Deep in the peach forest, at a bend where the Daoxiao River meandered, lay a gentle grassy slope. At the end of that slope sat a chaotic heap of timber.
It was an abandoned cowshed. Most of the roof had collapsed, and the moldy, insect-ridden wooden planks exuded a scent of decay. Aside from the occasional herdsman seeking brief shelter from a torrential downpour, even those who had trekked dozens of miles through the mountains were unwilling to step inside for a moment.
Currently, a man lay amidst those gray, broken planks.
He seemed unable to feel how the jagged wood and stones on the ground dug into his back, nor could he smell the rot in the air. His eyes were wide open, staring through a hole in the roof at the pitch-black night sky. Deep within his hollow pupils was a darkness even more profound than the night itself.
Qingfeng San operated on a monthly cycle. If a month passed without a subsequent dose, the poison would begin its erosion at midnight on the following day. It was never early, never late; it arrived with absolute punctuality on that very day.
Before learning of Qingfeng San, Li Qiao had never encountered anything so precise and effective.
If the period of abstinence was reached, the onset was certain. Over the years, it had never diminished; once it began, the pain was so agonizing that one wished only for death.
And today was such a day.
His limbs began to tremble involuntarily. A persistent chill seemed to wander through his meridians, yet his skin felt as though it were being scorched by fire. An itchy, painful sensation, like the biting of a thousand ants, bored deep into his bones. His mind felt wrapped in layers of fog; even the most shrewd and sober person would descend into chaotic madness under such a burden.
But that was not the most terrifying part.
For a martial artist, the most horrific thing was the clear perception that the internal power accumulated through years of hard work was slipping away, drop by drop, alongside this comprehensive torture.
*You will understand that compared to this, Qingfeng San is nothing at all.*
Those were the words of the blind young master from Baoshen Pavilion.
Yet at this moment, Li Qiao truly could not imagine anything in this world more agonizing than Qingfeng San—a state where one could neither live nor die.
He still remembered the first time he had experienced this. The intense pain and confusion had robbed him of his senses. When he woke by a stream, the water reflected a visage that was half-man, half-ghost. The tips of his fingers had been worn raw, his arm bone was fractured, and the willow tree by the stream had been reduced to a pile of splintered wood, every piece stained with his blood.
Now, that feeling was returning. Though midnight had not yet arrived, he felt as though he were already reacting.
He was familiar with this sensation. It was not the onset of the poison; it was the feeling of fear.
The spread of fear was faster than the poison itself. It had taken root in his body the day he left the manor. Usually suppressed, it surged forth with redoubled force on this day, swallowing him whole.
This was a protracted "duel," and he had never won a single exchange. Merely parrying the blows exhausted all his strength.
From the early days of searching day and night for a non-existent antidote, to repeated setbacks, to the eventual loss of all hope… he had begun to survive by intercepting other assassins from the manor and seizing the Qingfeng San they carried. His blade had rusted, his techniques were at their limit, and he knew not when his life would reach its end.
When he faced all this alone in the past, he had never considered any other way out.
Until he met her. That day, when she spoke of the poison in his body with a casual, indifferent tone, he suddenly realized: he had another choice.
She said she could try to neutralize his poison. She had even concocted an antidote and stayed by his side the night he took it.
During the years he was controlled by Qingfeng San, he had developed certain life-saving instincts. Thus, despite his heavy body and chaotic thoughts, he could still faintly perceive his surroundings and whether anyone was approaching.
He thought he had first heard her footsteps—cautious, slightly dragging footsteps. Then, he had smelled that familiar minty fragrance on her—a faint, lingering scent. Finally, he felt her hand rest gently on his back. It held little warmth, yet it carried a reassuring strength.
He had never experienced such a feeling. It was as if her light touch alone was more effective than using ten parts of his internal power to combat the agony of the poison.
He liked this feeling; he liked the long-lasting peace it brought him. Yet he also feared it, fearing it would cause him to lose the endurance required to face everything alone.
In his short life, he had never received a gift from anyone. Whatever he wanted, he had to snatch.
But this time, he knew that what he wanted could not be taken by force.
*Can you stay and keep me company tonight?*
That was the unspoken second half of the sentence he had held back while tugging at her sleeve in front of the Su Mansion earlier that day.
Of course, he couldn't say it. He couldn't say it today, and perhaps he never would. Because the moment he spoke, he would have to tell her everything—about Qingfeng San, about the Manor, and about himself...
A violent tearing sensation seized his chest. Like a fish tossed onto the shore, he suddenly arched his body against the broken planks, then fell back heavily, coughing up a mouthful of fresh blood.
The blood bloomed across the moldy wood, looking like the damp marks left by morning dew.
A hundred paces away, the Daoxiao River continued to flow at its unhurried pace. The sound of water washing over pebbles was monotonous and peaceful, unchanged from beginning to end.
Li Qiao looked up at the night sky. He could no longer tell if his vision was failing or if the night was truly devoid of stars and moon behind thick clouds. In his trance, he seemed to see shadows of the past within that impenetrable darkness.
