Today’s weather could hardly be called good.

Fine snow had been falling without pause, and a thin layer of ice floated along the river’s edge.

As soon as Fan Changyu used her bamboo pole to sweep down the mountain bandit clinging to the side of the boat, the young man behind her suddenly cried out.

Fan Changyu turned her head—one of the bandits had grabbed his leg and was tugging with all his might to drag him into the water.

At the stern, yet another bandit had hauled himself up and was about to climb aboard. Fan Changyu could not spare herself to deal with both sides at once; she clenched her teeth, kicked the water bandit at the stern back into the river, and thrust her bamboo pole backward.

The bandit clutching the youth’s ankle had no time to take a breath before she jabbed him straight into the water. The icy river poured into his nose and mouth, choking him half to death.

The young man scrambled up at once.

Half his leg had been pulled into the river; now his pant leg, shoes, and socks were soaked through. The biting chill turned his lips pale, yet he still remembered to thank Fan Changyu.

“Thank you, miss…”

But his expression suddenly changed, and he shouted, “Be careful!”

Fan Changyu instinctively swung the bamboo pole behind her.

From beneath the water, a scar-faced man burst out, gripping a large blade and chopping down at her with all his strength.

Her bamboo pole was sliced clean in two.

The blade was already at her face—there was no time to dodge.

Fan Changyu could only lean back as far as possible to avoid a fatal wound, while thrusting out the broken, sharpened end of the pole.

Even if she were to die, she meant to drag one down with her.

The bamboo spear in her hand did pierce the scar-faced man—yet the blade meant to fall upon her left shoulder never landed.

A piercing whistle of wind came by her ear.

An arrow, carrying the weight of ten thousand pounds of force, brushed past her hair. Fan Changyu could even feel the air current scrape her cheek painfully.

“Clang—”

A sharp metallic sound made one’s teeth ache.

The arrow struck directly against the scar-faced man’s steel blade. Sparks flew; under the powerful impact, the arrowhead shattered, and the steel knife in his hand split apart like cracked ice.

Several more arrows followed, raining down on the bandits clinging to the sides of the boat.

Everyone present was startled.

The scar-faced man reacted quickly—he drew the short blade from his waist, cut off the broken bamboo stuck in his body, and slipped into the water, no longer staying on the boat as a living target.

Fan Changyu turned toward the direction from which the arrows had come, only to see a troop of cavalry thundering toward them, great bows drawn. The soldiers on horseback were all clad in thick armor; for the moment, it was impossible to tell who among them had fired the arrow that shattered the scar-faced man’s blade.

She assumed that the Jizhou Prefecture had learned of the massacre in Qingping County and had dispatched troops to suppress the bandits. Her heart finally eased with relief.

Most of these bandits were little more than a disorderly rabble—capable enough with knives and swords when facing common folk, but utterly helpless before cavalry trained in both riding and archery. All they could do was flee like rats.

Arrows fell like locusts upon the water.

The bandits, packed closely together, could not escape; soon, wails and cries echoed across the river, and blood spread upon the current.

Seeing that they could not make it ashore and that the river was bone-chillingly cold, a group of bandits skilled in swimming chose instead to push the boat that Fan Changyu stood on toward the middle of the river from beneath the surface.

When Fan Changyu realized that the boat beneath her feet was drifting farther and farther from the ferry crossing, she felt a surge of dread.

Once beyond the range of the archers, she would be alone on the boat—facing desperate bandits at their end would be even more dangerous.

Moreover, the river’s current was swift; even without rowing, the boat was being carried rapidly downstream.

The soldiers on shore clearly noticed this as well.

They had already ceased firing arrows, and several who were skilled swimmers removed their heavy armor and plunged into the icy river.

The bandits who had pushed the wooden boat away from the ferry now surfaced, intending to seize it again.

Fan Changyu could not spare a glance for the young man. She grabbed him by the collar and said curtly, “Offense!”

Then, with all her strength, she hurled him toward the soldiers who had dived into the water.

The young man’s face turned pale with fright; he had only enough time to cry out “Miss—!” before his body arced through the air and plunged into the river.

He clearly could not swim.

For a long moment he floundered beneath the icy surface before finally emerging, flailing desperately at the freezing water and shouting for help.

The soldiers who had swum over had to struggle to avoid his wild grasping hands before managing to seize him by the back of the neck and drag him toward the shore.

On the riverbank, Xie Zheng watched the scene, lips pressed into a thin line.

He nocked another arrow to his great bow.

One of his guards wanted to remind him that the boat had drifted too far—that it was well beyond bow range—but in the next instant, they saw white-feathered arrows explode from his bowstring one after another.

Out on the river, beside the drifting boat, corpses slowly rose to the surface.

The cavalrymen on shore—land-bound and unused to the water—were stunned for a moment, then broke into loud cheers.

But Xie Zheng’s face remained expressionless, his eyes cold.

The boat had already reached midstream, carried swiftly downstream by the current; arrows could no longer reach the bandits hiding beneath it.

