This time, Jiang Heng didn’t rush to hunt treasures.

  Finding riches and growing stronger mattered, but first, he needed to clear the filth blocking his path.

  He kept tabs on Rat Li’s movements.

  And what he saw raised his hackles.

  Rat Li wasn’t alone. A guard trailed him through the forest—a face Jiang Heng vaguely recognized, one of Sly Zhao’s inner circle.

  Odd.

  Mountain Patrol Division guards didn’t need to hunt treasures. They guarded the camp and earned hefty coin for it. Most wouldn’t bother entering the mountains.

  More importantly, any treasures they found had to be turned in, same as the mountain folk.

  Why risk death for pocket change?

  Unless you were a mountain dweller, forced to toil for survival, no one willingly played this game.

  Yet here was Zhao’s trusted lackey, trudging alongside Rat Li.

  Combined with Zhao healing Rat Li’s injuries yesterday, this stank of trouble.

  Curiosity piqued, Jiang Heng followed at a distance.

  With [Night Vision], his sight far outstripped normal men, letting him tail them without losing track, even from afar.

  Rat Li and the guard never noticed the少年 shadowing them.

  After about fifteen minutes, they stopped beneath an ancient locust tree.

  Their postures were tense, eyes scanning for threats, but their gazes kept drifting outward, as if waiting for someone.

  Another fifteen minutes passed. A venomous snake attacked, but they dispatched it with ease.

  Watching their movements, Jiang Heng gauged their strength.

  Weaker than me.

  He took a deep breath, confidence growing.

  While tracking, he even used [Qi Devouring] to sense a nearby treasure—a rare herb, a magpie blossom.

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  It was guarded by toxic moths, each palm-sized, their wings spreading poisonous dust. Tough for most.

  But Jiang Heng was nimble. Covering his mouth and nose, he scattered the moths with little effort and claimed the blossom.

  Worth three hundred coppers.

  Tracking Rat Li, watching their moves, and still raking in coin? Too easy.

  Thanks to [Night Vision]’s wide range, he could glance at his quarry while handling the moths, never losing sight.

  Tucking the magpie blossom away, he froze.

  The person Rat Li and the guard were waiting for had arrived.

  A figure cloaked in a gray robe, adorned with bone and wooden trinkets, stepped forward. Even from a distance, Jiang Heng caught a whiff of rot and herbs.

  A blood-red bone banner hung at the figure’s waist, impossible to miss.

  Witch Clan… a witch!

  Rat Li’s tied to the Witch Clan?

  No—not just Rat Li.

  The guard was Zhao’s man. If he was colluding with witches, it was on Sly Zhao’s orders.

  What are they planning?

  Too far to hear their words, Jiang Heng watched as the witch spoke briefly before vanishing into the forest.

  Rat Li and the guard turned back toward camp.

  Jiang Heng positioned himself along their path, waiting silently.

  As they drew closer, their conversation drifted to his ears.

  “Ugh, all this time wasted, and that little bastard’s probably long gone. Do we let him off again today?” Rat Li grumbled.

  “Hmph, he’s dead by tonight anyway. Why bother? Mess up the boss’s orders, and it’s your head!”

  “Heh, it’s going smooth, ain’t it? Wonder how much Zhao’ll reward us when it’s done. Just thinking about it’s got me grinning!” Rat Li rubbed his hands, giddy.

  “Oh, and tonight, I’m gonna gut that kid myself. Crush his skull and whisper, ‘This is what you get for crossing your lord Wang!’”

  He swung his arm, miming a slap to Jiang Heng’s face, cackling.

  “Don’t worry, the brat’s not escaping. But you, old dog—you hid it well. Who’d guess the camp’s laughingstock, that gambling wreck Rat Li, was a Witch Clan spy?”

  “No shame, brother. This ain’t my first rodeo—I’ve pulled this trick at least three times…”

  Their words carried through the mist.

  Jiang Heng heard every syllable, piecing it together.

  Rat Li’s a Witch Clan turncoat. He’s probably got more secrets up his sleeve.

  And this time, he and Zhao were plotting to sell out the camp.

  Over five hundred mountain folk, sacrificed to the Witch Clan for a soul banner’s blood ritual.

  No doubt Rat Li had summoned the witch somehow, triggering last night’s soul-guiding lantern alarm.

  Zhao would get a fat payoff from the witches.

  Mountain folk were cheap. If too many died, the Division could just convert slaves, prisoners, or criminals to refill their ranks.

  A flimsy excuse—Witch Clan raid, spirit beast attack—would cover it all.

  This world’s brutal. The weak are just fodder for the strong.

  Jiang Heng’s resolve to grow stronger burned hotter.

  These scum are shameless.

  Fury and disgust churned in his gut for Zhao, Rat Li, and their ilk.

  As a transmigrator, he felt no deep loyalty to Great Qing, but he loathed traitors who’d sell out their own for personal gain, colluding with foreign clans.

  Especially since their plan included sacrificing him.

  And then there was Tian.

  The kind young guard, who’d shared a meal with him, was a good man.

  He didn’t deserve to die.

  Though a guard, not a mountain dweller, Tian likely wasn’t in on the plot. Except for Rat Li and a few others, everyone was probably marked for death.

  I need to warn him. Save him if I can.

  But first, Rat Li had to go.

  The man had tried to kill him too many times. His fate was sealed.