He saw himself dressed in the clothes of a servant, standing on the streets of the capital amidst a joyous crowd. Through the shifting throng, he saw a ceremonial float. The float was tiered and piled high with offerings, each level precarious and swaying, drawing gasps from the crowd as it turned the corner.
He felt as though he were that float. Carried upon him were all the unscrupulous attempts he had made over the years to rid himself of Qingfeng San.
He knew that one day, he would collapse and disintegrate from the inside out, just like that float destined for the flames.
The purpose of those floats was to reach their destination and burn to ash. It seemed the entire purpose of his life was to endure this struggle and torture until death brought him eternal release.
After an unknown amount of time, he finally propped himself up from the heap of timber. He slowly raised his left hand, trying to grasp the rusted blade he always kept by his side.
His weakened fingers refused to obey. The moment he gripped the hilt, they began to tremble. After repeating the motion hundreds of times, he finally managed to hold the hilt firmly. Using the sword to support his weight, he slowly stood up. Driven by sheer will and instinct, he walked out of the cowshed step by step.
****** ****** ******
Jiu Gao City leaned against emerald hills and embraced the water. Its walls were high, shaped like a giant softshell turtle crouching by the riverbank. In addition to the four main gates at the cardinal directions, there were five water gates. These gates not only controlled the entry and exit of vessels but were also equipped with sluices to regulate the city's water level according to the season. Managing them was far more complex than managing the land gates.
Twenty or thirty years ago, Jiu Gao City did not have this structure. Situated in a flat riverbend wetland, it lacked natural mountain passes to serve as strategic bottlenecks. Therefore, the city had to be built to be easy to defend and difficult to attack. Both gates and entrances had to be designed for maximum control—fewer were better than many. A city like Jiu Gao, which incorporated several river channels, was unique in all of Longshu.
Some said this was entirely the work of the Water-Quelling Commandant who had arrived twenty-two years ago.
Jiu Gao had been a "city without a master" since ancient times. A general transferred there out of thin air might not have found much success, but that Water-Quelling Commandant truly lived up to his title. After arriving in Jiu Gao, he almost never left. He spent three years clearing the internal and external waterways and another five years reconstructing the waterworks and repairing the levees. Since then, Jiu Gao had never suffered another flood, and everyone in the city regarded him with profound gratitude and respect.
Shortly thereafter, the Water-Quelling Commandant personally established the rules for city defense and oversaw the construction of barbicans, horse-face ramparts, arrow towers, and more. Although Jiu Gao saw no war and these fortifications were never used—their maintenance declining year by year—the effort put into their construction was so great that they still possessed a formidable deterrent effect today.
Many years had passed. Though no fires of war had been lit in the Longshu region, the rules of city defense had become ingrained in the city's very marrow. Even if they were somewhat cumbersome, the people had grown accustomed to them after adhering to them year after year.
However, this habit was quite a torment for the soldiers guarding the walls late at night.
Behind a battlement, a young night watchman let out a massive yawn toward the sky.
He had not been on the early Hour of the Ox shift for long, but he was already nodding off. It was all because he had been greedy for a few cups of wine the day before, losing half an hour of sleep. Now, he could hardly keep his eyes open.
The burning torches made a rhythmic crackling sound. As his eyelids drooped, he seemed to feel a cool breeze brush against his face, so comfortable that he didn't want to open his eyes.
After an unknown interval, a somewhat raspy voice suddenly rang out behind his head.
"If you want to sleep, go home and do it."
The speaker was an old soldier with a slightly hunched frame. The young watchman jolted awake from his doze and glanced at the man. His straightened neck shrank back a bit, though his voice remained loud.
"I'm wide awake! You saw wrong."
The old soldier glanced at him but didn't press the matter. He bent his back and walked away in silence.
Once he was a distance away, the young soldier immediately slumped his shoulders and complained to his companion in a low voice.
"He still thinks he's in the Black Moon Army. Just because he holds a post in the Gate Guard, he thinks he can bark orders at us all day."
His companion clearly knew his character and spat with a laugh.
"Old Tan is just doing his duty. He has every right to manage you. Do you think everyone is as lazy as you? If they were, we'd let in half a dozen thieves a night."
The young soldier leaned against the battlement, rubbing his sweaty back against his cloth armor. He snorted at the remark.
"This is Jiu Gao. Do you think this is Ganyu City? You could climb those walls in two steps!"
Another soldier nearby with sharp ears heard him. He was a native of Ganyu and immediately voiced his displeasure.
"What's wrong with Ganyu? They're much closer to Mount Qingzhong. What does it matter if the walls are a bit lower?"
That was true. Everyone knew that although the Mount Qingzhong Academy was located in the wilderness, it was a veritable "strategic center of the court." There wasn't a single scion of the capital's nobility who didn't break their head trying to get in for a few years of study. Their families watched over the place both openly and secretly, wishing they could move the entire
