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The sky was pale blue and the wind biting, the snowy wilderness vast and boundless.

Within the borders of Nanzhou, the official road stretched wide. Hooves crushed the piled snow with soft rustling sounds as a convoy of carriages and horses moved slowly through the mountains.

The fine snow weighed heavily on one’s brows and lashes. The middle-aged man stared fixedly at the blue-black dense forest that the daylight could not fully illuminate, loosened his tightly gripped reins, and slowly reached toward the long saber at his waist.

The wind lifted the hem of his dark black robe, revealing the dark teal crane patterns inside.

“Chi—”

A sharp sound that pierced the air struck abruptly. With a sweep of the long saber, the arrow snapped into two.

The man glimpsed the flame extinguishing at the arrowhead. His brow twitched, and when he turned back, sure enough, flaming arrows were being released in volleys from within the mountain forest. Though they reacted swiftly, scattered arrows still embedded themselves into several carriages, and flames spread in an instant.

The firelight illuminated the deathly pale face of the short old man beside the carriage. In panic, his voice grew even shriller, “Protect the imperial carriage! Quickly, protect the imperial carriage!”

The commotion in the forest intensified. Soon several figures flew out from within, each holding a raised sword, and the moment they landed, they cleanly severed the heads of several blue-robed guards.

The smell of blood spread through the air. The clash of blades rang without cease. The middle-aged man holding the long saber spun and dismounted. Turning back, he saw a blue-robed guard had already split open the carriage door and helped the noble person inside out. He immediately took something from his robes, and with a sound that shook the eardrums, brilliantly colored fireworks exploded into the sky.

“Don’t move.”

Several people in the forest gripped their swords, preparing to leap down, yet the arm of the one in the lead was pressed down by someone.

“Zhezhu, what are you doing?”

The young man wore a face covering, revealing only a pair of eyes. At this moment, he frowned slightly, glancing at the hand of the youth beside him resting on his arm, his tone unfriendly.

“If you withdraw from this muddy mess now, it’s still not too late.” The youth’s voice was clear, his pale face completely uncovered.

“I don’t have time to listen to your nonsense.” Impatience weighed in the young man’s eyes. He shook off the hand and nodded toward the dozen or so people behind him.

The black-clothed youth’s smile vanished. He drew the flexible sword at his waist. Before the young man could react, a few inches of light flashed past his brow and eyes, and the cold blade instantly pressed against his throat. His back stiffened, teeth clenched. “Zhe… Zhu.”

Wind stirred through the forest. A few narrow beams of sky-light slipped through the gaps and fell upon the sword’s edge, reflecting streaks of glistening light.

“Eleventh Brother, the wife you hid in Nanzhou has been dead for three years now, hasn’t she?”

As soon as the words fell, the young man’s expression changed abruptly. In that instant he no longer cared about the thin blade pressed to his neck. As he turned his head, a faint line of blood was drawn across his skin. “How do you know?”

But the youth stood quietly within the mottled dim light and shadow, those eyes deep and still as silent waters, without a ripple.

“Could it be you?!”

The young man’s eyes turned bloodshot. He paid no heed at all to the bloody affair below. Gripping his sword tightly, he only heard the youth laugh softly. “Eleventh Brother, do you know where her bones are buried now?”

A roaring filled his ears. The young man raised his sword and charged toward Zhezhu, yet he saw him sweep into the treetops as if riding the wind, his form ghostlike—light and elusive.

“Th… then… should we still go down?”

The remaining dozen people lay hidden in the forest, watching helplessly as the two figures vanished one after the other among the trees. One of them hesitated and spoke.

“Since both lords have left, we withdraw as well.”

Another pondered for a moment, then made the decision.

The mountain forest fell completely silent. On the official road below the cliff, the thick snow was stained and melted red by blood stirred by heat. Thousands of nameless men pressed closer and closer, but the fireworks that had burst into the sky earlier were no ordinary signal. The nearby government troops, already arranged in advance, rushed toward this direction. Together with a hundred blue-robed guards, they slaughtered every last one of these unknown assailants.

