From the moment she discovered the Puhuna’s men to the second she gave chase, Xiao Nanhui had not considered the consequences.
For instance, what were these people planning to do? Did the message carried by the Night Bat pertain to their movements? Furthermore, even if she caught up to them, was she truly capable of facing so many opponents alone with her current strength?
These headache-inducing questions—questions that seemed to offer no answers through mere contemplation—now jostled and collided within her mind.
But she knew she could not stop. Only by pursuing this to the very end could she see the truth clearly.
The fine rain obstructed her vision. The light of the moon and stars was hidden, leaving the world in a deathly, stagnant darkness. She had to gallop for a stretch, then halt to carefully discern the direction of the sounds before spurring her horse onward again.
The sound of the "Flying Threads" was not inherently piercing, yet she could hear it clearly from over a hundred paces away. This indicated that there were at least dozens of assassins ahead, moving at high speeds.
Whether at the old Mu’erhe mansion or within the bizarre grottoes of Sechi, the Puhuna she had encountered had never reached such a scale. This perhaps meant that their current objective was more significant than even the assassination of the Emperor in Bijiang months ago.
After the continuous exertion, Jixiang’s neck began to grow hot. Just as Xiao Nanhui reached out to soothe the horse, a dark shadow suddenly darted out from ahead. She jerked the reins and turned the horse’s head, narrowly avoiding a collision.
A quick glance back revealed it to be a startled river deer.
Before she could ponder if something had gone wrong ahead, the fine rain falling on her suddenly seemed to stop. Immediately after, a cacophony of noise swept down from above, arriving in an instant.
At first, she thought the Night Bats had returned, but when she looked up, the blackness in the sky far exceeded the numbers of any bat swarm.
A flock of thousands of birds formed a net, blotting out the sky as they swept over her head. Wild deer and mountain rats scurried past her in twos and threes, all in a state of frantic flight.
The forest trembled; the mountain beasts were fleeing into the night.
Then, she heard it too.
A heavy, chaotic roar coalesced into a single mass, echoing across the foothills of Douchen Ridge. Without careful listening, one might have mistaken it for a roll of thunder.
But Xiao Nanhui was all too familiar with that sound. It was the sound of two armies clashing—the ring of iron and steel, the desperate shouts of men, interspersed with the frantic trampling of hooves and the whistle of arrows. A conflict of this scale could only mean that the Northern Su and Black Feather camps had been deployed simultaneously. And at such a critical juncture, the only force capable of drawing both camps into action was the Bai rebel army.
Connecting everything she had seen and heard tonight, Xiao Nanhui finally began to understand the true meaning of this "Spring Hunt."
The piercing whistle of a Flying Thread cutting through the air jolted her awake. She looked toward the direction where the dozens of black dots had vanished, gave a low shout, and urged Jixiang toward the pitch-black foothills in the distance.
***
Ten miles away at Douchen Ridge, the land between the mountains and the plains had been trampled into a mire by hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Within that mud, a sea of blood surged, filled with broken swords and severed limbs.
The kicked-up muddy water shone with a dark luster—a color only found in earth soaked through with blood.
Sweat and rain mingled in the muck. The stench of iron and blood blended together, diffusing through the damp air.
Dead soldiers lay piled in hollows, trampled over by friend and foe alike. The iron armor on the corpses struck against the horseshoes of the cavalry, producing dull, heart-wrenching thuds.
The surroundings had turned into a scene from hell, where former comrades-in-arms now turned their blades against one another.
*Kill them...* Military orders were as immovable as mountains; it was their duty to slay the rebels.
*Kill them...* A soldier dies for his lord; even if captured, they could never wash away the brand of a criminal. Perhaps dying in battle here was their best end.
Sharp blades slitting throats and iron spears piercing chests were nothing compared to the psychological torment of such a betrayal. If the soul had its own Shura field, this was a devil’s paradise.
In less than an hour, the Bai clan had fallen into a decline, yet they continued to fight to the death. Those with severed limbs used their armored bodies to ram the legs of the Northern Su horses; those with half their heads sheared off still stood in the rain, leaning on their swords. The rain washed blood into eyes that could no longer close, their dull, dilated pupils reflecting the ruins of the battle. Within that chaos, a troop of cavalry—now numbering barely a hundred—forced a gap through the iron-tight encirclement and headed toward the mountain paths of Douchen Ridge.
