Chapter 63: Crossing The River!

Chapter 63: Crossing the River!

“Do you have something like a hairpin? I see you don’t have one in your hair,” Zhao Changhe suddenly asked.

“Yes, I have one in my bag.” Cui Yuanyang didn’t know what he needed it for, but she took a gold hairpin from the small pouch at her waist: “Will this do?”

Indeed, a woman’s bag—same in both worlds—looks small but holds everything like Doraemon’s pocket.

“It’ll do.” Zhao Changhe grabbed the hairpin, used his steel knife to chop off a sharp tip, and swiftly left the cabin. After a moment’s thought, he decided the heavy steel knife was inconvenient underwater, so he left it on the boat, took a thin fish-filleting knife instead, tucked it into his belt, and plunged into the water with a roll.

Cui Yuanyang hurriedly took control of the boat. Only then did she see the scene Zhao Changhe had mentioned: behind them, many boats were faintly approaching. The once-peaceful river surface now carried an oppressive sense of impending naval battle—clearly abnormal.

Several boats were quite close, seemingly about to enter arrow range.

Even if the fish weren’t poisonous, if they had leisurely eaten them, soon their families might be attending a funeral feast...

Cui Yuanyang anxiously steered toward the opposite shore, her eyes occasionally glancing at the ripples on the water, wondering how Zhao Changhe was faring beneath the surface...

Wait—could he even swim?

In all of Zhao Changhe’s known life, places like Zhao Village, Luo Manor, and Beimang only had clear streams and ponds.

No one knew why Zhao Changhe could swim, but he truly could, and he was quite good at it...

He dove into the water with a splash, and the first thing he saw was the boatman at the bottom of the hull, pulling out a chisel to work. Underwater tasks were inconvenient, and the boatman’s chisel had only made a shallow dent. The sound of Zhao Changhe entering the water startled him, and he turned around in shock.

Was Zhao Changhe’s alertness and decisiveness really that of someone who had just entered the martial world? If he wasn’t a seasoned wanderer, then there was only one possibility: a born wanderer.

The thought flashed by. The boatman revealed a sinister grin, abandoned the hull, pulled out a water-dividing spike, and swam toward Zhao Changhe.

Swimming ability and underwater skill were two different things. Not to mention other factors, just keeping one’s eyes open underwater required deliberate practice—how could Zhao Changhe have trained for that? Let alone breath-holding and maneuvering underwater. Those who lived by the water as martial artists had techniques adapted to these conditions: longer breath-holding, better use of water currents. Even a land-bound immortal would have to yield in the water!

Sure enough, when the boatman reached Zhao Changhe, he thrust the water-dividing spike. Zhao Changhe drew his fish knife to parry, but the movement clearly showed his clumsiness underwater. His eyes could only stay half-open, squinting uncomfortably, and his actions were far less agile than on land.

The boatman thought to himself, if Zhao Changhe’s skills ended here, he could die right now. I’m at the third level of the Mystic Gate—could I directly replace his rank in the Book of Chaos?

With that thought, he kicked lightly and closed in on Zhao Changhe. Zhao Changhe awkwardly swung his fish knife, but the boatman deftly trapped his arm under his armpit, reversing the earlier struggle in the cabin.

The boatman smirked, his right hand driving the water-dividing spike viciously toward Zhao Changhe’s chest.

But just as they were locked in close combat, Zhao Changhe’s tightly pressed lips suddenly opened.

A broken gold hairpin tip, wrapped in inner force, shot out!

Caught off guard at such close range, even though the hairpin moved slowly in the water, it still tolled the death knell in the boatman’s eyes.

He tried to dodge in horror, but it was too late. The hairpin tip viciously pierced his eye socket.

Blood gushed out. The boatman instinctively cried out in pain, but river water instantly flooded in, silencing any sound.

Who the hell is the shady killer here—us or you? You’re even more treacherous than we are!

Those were the boatman’s last thoughts.

In truth, his water-dividing spike still struck Zhao Changhe’s chest before he died, but the force was gone. Zhao Changhe grabbed his wrist with his left hand, and the spike only penetrated less than an inch... but it was poisoned.

Zhao Changhe wasn’t the only one who played dirty...

Zhao Changhe had no time to deal with the wound or the poison. He used his inner force to suppress the toxin, pulled his trapped right hand free, and flung the fish knife backward.

The thin blade spun, precisely slicing the throat of the boatwoman sneaking up behind him.

The boatwoman’s eyes widened in disbelief.

