Chapter Twenty-One: The Sharp Arrow

"Cousin Qinghe!"

"They’re coming!"

The sky darkened gradually, nightfall settling in. The inn was thick with suffocating tension and silence. The elderly man, with a child in tow, slipped into the cellar. Pei Feng and Pei Xuan refused to hide away, insisting on staying close to Pei Qinghe.

To grow and be tempered, one must indeed face bloodshed.

Pei Qinghe agreed, instructing them to follow closely and not run off. Both nodded in unison, sticking to their cousin like attached ornaments.

Young Pei Yan, bold and fearless, knew a fierce battle awaited tonight. Far from being afraid, she was unusually exhilarated and restless. Climbing atop the wall, she scanned the surroundings and quickly turned to issue a warning.

Pei Qinghe gave a slight nod and gestured with her hand.

Pei Yan immediately fell silent.

Pei Yun was also on the wall, crouching low, clutching her bow and arrow tightly. Her heart raced, palms sweating.

She had trained in martial arts since childhood, agile and skilled, with precise archery. Yet she had only ever shot birds or game, never a human.

Among the Pei women, many were adept with a bow—selecting twenty or thirty was no problem. Even among the seasoned soldiers under Captain Sun, not every soldier was armed with a bow. A few palace guards carried various weapons; they pooled together two bows and several long knives.

Pei Qinghe had exchanged for worn weapons from the soldiers; tonight, these were put to use. Three bows, six long knives, two spears, and a sword in total.

Pei Qinghe took a bow and a long knife herself, distributing the rest to those most capable and bravest.

The other Pei women, lacking proper weapons, gripped wooden sticks tightly. At least when facing the enemy head-on, they could still put up a fight.

Pei Qinghe’s pre-battle rally was simple, just one sentence:

If you want to live, don’t fear death.

Mao Hongling gripped her spear, teeth clenched, her delicate face taut with tension.

She did not want to die.

Her little dog had lost his father, leaving her as the only parent. She would fight desperately, live for her son—she must survive.

Wu Xiuniang held a long knife firmly. Married into the Pei family for over twenty years, she had long abandoned martial arts. These recent days of training rekindled the old fighting spirit within her.

She did not want to die.

Her husband had long since fallen; her sons were slaughtered. She still had a daughter and a granddaughter. Even if not for them, she wanted to live—for herself, she would risk her life.

Madam Feng’s face was pale, her body trembling uncontrollably.

She was no warrior’s daughter, never trained in combat, not particularly brave. At this moment, she was shaking with fear, terrified for her daughter Pei Qinghe.

Their adversaries were a band of ruthless, unknown marauders. No matter how skilled, brave, or clever Qinghe was, she was still only a teenage girl, untouched by war.

Moreover, to inspire her people, Pei Qinghe always led from the front, swiftly leaping atop the wall.

Madam Feng dared not call out, helplessly watching her daughter plunge into danger.

A wave of overwhelming terror washed over her. She felt frozen, cold from the inside out.

A mother’s intuition.

Pei Qinghe suddenly glanced back, catching sight of Madam Feng from afar.

Madam Feng forced back her tears and silently cheered for her daughter with a clenched fist.

Though separated by several meters and shrouded in darkness, blurred and indistinct, Madam Feng knew her daughter had smiled at her. Her heart, tight and pounding as if about to burst, suddenly eased.

Pei Qinghe turned again, focusing on several shifting dark figures.

These people were either recklessly bold or dangerously overconfident. They changed into tattered clothes to pose as refugees, acting without any restraint.

They pursued relentlessly, attacking before even assessing the inn’s defenses.

Underestimating the enemy, rushing blindly, wildly arrogant.

Excellent!

Tonight, they would receive a bloody lesson.

Pei Qinghe’s lips curled coldly. Steadying her stance, she drew her bowstring, squinting sharply, and released her arrow.

Whoosh!

The sharp arrow sliced through the night like lightning. In the next instant, one of the rushing black shapes dropped.

Pei Yun and Pei Yan followed suit without hesitation, shooting arrows together.

Their archery was far inferior, lacking strength and accuracy—they missed.

Whoosh!

In the blink of an eye, Pei Qinghe drew again and fired. Another shadow fell.

Expressionless, she continued to draw and shoot.

Whoosh!

A third enemy fell dead to her arrow.

Meanwhile, Captain Sun and Guard Gao each fired their first shots—one arrow struck a bandit’s arm, another hit a leg. The anguished cries tore through the silent night.

The soldiers and palace guards released their arrows as well. Their skill varied, but under this barrage, all eight or nine shadowy figures trying to storm the inn were felled, lying bloodied.

The gruesome scene was intensely stirring.

Pei Feng, quietly climbing the wall, felt his stomach churn violently and suddenly turned to vomit.

Pei Xuan sneered softly, “Go hide in the cellar!”

Pei Feng ignored her teasing, retching up the dry biscuit he had eaten tonight, continuing to gag.

“Take care of Pei Feng,” Pei Qinghe ordered without looking back, eyes fixed ahead.

Pei Xuan immediately dropped her mocking expression and kindly patted Pei Feng’s back. Pei Feng was thumped several times and coughed up saliva.

“How’s it going now?” Madam Feng asked tremulously.

A young Pei woman nearby replied nervously, “Don’t know! We must have driven off one wave of enemies.”

Madam Feng exhaled in relief, clasped her hands towards the sky, and bowed several times.

Captain Sun remained silent in the darkness.

He had fired only two arrows, one missing.

Even so, his precision was considered excellent, ranking him among the archery experts in the camp.

Pei Qinghe had fired four arrows, killing four people consecutively—each shot true, each arrow fatal.

Having spent over a decade in the camp, he had never seen such a formidable marksman.

Guard Gao was stunned as well.

Among the five hundred palace guards, he was a minor leader known for his skill, especially in archery, often proud of being a sharpshooter...

Tonight, he finally understood what a true sharpshooter was.

In the darkness elsewhere, Wu San watched with fury as Qiu Da and the others were all killed by arrows, cursing and swearing endlessly.

They had been careless! Underestimated their foes!

Those palace guards were all sharpshooters!

“Boss, what now?” The dark guards looked grim. One mustered courage to ask, “Should we retreat first? Wait until we know their numbers before moving... Ow!”

“Retreat?!” Wu San’s ferocity ignited, his face contorted with rage, teeth clenched, “Charge through! Kill them all! Not a single one left alive!”

“Drive out the refugees, let them clear the way.”

“Everyone, charge with me! Kill them all!”