Xuanqing Guard

Chapter 335: Chapter 335: Protection

Zhuo Huo Pass sits at the southernmost protruding edge of the Jingjiu Dynasty, with the Evil Sea to its left, and the Ten Thousand Miles Bamboo Sea hemming it in on the right, wedged right in the middle of the only path out—the Bamboo Path.

The first impression of Zhuo Huo Pass is the treacherous terrain.

And then, it’s the sheer dominance.

The narrowest stretch of the Bamboo Path is also called Blade’s Mouth, barely a mile across. That’s exactly where Zhuo Huo Pass was built.

The whole pass stands ten zhang tall and more than four zhang thick—the work of a previous dynasty, later reinforced three times during the Jingjiu Dynasty to make it so formidable. The entire structure is made of massive stones cemented with tamped earth, with thunder tunnels and attack slits inside the walls, allowing for multidirectional strikes against attackers. Supposedly, there are over a hundred arrays woven into the walls.

Through all the great wars against the Southern Barbarians, Zhuo Huo Pass has never once fallen, not even in the darkest hour. This is the dividing line between the Human Race and the Barbarian Race—the red line.

Forty years ago, the Barbarians were once again beaten back, as Yang Yansi led the army out of Zhuo Huo Pass to fight three battles, crushing the Barbarian main force and sending them fleeing in chaos. Afterward, outside the border in Red Mountain Valley, he beheaded the master of the Black Stone Royal Court, Wolf King Thunderstorm, utterly breaking the Barbarians’ spirit and shattering the Black Stone Royal Court.

That war is long past, its smoke and fire long since washed away by wind, frost, rain, and snow. But this imposing Zhuo Huo Pass still stands, and when you enter, you can clearly sense an atmosphere known as "savage killing intent."

Few faces show ease or carelessness here—everyone looks grim, eyes sharp as blades. Even the patrolling soldiers radiate an Evil Qi that normal folk could never imagine. When their eyes land on you, it feels like being flayed alive.

This is the border, and in wartime, it’s where the military grinds its men into soldiers.

The great war may be over, but the flames of battle have raged here for forty years without dying down.

As the current Emperor, Yang Jian, puts it: The Southern Barbarians started this war, but it’s up to me to decide when it ends! I’ll slaughter them until their whole race is wiped out, not a soul left for generations!

Of course, that’s just the emperor’s self-indulgent rage from far behind the battle lines. The real result for the Southern Barbarians has been forty years of unending population raids, the loss of more than half their land, forced to cower in the far southeast.

This was the first time Tan Bin and his crew had set foot near Zhuo Huo Pass. Even from afar, the imposing presence left all three of them speechless.

You might be awed by a great mountain, but faced with this man-made miracle, you feel a chill of dread.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" Old Rat still stuck close to the three, already acting like their older brother. He said that once they reached camp, he’d introduce them to his big bro—a major in the main slave trade caravan waiting ahead, claiming this guy had serious clout and promised Tan Bin’s group would get filthy rich.

"Yeah, it’s quite a sight. Are we going to enter the pass later?" Tan Bin asked, curious and a little eager.

"What are you thinking? First we head to camp and link up with the main caravan, then go through a background check by the border army. Once you clear the paperwork, you can leave the pass, but don’t hang around inside. Otherwise, a feathered arrow will pin you to the wall before you know what happened."

Just like Old Rat said, after following the main group off the highway, Tan Bin and the others headed around to the far side of the massive pass, to a hollow in the mountains filled with tents—no fortifications, but at least a thousand people camped there.

"There’s the Hongli Trading Company’s camp. Up ahead there are a few more encampments about this size—just more slave trade associations like us. Usually, don’t wander into another group’s camp unless you want to get beaten for fun, or worse, lose your life for nothing."

"They’d actually kill someone?"

"Tch. What’s to stop them? Look at Liu San, you think his hands are clean? Come on, everyone in the slave trade’s got blood on their hands. Let’s go meet my big bro."

Soon enough, they entered the encampment, where Old Rat led Tan Bin’s group to check in, then immediately veered off toward his "big brother." There was no dodging it—Old Rat seemed to change completely upon entering, standing straighter, speaking louder, and always being greeted by someone. A few even tailed after them, grinning slyly, hemming Tan Bin and his crew in on all sides.

"Relax, my big bro is a good guy."

He was, sure—if you called shaking down new blood being "good." Pretty soon, Tan Bin and the others learned the truth. Just as they guessed, Old Rat wasn’t being friendly; he forced them, under the guise of a protection fee, to sign an IOU for a hefty sum—basically half their expected earnings for this trip.

You could refuse, of course. But if you did, they’d just keep you at camp as a gofer for two or three years; if you were lucky, you’d earn thirty or fifty taels, maybe. If you were unlucky and drowned in the latrine, you’d get a little condolence payout from the trade association. Sound good to you?

Tan Bin, naturally, played his part—giving a good show, along with the other two, all above-average in drama: righteously indignant, glaring furiously, stewing in impotent rage, acting up a storm.

Everyone knew Liu San, Qi Wu, and Zhang Si were all fake names, so the IOU used the medals issued by Hongli Trading Company as signatures. In the end, if they made it back alive, half their pay would be quietly siphoned away by these guys.

Leaving the big bro’s tent, Old Rat grinned. "Don’t sulk, same everywhere—Hongli Trading Company or not. You lot aren’t cultivators, got no cultivation, so you’re just fodder for the battle arrays. How do you expect to join if you don’t pay? Hey, survive this, and the next time you run with the crew, you won’t have to pay again.

And when I say I’m guaranteeing your safety, I’m not kidding. Come on, I’ll show you around, give you the lay of the land, teach you the rules."

Tan Bin’s trio kept pretending to be pissed but helpless, following Old Rat into their own tent.

"We’ll probably be heading outside the border tomorrow. Looks like you’ll be with me in the scout crew. Stick close, I know the routes—safe as houses. If we’re lucky, we might run into a stray sheep, snatch one home for a bit of extra silver..."

This guy talked non-stop, like he couldn’t help himself once he got going.

"You know this place so well—what’s the farthest you’ve been?"

"Ha, how could I not? Been here plenty of times. Farthest? That’d be White Head Gorge. Chased a Cat Race ewe there once—took ten days to track her down, but man, we made over a thousand taels on that hunt!"

Tan Bin and his companions exchanged glances, careful not to give anything away. Their interest was piqued, since Old Rat’s mention of "White Head Gorge" was key—it was the furthest the Slave Trade Association had ever gotten. Southeast of there was a complete blank on the map. If Tan Bin’s group wanted to sneak further past White Head Gorge, Old Rat’s local know-how might prove crucial.

Tan Bin put on a look of resignation. "Guess we’ll go with you tomorrow, then."

"Works for me, but we should add three veterans to the team—keep it safer."

"Deal!"