The rescued youth lay on the ground, soaked through and shivering until his face turned ashen. He coughed up several mouthfuls of water before regaining his breath—and the first thing he did was plead to the soldiers around him, “Quick, save the young lady on the boat!”

Xie Zheng cast him a cold glance, then yanked his reins and galloped along the riverbank road.

His personal guards realized at once that he meant to pursue the boat by land and quickly mounted their horses to follow.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

Fan Changyu, holding half of the broken bamboo pole, stood upon the boat.

After thrusting down the last bandit who tried to climb up, the river finally quieted.

It seemed the bandits hiding beneath the hull were all dead.

She dared not relax.

After scanning the water cautiously for a while and confirming that only ripples from the current remained, she went to the bow and picked up an oar, intending to row toward the shore.

She had barely made two strokes when a great splash rose from the water below her.

A bandit burst out suddenly—startling her so that she instinctively swung the oar to strike.

But that bandit was already dead.

While she struck at the corpse, the scar-faced man leapt up along the side of the boat, knife flashing toward her neck.

Fan Changyu twisted aside; she avoided a fatal strike, but the blade still slashed a long gash along her arm.

The pain made her grunt lowly.

She reversed her grip on the oar and drove the handle straight into the scar-faced man’s abdomen—precisely where he had been pierced earlier by the bamboo pole.

Though he managed to climb aboard, the reopened wound in his belly sent him staggering back until he fell sitting on the planks, veins bulging at his temples from the pain.

Fan Changyu drew her boning knife and thrust toward him.

The scar-faced man’s pupils shrank; he rolled away in panic and retreated to the stern, calling out hoarsely,

“Heroine, you and I both have no wish to die in this river and be fish feed! Instead of fighting to mutual destruction, why not make a truce for now? Whatever grudges or debts there are, we can settle them another day—what do you say?”

Fan Changyu appeared to think seriously for a moment.

Then she sheathed her knife and said, “All right.”

The scar-faced man seemed to breathe easier, though he remained at the stern, still wary and unwilling to let down his guard.

The boat passed beyond the rapids; the river calmed, and the current slowed.

They could already see the cavalry galloping in pursuit along the bank.

Xie Zheng rode foremost at the head of the troop.

The roadway was higher than the river, and with one glance, he gauged the distance from the bank to the midstream boat.

He lashed his horse twice with the whip; the warhorse surged forward like an arrow, leaving the guards far behind.

Once he had overtaken the boat’s position, he dismounted abruptly, striding swiftly toward the river as he stripped off his armor piece by piece—and then, bare-chested, he leapt into the icy water.

The boat was drifting downstream with the current; to intercept it, he had to swim across the river, which meant running ahead first, then cutting across midstream to reach it.

On the boat, the scar-faced man had his eyes fixed only on the cavalry chasing from behind, his face showing rising panic.

Fan Changyu, ever considerate, said mildly, “Why don’t I hand you the oar—would you like to row yourself?”

The scar-faced man hesitated, then nodded.

Fan Changyu picked up the oar from the bow and tossed it toward him.

At that very moment, she also threw out her boning knife—and at the same time, seized the broken bamboo pole, now only about two feet long, and lunged at him.

Under the triple assault, the scar-faced man had no time to dodge. He barely managed to avoid the knife that aimed for his throat, reached out to block the sharp bamboo thrust toward him—and was struck in the face by the flying oar. His nose nearly broke, blood streaming down as his vision blurred.

But what he had not expected was that the bamboo pole in Fan Changyu’s hand was merely a decoy.

Fan Changyu had picked it up with her dislocated hand, enduring searing pain that felt as if her bones were being ground together.

Earlier, she had tried to set the joint back herself, but she was no physician, and this was her first time suffering such a grave wound—she could not be sure of the bone’s position.

After forcing the bone back into place, her left arm could move again, but every motion brought a pain sharp enough to make her dizzy; naturally, she could not muster much strength.

When the scar-faced man caught hold of the bamboo pole, Fan Changyu’s right hand darted out—grabbing his hair and shoving his head straight into the water.

In that instant, her eyes were full of ferocity.

The scar-faced man thrashed violently, but the hand pressing down on the back of his head was astonishingly strong; no matter how he struggled, he could not break free.

The icy water flooded into his mouth and nose, nearly choking its way into his lungs.

Only when his struggles began to weaken did Fan Changyu haul him briefly back up by the hair. Coughing and sputtering, the scar-faced man was no longer arrogant; he gasped for mercy: “Heroine, spare my life! I’ll serve you, be your ox or horse if need be…”

Fan Changyu’s gaze turned cold as she remembered the mourning hall draped in white and the coffins that held her parents’ corpses.

She pushed his head beneath the water again, only pulling him up after a while, her voice filled with hatred as she demanded, “Did you kill a retired escort master for a treasure map?”

