She had forgotten her own name. She only remembered being born in a small village nestled against the mountains, her father dying young, and a mother who was gentle but weak. Her surname should have been Bai, or perhaps her given name contained it? She truly could not recall. But whatever it was no longer mattered; she had a new name—Zuo Canglang. It did not sound like a girl’s name, for when that man first saw her, he could not tell whether she was male or female.
She was sent to an orphan camp, where she called several strange men "Master" and began to learn martial arts and literacy. Gradually, she learned that man’s name—Murong Yan. He was the Second Prince of the Kingdom of Great Yan, a man of such noble status that they could only kneel in prostration, never daring to look him in the eye.
Great Yan had been plagued by years of war and famine. Every child here was an orphan whom he had happened to save and settle in this place.
From the day Zuo Canglang arrived, the struggle never ceased. The "Masters" taught them to compete in a manner that was crude yet effective—for over three hundred children, they provided only enough food for half. Any injury or illness would put a child at a disadvantage, eventually leading to their slow elimination.
Every time one snatched food, they were stripping a companion of their chance at survival. Although some children formed gangs to seize more food, in truth, no one here had companions. Zuo Canglang never bothered to remember their names, for no one knew who would be gone by tomorrow. She did not make friends, nor did she try to please the so-called "Masters." She was like a lone wolf; once she had secured enough food for herself, she would silently depart.
The other children did not provoke her easily. Having grown up in the mountains, she was not only physically robust and agile, but her archery was peerless. To say she could pierce a willow leaf from a hundred paces was no exaggeration. Especially after she wounded two children who tried to steal her food, everyone tacitly accepted that she was a species best left alone.
Aside from her, there was one other person in the camp no one dared provoke. She was also a girl, named Leng Feiyan. A fanatic who practiced her arts for eighteen hours a day, coupled with extraordinary talent, even the "Masters" of the orphan camp would not easily offend her.
Zuo Canglang and she had always minded their own business, and Leng Feiyan did not deign to provoke her. For a time, they coexisted in peace.
One night, Zuo Canglang had already fallen asleep when she was awakened by a strange sound. She listened intently for a while, finding it peculiar—was that... the sound of crying? It had been a long time since anyone had heard crying in the orphan camp. The crybabies had all slowly disappeared, hadn't they?
She sat up and left the dormitory. Beneath a pomegranate tree outside sat a small boy. He looked to be about six or seven, thinner and weaker than other children his age, but his skin was fair and delicate. One look revealed he was the son of a wealthy family. Zuo Canglang stood nearby for a while but did not approach. Children like this usually didn't survive three days here; there was no need to pay him any mind.
She turned around and happened to see Leng Feiyan, who had also followed the sound. Their eyes met for a fleeting second before both looked away. They were not friends, but for now, they were not enemies either. They did not greet each other; Leng Feiyan merely glanced at the boy, shrugged, and turned back to the dormitory.
A moment later, a Master approached, shouting rebukes from a distance. Leaving the dormitory at night was a grave offense that carried severe punishment. These "Masters" were rumored to be men of the *jianghu*, eccentric and cruel; more than a few children had died at their hands. Zuo Canglang did not know what she was thinking, but she stepped forward, scooped up the boy, and leaped into the tree. The boy was frozen in terror; though he had just arrived, he already knew the rules here. A Master passed beneath the tree without looking up and quickly departed.
Zuo Canglang released the boy. He didn't climb down, only whispered, "My father, my mother, and my sister are all dead. It happened at noon today."
Zuo Canglang glanced at him and said, "I have no intention of knowing your story." Seeing the boy startle, she added, "No one here cares about such things." With that, she dropped him from the tree.
Something slithered past her in the branches. Zuo Canglang’s body stiffened slightly as she slowly looked up. A snake was coiled on a branch, seemingly disturbed by them, poking its head out to look.
The snake had a black back and green patterns, its tongue flickering with a hiss. Zuo Canglang struck almost instantly, flicking the snake far away. She climbed down the tree in near-disarray and vanished into the dormitory.
The next morning, when Zuo Canglang rose for morning drills, she encountered the boy again. As expected, he failed to grab a steamed bun. Zuo Canglang gave him a single look and ignored him. In this place, compassion was a luxury. The boy had started two years later than the rest, but the Masters had no intention of giving him private lessons. He could only follow the group, and during sparring sessions, he was bullied by the other children.
That evening, after finishing her training, Zuo Canglang had just returned to her room when she heard a knock on the window. she poked her head out to find the boy standing there. She asked, "What is it?"
