Mr. Xu the Elder, Mr. Wu the Younger

Having a cultivation technique alone is not enough; time is also needed to elevate one's realm.

Moreover,

the current team is too weak. Since they cannot match the quality of the border army, they must rely on numerical superiority.

Xu Xi turned around, accompanied by a spirited young woman.

Leading the team, they stepped back into the snowstorm.

"Whoosh—"

"Whoosh—"

The howling wind blew fiercely, freezing their ears.

The breath they exhaled turned into white mist.

On the vast, endless borderlines, there were still many "sinful people" struggling to survive, desperate to live. In a world where survival is paramount, those who go hungry will eventually come together, forming the sharp edge of rebellion.

"Brother Xu, I'm hungry again."

"...Niu, has your appetite grown recently?"

"Hehehe, I'm dumb, all I know is how to eat."

The sound of their conversation was gradually drowned out by the snowstorm.

Growing fainter and fainter.

Until it completely disappeared into the white expanse of the world.

......

......

Two months later, winter grew even harsher. The fierce wind swept snowflakes that stung their faces.

The border soldiers, tasked with guarding the frontier, defending against demons, and overseeing the sinful people,

all sought out tattered clothes.

Wrapping them around their faces.

Leaving only their eyes and noses exposed.

San Mao was a veteran soldier. He had been stationed at the pass for many years, and his hands moved skillfully as he wrapped strips of cloth around his weathered face.

"Old San Mao, why are you wrapping yourself up so tightly?"

A young recruit teased San Mao,

thinking the old soldier was overreacting.

"Hmph," San Mao snorted disdainfully, "You youngsters have no idea how vicious the white wind can be. Just wait until your flesh starts rotting!"

His tone was so certain that even the mocking recruit hesitated and began wrapping his face.

Seeing this, San Mao nodded with satisfaction.

Like a victorious cricket general,

he puffed out his chest, his face wrapped awkwardly, donned his armor, and marched toward the watchtower with his spear in hand.

"Good morning, Old San Mao!"

"San Mao."

"Old San Mao."

Along the way, people kept greeting San Mao.

In truth, San Mao was not the veteran's real name.

His original name was something rustic, like Dog Egg or Tiger Cub.

But in his life, there had been three instances where he had been utterly penniless, earning him the nickname "San Mao" (Three Pennies), and he felt it was fitting.

The first time he was penniless,

was in his youth, when he had no money to bury his deceased parents, nor could he afford a proper funeral feast.

The second time he was penniless,

was in his young adulthood, when he fell in love with Cui Hua, the daughter of his neighbor, but had no dowry to offer. In the end, he married her amidst the curses of her father.

The third time he was penniless,

was in middle age, when his wife and child were trampled to death by a galloping nobleman's horse. Once again, he had no money for a proper funeral and could only bury them hastily.

Three times penniless, three turning points in his life.

These events left San Mao chuckling to himself.

He had been conscripted into the army, donning armor he never dreamed of wearing and wielding a majestic spear, and somehow ended up at the border pass.

San Mao's cultivation talent was poor. His temples were streaked with gray, and after years of service, he had only reached the first level of Body Tempering, barely stronger than an ordinary mortal.

The other border soldiers often mocked him.

But he didn't care.

San Mao was philosophical about it: "I was born with a lowly fate. Being able to practice martial arts is already a blessing from my ancestors!"

Feeling the faint flow of qi and blood within him, San Mao swelled with pride.

Even with his face wrapped in cloth,

his smugness was palpable.

Soon,

San Mao climbed the watchtower with practiced ease and began his sentry duty. Other border soldiers were gathered there, discussing things that San Mao couldn't understand.

"Hey, have you heard?"

"Are you talking about the rebels, or..."

"Of course, the rebels! They've caused quite a stir."

The Great Qian border army was vast, but the border passes had never seen major incidents, so the soldiers had grown lazy.

Basking in the winter sunlight, they animatedly discussed the news.

San Mao couldn't help but join in.

He asked, "Where did the rebels come from? Which province is in chaos now?"

San Mao thought it was a rebellion within the thirteen provinces of Great Qian.

But the others shook their heads, saying the rebellion didn't originate from the thirteen provinces but from the "sinful people" along the border, who had boldly decided to revolt.

"Those rebels are fierce. In just over a month, they've gathered tens of thousands of followers."

"Hey, I heard the rebel leader is a demonic priest who can summon soldiers by scattering beans. That's why they have so many troops."

"Wait, I heard the leader is a demoness."

"No, no, there are two leaders—one is Mr. Xu, and the other is Mr. Wu."

"Eh... whatever, it doesn't matter. Those rebels won't break through anyway."

The Great Qian border soldiers, including San Mao,

all nodded in agreement.

What were rebels? Just a bunch of peasants. Everyone there had come from similar backgrounds and knew that defying the "masters" was impossible.

The Great Qian border army was far stronger than ordinary mortals.

The generals stationed at the passes were at least at the Innate Realm.

At some of the more critical and larger passes, there were even experts at the third level of the Innate Realm, the Seeing God stage. How could a ragtag army of "sinful people" stand a chance?

"Wishful thinking..."

San Mao shook his head.

He couldn't understand the actions of those sinful people.

The other soldiers continued to recount the rebels' exploits.

Exaggerated.

Outlandish.

Some said the displaced refugees were fiercer than the demons of the Ten Thousand Mountains, having attacked other passes multiple times, though they always failed in the end.

Others claimed the refugees were like vengeful ghosts risen from hell, fearless even in the face of cavalry charges, wielding pitchforks to block their path.

They were like celestial soldiers from myth,

utterly devoid of the cowardice expected of peasants.

No matter how they were scolded, their eyes burned with pure killing intent, utterly reckless!

What could possibly drive them to such extremes, even risking their own lives? San Mao couldn't help but ask again.

"Boom—"

"Boom—"

Suddenly, as if answering San Mao's question,

a dark mass of people appeared in the distance, wielding all manner of weapons, charging wildly toward the pass.

"The black rebels!" someone shouted, seeing the mud-covered, foul-smelling figures.

"The red rebels!" another cried, noticing the blood-soaked clothes.

"The yellow rebels!" yet another exclaimed, spotting the tattered, dirt-stained shoes and rags.

The starving masses shouted for survival, their eyes hollow yet burning with fire. In a chaotic, disorganized formation, they surged toward the pass in an instant,

intent on breaking through.

"Outrageous!!"

The two Great Qian generals stationed at the pass roared in fury.

They were martial masters at the Innate Realm, but from the rebel ranks, two bursts of Innate-level energy erupted, locking in a standoff with them.

"Sir, watch closely."

"This is my first spear strike since breaking through to the Innate Realm!"