Ji Wuming strode ahead, moving with long, purposeful steps, holding one person in each hand, and in a blink, arrived at the central command tent. He lifted the flap and entered.

Li Muzhan followed in, seeing General Hua seated behind the desk, reading. He was clad in rich silks and fine robes, his expression serene, his bearing elegant. The six figures of Old Zhao stood in a hexagonal formation, surrounding him.

“Haha, General, Mingkong’s archery is truly astonishing!” Ji Wuming burst out excitedly as soon as he entered, casually tossing the two captives down before the desk.

“Thud! Thud!” With two dull impacts, the two men landed like stone statues, utterly motionless.

Noticing their strange state, General Hua lowered his book, glanced down, and smiled faintly, “Have you stunned them with pressure points?”

Ji Wuming nodded vigorously. “Precisely! Mingkong’s archery is marvelous!”

...The six men under Old Zhao also cast a curious glance at Li Muzhan before looking back down at the two immobilized figures.

Ji Wuming was beside himself with excitement, unable to stop praising, “Mingkong shot those two arrows simultaneously, despite the intervening tent fabric—incredible, truly incredible!”

Li Muzhan smiled lightly. “Old Ji, this is nothing; mere parlor tricks. I dare not accept such praise.”

Li Wuming chuckled, shaking his head. “Heh heh, if you call that parlor tricks, Mingkong, then the lads of the Divine Arrow Camp will be heading home to farm!”

He had personally witnessed Li Muzhan’s divine archery: two arrows shot at the same instant, passing through two separate openings in the tent, silently striking down two martial arts masters. Such skill was utterly supernatural.

He felt his language was barren, his tongue clumsy, utterly incapable of describing Li Muzhan's prowess. A sense of helplessness washed over him, leaving him only able to shake his head and sigh in sheer awe.

Old Zhao asked, “Mingkong, how did you detect them?”

He was genuinely perplexed. Logically, among the seven of them, his hearing was the sharpest; he should have noticed some disturbance, yet he had registered nothing at all.

It wasn't that he was incompetent; it was simply that these two infiltrators were too skilled, and yet Mingkong had perceived them—a truly strange turn of events.

Li Muzhan smiled. “My intuition is a little stronger than the average person’s.” “Intuition?” Old Zhao’s expression was skeptical; the concept seemed too nebulous and unreliable.

Li Muzhan explained, “Since childhood, I have cultivated techniques of meditation and focus, making my mind sharper, particularly sensitive to malice. These two concealed their forms well, but they could not hide their killing intent.” Old Zhao and the others slowly nodded. Monks who cultivate the mind indeed gain certain supernatural abilities; heightened sensitivity to killing intent wasn't entirely unexpected.

General Hua smiled. “So that is how it is. Mingkong, your ability is indeed profound.”

Li Muzhan shook his head with a slight smile. “This is merely a minor skill, of little use in the savagery of battlefield combat.” The others nodded in agreement; this was true. On the battlefield, martial power was paramount. Without strength, everything else was worthless.

Ji Wuming chuckled merrily. “With Mingkong here, we can relax. Just staying by the General’s side, we won't have to be on pins and needles guarding every moment.” “Exactly, exactly!” Old Zhao laughed heartily, releasing a long breath of relief.

... “From today forward, Mingkong will remain here with me,” General Hua announced.

Li Muzhan readily agreed. He also wished to remain near General Hua to observe his strategies and methods. Being a general was no easy task; mastering military texts and battle doctrines required fluency.

Reading military strategy books alone offered little benefit; true understanding required insight. But even insight was useless without the opportunity for practice, for experience—otherwise, it remained empty talk.

To read ten thousand scrolls, one must travel a thousand li. Practice was paramount.

To become a general, one must either remain by a serving general’s side to experience things firsthand and gain subtle understanding—this was the proper path—or lack such an opportunity and remain forever unable to ascend.

There were two paths to becoming a general: first, rising slowly through subordinate positions, learning incrementally from the superior officer; the second was serving as a general's personal guard, learning directly at his elbow.

The first path required slow promotion through seniority. The second was a direct route, but rigorous; a general would not elevate someone lacking true talent.

Such a person, sent out, represented the general’s reputation. Failure would reflect directly upon the general, causing him to lose face.

Therefore, generals were extremely strict in this role, lest they invite criticism, suffer loss of prestige, and suffer great loss due to a minor misstep.

But no matter the method, taking this step was crucial. Without it, the only path to promotion was the slow grind of seniority or earning military merit.

Military merit was not easily won; it was earned through genuine life-and-death struggle involving blade and spear. Those who earned merit were often ferociously brave, but bravery led to swift death; after a few battles, the bravest were often the first to perish.

Li Muzhan, having mastered the Vajra Indestructible Divine Art and possessing uncanny archery, existed outside the norm and could not serve as a reliable example.