She had been heavily wounded on her back and had planned to leave, but seeing the struggle, she thought she could take advantage and ambush Zhao Changhe. Yet, in the heat of battle, with his back to her, how did he know she was sneaking up? And how did he hit her throat so accurately?

How did he know?

No one could tell the boatman who the real schemer was, nor could anyone tell the boatwoman how Zhao Changhe saw behind him. Clutching the wound on his chest, Zhao Changhe burst out of the water in a panic, gasping for air.

It seemed simple and quick, with few moves, but in reality, quite some time had passed—at least two or three minutes. Normally, he would have suffocated by now. If not for Xia Longyuan’s inner force providing temporary internal circulation, he couldn’t have executed such a lethal strike.

Zhao Changhe briefly wondered if, with further cultivation, this inner force could fully transform into internal breath, eliminating the need to breathe.

But the situation didn’t allow him to ponder martial arts theories. Enduring the pain of the wound and the ravages of the poison, he surveyed the scene.

Cui Yuanyang had said she could “handle a bit” of rowing, and that was truly just “a bit”—at most, she had played at it. When would a young lady ever do such rough work? Now, her speed in rowing to shore was barely better than drifting with the current; she could at least avoid spinning in place. The river was quite wide, and the shore was still a fair distance away. The boats behind were drawing closer, and Zhao Changhe could see some people nocking arrows.

At that moment, his position was exactly between Cui Yuanyang’s boat and the approaching vessels, roughly equidistant from both. Without hesitation, Zhao Changhe leaped up, skimmed across the waves, and in an instant, boarded the nearest enemy boat.

Several people were gauging the distance for archery when a figure suddenly burst from the water, startling them all.

Zhao Changhe had no weapon in hand. Without a word, he punched the archer in the temple, snatched the bow and arrows, and performed a clean backflip, diving back into the water.

The people on the boat finally reacted, shouting in unison: “It’s Zhao Changhe! River Boy and Water Eagle might have fallen!”

“His lightness skill isn’t enough to get back to his boat from this distance! Look, he’s swimming over there! Quick, shoot him!”

Unfortunately, amid the chaos, they were a beat too slow. By the time someone nocked an arrow and aimed at Zhao Changhe, he had already swum halfway. Soon, he rose from the water, leaping through the air, rapidly closing in on Cui Yuanyang’s boat as it neared the shore: “Yangyang! The rope at your feet! Throw it to help me!”

Cui Yuanyang decisively dropped the oar, bent down, picked up the thick mooring rope at her feet, and flung it with all her might.

Zhao Changhe caught it midair, used it to pull himself back to the bow, as arrows rained down behind him—none coming within a zhang of him.

Cui Yuanyang could only think: if this isn’t a god, what is?

But the god in her eyes stumbled as he landed on the bow, his face pale.

She saw the blood on his chest, already turning black: “You’re poisoned!”

“Yeah, I play dirty, but others do too.” Zhao Changhe leaned painfully against the gunwale, still smiling. “It’s up to you now, multi-treasure rich girl. You won’t disappoint me, right?”

Cui Yuanyang had no mood for jokes. Flustered, she opened her small pouch, found a pill, and shoved it into his mouth: “Different poisons need different antidotes! The Cui family doesn’t have miracle pills!”

“Just suppressing it is enough.” Zhao Changhe felt the medicine’s power holding back the toxin’s spread. Satisfied, he chuckled, picked up his knife, and scraped a circle around the wound, cutting away the poisoned flesh.

Blood flowed freely, but there was nothing suitable for bandaging. Every piece of cloth in sight was too dirty—wrapping it would risk infection.

Zhao Changhe ignored it, took his gourd of wine, poured it over the wound, and stood up again. Turning around, he saw the nearest boat had entered arrow range, with many archers ready.

Zhao Changhe grabbed the bow he had just taken, drew it to full crescent, and loosed an arrow like a shooting star.

With a *twang*, the enemy’s sail suddenly fell, slowing their wind-driven speed. The next moment, arrows flew like a swarm of locusts, but they fell just short, mostly striking the deck.

Taking advantage of the gap, Zhao Changhe retrieved his steel knife, slung the bow over his shoulder, and fastened the quiver. After equipping himself, he took a breath, glanced at the distance to the shore, and finally smiled.

After all this time, the little rabbit had been rowing frantically, sweating profusely. Even if the boat crawled, it should be near the shore by now!

Zhao Changhe grabbed Cui Yuanyang and leaped toward the shore. The river wind howled, carrying his laughter: “Thanks for the escort! Until we meet again!”