The mountains of western Sichuan were a world of their own, a realm of jagged peaks, ancient forests, and a silence so profound it felt older than the empire itself. It was here, in a narrow, forgotten ravine carved by a stream that ran only during the spring thaw, that Meng Tian had laid his trap. For weeks, he had worked tirelessly, his superhuman strength and stamina allowing him to reshape the landscape to his will. He was no longer just a soldier; he was an extension of the mountain, a patient predator who had turned his chosen hunting ground into a weapon.
He now lay concealed on a high, pine-covered ledge, his breathing as slow and steady as the mountain itself. Below him, the spring caravan of the School of the Silent Orchid made its way up the winding trail. It was a sad, pitiful procession. A dozen small children, their faces thin and bewildered, stumbled along, their ragged clothes a stark contrast to the breathtaking beauty of the wild azaleas blooming on the slopes. They were guarded by a team of eight handlers, elite agents of the "Shadow" path, their faces hard and emotionless, their movements economical and disciplined. They were shepherds leading a flock of lambs to the slaughterhouse.
Meng Tian watched them enter the narrowest part of the ravine, a section he had chosen for its steep, unstable walls. He waited until the entire caravan, from the lead handler to the last straggling child, was within the predetermined kill box. Then, with a cold, precise calm, he sprung his trap.
His first move was not a direct attack. It was an act of geological warfare. He moved to a massive boulder he had identified weeks earlier, a rock the size of a small hut, held precariously on the slope by a few stubborn tree roots. He placed his hands upon it, dug his heels into the earth, and pushed. With a groan of protesting earth and a loud crack of snapping roots, the boulder gave way.
It did not just roll. It thundered down the mountainside, gathering speed, dislodging a cascade of smaller rocks and scree in its wake. It was a man-made avalanche. It crashed onto the trail far ahead of the caravan with a deafening, ground-shaking roar, throwing up a cloud of dust and snow. The path before them was gone, replaced by a massive, impassable wall of rubble.
Chaos erupted below. The mules that carried their supplies screamed, their eyes rolling in terror as they bucked and fought against their tethers. The children cried out, huddling together into a small, frightened knot. The handlers, though visibly startled, reacted with the ingrained discipline of their brutal training. They drew their short swords, forming a tight, defensive circle around the children, their eyes scanning the high cliffs for the source of the attack. They knew this was no natural rockslide. The timing was too perfect.
Before they could regain their composure, Meng Tian triggered his second trap. From his new position on the opposite slope, he kicked a single, heavy log he had placed there. The log rolled, pulling with it a complex tripwire woven from tough mountain vines. This in turn released the trigger on a deadfall he had spent days constructing.
With a series of sharp, cracking sounds, an entire section of the path behind the caravan gave way. A massive, pre-dug pit, concealed under a flimsy covering of branches and leaves, was revealed. It was too wide to jump and too steep to easily climb. Their retreat was cut off.
The caravan was now completely trapped in a hundred-yard stretch of narrow, dead ground. They were caught in a kill box, designed by a master of siege craft.
The leader of the handlers, a tall, scarred veteran whose face showed no fear, only a cold, professional fury, finally understood the scale of the ambush. They had been expertly corralled. "Show yourself, coward!" he screamed into the echoing silence of the ravine. "Face us like a man!"
Meng Tian did not oblige him. The physical confrontation would come, but not yet. First, he would dismantle their greatest asset: their discipline. He would use the psychological warfare his Emperor had taught him.
He remained hidden, a ghost in the high pines. He focused his will, not on stone, but on the air itself. He gathered the wind that whistled through the pass and sent a sudden, sharp gust swirling down into the ravine. The gust was perfectly aimed. It extinguished the handlers' two lit torches, plunging the deeper parts of the ravine into a disorienting gloom.
Then, he used his power over sound. He did not shout or make a grand noise. He created whispers. He made the rustling of the leaves sound like the hiss of a drawn blade just behind a man's ear. He threw his own voice, a low, guttural whisper that seemed to come from all directions at once.
"Your mother has forgotten you," the whisper slithered through the trees. "Your nest has burned. You are alone."
The handlers spun around, trying to find the source of the sound, their eyes wide with a mixture of anger and a dawning, primal fear. They were trained assassins, masters of stealth and silence. They were being hunted by something that was better at their own game. Their tight, defensive formation began to waver as some of them moved to investigate the phantom sounds. The children's crying grew louder, adding to the cacophony of fear and confusion.
The leader tried to restore order. "Hold your positions! It is a trick! One man trying to sound like many!"
But Meng Tian was not done. He focused his will on a small, dead branch high up on a cliff face directly above them. He made the air around it vibrate with a sharp, intense frequency until the wood, stressed beyond its limits, snapped with a loud crack. The branch, insignificant in itself, clattered down the rocks.
The assassins reacted instantly, spinning to face the new, imagined threat. Their discipline, the foundation of their strength, was broken. They were now just a collection of terrified individuals, their attention scattered, their formation shattered.
The trap was sprung. The prey was panicked, disoriented, and ripe for the slaughter. It was only then, after their minds had been broken, that Meng Tian finally descended from the heights to deal with their bodies.