Old Zhao and the others looked at Li Muzhan with envy, and Ji Wuming’s eyes shone brightly as well.

Though they were General Hua’s sworn protectors, they did not share his quarters; military secrets had to be guarded. Li Muzhan was different—he would receive instruction directly, promising a bright future.

General Hua smiled. “We shall begin now. Sit behind me.” Li Muzhan executed a crisp military salute, fetched a chair, sat down behind the General, closed his eyes, and remained perfectly still, as if transmuted into a statue.

Ji Wuming and the six men under Old Zhao watched Li Muzhan with envy, sighing inwardly over his excellent fortune!

General Hua waved his sleeve. “Interrogate them. Find out exactly what happened.” “Yes, sir,” the seven responded respectfully.

The seven men led the two captives away. Only Li Muzhan and General Hua remained in the great tent.

General Hua turned to look at Li Muzhan. Seeing him utterly motionless, like an old monk deep in meditation, his appearance solemn and venerable, the General nodded with a smile before turning back to his reading.

..., For the next ten-plus days, Li Muzhan remained seated behind General Hua, positioned two zhang away on a prayer cushion, perfectly still except when eating, truly like a sculpted idol.

He blended with the very atmosphere of the tent, becoming indistinguishable from it; the aura surrounding him seemed to vanish completely.

Dressed in his simple grey monk’s robes, his presence felt ethereal and detached, like light clouds drifting by, as if he had stepped beyond the mortal coil, existing outside the Five Elements, his compassionate heart illuminating all living beings.

Since the perfection of his Vast Sea Divine Art, his temperament had subtly shifted, growing ever more transcendent and graceful. His every movement flowed like running water, as if his very form had become a white cloud.

Sometimes, General Hua experienced a fleeting illusion that no one was seated behind him. He would turn to look, and there Li Muzhan would be, sitting calmly. But upon turning back, he would once again lose the sense of his presence.

As a general who had fought his way up from the battlefield, the General’s intuition was startlingly acute, though not equal to Li Muzhan’s, it was still formidable. Furthermore, having cultivated the Great Dragon Form, his own martial arts were profound.

Even he could not sense Li Muzhan, which spoke volumes of the monk’s mastery in concealment. He felt a quiet admiration.

Li Muzhan devoted himself entirely to deducing the Art of Controlling Arrows, feeling faint stirrings of clarity. Only occasionally would he divert a thread of his mind to observe General Hua’s actions.

General Hua was scholarly and refined, executing tasks with elegant ease, resolving complex issues with light, efficient strokes. Li Muzhan watched with admiration, sensing a different kind of charm.

Though he had seen through life and death and deeply understood Buddhist philosophy, translating that into action required learning. Observing General Hua handle affairs, he felt he benefited immensely.

One evening, Li Muzhan suddenly opened his eyes and murmured quietly, “General, someone approaches outside.” “Oh?” General Hua, who had been holding a brush mid-stroke, lowered it and turned. “Who is it?” “An uninvited guest, harboring ill intent,” Li Muzhan sighed, his gaze calm, shaking his head. “By their bearing, they do not appear to be from Eastern Chu.” “Could they be spies?” General Hua frowned, shaking his head. “When did the Divine Light Battalion become so porous that people can enter and leave as if through an empty field!” Li Muzhan replied, “General, while military martial arts are refined, civilian schools are often inferior, but they possess their own subtle mysteries. It is hard to prevent masters from slipping through, making everyone’s vigilance slack.” “Alas…” General Hua sighed, shaking his head. “Indeed. The last expert who infiltrated, though I killed him, still leaves me with lingering dread. They were truly respectable and terrifying.” His expression turned grim, his gaze distant, recalling the previous assassination attempt.

His own martial arts were astonishing, and Ji Wuming and the other six were highly skilled; ordinary assassins could never get close, being stopped immediately.

The last assailant had been a supreme master, who infiltrated soundlessly and delivered a fatal blow. Fortunately, his martial arts were high, and at the critical moment, he shifted his body by an inch, avoiding his heart; otherwise, he would have died instantly.

The sword carried poison, a deadly toxin akin to Crane’s Crest Red.

His cultivation of the Great Dragon Form gave his body immense resilience, allowing him to act barely enough to kill the attacker. But the assassin disregarded his own life and delivered a second, fatal strike—a move designed to trade life for life.

The result was that General Hua was gravely wounded again while killing the man. He immediately fell unconscious and awoke more than ten days later to find the Divine Light Battalion routed, suffering immense casualties, and the area surrounding Divine Light City fallen into enemy hands.

Such an expert, willing to sacrifice his life merely to assassinate him, filled him with a cold shock. This was precisely why, upon seeing Li Muzhan, he had instantly conceived the idea of taking him on as a personal guard.

... Li Muzhan frowned. With a sweep of his wide monk’s sleeve, a bow and arrows floated into his hand. His technique of the Ruthless Sleeve had become even more exquisitely refined, directed by pure focus.

