Chapter 36: Ambush

Jiang Zhaoyang was consumed by a burning rage, yet he felt utterly helpless against the cunning and elusive poachers. He stood alone, unarmed.

Those poachers, however, were like demons in the night. Armed with high-powered hunting rifles and moving in small groups of two or three, they slipped through the forests and mountains like ghosts, leaving behind a trail of chilling shadows. Their equipment was advanced and comprehensive, especially their powerful, high-speed motorcycles. Whenever they succeeded in their hunt, they would speed away like a gust of wind in the darkness, their departure marked by a triumphant, arrogant roar of engines, leaving nothing behind but a fading echo as if they had never existed at all.

Every time Jiang Zhaoyang heard the distant crack of gunfire and rushed to the scene, he was met only with heartbreaking sights: a landscape in ruins, animal feathers and scales scattered across the ground, and the air heavy with a pungent, metallic stench of blood. Time and again, he returned empty-handed, his heart filled with an unspeakable sense of frustration and defeat. The figures of those poachers haunted his mind like a recurring nightmare. In the dead of night, they lingered in his thoughts like phantoms, robbing him of his peace and sleep. The number of protected species—the eagles and orioles that once soared freely, the black storks and red-crowned cranes that danced with elegance, the rare pangolins and forest musk deer, and even the once-common wild boars—dwindled day by day.

Jiang Zhaoyang knew he could not stand idly by. He had to find a way to confront these cruel men. Expecting help from Lin Weiquan was a lost cause, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. On a bright morning, he armed himself with a machete and set out onto the rugged mountain trails. Amidst the chirping birds and the dappled sunlight filtering through the dense canopy, he searched until he found a sturdy wooden staff of the perfect weight. Carefully, he trimmed the branches and polished it until it was smooth and balanced, ready to serve as his weapon.

As night fell, a bright moon hung high in the sky, accompanied by a scattering of stars that added a veil of mystery to the silent woods. Jiang Zhaoyang lay in ambush along a narrow, frequently used path, his body hidden well within the dense thicket. He held his breath, eyes fixed on the path ahead, waiting to catch them off guard. He intended to catch them red-handed.

Jiang Zhaoyang was not the "mediocre amateur" that He Di claimed. Back in university, he had been passionate about Sanda and combat sports, possessing excellent physical conditioning and even winning a Sanda championship. Since starting his job, he had spent his nights in the corner of his dormitory, training relentlessly. However, his fair complexion and reserved, unassuming nature gave others the impression of a delicate scholar. Thus, no one knew of his past, and certainly no one suspected he was a master of hidden martial arts.

Minutes ticked by, and just as Jiang Zhaoyang began to fear the night would be a waste, faint footsteps emerged from the distance. A figure appeared, carrying a struggling animal. Jiang Zhaoyang’s heart tightened—it was a peacock pheasant, a first-class protected species.

The moment had arrived.

He lunged forward, his wooden staff striking like lightning, hitting the poacher’s wrist with such precision that the prey fell from his grasp. The poacher, caught completely off guard, froze in shock. Jiang Zhaoyang seized the moment to snatch the hunting rifle while pinning the man against his back with the staff, shouting, "Don't move! The police are on their way!"

Yet, he had underestimated the cunning of the poachers. Behind this man were four others. When they saw their accomplice ambushed by a lone, seemingly frail man, their anger flared like dry tinder. Their eyes burned with a murderous intent, as if they wanted to tear him to pieces. Three of them roared and charged forward simultaneously. But just as they were about to reach him, they scattered like ghosts.

The three men occupied strategic positions, encircling Jiang Zhaoyang in a tight, inescapable ring. Suddenly, three sharp, long-handled machetes whistled through the air from different directions, moving with such speed and force that they seemed to slice the very air in two. The blades glinted in the moonlight with a deadly aura, aiming directly for his vital points.

Jiang Zhaoyang’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that no matter which way he dodged, he could not fully evade the three blades closing in on him. The leader, who had yet to move, stood on the sidelines with a cruel, mocking grin, as if he could already see Jiang Zhaoyang lying in a pool of blood. "Go to hell for ruining our business!" he sneered. "In these deep mountains, no one will ever find you; you'll just end up as food for the beasts. This time next year will be the anniversary of your death!"

Yet, in this life-or-death moment, Jiang Zhaoyang’s mind remained remarkably calm. He realized that if he tried to jump, he would be cut down the moment he landed. He could not—he would not—let them succeed.

In that split second between life and death, Jiang Zhaoyang performed a move that defied belief. He shrank toward the ground with the agility of a gopher, finding the perfect cover amidst the dirt and stones. He then performed a fluid, precise roll, perfectly evading the three cold, merciless arcs of steel. The machetes, which should have devoured him like starving wolves, struck only empty air with a fierce "whoosh."

The poachers were stunned, paralyzed by the sudden turn of events. They stopped in their tracks, eyes wide with confusion and fear, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Their faces were etched with disbelief, silently asking, "Where did he go?" They searched the surroundings frantically, but Jiang Zhaoyang had vanished from their sight.

Just as their eyes were clouded with shock and bewilderment, Jiang Zhaoyang did not give them a single moment to catch their breath.