He Lingchuan had shot the arrow that had struck Skinny.

Even in the chaos of battle, he had controlled his strength with perfect precision. Skinny had only suffered a flesh wound; his tendons and bones were unharmed. Once he returned to the stronghold, all he had to do was apply some medicine and rest for a few days, and he would be fine.

The slippery bastard had been surrounded by stray arrows, flying projectiles, and soldiers whose eyes had gone red from killing, yet nothing had happened to him at all. Only his face had been blackened by smoke.

That, too, was standard operating procedure for Skinny.

He had even heard Skinny’s outrageously exaggerated shout of “Danger!” and seen the mournful, resentful look Skinny threw him after taking the arrow.

That look clearly meant: you’d better pay me extra.

“Good, good.” Wen Daolun was delighted. He then asked He Lingchuan, “Once we obtain intelligence from inside Longchuan,...