NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 128:
Chapter 128: Mr. Xu, Ms. Wu:
It wasn’t enough to possess skills alone; time was equally vital to improve one’s realm.
Furthermore, the current team was far too weak to stand against the border army. To gain an advantage, they needed to increase their numbers.
Xu Xi turned, with the valiant Wu Yingxue at his side, and led the team once again into the snow.
“Whoosh—”
“Whoosh—”
The wind howled in waves, freezing their ears. Every breath they exhaled turned into white mist in the icy air.
Along the vast borderlands, countless “sinful people” were struggling to survive, yearning for a chance to live. Hunger would inevitably drive them together, forming the edges of rebellion.
“Brother Xu, I’m hungry again,” came a voice.
“…Aniu, has your appetite increased lately?”
“Hehe, I’m just a fool. All I know is how to eat!”
Their voices were gradually swallowed by the howling wind and swirling snow, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely into the vast white expanse.
…
Two months later, the winter had become even colder and harsher. The fierce wind carried icy snowflakes that stung their faces like needles.
The border soldiers, tasked with guarding against monsters and keeping watch over the criminals, had wrapped themselves in worn and tattered clothes to fend off the cold.
They covered their faces with layers of fabric, leaving only their eyes and noses exposed.
Sanmao, an expert veteran, had served at the pass for many years.
With practiced hands, he tied strips of cloth over his weathered face.
“Lao Sanmao, why are you bundling up so much?” teased one of the younger recruits.
The recruits found his actions overly cautious, even amusing.
“Hmph,” Sanmao snorted disdainfully. “You kids don’t know how deadly Bai Feng’er can be! Just wait until your faces start rotting!”
His resolute tone made the recruits who had laughed at him quickly cover their own faces, hesitating.
Seeing this, Sanmao nodded with satisfaction, like a victorious general.
With his head held high, he donned his armor, grabbed his spear, and marched toward the tower.
“Good morning, Lao Sanmao!”
“Sanmao!”
“Lao Sanmao.”
Along the way, many greeted him warmly.
Sanmao wasn’t his real name. His original name was a simple rural one, similar to Goudan or Huzi.
Over the years, people had come to call him “Sanmao” after three key moments in his life when he had lost everything.
The first loss was as a teenager when he had no money to give his parents a proper burial, let alone a dignified funeral.
The second was in his youth when he fell in love with Cuihua, the neighbor’s daughter. Lacking the means to marry her, he watched helplessly as she was wed to someone else.
The third and most devastating loss came in middle age when his wife and son were trampled to death by an official’s entourage. Once again, he had no money for a proper funeral and was forced to bury them hastily.
These three moments of loss shaped him, making him a man of grim humor and resignation.
Drafted into the army, he found himself clad in armor he had never dreamed of wearing, wielding a spear, and stationed at the border pass.
Despite years of service, Sanmao’s cultivation talent remained mediocre. His temples were gray, and he had only reached the 1st stage physical training realm, barely stronger than an ordinary man.
While others mocked him for his lack of progress, Sanmao remained indifferent.
“We were born with low lives,” he would say, “and even being able to practice martial arts is like smoke rising from our ancestors’ graves!”
Feeling the faint Qi in his body, Sanmao couldn’t help but grin under his cloth wraps.
Soon, he climbed the tower and began his watch. Other soldiers had gathered, animatedly discussing something that Sanmao couldn’t quite follow.
“Hey, did you hear about it?”
“You mean the rebels, or…?”
“Of course the rebels! They’ve made such a big scene.”
The soldiers, used to a relatively uneventful existence at the border, had grown complacent. Under the weak winter sun, they spoke excitedly, their voices carrying an air of exaggerated gossip.
Curious, Sanmao asked, “Rebels? Where are they from? Which state is in trouble now?”
He assumed it was another uprising within Daqian’s thirteen states, but the others shook their heads.
“No, not from the thirteen states. These rebels are from the border—the sinful people daring to rebel!”
“The rebels are fierce,” one soldier added. “In just one month, they’ve gathered tens of thousands!”
“Hey, I heard their leader is a Taoist who can summon soldiers from beans. That’s how their numbers grew so fast.”
“No, no, I heard their leader is a witch!”
“You’re both wrong. There are two leaders—Mr. Xu Da and Mr. Wu Xiao!”
The soldiers laughed, dismissing the rebels as insignificant.
“What are rebels anyway?” Sanmao muttered. “Just a bunch of mud-legged fools. They’re no match for the ‘adults.’”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
The troops stationed at Daqian’s pass were vastly superior, with generals of at least the innate realm. A ragtag group of refugees stood no chance against a fortified position guarded by powerful 3rd stage innate realm martial artists.
“Wishful thinking…” Sanmao shook his head, baffled by the rebels’ audacity.
The other soldiers continued spinning exaggerated tales about the rebels.
Some claimed the refugees were more ferocious than the monsters of the mountains, attacking other passes with reckless abandon, only to be repelled each time.
Others said the rebels were like spirits returned from hell, undeterred by death, picking up manure forks to fight even after being crushed under iron hooves.
No fear. No hesitation. Only burning determination in their eyes.
Sanmao couldn’t understand. What could drive people to such extremes, risking their lives so willingly?
“Buzz—”
“Buzz—”
A sudden rumble interrupted his thoughts.
Far off in the distance, a black mass appeared on the horizon, surging toward the pass.
“It’s the black rebels!” someone shouted, pointing at the muddy, filthy figures.
“No, it’s the red rebels!” another cried, noting the blood-soaked clothes.
“Wrong, it’s the yellow rebels!” a third added, spotting their dirt-stained rags.
The chaotic mob surged forward, their mismatched weapons and tattered clothing speaking of desperation.
Their hollow eyes burned with determination as they charged the pass in an unorganized frenzy, seeking to break through.
“Presumptuous!!”
Two Daqian generals stationed at the pass roared furiously.
They were powerful innate realm martial artists, but among the rebels, two similarly powerful auras erupted, meeting their challenge head-on.
“Sir, watch closely,” one general said with a smirk.
“This will be my first strike since breaking into the innate realm!”