*Clang.*
A long spear and an iron sword collided, springing apart under the immense force.
Xiao Zhun rolled his wrist, sweeping his spear across in a horizontal arc that whistled through the air. Bai Heliu narrowly avoided it but found his path blocked.
On the mountain path, it was difficult for the large force of heavy cavalry to catch up all at once, and even if they did, they could not deploy their formations. However, encountering a fierce general was like a sheep entering a tiger’s den—even harder to escape.
Seeing the situation, Bai Heliu’s personal guards lunged at Xiao Zhun like madmen. But the Northern Su heavy cavalry following their commander arrived in an instant, and the two sides fell into a chaotic melee. Amidst the fierce slaughter, the mountain rocks on both sides, loosened by the rain, began to tumble down.
How could a narrow mountain path withstand the weight of heavy cavalry? If a landslide were triggered, both the enemy and friendly forces near the foothills might be buried alive, leading to gods-know-what further chaos.
Xiao Zhun knew this battle had to be ended quickly. He gave a low shout, and his black horse leaped up as if possessed by a spirit. He used the momentum to step off the horse’s back, bracing himself with his spear against the ground, and launched himself into the air, driving his knee straight toward the opponent’s breastplate.
Bai Heliu was knocked off his horse by the massive impact. He barely managed to steady himself at the edge of a cliff, spitting out a mouthful of bloody froth that speckled his graying beard.
Xiao Zhun advanced with his spear; Bai Heliu struggled to draw his sword in resistance.
Once again, spear and sword locked together. The groan of metal grinding against metal scraped against their eardrums, and both men narrowed their eyes in unison.
The hands gripping the sword were slick with blood—it was impossible to tell if it belonged to the wielder or his enemies.
In the eyes behind the spear shaft, there was a rare trace of reluctance. It was unclear if it was for the weathered old man beneath his blade or for the distorted figure of a person from his memories.
Spear against sword—the sword naturally held no advantage.
But the spear left an opening, and the sword possessed a death-defying resolve; thus, the two remained locked in a stalemate.
Rainwater flowed down the patterns of the spear shaft. Xiao Zhun sighed, his voice barely audible.
"Uncle, the defeat is decided. Stay your hand."
The roar of slaughter surrounded them, faintly mixed with the thunderous sound of rolling rocks, but Bai Heliu still clearly saw the words the general spoke.
His eyes, clouded by blood, flickered with a moment of daze before he stared fixedly at the man before him.
"What... did you call me?"
Xiao Zhun shut his eyes tightly. With a jolt of his spear, he forced the other man back three steps.
"Uncle, stay your hand!"
Bai Heliu stared at the face before him—a face that betrayed pain through its silence—and suddenly burst into loud laughter.
"Good! Good! Good!" His laughter gradually withered, and the long sword in his hand fell to the ground. "Success or failure, let Heaven decide!"
The sounds of fighting around them suddenly diminished. Xiao Zhun looked out of the corner of his eye and saw something dark and vast sweeping across the night sky, carrying a heavy wind as it descended in an instant.
It was the arrows of the Black Feather camp.
This meant their time was running out.
Bai Heliu’s face took on a pallor that followed extreme agitation, yet a light seemed to shine through that paleness—like the last match struck by a dying man, pious and fanatical.
"A-Zhun, your Uncle... your Uncle has wronged you." He spoke with great difficulty, but his gaze was firm. "From the time you were small, your Uncle would give you gifts every year on your birthday to make you happy. Now that we haven't met for many years, how about your Uncle gives you one last gift?"
The heavy whistle of arrows rose again. Pitch-black arrowheads took flight in clusters, falling like a black rain.
Xiao Zhun instinctively swung his spear to deflect the stray arrows.
Bai Heliu’s tone became urgent.
"Listen well. There is a sword. Its blade is three feet and one inch long, its guard three and a half fingers wide. It is forged as a single piece, incomparably sharp. But the one who uses this sword is not known for its sharpness, but for its destructive power. Wherever the blade passes, sword-intent dissipates. When it passes through plants, stems and leaves are shredded; when it passes through sand and stone, they are crushed like rice bran; when it passes through flesh and blood, the flesh bursts open. One struck by this sword may heal their skin, but their meridians will never recover. For the rest of their life, they must use high-grade Red Throat Pearls to sustain their life and dull the pain..."
