Thirteen: Would you natives just go die already?

“Get up, we’re going to rescue Yin Chan.”

Ming Tian helped An Luo to his feet, scratching his head, inwardly impatient. Yin Chan’s capture was all An Luo’s fault, just as it had been in front of the Princess. This fellow’s mind was filled with nothing but killing, reckless actions, no brains—pure muscle and nothing else. Damn it, he has abs on his face, doesn’t he? What if his temper ruins the next step of the plan?

“Let me make this clear first.” Ming Tian pressed a finger to An Luo’s nose and scolded, “The most important thing now is to save her. I don’t care if you like me or not. Everything else comes second. You want to rescue Yin Chan, right?”

An Luo nodded so vigorously it was as if he were sending a telegram. “I do.”

“Then you’ll need to follow my lead. If I tell you to stand, you stand; if I tell you to sit, you sit; if I tell you to shut up, you’re not allowed to even fart, got it?”

“What does shutting up have to do with farting?” An Luo blinked, his eyelids thick with muscle.

Ming Tian’s forehead immediately sprung a tic shaped like a hashtag.

“I swear—oh, for heaven’s sake!” Ming Tian, unable to restrain his anger at this simpleton, raised a leg to kick him, but An Luo’s body was like iron, and Ming Tian nearly twisted his own ankle instead.

As for An Luo, he didn’t even react to the kick—a kick that could have broken a bandit’s knee. Brother, could you at least pretend to feel pain, cry out a little? You’re making me look bad! If you lived in modern times, you could play Wolverine, right? If we injected adamantium into your bones, could you dismantle airplanes?

“As long as I can save Miss Yin Chan, I’ll walk through fire and climb mountains without hesitation!” An Luo declared, pounding his chest to prove his resolve.

The blow was so heavy Ming Tian felt a gust of air.

Good grief, even a chest thump creates an airwave—are you even human?

“In any case, chasing after them now is pointless. They’re bandits, and moving through the forest gives them the advantage. Instead of a pursuit, we should find out where their camp is and launch a surprise attack at night.”

An Luo nodded repeatedly, just like a well-behaved student. “So, how do we find their camp?”

“Well…” Ming Tian grinned wickedly and turned around.

Behind him lay the bandit whose knee Ming Tian had shattered in the earlier fight and whose blade he’d seized. The man hadn’t died, but was now clutching his leg, bent backward like a bird’s, groaning in pain.

An Luo caught on instantly.

“Speak! Where have you taken Miss Yin Chan?!” An Luo punched the bandit, knocking him senseless.

But the bandit didn’t submit—he spat bloody saliva at An Luo and refused to say a word.

An Luo, enraged, drew his blade to strike.

Ming Tian intervened, grabbing An Luo’s hand, his anger replaced by a gentle expression as soft as cotton candy. “Interrogating like that won’t work. Treat prisoners like family—if you’re so fierce, you’ll scare him. What then?”

Ming Tian turned to the bandit, flashing an innocent smile. “Isn’t that right?”

The bandit, unable to gauge the intentions of this slender, handsome youth, nodded in confusion.

Ming Tian smiled, signaling An Luo to step back, then squatted in front of the bandit with a smile so gentle it was almost nauseating.

The bandit, a hardened criminal, felt his hair stand on end at the sight.

Ming Tian picked up a fallen dagger. “I’m merciful, humanitarian even. I won’t use force like our wild friend here, so you can relax.”

He traced the tip of the dagger from the bandit’s thigh down to his… manhood.

The bandit’s face froze, as if he were a dried corpse.

This was even more frightening than the brute!

A thousand alpacas stampeded through the bandit’s mind, but with the dagger poised against his most vulnerable part, he dared not move.

Ming Tian raised two fingers, still smiling benignly. “You have two options. One, tell me where your camp is and I’ll spare your life. Two…”

“If you want to castrate me, go ahead! I won’t betray the chief!” The bandit, at last unable to withstand the psychological pressure, cursed loudly, his face contorted in a death-defying snarl.

But Ming Tian shook his head, eyes closed.

You’re too naïve.

“Who said I’d castrate you? Am I so cruel? Even if you refuse to talk, I’ll just slice your eggs into sashimi, piece by piece. Of course, while I’m cutting, they’ll still be attached to your body, so it’ll hurt just a little. Is that cruel? Not really, right?”

His words sent a chill down not only the bandit’s spine, but even An Luo felt an icy shudder below.

Cruel? This was monstrous! Both An Luo and the bandit reached the same conclusion.

The bandit turned pale, trembling like a leaf, unable to utter a word.

“Well? Will you talk? No? Alright, An Luo, hold him down.”

An Luo, despite his distaste for such methods, stepped forward without hesitation for Yin Chan’s sake.

Seeing this, the bandit broke down, sobbing.

This wasn’t just castration—he was going to be sliced like sashimi! Who could invent such a torture? And what was sashimi, anyway?

“No, no, I’ll tell! Eight li west of here, in a cave halfway up Purple Flower Mountain.”

Halfway up Purple Flower Mountain?

Ming Tian, unfamiliar with the local geography, looked to An Luo, who nodded. “Purple Flower Mountain is plagued by bandits. The authorities have tried to suppress them several times, but failed. It’s likely true.”

“Great, then. Cut off his eggs, leave him to his fate. Let’s gather our things and set out.”

The bandit protested, “You said you’d let me go if I talked!”

Ming Tian’s face was now devoid of mercy, only anger remaining. He shot a sharp glance at the bandit.

“I lied.”

