Chapter 2702: The Capital (Part 58)

Her preparations complete, Liao Sanniang pointed toward an exposed slope overlooking the roadside and waved to Old Feng. "Uncle Feng, bring that bandit up the slope. He'll be our eyes."

She climbed up first, concealing herself behind a large boulder surrounded by tall grass.

Old Feng and one of the guards hauled the big man up the slope. Once behind the rock, Old Feng seized the man's throat and pinned him to the ground, his voice low and vicious. "If you know what's good for you, knave, you'll point out exactly where your partners are hiding. I'll spare your life if you do. But know this—my Master has 'divine water eyes' that see everything clearly. Don't even think about playing tricks. If you dare spout nonsense, I have methods aplenty, and I'll use them on you one by one. You'll learn that I am the Five Sacred One of this age, the living King of Hell."

The big man clutched his blood-soaked crotch, his whole body trembling with pain. Old Feng's terrorizing had long since scattered his soul. He didn't dare cry out. With a wretched expression, he lay beside the rock alongside Liao Sanniang and Old Feng, pushing aside the grass to peer through the branches and leaves.

The man pointed toward a section of the road ahead, near a bend. "There's a fork in the road there, so my partner kept going back and forth to report. Before I left, I heard him say our leader would set an ambush along that stretch to rob the Masters. But I don't know exactly which section they're hiding in. I've told you the truth—I wouldn't dare deceive the Masters."

Liao Sanniang lay beside him, listening intently. "Where did you come from?" she asked.

"Same direction as the Masters, just a step ahead. We don't usually operate in this particular area. This time we were foolish—we shouldn't have provoked the Masters."

Liao Sanniang nodded. "Do you normally take the main road or the smaller paths? Is this road busy?"

"It varies. Dozens of men carrying swords and spears traveling together is too conspicuous. But if we split up, it's hard to coordinate and regroup—we often miss our timing and botch the job. When the road is empty, we take the main way. When there are many people about, we avoid it and stick to the smaller paths. If we encounter just a few travelers, we rob them. This isn't a trade route; sometimes we don't see a single traveler for days."

Liao Sanniang nodded, fully understanding the situation. For Ming deserters and bandits with little organizational awareness or concept of time, their near-nonexistent discipline meant that once dispersed, regrouping in a timely manner proved extremely difficult—and some might never return at all.

She asked a few more questions, jotting notes with a pencil stub in her pocket notebook. Seeing the man had nothing more to offer, she nodded to Old Feng to take him back down.

After the others withdrew, Liao Sanniang shaded her eyes with one hand and carefully studied the forested area where the enemy lay in ambush. A plan was already taking shape in her mind.

The trees flanking this stretch of road grew unevenly—good for concealment but treacherous for travel. To maintain any decent speed, the bandits would stick to the official road as much as possible and avoid the wild terrain.

If she approached along the main road, the enemy would remain hidden while she walked in plain sight. Advancing rashly would likely expose her. With the enemy waiting in darkness, it would be no different from throwing a lamb to a tiger.

Liao Sanniang planned to enter the forest at the road's bend, using the vegetation for cover as she circled around to engage the enemy from the flank and rear, unseen.

For years, the Peking Station had been conducting "surveys" both inside and outside the capital, drawing maps. Though not extremely detailed, they had rough maps of most areas in and around the city. Important landmarks—hills, roads, villages, temples, rivers, and large grave mounds—were clearly marked. This brought tremendous convenience to their wilderness tracking operations.

Having settled on her starting position and route, Liao Sanniang sketched a few strokes on the map to fix them in her memory.

She descended from the high slope and found Liu Chang and Zhao Liangjian. "Brother Zhao, wait the time it takes to smoke a cigarette after I leave, then set off. Escort the cart slowly. When you reach the middle of the road, stop the cart and horses and shout loudly as a feint, just as we discussed."

Zhao Liangjian nodded in agreement and urged, "If Lady Sanniang feels uncertain or can't locate the bandits, retreat. Don't take unnecessary risks."

Liao Sanniang laughed. "Naturally. I'm no green novice. In the Jianghu arts, a good fighter isn't ashamed to run. As long as the green hills remain, I'd never do something foolish like standing my ground out of stubborn pride."

Liu Chang spoke little, merely cupping his fists. "Be careful."

With the plan set, Liao Sanniang led Little Bazi down the road.

The two followed it to the bend. This section hadn't been maintained for a long time; the surface was potholed and the tracks upon it chaotic—wheel ruts, hoof prints, and footprints all jumbled together.

Liao Sanniang walked slowly along the shoulder, her gaze constantly shifting between the ground and the road ahead.

Suddenly, she paused and crouched down.

Little Bazi, trailing a few steps behind, saw her stop and immediately dropped low as well, gripping his slingshot while scanning the surroundings with wary vigilance.

The tracks on the road were intricate, many incomplete, but a patch of messy impressions in the middle of the road immediately caught Liao Sanniang's attention.