The boy handed her a small cloth bundle and said, "Inside are Phoenix Grass and Green Wood Incense; they repel snakes." Zuo Canglang paused, asking, "Why are you giving me this?" After a thought, she added, "You know herbs?"
The boy said, "My ancestors were all physicians. Please, take it." Zuo Canglang held the simple sachet in her hand, a faint fragrance drifting to her nose.
Sometimes, people should not talk to one another, and they certainly shouldn't ask for names. Because once you speak, a connection is formed, and you begin to view the other as a living fellow being. Zuo Canglang knew this was a mistake, but she asked anyway, "What is your name?"
The boy replied, "My surname is Yang. I am called Yang Lianting."
From then on, Zuo Canglang gained a little shadow. She had to spend time teaching him the basics of martial arts and helping him snatch food. After two years in this place, she had a companion. Yang Lianting’s family had been physicians for generations, but his father, Yang Jinyu, had entered government service. Unfortunately, he was eventually charged with a crime, and the entire clan was sentenced to execution. Murong Yan felt Yang Lianting had good potential, so he saved him and brought him here. But no one cared how this young master, raised in luxury, was supposed to survive in such an environment.
Zuo Canglang fought for his food every day and taught him martial arts. He proved to be diligent, catching up day by day. The two soon became inseparable.
One day, the Master arranged for the children to spar, pairing Yang Lianting with Leng Feiyan. Leng Feiyan was not one to show mercy. Her strikes were as fast as lightning; Yang Lianting was no match for her, falling into a panicked retreat. Seeing things were going poorly, Zuo Canglang drew her bow and loosed an arrow. Leng Feiyan was furious; she swung her longsword to deflect the arrow and glared at Zuo Canglang. Zuo Canglang met her gaze calmly. The youths had long since learned to read the atmosphere, and for a moment, no one spoke.
Leng Feiyan asked, "What is the meaning of this?"
Zuo Canglang replied, "It is only a spar. There is no need for bloodshed, is there?"
Leng Feiyan was about to speak when the Master roared from the side, "What’s going on?!"
She shot Zuo Canglang a look and said nothing more. These men were not their fathers or mothers; no one would seek justice for them.
After leaving the training grounds, Yang Lianting said, "Leng Feiyan is very powerful." Zuo Canglang remained silent, so he continued, "I'm afraid she won't let this go."
Zuo Canglang finally spoke: "That is my business." She strode forward, and Yang Lianting followed silently behind.
In the afternoon, the Masters took everyone out. The orphan camp was hidden in a desolate mountain range, and they often taught the children how to set traps or stage ambushes there. Zuo Canglang and Yang Lianting were paired together, setting a trap, when suddenly the sound of wind approached from behind. Zuo Canglang ducked, and Leng Feiyan’s sword swept over her head like a gale!
She rolled across the ground to create distance. But before she could reach for her bow, Leng Feiyan lunged again with the agility of a monkey. The two became locked in combat. The Masters had no intention of intervening; to them, whether one more or one less child remained was of no consequence.
Zuo Canglang was ensnared by Leng Feiyan’s sword light. Although they had entered the camp at roughly the same time, Leng Feiyan was undoubtedly superior in both talent and effort. Leng Feiyan’s moves were ferocious; within moments, Zuo Canglang’s right hand was bleeding.
Leng Feiyan seemed surprised she could hold out so long and pressed her advantage further. Suddenly, there was a noise from behind. Leng Feiyan spun around with a slash, but she was met with a cloud of dust! Caught off guard, she took a face full of grit. Enraged, she swung her sword, piercing straight through Yang Lianting, who had been throwing sand at her!
However, this gave Zuo Canglang the opening she needed. With her bow in hand, she loosed an arrow. Leng Feiyan closed her eyes, swinging her sword to deflect, but Zuo Canglang’s arrows were powerful. Three arrows flew in succession; the final one struck Leng Feiyan square in the chest! Leng Feiyan knew what an injury meant in this place; she dared not linger and turned to flee.
Zuo Canglang stowed her bow and went to help Yang Lianting up. Blood gushed from his wound. He pressed his hand against it, still conscious, and whispered, "I... I don't think my injury is that serious..." He looked up at Zuo Canglang, his eyes pleading. "If I just had some Azalea leaves, I could stop the bleeding..."
He was afraid; even his voice was trembling. In this environment, no one would want a companion who was gravely wounded and near death, would they? Zuo Canglang pretended not to notice and said, "Mhm."
