Calm, calm… I focused my mind, taking a moment to think.

Gritting my teeth, steeling myself, I gathered every ounce of strength, ready… One, two, three, charge!

Charge! I was Huang Jiguang, I was Dong Chunrui… Charge! I rushed forward heedlessly, not looking left or right. All I felt was collisions—battering through scythes, slamming past shoulders, vaulting over legs…

Suddenly, the feeling of people vanished. I stopped and turned back to see the ranks of the scythe-wielders behind me thrown into chaos, now hacking at each other. Severed arms and legs flew everywhere, blood sprayed in arcs, and bodies crumpled to the ground.

The scythe lay at my feet, the red strip of cloth fluttering gently in the night wind. I picked it up; the blade instantly shone like new, the red strip flashing once before disappearing. A surge of power propelled me forward, thrusting me into the bloody, spattering throng. My hands moved of their own accord, tearing and slashing left and right with the weapon. Blade met blade, blade met flesh, blade chopped through limbs—I lost count of how many I cut down. Before my eyes, rivers of blood flowed and mountains of mangled bodies rose.

I couldn't tell how long I kept cutting until my legs began to ache. Many had already collapsed, still clutching their scythes tightly. If not for the Ritalin Wang Jue had given me, I surely would have collapsed long ago.

I half-crouched, using the scythe as a crutch planted on the ground, gulping for air. Those still standing beside me eventually fell one by one, until only I remained. I looked up at the surroundings: only the fallen clutching scythes, severed limbs, and severed heads. Puddles of blood had merged into countless small streams, gurgling down the hillside.

In the distance stood Scarface, his face split by a sinister grin. The scythe began to tremble, starting subtly. After a while, the shaking intensified, the arc widening. One hand could no longer hold it steady, so I gripped it with both, yet it vibrated even more violently. Just as I was about to lose my grip and let go, Scarface’s grin widened, growing increasingly manic; he leveled the scythe and charged straight toward me.

I thought of dropping the weapon and fleeing, but the memory of all those fallen men gripping their scythes so tightly suggested a hidden significance. So, one second before Scarface reached me, I dropped low, closed my eyes, and hugged the violently shaking scythe like it were an engine. In that precise moment, he abruptly halted, standing stiffly before me. Sensing my chance, I summoned all my strength, sprang up, wrenched the scythe free, and brought it down in a swift arc toward his head. In that instant, the scythe obeyed perfectly! A torrent of black blood erupted like a bursting dam. The curved blade dragged half his neck forward, and as his head hit the ground, his body followed, collapsing.

My heart hammered at a terrifying speed; if it didn't stop, it felt like it would tear through my chest and explode outward. I quickly sat down on the earth, gasping for breath like a dog.

It was finally over; Scarface lay decapitated beside me. Remembering what Ah Li had told me, I gathered a pile of firewood from the nearby woods and laid it over the corpse. I took out my lighter and ignited the pile; soon, fierce flames consumed the body.

As the fire blazed, a woman's cry drifted from the distance. The sound approached, gradually nearing the bonfire. I rubbed my eyes several times before I could clearly make out the figure: a middle-aged woman wearing a headscarf.

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