He selected two feathered arrows, nocked them, and turned to the General. “General, shall I capture them? I trouble you.” General Hua nodded. He had concentrated his awareness just now and sensed nothing unusual; internally, he respected the monk, and his tone was exceedingly polite.

Li Muzhan released his grip. A flash of dark light, and the two feathered arrows vanished. A small hole appeared in the tent fabric, but the arrows were nowhere to be seen.

Ugh... A muffled grunt sounded some distance away. General Hua’s eyebrows twitched as he located the two figures: they were thirty zhang out, quite far.

He managed a wry smile. No wonder he hadn't detected them; the distance was too great. Within ten zhang, not even a fly could pass unnoticed, but thirty zhang was beyond his normal range.

“General?” Ji Wuming’s voice sounded from outside the tent flap.

General Hua called out, “Little Ji, there are two assassins outside. Drag them out and interrogate them.” “...Yes, sir,” Ji Wuming replied quickly.

He sighed inwardly, knowing this was another feat by Li Muzhan. With the monk present, assassins could not possibly approach; his own role as one of the seven main guards had become useless.

However, recalling the previous assassination attempt still sent shivers down his spine. Seeing Li Muzhan’s power, he felt no jealousy, only delight.

If the General is safe, they are safe. If the General perishes, they would have no face left to live. In that light, the more formidable Li Muzhan was, the safer the General, and consequently, the safer they all were.

Li Muzhan lowered his bow, formed his hands into a mudra, slightly closed his eyelids, and returned to the pose of an old monk in deep meditation, his form solemn, sacred, and statue-still, resembling a Buddha statue in a temple.

General Hua cupped his hands. “My deepest thanks, Master.” Li Muzhan opened and closed his eyes, offering a slight smile and joining his palms together. “General, you are too kind. Just call me Mingkong... When one holds a position, one must fulfill its duties. This is merely what falls within my purview; it is hardly worth mentioning.” General Hua laughed. “Mingkong, you possess such extraordinary arts; it is surely a waste for you to be merely a guard!” Li Muzhan shook his head and smiled. “These peculiar skills are best suited for guarding. To offer the General some assistance is an act of immeasurable merit.” “Very well, then this General shall not stand on ceremony,” General Hua chuckled.

...Footsteps sounded, followed by Ji Wuming’s voice, “General, the results are in!” “Come in and speak,” General Hua instructed.

Ji Wuming lifted the flap and strode in. Reaching the desk, he glanced briefly at Li Muzhan standing behind the General, cupped his hands in salute, and reported, “General, we have questioned them. These three are not from Eastern Chu.” “Hmm,” General Hua nodded, then asked gently, “Since they are not Eastern Chu people, why did they attempt to assassinate this General?” Ji Wuming’s expression darkened, heavy enough to drip water. He snorted, “They were spurred by the bounty placed on the General by Eastern Chu... Eastern Chu has offered a reward for the General’s head: ten thousand taels of gold, and the title of Marquis Pofeng, hereditary in perpetuity. This bounty is open to anyone, regardless of which nation they hail from.” General Hua shook his head with a wry smile. “The people of Eastern Chu are truly extravagant!” Though he was the commander of the Divine Light Battalion, he himself had not been granted a marquisate, yet Eastern Chu was offering one just to have him killed—a truly grand gesture.

Duke, Marquis, Count, Viscount, Baron—the five peerage ranks, plus the highest level of King of a different surname—made six ranks in total. These were special classes recognized across the entire realm, whether in Dayi, Eastern Chu, the Khanate, or even Western Zhao and Southern Li.

There was a universal rule: only the Imperial Clan Administration of each nation had the jurisdiction to punish those of the six ranks. Moreover, their sentences could not involve death; regardless of the crime, even treason, the maximum penalty was confinement; execution was forbidden.

Even during wartime, if a noble captive was taken, they faced no danger of execution and could be ransomed with money. Killing a high-ranking noble from an enemy state would provoke retaliation from the nobles of one’s own country, who would demand the killer’s death.

This entire class existed independently of national boundaries; how could they not be tempted? Not just for the ten thousand gold taels, but for the title of Marquis Pofeng, countless people would risk their lives.

Reflecting on this, General Hua shook his head, offering repeated bitter smiles.

“General, this is troublesome now!” Ji Wuming understood the gravity of the situation, his face grave.

General Hua waved his hand. “We deal with crises as they arise; it’s no great matter. You may leave for now.” Ji Wuming hesitated, stammering slightly, “…General, perhaps we should report this to higher command? The seven of us, even with Mingkong added, I fear we cannot stop them…” “Give me a moment to consider,” General Hua waved him off.

Ji Wuming glanced at him, then left sullenly. As he retreated, he cast a look toward Li Muzhan, conveying a plea for help.