Chapter 3: Hot-Blooded Luo Zheng

```

Elder Ma seemed to understand the young man's words and continued to press on, familiar with the path so there was no need to worry about going astray. The young man tossed the whip onto the cart and pulled a broad-bladed machete from under a burlap sack, its blade over two feet long and eight inches wide, with a slightly thick back and a slight curve. The hilt was wrapped in red, without a sheath.

With the machete in hand, the young man's demeanor underwent a transformation, losing the neighborly warmth of a moment ago and gaining a touch of steadfastness and austerity. His eyes sharpened into pinpoints as he coldly stared at the Wild Wolf, gripping the machete tightly in one hand, his veins standing out on the back of his hand, his body slightly bent as if facing a formidable opponent.

The cruelty and madness of a hungry wolf could only be understood by those who had experienced it. A sated Wild Wolf isn't picky about food and would not typically attack humans, but a hungry wolf knows no such restraint. Driven by survival, it will stop at nothing. Perhaps provoked by the young man's challenge, the hungry wolf charged crazily forward.

Seeing the speed and force of the hungry wolf's sprint, the young man's expression grew even more solemn. This was a hungry wolf with abundant experience; it maintained a steady speed in a straight line when running, which was beneficial in shortening the attack distance and time. It did not seem to be exerting full effort, indicating that it was not yet weakened by hunger.

The young man didn't move, waiting calmly and coldly watching the hungry wolf pounce toward him, his eyes gleaming, the naturally hanging machete in his hand changing direction – the blade leading. As the hungry wolf drew ever closer, the young man still did not budge. In the face of a hungry wolf, panic only hastened death. Clearly, the young man had ample experience fighting hungry wolves.

In a flash, the hungry wolf pounced, leaping from five or six meters away. Its large body soared high, its wide-open jaws revealing a gory maw, and its front limbs with razor-sharp claws glinted in the twilight.

Unable to change direction while airborne, the leaping hungry wolf was committed to its trajectory. The young man had been waiting for just this moment. As the ferocious beast lunged at him, he stood unshaken, then moved swiftly as a startled rabbit, bellowing "Kill!" He pushed off fiercely with his feet, advancing rather than retreating, hurtling toward the hungry wolf.

Just as they were about to collide, the young man sidestepped with an agility that came from a sudden plant of his feet. He ducked to the side and, brandishing his machete in a sweeping stroke, plunged it into the belly of the hungry wolf with a thud – blood sprayed violently.

"Thump!" The hungry wolf, having leaped high, crashed heavily at the young man's feet, wailing in anguish, its eyes holding a reluctant glare at the young man, its body curling up as it struggled, trying to stand.

The young man's unusually calm gaze locked onto the hungry wolf. He kicked sharply at the hilt of the machete, driving it deeper with a thud. The hungry wolf let out a pitiful howl, its yellow eyes staring tightly at the young man until they quickly dimmed, losing the spark of life.

Looking at the dead hungry wolf, the young man felt a great relief, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. The recent fight had been perilously close; if not for the wolf's high leap which left it no room to maneuver, if not for his cool-headed patience while waiting for the moment to counterattack, it was uncertain whose life would've ended. The young man pulled the machete out and cleaned off the blood, taking a long sigh of relief. Seeing that Elder Ma had moved on, he quickly grabbed the dead wolf and hastened to catch up.

An experienced combatant like the hungry wolf was certainly no easy adversary. In the fight that had just transpired, whether striking a moment too early or a second too late, as long as the wolf wasn't caught helpless midair, the outcome could have been different.

```

The young man tossed the corpse of the starved wolf onto the carriage and said with a grin, "Elder Ma, how's my skill? This wolf pelt would make a great shoulder mantle for you. A horse draped in wolf skin would definitely be striking and attract many a mare. Don't you dare thank me, who let us be such good brothers? If it weren't for you back when I had heatstroke in the wilderness, I, Luo Zheng, would have long been a scoop of yellow soil." His playful demeanor was a far cry from the sternness and severity of moments before.

Elder Ma neighed in response and took off running again. The young man laughed and cursed, "You get excited at the mention of mares, you old randy horse, just don't get diarrhea later." With that, he chased after him.

The young man and the horse ran across the wilderness. As night fell, a torrential downpour began, stinging their faces. The young man quickly pulled out a canvas from the carriage to cover the sacks, urging Elder Ma to speed up as he saw the watchtower in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief.

When they got closer, Luo Zheng, the young man, detected an unusually strong smell of blood. Seeing no sentry on the watchtower, he was shocked and vigilantly drew his machete, his eyes gleaming as he locked onto the direction of the barracks. He hid behind the carriage and moved forward cautiously. It wasn't long before he saw a familiar figure lying on the ground in the square.

The person lay motionless on the ground, surrounded by rainwater turning crimson. Luo Zheng sprinted over in alarm, forgetting that such an approach might make him a target for the sniper. Upon flipping over the body, Luo Zheng's face turned ashen—it was his deputy squad leader, his all-too-familiar comrade-in-arms, half his head blown away, unmistakably dead.

"Deputy squad leader?" Luo Zheng started in panic, disbelieving as he looked at the body in his arms. Just yesterday, they had been joking and laughing together, their voices and smiles clear in his memory. He had not expected to return from a day out to find his closest comrade had become a lifeless corpse. Suddenly remembering something, Luo Zheng picked up his deputy's body and ran wildly toward the barracks.

This was the first time Luo Zheng had encountered such a situation. He was in complete disarray, forgetting all basic combat evasion. Unaware that such actions could expose his location—luckily the enemy had already retreated, otherwise he would have been in far greater danger. His mind was filled with worry and rage.

Reaching the barracks, Luo Zheng saw that the kitchen had been charred, and the neighboring houses were also badly burned. Had it not been for the torrential rain, the entire outpost might have turned to ash. Luo Zheng rushed frantically into the rooms. Finding them empty, he searched from one to another until he saw several charred corpses in the kitchen.

"Squad leader?" Luo Zheng's mind went blank in a flash, and he slumped to the ground, the body of the deputy squad leader falling beside him. His mind was empty as he stared blankly at the scorched bodies on the ground, totally oblivious to the foul stench filling the air.

He didn't know how much time had passed when Luo Zheng, who had a rough idea of what had happened, grimaced with a mixture of grief and anger. Suppressing his pain, he silently knelt and kowtowed, his mind filled with memories of fooling around with his comrades, their craziness, their boastful tales. Tears of a tiger rolled down his face, for men don't easily cry tears; it just hadn't hit him yet.

"Thud, thud, thud!" With three heavy kowtows, his forehead bloodied, a sorrowful Luo Zheng said, "Squad leader, my brothers, you must reveal the truth to me in my dreams from the heavens. Without avenging this, I vow not to be a man." A massive killing intent rose to the sky as if the air around him ignited.