Mercy and trust? A joke. You ruined my plans, kidnapped my people, brought me trouble, and expect me to spare you?

I may be playful, but I’m not soft. If I don’t show my teeth, you think I’m a rabbit?

Amid the bandit’s screams, Ming Tian calmly scavenged usable supplies from the wrecked carriage.

He noticed that, though his own pack and money had been stolen, the bandits hadn’t touched Yin Chan’s small, light bundle.

Probably because money is heavy, the bandits took the heavier packs and missed Yin Chan’s.

And Ming Tian knew Yin Chan—she was a traveler from 2458. Even if she couldn’t bring technology, her knowledge and resourcefulness far exceeded ordinary people. Her soap and wrist darts were proof.

Sure enough, after searching, Ming Tian was stunned to find a heap of strange components in her pack.

“What’s this?” An Luo asked, peering curiously.

Ming Tian examined them closely, frowning. “Not sure, but they seem to fit together. Let’s assemble them.”

These wooden parts were highly precise, using clever joints that didn’t require nails. If put together correctly, the connections were even stronger than nails.

After an hour’s work, from noon into the afternoon, Ming Tian and An Luo finally assembled the device—and what they got was astonishing.

Good grief, Yin Chan, you’re a genius! Isn’t this supposed to be lost to history? How did you make it? No wonder you’re always broke, busy building these things.

It was a Zhuge repeating crossbow, weighing less than three kilograms, about the size of an MP5 submachine gun, ingeniously designed. The bowstring was made from the cores of several cow tendons wrapped with nylon, tougher than modern bowstrings.

Even more impressive, the compact bow box, thanks to its intricate design, could hold twenty-five arrows, far exceeding the ten-arrow capacity of Zhuge Liang’s original. And this repeating crossbow was fully automatic—just rotate the handle at the back to fire continuously.

The “great achievement” required by the gods was something Ming Tian and Yin Chan had discussed: a monumental feat that would make one famous for generations. The freedom was high—one could choose to be the greatest general, wisest or most ruthless emperor, or most learned scholar.

Ming Tian had decided his great achievement would be to become the God of Cuisine; Yin Chan wanted hers to be in medicine.

But now, Ming Tian thought, maybe this fellow was better suited to world domination.

What’s a doctor doing inventing weapons like this? Who treats patients with repeating crossbows and wrist darts? Oh, right—kill the patient and they’ll have no illness. Logical…not! Yin Chan, what goes on in your head all day?

Despite his thoughts, Ming Tian was grateful. This repeating crossbow might be the key to wiping out the bandits.

“Ming Tian, what is this? A crossbow? Why is it so weird?” An Luo leaned in, fascinated by the strange contraption.

Ming Tian stowed it away, smiling.

“We’re going to roast all the bandits with this thing.”

…

Elsewhere, Yin Chan was thrown violently into the bandit stronghold’s main hall.

In the center of the modest hall sat a young man with a ruddy complexion and delicate features.

The moment Yin Chan saw him, her gaze froze, her beautiful face drenched in cold sweat.

“Cui Jue?! You?!”

Yes, the man before her was Cui Jue, son of Cui Huijing, the famous general of the Qi Kingdom during the Southern and Northern Dynasties, who resisted the emperor but ultimately failed.

But Yin Chan knew—he was Cui Jue, yet also not Cui Jue.

He was another traveler.

“My men said they captured the Princess of Jiangmen. I wondered who it was—turns out, it’s you. Seems there’s been quite a misunderstanding.”

Cui Jue descended from his bone-crafted throne, smiling calmly. “Two years ago, when I was searching for medical achievements for the organization, I found you. You refused, said you’d kill me next time you saw me. Who’d have thought we’d meet again like this.”

He showed his right hand—a large, ugly scar left by corrosion and decay.

“Every traveler hates this era, wants to return home and reunite with family. Travelers are all exiles and should support each other. That’s why I said I’d never join your group, the Chaos Rippers. Besides, that name is too melodramatic for my taste.”

Cui Jue smiled indifferently. “But our organization has eight times as many people who’ve completed their achievements as your Travelers’ Alliance. The record is two months to finish—a fact you can’t deny.”

Yin Chan’s face flushed with rage.

“But for every achievement you complete, you kill a hundred travelers! Have you thought about what the dead think?”

“Survival of the fittest—that’s the truth of every era.”

“Don’t insult ‘survival of the fittest’! You lunatics use it as an excuse to comfort yourselves. People can be strong or weak, but humanity mustn’t be destroyed!”

Cui Jue shook his head in resignation. “Looks like we really have nothing to discuss. But I’ve seen your medical skills. You saved my life, so for the organization’s sake, I’ll spare yours.”

Yin Chan’s face was pale, voice harsh. “Thanks, but no thanks. Falling into your hands, I know there’s no good ending. If you really appreciated me saving you, just kill me now.”

“That won’t do.”

Cui Jue’s face turned cold as he grabbed Yin Chan’s cheek. “This stronghold is our organization’s experimental base, meant to recruit locals and foster achievements in justice. Your medical skills are essential for that.”

He rose, laughing loudly. “By the way, I’ve always wondered what it’s like when someone who was a man in their past life, now a woman, gets taken by men. Will you cry like a real woman, or will you scream with pleasure? Later, I’ll pair you with every bandit here—you’d better put on a good show for me.”

A twisted smile spread across Cui Jue’s face.

Yin Chan blanched, looking back to see several bandits smirking at her—faces smeared with mud, teeth yellowed, hair crawling with lice and ants.

It was over.

Yin Chan plummeted into despair.

…