“Your Majesty was alarmed because of this — it is this minister’s fault.”

The middle-aged man, having removed his outer dark robe, revealed the dark teal crane-patterned Yunxiao robe beneath — attire that only the Lingxiao Guards who served in close attendance to the current Son of Heaven of Great Yan were permitted to wear.

And he was precisely the current Commander of the Lingxiao Guards — He Zhongting.

Without bothering to wipe away the blood staining his face, He Zhongting clasped his hands and knelt before the noble figure clad in a crimson-purple fox-fur cloak.

“The rebel forces have fled into this area and laid an ambush here again today. How did they learn that I would be going to Yuanjue Temple today?” Emperor Chunsheng’s hair was still neatly arranged and undisturbed. Supported by the old man beside him who bent low with head bowed, he surveyed the man kneeling in the snow.

“This minister will certainly investigate the matter thoroughly.”

He Zhongting immediately lowered his head and said.

“Fortunately, He Qing had prepared in advance. Rise.” A faint smile appeared on Emperor Chunsheng’s face as he waved his hand. Before he could finish speaking, however, several maidservants came rushing from behind, their faces deathly pale, and fell to their knees in panic.

“Your Majesty, the Princess… the Princess is missing!”

One of the maidservants cried out in a trembling voice.

The trace of a smile in Emperor Chunsheng’s eyes vanished instantly. His gaze lowered coldly toward the maidservant who had spoken.

The maidservant trembled all over. She did not dare raise her head to meet the emperor’s gaze, and barely steadying her voice, continued, “The flaming arrows struck the Princess’s carriage. The horses were startled, and the carriage overturned. This servant hurried to lift the curtain, but the Princess was already nowhere to be seen inside!”

“He Qing.”

Emperor Chunsheng slowly rubbed the jade thumb ring on his hand, his expression growing somewhat grim.

“This minister is here.”

He Zhongting responded at once.

“These rebels failed to take my life this time, yet they abducted the Princess of Great Yan — how utterly deserving of death.” Emperor Chunsheng’s tone carried an unmistakable trace of agitation. “You must bring Mingyue back. Nothing must happen to her.”

“This minister accepts the order!”

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The withered grass stretching endlessly had been pressed low by accumulated snow. Throughout the entire mountain forest, aside from the roaming cold wind, there was almost no sound left.

Suddenly, faint rustling arose from within a pile of dry grass.

After Shang Rong rolled down the slope beside the official road, she dragged a broken branch and ran for quite some distance before plunging into this dense forest. Hearing distant hoofbeats, she covered herself with snow and hid in the grass pile for a long time, not daring to move.

Voices drew near, then receded. Only after the neighing of the horses gradually faded into the distance did she sit up from the grass.

Crystalline snow scattered down from her sudden movement. Her face had been frozen pale, yet the tip of her small nose was flushed red. Half-melted snow clung briefly to her long, thick eyelashes, dyeing them the color of frost. She breathed in great gulps, and the biting wind seized the chance to rush into her throat, making her unable to suppress the urge to cough.

But after only a few coughs, Shang Rong forcibly held them back. Her feet were already stiff with cold. She struggled to stand, picked up the branch beside her, and while staggering forward, dragged it behind her to sweep away her footprints embedded in the snow.

At the end of the dense forest lay a stretch of shallow gravel shore, but now it was covered entirely in white snow, and the river was already sealed with ice. Her breath turned into drifting strands of white mist. Her entire body had grown numb from the cold.

Beyond endless white was still endless white. She stood in place, and in her eyes, everything around her stretched the same without boundary.

Her thin-soled embroidered shoes had long been soaked through by melted snowwater. Shang Rong’s feet had lost nearly all sensation. Her lips were dry, and she was utterly exhausted. But suddenly, she heard movement and lifted her head in alert.