Thinking she was after wealth, the scar-faced man quickly stammered, “That treasure map was fake! The real one’s in Prince Changxin’s hands! But I’ve run Qingfeng Stronghold for years, I’ve more than one hideout. All my silver’s stored elsewhere. Spare me, and I’ll hand every bit of it over to you—every tael!”

Fan Changyu’s tone was like ice.

“And a villain steeped in blood like you still thinks himself fit to live? Do you even know how many died in Qingping County last night? I’ll ask you once more, was it you who killed that escort master?”

Having lived on the jianghu for many years, the scar-faced man could hear vengeance in her voice. “No, not me!” he shouted. “It—it was the Third Chief who did it!”

Her enemy was right before her eyes. Fan Changyu’s blood boiled upward; the hand gripping his hair turned so tight her knuckles whitened.

“The third chief of your stronghold killed him?”

“Yes, yes!” the scar-faced man cried.

Fan Changyu roared, “You’re all of the same filthy pack! I’ll slaughter you first, then kill your Third Chief afterward—to avenge my parents!”

The scar-faced man shouted desperately, “You’re Ma Taiyuan’s daughter? Ma Taiyuan was a eunuch—how could he have descendants?”

Fan Changyu froze.

“Ma Taiyuan? Who is that?”

The scar-faced man said, “The chief escort of the Four Seas Escort Bureau! He was the one tasked with escorting the treasure map back then. Ask around and you’ll hear his name.”

He paused, then added, “Could it be, Heroine, that you’ve mistaken your enemy?”

But the authorities had clearly said her father was the one who escorted the treasure map back then—so why was it now Ma Taiyuan?

A thousand doubts surged in Fan Changyu’s mind.

She demanded sharply, “The Fan couple who died last November at Tiger Fork in Qingping County, weren’t they killed by people from your Qingfeng Stronghold?”

The scar-faced man kept protesting, “The only job my brothers did in Qingping County was last night’s affair, before that we never came to Qingping to kill anyone.”

Fan Changyu, suspicious he was lying to save his life, shoved his head back under the water and said, “Tell the truth!”

The scar-faced man thrashed so violently he was nearly done for. When they hauled him up again his face was blue-purple; the bitter river stung his eyes so he could barely open them. He croaked, “I swear I’m telling the truth. Last November the stronghold was busy contending with Heilong Stronghold, we didn’t go out to ambush the roads. If you don’t believe me, you can ask around on the road.”

Now Fan Changyu was truly bewildered. If so, then those black-clad men who once raided her home weren’t ordinary bandits either.

She had already truly fought this band of brigands; thinking back to the skill of those black-clad men, though unwilling to admit it, each of them had been highly skilled — indeed unlike common bandits.

What, then, had been the real cause of her parents’ deaths?

The chill and the violent swing of emotions struck Fan Changyu’s head like an explosion.

Her grip on the scar-faced man’s hand slackened a little. He seized the chance to thrust both hands backward, grab Fan Changyu’s arms, and try to pull her into the river.

Her dislocated left arm screamed with pain at every touch; through that momentary carelessness the scar-faced man managed to shove her into the water, and he himself choked unexpectedly on a mouthful of river water.

Having been humiliated by Fan Changyu for so long, he did not rush to take her life. Instead his face twisted with vicious delight as he pressed her head under the surface, only lifting her when she was near collapse, repeating the torment.

“Bitch! Where’s that strength you used to shove me under just now? Why aren’t you struggling now?”

His face was full of the glee of revenge.

Fan Changyu had no strength left. Extreme hypoxia made her, even while underwater, struggle to breathe; she exhaled a stream of bubbles from mouth and nose, cold water filling her chest and stinging fiercely.

Her eyes smarted; she knew she might die here.

But what of Changning?

Changning—

In the final second before losing consciousness, Fan Changyu thought she heard a bone click back into place, and the hand that had gripped her hair suddenly loosened. Warmth pressed against her lips — for someone about to die in an icy river, that touch of warmth felt like the last consolation in the world.

She finally closed her eyes.

Xie Zheng gave Fan Changyu a breath, then hurriedly pulled her to the surface. The scar-faced man’s corpse floated nearby, his head twisted half around, his neck grotesquely contorted; even in death his eyes were wide with terror.

The arriving guards, seeing Xie Zheng himself wade in to save someone, immediately treaded water to help.

Xie Zheng had already swum Fan Changyu into shallow water. Without a word he carried her toward the shore; his face was blacker than ever, water dripping from his arms, veins standing out, a murderous aura that made it hard to draw breath.

A retainer stepped forward with clothing to cover her and was about to speak, but remembering Xie Zheng’s usual rule against women coming near him, fell silent: “My lord, I will carry this young lady.”

Xie Zheng ignored the offered hand, tore off his cloak, wrapped the soaking Fan Changyu in it, and kept walking with her in his arms.

The retainers and a few companions stood stunned; before they had recovered, they heard him say in a cold, cruel voice, “Bring the bandit chief’s corpse back — flay him.”

Even the guards, battle-hardened and used to chopping men down like melons, felt a chill run up their spines at that order.