The marks blended into a chaotic mess, with only scattered lines faintly discernible.

Liao Sanniang leaned closer and identified a relatively complete semi-arc amid the confusion. She measured it with her hand and determined it was half a footprint from an "eight-stitch hemp shoe."

Though only half an arc remained, it was remarkably clear. The wind and sand in the North were fierce; given time, footprints would blur or become buried beneath grit. A print this sharp couldn't be more than half a day old.

The footprint was bisected by a transverse mark—another person's step. Multiple footprints overlapped, trampled over one another, and crossed in all directions, making it difficult to preserve complete impressions. This tangled mess indicated that this group not only lacked formation but had likely lingered here briefly.

Few people walked this road, and even fewer traveled in groups. A gang of thirty moving together would inevitably leave tracks. The road they had come from would hold even more clues, but backtracking was impossible now.

Liao Sanniang's gaze shifted to the road shoulder ahead, where the tracks diverged left and right—one trail denser, the other thinner.

A sudden thought seized her: the bandits might be watching from somewhere nearby at this very moment. Her body stiffened, and her blood seemed to freeze. But she immediately dismissed the notion—if the enemy were lying in ambush here, they would never have allowed her to investigate so leisurely. She was only frightening herself. She exhaled, and her muscles went slack again, but the sudden tension and release had left a film of cold sweat on her forehead.

Her heart hammered violently several times. She drew deep breaths until her agitated nerves finally settled.

Mind steadied, Liao Sanniang followed the trail with fewer footprints. Judging from the direction the toes pointed, these people had left the road shoulder here and entered the bushes. Normal travelers would never abandon the main road.

She pinched a bit of soil from the shoulder and rubbed it between her fingertips. The earth was loose and slightly damp—conditions that would preserve traces longer.

She suspected she would find more tracks off the shoulder, and indeed, a clear and complete footprint appeared not far away.

Finding a twig nearby, she used it as a reference, measured the length of the footprint, and broke off the excess. This gave her a relatively precise measurement. With this twig, she could gauge blurred or incomplete prints she encountered later and determine whether they belonged to the same person. It would also serve as a baseline for estimating the individual's stride and travel distance.

She measured it against the first joint of her index finger as a scale. The footprint was roughly eight cun—one cun being 3.2 centimeters. Multiplying the footprint length by 6.8 yielded an approximate height of about 1.74 meters. In a medieval society where average height was limited, this indicated a burly man.

The method wasn't necessarily precise, but it sufficed for a rough estimate.

The so-called "eight-foot" or "nine-foot" giants mentioned by the ancients were mostly exaggerations and couldn't be taken as reliable references.

From the footprint, the person walked with feet splayed outward—a duck-footed gait. The force on the forefoot and heel was balanced and steady, the landing and lifting crisp, indicating powerful legs. The stride width at its widest exceeded two chi—a large stride, suggesting a robust young man.

Walking further, the vegetation thickened, and more traces appeared along the way: trampled grass, stems snapped during passage, small stones kicked aside, and additional footprints from different individuals. Further on, dead branches had been hacked away to clear a path. The cuts were fresh—it hadn't been long.

Liao Sanniang frowned. There was no order to their movement; these people operated far too crudely.

Judging from the number and variety of footprints, this group consisted of at least seven or eight individuals—roughly matching the count confessed by the captured man.

All footprints pointed forward.

By now, Liao Sanniang had preliminarily confirmed this was the bandit gang.

She stopped, puzzled. Why had the bandits entered the forest before reaching the road bend?

After a moment's thought, she suddenly recalled encountering a group of government runners on the road earlier. Perhaps that external pressure had forced these highwaymen to hide in advance.

Liao Sanniang shook her head, dismissing the unnecessary concern. She didn't need to know the reason. Whatever it was, the circumstances favored her, reducing the time needed to locate the enemy.

She immediately revised her earlier strategy of circling around. Instead, she would track along the clues at hand—though this sharply increased the chance of encountering the enemy. She would have to proceed with greater care.

Turning, Liao Sanniang whispered a few words to Little Bazi. The two opened a gap of three steps between them.

Liao Sanniang hunched low. Her footfalls were feather-light; when moving, her heel touched the ground first, then the sole rolled down softly. This manner of walking was quieter than planting the whole foot at once and more stable than landing on toes first. The light, fluid movements made her resemble a sensitive civet cat.

Her combat suit was tight-fitting to reduce snagging. Made of cotton, the fabric wasn't particularly durable, but it was soft, form-fitting, and stretchy. It made little noise when damp, unlike the canvas hunting gear sold in Lingao—sturdy and wear-resistant, certainly, but prone to a rustling ka-ka sound when moving wet, a distinct disadvantage for concealment.

Liao Sanniang never wore cosmetics on missions. The wind would carry strong scents to every corner downwind. Though sweat and body odor were unavoidable, she needed to minimize any artificial fragrances. She had to blend into nature as completely as possible, becoming an invisible ghost when necessity demanded.

(End of Chapter)