Uncle Jianguo’s body trembled slightly as he unfastened the gun from his waist. Holding the gun in his right hand and a knife in his left, he looked like a hero at the end of his rope, shouting, “Damn it, if you’ve got the guts, come out and fight me face to face! Using bugs to kill people? That’s just fucking despicable!”
I said, “Half-Immortal, Uncle Jianguo, there’s no hierarchy in methods of killing. Whatever works is a good method.” Uncle Jianguo scraped the knife against his face, shaving off the stubble that had grown there.
I thought to myself, *I’ve consumed five of the Insect Clan’s treasures—I should be able to command them to clear a path for us.* I shouted twice, but damn it, they didn’t seem to understand me.
*I should’ve learned Vietnamese. It’s true what they say: when you’re far from home, you’re worthless. Another language means another path. Now I wouldn’t be in such a tight spot. Different lands breed different people—and different tyrants. Even if I’m an all-element Insect Master, without a few formidable bugs of my own, I’m just wasting my time.*
Uncle Jianguo’s knife skills were impeccable. Even shaving didn’t diminish his Half-Immortal aura.
Honestly, for a moment there, I found a man shaving with a knife quite charming—even if he was just a Half-Immortal.
Lin Danan held onto his hunting rifle. The kid had been running for his life, yet somehow still had it. But with his brain starved of oxygen, who knew if he could even fire it? Xie Lingyu said, “Weren’t there bugs coming from three sides? There’s still one side left open.”
Uncle Jianguo and I had been too panicked to notice. Thanks to Xie Lingyu’s reminder, we dashed toward the remaining gap. Normally, I cared about my appearance, but in a sprint for survival, dignity went out the window.
Back in high school, I’d learned the idiom *running like wolves and wild boars*—that’s exactly how I was now, scrambling blindly. Of course, that phrase usually described villains, and we weren’t villains. But with three sides blocked, I had no idea how the Insect Master had found us.
What was worse, the bugs from all three sides weren’t in a hurry. They clung to us like shadows, eventually merging into one relentless swarm, following just close enough to be unnerving.
“Motherf—! Screw you! What the hell?! Are these bugs here to mourn their ancestors? Why the hell are they chasing me like I’m their long-lost kin?!”
Lin Danan spewed every curse he knew.
I thought, *If Chen Tutu were here, her thick Shanghainese accent would be yelling, “Bitch, get lost!”*
The rustling of insects echoed from all directions, and we found ourselves at the edge of a massive gorge. Yesterday’s rain had swollen the river below.
A single iron chain stretched across the chasm, swaying slightly. It was as thick as Tianjin’s famous twisted dough twists.
Falling from that chain would be a death sentence—even for an Olympic diver. And if by some miracle you survived, the river was probably teeming with blood-sucking leeches the size of rats, just waiting to pick your bones clean.
I knew that chain was our only way out.
Without hesitation, Uncle Jianguo pulled out a hook and started crossing. Lin Danan, however, collapsed on the ground, paralyzed with fear. Uncle Jianguo, never one for patience, strode over and slapped him twice across the face. “If you wanna die, don’t drag us down with you!”
Sniffling, Lin Danan crouched, mumbling about his fear of heights. The monkey bone on his shoulder remained silent, indifferent.
I knew better—when death’s at your heels, fear of heights is meaningless. I tossed the hook and rope at him. “Stay here and die if you want.”
The bugs were now just ten meters away, their rustling growing louder. Uncle Jianguo and I didn’t hesitate any longer. We hooked onto the chain and slid across. Midway, I glanced down—the drop was at least thirty meters. Even Rambo wouldn’t survive that fall.
Once we landed, we shouted back at Lin Danan, “If you don’t come now, we’re leaving!” Wiping snot and tears, he gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, and slid across in one go.
I’ve got sharp eyes. When Lin Danan finally unhooked himself, trembling, his pants were soaked. Ahead lay a narrow, well-trodden path. Uncle Jianguo warned me and Lin Danan, “Don’t touch anything.”
If this was a minority village, there’d be countless taboos. A classmate who’d visited Phoenix told me about Miao customs—don’t step on the threshold, don’t whistle, and never enter with an umbrella (rumor had it that spirits hid inside). If you saw an old lady selling pumpkin seeds, you had to buy them. The list went on.
Yunnan was home to many ethnic groups—Bai, Zhuang, and more. Though modernization had spread, deep-mountain villages like this still held onto their traditions.