In the distance, a figure in black swept forward with wind in his garments. The supple soft sword in his hand flickered like the trail of a shooting star. He easily turned aside, dodging the hidden weapon cast by the one pursuing him, then bent and landed upon the ice.

Cold mist over the river thickened further. From afar, Shang Rong could only vaguely make out two figures weaving back and forth within it. The sound of clashing blades rang crisp, but by the time it reached her ears, it was no longer clear.

The wind and snow grew fiercer. Goose-feather flakes fell thick and fast. The mist was blown apart somewhat by the biting wind, and the sound of cracking ice approached from afar. At this moment, only one person remained standing on the river, sword in hand. The smooth surface of the ice had split open into a massive hole.

Holding a long sword stained with blood, he tore off the small, exquisitely crafted jade gourd hanging at his waist. As he gradually drew nearer, it was a youth.

Cold mist curled in drifting strands. Heaven and earth were one sheet of white. Snow covered his shoulders, his robes dark as ink. A leather diexie¹Diexie (蹀躞) — a traditional belt or waist harness, often made of leather, worn in historical Chinese attire. It typically has loops or attachments used to hang items such as swords, pouches, or ornaments, and is associated with martial or formal dress. belt cinched his slender waist, and the glint from its golden clasps shone with a cold brilliance.

He casually bit open the wooden stopper of the wine gourd. Casting her a light glance, he made to pass by her side. The cold liquor slid down his throat. His thick lashes lifted slightly. Suddenly, he stopped, turned his head, and fixed his gaze on her.

His fingers curled slightly, gripping the sword hilt. Killing intent surfaced soundlessly. But when he met her fixed, unblinking stare, his eyes lowered as well, looking at the wine gourd in his hand.

“You’re very thirsty?” he asked.

Shang Rong nodded, staring eagerly at his small wine gourd.

The youth’s eyes curved with a smile. The blood-stained sword tip pointed toward the white snow. “Why not take a bite?”

Shang Rong watched with her own eyes as the remaining drops of blood on his blade fell, melting into the snow, spreading into patches of fading red. She shook her head firmly. “Dirty.”

Hearing that, he seemed to have heard a joke. “And you don’t think I’m dirty?”

The next moment, without waiting for her reaction, he directly lifted the wine gourd to her lips and forced a mouthful of strong liquor into her. As expected, he immediately saw her coughing until her face flushed red.

He laughed, brazen and malicious.

The mouthful of strong liquor burned down her throat like a ball of fire. Shang Rong coughed until her eyes reddened, a damp haze filling her vision, almost making it hard for her to see the youth’s unrestrained smile clearly.

She flexed her frozen stiff fingers a few times, then clumsily removed all the hairpins and ornaments she wore, stuffing them all into his hands in one motion.

The youth was startled. Lowering his eyes to the sudden pile of gold and jade ornaments in his hands, he then looked up again at the little girl before him. Her silk garments were wrinkled and damp from melted snow. The tip of her nose was frozen red. Her eyes were jet black. The faint flush brought by the choking liquor had faded, leaving her face pale and delicate. Pitiful, yet not entirely so — within her bones still lingered an unyielding trace of noble bearing.

“It was only a mouthful of wine. It’s not worth all this.”

He seemed slightly interested now, reminding her.

“I know.”

Shang Rong nodded. The youth was a little too tall. She looked up at him. “I want to ask you to help me.”

“With what?”

The youth brushed the snow from his shoulder. His voice was low, carrying an unfathomable note.

The heavy snow spread endlessly. Cold mist swirled thickly. Shang Rong was nearly frozen numb. Her wrinkled sleeves fluttered like clouds in the wind. Snowflakes brushed past her pale face. She spoke seriously:

“Please kill me.”

Footnotes

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  Diexie (蹀躞) — a traditional belt or waist harness, often made of leather, worn in historical Chinese attire. It typically has loops or attachments used to hang items such as swords, pouches, or ornaments, and is associated with martial or formal dress.