation method demanded that one's qi channels be exceptionally broad and well-conditioned; anyone whose meridians proved insufficient would, if forced to practice, risk a disastrous reversal of their internal energy. Strangely enough, despite testing scores of robust, battle-hardened soldiers over the past year, Ji Wenhe had yet to find a single candidate who qualified—an outcome that both baffled and frustrated Hong Lin Ying.
As Ji Wenhe's tactical genius began to claim victory after victory on the battlefield, Hong Lin Ying made a bold decision: he replaced his longstanding military strategist with Ji Wenhe as the chief strategist. Although many of the higher-ranking officers in the army were initially resentful of this change, time and again Ji Wenhe's plans rendered the enemy utterly helpless. With each subsequent skirmish, his strategies proved so devastatingly effective that enemy forces disintegrated into disorganized routs, and Ji Wenhe's reputation within the military grew ever more unassailable.
The pinnacle of Ji Wenhe's fame came a couple of years and a half ago during a defining battle. On that occasion, Ji Wenhe had ventured out to the central camp—a sprawling military complex thirty li to the north of the city—in search of his elusive "disciple." Over the course of that fateful day, he arranged his forces in a formidable, continuously connected chain formation and then unleashed his own astonishing martial prowess. With a single, fluid motion, he sliced through enemy ranks as though walking through an empty corridor. In a breathtaking display, he advanced into the enemy's central area and, as if guided by destiny itself, beheaded the deputy commander of the Meng forces. In a scene almost too mythic to believe, he then soared onto the enemy's flagship—a tall banner pole more than ten meters high—with one hand holding his sword and the other lifting the severed head high for all to see. That single act shattered the enemy's morale; disheartened and terrified, their forces dissolved into chaos, allowing Hong Lin Ying to break his own troops out of encirclement.
In the wake of that battle, Ji Wenhe's name was exalted nearly to the point of legend—some even claimed he had eclipsed Marshal Hong's own renown. Stories spread of his dual talents as both a brilliant strategist and an awe-inspiring martial artist. Emboldened by his victories, the imperial forces gradually shifted from a strictly defensive posture to launching offensive strikes against the Meng border. Over the subsequent years, the two sides engaged in a series of tit-for-tat skirmishes, their conflict eventually settling into a tense and precarious stalemate. Though the presence of Ji Wenhe refreshed and provoked awe in the military hierarchy, it was also universally acknowledged that no single individual—even one as extraordinary as Ji Wenhe—could unilaterally determine the outcome of war, especially when the enemy had quietly recruited several top-tier fighters of their own.
For Hong Lin Ying, however, these events only deepened his fascination and envy. The intensity with which Ji Wenhe wielded his unique internal cultivation technique seemed almost transcendent. When Ji Wenhe channeled his inner power, even ordinary moves were imbued with an overwhelming force—sometimes flowing like an endless river, at other times descending like a crushing avalanche. Such power left Hong Lin Ying feeling both inadequate and irresistibly drawn to the secret methods that granted it. He longed to acquire that legendary martial art, though every attempt to unearth the origins of Ji Wenhe's sect met with frustrating silence.
Occasionally, during private sparring sessions, Hong Lin Ying would catch fleeting glimpses of Ji Wenhe's internal energy—so precise and potent that every seemingly simple movement resonated with unstoppable force. And yet, despite attending almost every testing session in which Ji Wenhe evaluated new recruits using his silver needles, Hong Lin Ying was never allowed inside the tent where these examinations took place. Still, he was determined to glean every possible clue. Every time a new batch of soldiers was tested, he would watch from a distance, hoping to catch even the slightest hint about the ideal embodiment of Ji Wenhe's method. Leaning back in his chair and gazing intently at the curtain of the testing tent, he mused darkly, "This matter is truly vexing. For years I have tried every trick—both subtle and overt—yet I have yet to secure even one worthy candidate. And if what Ji Wenhe claims is true, and his own time is limited to a year or two… what will become of this coveted legacy? Even if he does cling to his ultimate art, how can I possibly obtain it?"
Every small detail, every whispered fragment of the silver needle test, might hold the key to unlocking that forbidden power. Yet despite his best efforts, the secret of Ji Wenhe's mysterious sect remained stubbornly out of reach—and the prospect of finally mastering that unparalleled internal method continued to haunt Hong Lin Ying's thoughts.