After his warning, Uncle Jianguo added, “There’s another possibility—this could be a hideout for drug traffickers. If we run into ruthless smugglers, we’re dead.”
Lin Danan meekly asked, “What’s ‘dead’ mean?”
Neither Uncle Jianguo nor I bothered to answer.
My heart pounded. We’d set out to retrieve the remains of five martyrs, and now we were fleeing from bugs, stumbling into a remote mountain village. Would we be met by tribesmen with hunting knives or AK-47-wielding drug lords?
Just as doubt crept in, Uncle Jianguo suddenly fired a shot.
*Seriously? You tell us to be careful, then start shooting like it’s a joke?*
I couldn’t yell at him, though—what if we were under attack? I rolled into the grass. Lin Danan, clumsy as ever, dove the wrong way and landed on top of me. The monkey bone jabbed into my hand—that damn thing hurt.
Lin Danan shoved me aside, then yanked me up. A king cobra stared at him—or rather, at his glasses. When I turned, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Uncle Jianguo’s gun was now pointed down the path. “Didn’t expect you to still be alive, Ruan Sanjia.”
Ruan Sanjia wore the same black robe as the young man we’d met yesterday. But from a distance, one sleeve hung empty—like Yang Guo, he was missing an arm.
His left hand was gone. Ruan Sanjia, who’d learned Chinese decades ago, smiled. “As your ancients said, *Isn’t it joyful when friends come from afar?* The war’s over, Hero Liu. Why hold onto grudges? Neither of us is guilty—only war is.”
Uncle Jianguo laughed. “True, we’ve got no feud. Otherwise, that bullet would’ve gone through your heart.”
His restraint was pragmatic—killing Ruan Sanjia would’ve doomed us all. Plus, he knew their conflict wasn’t personal.
Our nations had made peace. No need to keep fighting.
Ruan Sanjia stepped closer. Goosebumps prickled my skin, and even Little Rascal growled. His aura dwarfed Insect Elder Five’s.
If Ruan Sanjia was Yang Guo, then Insect Elder Five was just a lowly Yin Zhiping.
Ignoring Lin Danan, I stood and aimed my gun at Ruan Sanjia, fearing he’d attack Uncle Jianguo. Up close, I realized the earring dangling from his left ear wasn’t a dried centipede or lizard—it was a small, live snake, flicking its tongue.
Abe Munechika once mocked me for lacking my own trained insects. That snake on Ruan Sanjia’s ear? Definitely hand-raised—no wild snake would stay like that.
Like a Miao poison master, he’d likely reared it with secret methods, feeding it bizarre concoctions. His face bore bite marks—proof that even experts slip up.
Oddly, the scars didn’t make him hideous. They added a rugged, weathered edge.
When Ruan Sanjia’s serpentine eyes met mine, my hands shook uncontrollably. My gun clattered to the ground. Only when He Xiaomao’s claws dug into my back did I snap out of it and retrieve the weapon.
Aiming again felt pointless, so I holstered it.
Uncle Jianguo stood firm. “Ruan Sanjia, why lure us here?”
The corner of Ruan Sanjia’s mouth curled. “Just as sharp as twenty-five years ago.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
Ruan Sanjia kicked the cobra aside. Lin Danan, still adjusting his glasses, barely managed to stand.
“Maybe it mistook you for a fellow snake,” Ruan Sanjia mocked.
Lin Danan stayed silent, too scared to breathe.
Beyond the cobra, the woods writhed with snakes—Vietnam was snake country, alright.
From across the gorge, a voice called, “Father! Father!”
Ruan Sanjia yelled back, “Be careful!”
Uncle Jianguo blinked. “You have a son?”
Ruan Sanjia nodded. “Since you’re guests, come in for tea. I brought you here to ask a favor.”
“A favor?” Uncle Jianguo and I exchanged glances. After all this—kidnapping us with bugs—he just wanted to *ask*?
Ruan Sanjia smirked. “What, scared?”
Lin Danan, recovered now, whispered to Uncle Jianguo, “In novels, this is where they poison the tea, spike the food, or knock us out at the door.”
*Kid reads too much fiction.*
As if on cue, a green snake dropped onto Lin Danan’s head from a tree.
Uncle Jianguo scoffed. “Who gives a damn? Let’s hear what he wants.”
I followed. Lin Danan, still balancing the snake, whimpered, “Wait! There’s a snake on me!”
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