SES Chapter 154 Part 2

Before she finished, Luo Ren was already sprinting to the rope bed.
He yanked the rope free—it had been tied in a way that was sturdy for use, but easy to unravel.

Carrying the rope back, he looped half of it around his arm, ready to throw. “Hongsha! Hold steady! Catch this and tie the ropes together!”

He hurled it upward—but it fell short by several meters. Yan Hongsha was too high.

The rope swayed violently. Above, he could faintly hear the chaos—the shouting, the scraping. Yan Hongsha clung to the rope like a tiny boat tossed in a storm. Sweat poured down Luo Ren’s temples.

Then Mu Dai said, “Luo Ren—throwing knife.”

He understood instantly. He wrapped the rope around the knife handle. “Hongsha! Is your backpack full?”

“Full!” she shouted back, breathless.

“Turn your back to me!”

She twisted around, bracing herself. Luo Ren threw. She felt the knife sink into her pack, then she yanked it free, hands moving fast to tie the ropes together around her waist.

At the same time, Mu Dai sprinted forward, grabbed the rope, and began to climb.

Luo Ren froze, stunned. He’d trained in rope climbing, too—but this was something else.

She wasn’t just climbing—she was practically flying, using only her arms, her body barely touching the rope.

Yan Hongsha was still fumbling with her knots when Mu Dai reached her. Without a word, Mu Dai grabbed her shoulders, pushed off with her feet, and vaulted upward—using her like a foothold.

Yan Hongsha gaped, then laughed breathlessly. “Mu Dai, you really are a little angel!”

But the “angel” didn’t hear her—she was already near the top.

The scene above was pure chaos.
Cao Yanhua’s face was a bruised mess, Qingshan had him in a chokehold, and Yafeng was crouched by the pit, sneering as she reached for the rope—then, baring her teeth, she bit down on it.

At that exact moment, Mu Dai burst out of the darkness like a bullet.
Her eyes locked on Yafeng—one hard slap sent her reeling.
Then she grabbed Yafeng’s collar, yanked her off balance, and rolled to the ground.
Sliding across the dirt, she caught Qingshan’s leg mid-motion and dragged him down too.
By the time she stopped, she was already back on her feet, perfectly steady.

Cao Jinhua stood frozen, mouth agape, wide enough to fit an egg.

Mu Dai’s arrival had shattered the upper hand completely—turning the fight on its head in seconds.

Cao Yanhua almost burst into tears. “Little Master, get her!”

He didn’t need to say it. Mu Dai already knew Yafeng was the real threat.

“The woman’s mine,” she said coolly. “You handle the man.”

Yafeng rose too, her delicate face twisted with rage, and charged.

Cao Yanhua grappled with Qingshan again—he was bigger, stronger, and desperate, landing blow after blow, but still managed to yell, “Little Master! She’s strong—don’t go head-on!”

Mu Dai heard him just as she and Yafeng clashed. She twisted aside, sliding past Yafeng like a fish through water—and struck a sharp blow to her ribs.

Yafeng snarled in pain, teeth grinding. If she could just grab Mu Dai once, she’d crush her bones.

But Mu Dai seemed to read her mind. With Yanhua’s warning still in her ears, she never met Yafeng head-on. Every move was sidestepping, deflecting, hitting from angles—hair pulling, a slap, a sweep to the legs—dirty, efficient, effective.

All of it straight from her master’s lessons.

Her teacher had always said:

“If you can win, fight.
If you can’t, run.
If you can’t run, fight dirty.
Pride means nothing if you’re dead.”

She remembered that scene vividly—her master, seated in a wooden wheelchair before a mirror, tying her snow-white hair. Her robe, dark green with silver trim, was immaculate. Not a single strand out of place.

Mu Dai had once muttered, “But people will say I fight unfairly.”

Her master’s reflection smiled faintly.

“Those who dislike you will call you dishonorable no matter what.
Those who love you will forgive you anything.
So why care what they say?”

Mu Dai thought for a moment. “And if I fight dirty and still lose?”

Her master paused, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

“That depends. If it’s a woman, keep fighting.
If it’s a man…”

She’d stopped then, lips curling in amusement.

Mu Dai had asked, “If it’s a man, then what?”

“Then you cry.”

Mu Dai had gawked. “Crying works?”

“With a face like yours,” her master said, slipping a silver plum blossom hairpin into her bun, “it just might.”

Her hair was white as snow, the silver plum blooming like frost.

Her master had been born in the Republic era. Mu Dai was only six when she knelt before her, two silver coins wrapped in red cloth as her offering, answering each question loudly and clearly—

“Why do you seek a master?”
“To uphold justice.”
“Who is the hero of the trade?”
“Swallow Li San.”
“Whom may one rob?”
“The unjust rich.”
“Whom should one aid?”
“The poor who keep their pride!”

That had been long, long ago.

By the time Mu Dai apprenticed under her, her master was already in her seventies, legs paralyzed, always in her wooden wheelchair. Most people called her Old Madam Mei.

But one Mid-Autumn night, after a few cups of wine, she’d smiled and said softly—

“Once upon a time, people called me Plum Blossom Ninth Lady.”