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Shi Wuding quickly assessed the situation and realized that it was impossible to capture Lei Zhentang or Wang Daozhong before the enemy forces surrounded him. Even a quick kill was now out of reach.
He made a swift decision to retreat, but not before casting a fierce, murderous glare at Wang Daozhong, as if he wanted to bite a piece of flesh out of him.
Zhao Changhe, as calm as a breeze, thought to himself, Old Wang is the one taking the blame. If you want to bite, bite him. What does that have to do with me?
Ahead, Lei Zhentang clutched his sword-inflicted wound, struggling painfully forward, “Thank you, Wang—”
Before he could finish speaking, “Wang Daozhong” struck again, viciously plunging his sword into the other side of Lei Zhentang’s torso. “I have OCD; let me make you look symmetrical. No need to thank me.”
With the Black Hmong staring in stunned disbelief, Wang Daozhong fled in the opposite direction from where Shi Wuding had retreated.
The Black Hmong warriors approached their tribal chief, “Chief, who should we pursue? Chief? Hey, what the hell! Quickly, help the chief!”
Zhao Changhe did want to kill Lei Zhentang, but he was unsure how the Tome of Troubled Times would report it. Would it credit Wang Daozhong or Zhao Changhe? Normally, Vermilion Bird and Black Tortoise were recorded...
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