She found some Azalea leaves, which Yang Lianting chewed and applied to the wound before binding it with torn strips of cloth. Zuo Canglang tried to help him up, but he pushed her hand away, saying, "I can do it myself."
The way he gritted his teeth and endured was both stubborn and strong. Zuo Canglang followed behind him, saying nothing. However, the next day, he developed a high fever. Zuo Canglang sat by his bed, watching his face turn flush with heat, his lips parched and cracked. He drifted in and out of consciousness, muttering nonsense—nothing original, just calling for his father, mother, and sister.
Zuo Canglang brought him food, but he was senseless and could no longer swallow. She walked out of his dormitory. With a fever like this, he would be dead before long, wouldn't he?
He needed a doctor, or at the very least, some medicinal broth to break the fever. But here... who had ever seen a doctor?
Zuo Canglang walked away. Truly, there was no need to care; it was just one more death. She stood by a round wooden pillar, staring at the small holes bored by insects, remembering him trembling as he said, "I don't think my injury is that serious."
Actually, it wasn't entirely hopeless. She pursed her lips and, with a look of resolve, approached the row of new dormitories. Inside, several Masters were drinking. Zuo Canglang stood by the table, realizing for the first time how difficult it was to ask for a favor. She lowered her head as far as she could. "Master, Yang Lianting is injured and has a high fever. Please... save him."
The men looked at her as if they thought they were hallucinating from the wine. One laughed loudly. "You... is this how you beg? Begging requires a certain posture. Do I have to teach you that, too?"
Zuo Canglang’s knees buckled, and she knelt. "I beg the Masters to save Yang Lianting."
the men roared with laughter. A hand reached out to stroke her shoulder, a drunken voice murmuring, "Bursting into our room like this and striking such a submissive pose... it’s... very easy to misunderstand."
Zuo Canglang’s body went rigid as she felt the hand slide down her collar. She trembled slightly, wanting to recoil, but ultimately did not move. The sensation was like a slug crawling over her, leaving behind a cold, sickening slime.
A face heavy with the scent of alcohol leaned close to hers, lips brushing against her earlobe. The voice whispered, "Good girl, that’s it. Come, be a bit more sincere."
Zuo Canglang’s right hand gripped the hem of her clothes tightly. She was not surprised by this demand. She had always known what kind of men these "Masters" were and how cruel they could be. A child starving to death here was no different from a stray dog; even a burial was a luxury.
A moment later, she slowly untied her belt, revealing her white inner robe. The men jeered, though one whispered, "Let's not go too far, shall we?" After all, she was someone the Prince had brought; they might have to work together in the future.
The color drained from Zuo Canglang’s lips. She gritted her teeth and kowtowed until her forehead hit the floor. "Please save Yang Lianting. I... I am willing to satisfy any demand the Masters have."
Humiliation and rage made her shake like a falling leaf. Countless times she wanted to flee! But no... she couldn't leave, not to go back and watch Yang Lianting slowly die. If she did, she would hate her current self for failing to persevere.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced them back. A hand wandered across her back, exposing the wound Leng Feiyan had inflicted. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Everything would pass. She could endure humiliation; she could bow and scrape. Whether he lived or died, at least she would have tried her best. A single tear splashed onto the floor, and she felt a surge of self-loathing. *Hadn't you already decided? Why are you being so weak? Who are you crying for?!*
Suddenly, the door was flung open. A gust of wind brought in the sunlight, scattering the smell of alcohol. Zuo Canglang looked up to see a figure in the doorway. He stood tall and straight, his black robes blurred by her tears, fluttering like the shadow of a demon beneath a full moon.
Zuo Canglang froze. She saw a cold flash of steel as his sword swept through the air. Before the four men in the room even realized what was happening, they slumped over. Then, blood sprayed! It was Murong Yan! Zuo Canglang leaped up, dodging the arc of the blade, and quickly pulled her clothes together.
"My Lord!" She knelt, crawling a few steps toward him. A murderous glint appeared in Murong Yan’s eyes, but he was surprised by the speed with which she had dodged his strike. After a moment's thought, he stayed his hand. A small hand clutched the hem of his robe, its owner’s voice low and raspy: "My Lord, I beg of you, save Yang Lianting."
He looked down at her, using the tip of his boot to tilt her chin up. He asked softly, "Beg me? What do you have to offer?"
She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye, saying word for word, "Everything. My everything!"
Perhaps captivated by the sincerity in her eyes, Murong Yan spoke slowly. "Very well. I accept."
***
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