The hand Xiao Zhun used to grip his spear suddenly trembled.
If he had been able to maintain his reason and listen calmly at the beginning, hearing this last sentence made it impossible to remain composed.
"What did you say? How do you know about the Red Throat Pearls..."
"I know because that was the conclusion I reached personally, after testing a thousand types of herbs."
Having finished speaking, Bai Heliu suddenly took a half-step back. His right hand moved to the clasp of his shoulder armor, and the two pieces of his breastplate fell to the ground. Then, he grabbed his own collar with both hands and violently tore it open.
The crisp sound of tearing silk was drowned out by the surrounding slaughter. A winding, twisted old scar sat upon his body like a crouching dragon. He took a deep breath and used all his strength to roar amidst the deafening clamor.
"Look closely! This is the wound left by the Dongyao Sword and the Andao sword style! There are no two others like it in this world! Do you understand now?! Do you understand..."
*Swish.*
Xiao Zhun’s nearly vacant pupils flickered. Something whistled past his left shoulder.
The color, the speed, the sound, the frequency of the air disturbance, and even the slight scent of dark iron as the arrowhead flew past—it was exactly the same as the one that had pierced his shoulder over a decade ago.
And the situation, which felt like a mirror of the past, was more than just that one arrow.
The scar on Bai Heliu’s body was so striking yet familiar; it was the nightmare he had seen only once on his aunt, one that had haunted his nights ever since.
His pupils dilated and contracted. At the same moment, Bai Heliu’s voice stopped abruptly.
A black-feathered arrow pierced through his chest. Blood ran like a thread from the protruding tip, soaking and drowning that old scar.
The hands of the former Censorate official, which bore few calluses, slowly reached out to touch Xiao Zhun’s shoulder.
Just as he had many years ago, when he patted the young boy’s head and told him to grow up quickly.
"Promise me... take care of my daughter..."
*Swish.*
Another flying arrow.
Then, three more followed in rapid succession, every one hitting a vital spot, every one piercing through bone and gut.
Bai Heliu’s body tilted backward. Like an old pine tree with a dead trunk, he crashed to the ground.
***
At the southwest corner of Chongbi Terrace, where the lights were dim, shadow guards in black robes stood in two rows along the plank path, nearly merging with the pillars.
The tent that had been specially set aside, fortified on all sides and monitored from every direction, was now empty.
A man in a long robe stood with his hands behind his back inside the tent, his expression as unreadable as ever.
The commander of the Black Feather "A" Battalion was breaking out in a cold sweat, reporting the current situation in a low voice.
"The palace maid who fainted was just splashed awake. After a moment, she confessed that Master Zong claimed his legs were inconvenient and asked her to help hook the curtain to retrieve something. She knows nothing of what happened after."
The man gave a soft hum of acknowledgment but made no further sign.
The commander grew even more anxious, hurriedly reporting the second half of the account.
"The hidden guards heard the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground and left their posts to investigate. It took only the time of a single breath, but when they entered the tent, no one was there. A large hole had been torn in the roof. By the time they gave chase, the target was already far ahead. The Black Feathers used arrows to intercept, but the opponent’s movement technique made no sound at all. With the night rain obstructing vision, he ultimately escaped."
After the last word was spoken, a long silence fell over the tent.
The fine rain fell on the plank path outside, making a sound like insects gnawing on wood, making one’s heart feel even more restless.
The commander finally could not bear it and knelt to ask for punishment.
"This subordinate has failed in his duty. I beg Your Majesty for punishment."
Sun Wei sighed softly, clearly having no intention of punishing him.
"If he has the mind to leave, you cannot stop him. Rise."
"Report!"
A shadow hurried in from the rain, his dark robes soaked through, having clearly traveled a long distance.
"Lieutenant Lu..."
The man in the long robe turned, the casual air in his eyes vanishing instantly.
"Lu Songping is back? Alone?"
"No." The shadow reporting paused, seemingly finding it difficult to speak. "It is Lieutenant Lu’s horse that has returned."
The man’s face darkened instantly, the emotions churning in his eyes making it impossible to look at him directly.
"And the man?"
"His whereabouts are unknown; only the horse returned. I have sent men to search, but I do not know if he can be found before dawn. Perhaps we can wait..."
"We won't wait," the man interrupted the report in a low voice. "Ding Weixiang."
A green-clad swordsman leaped down from the hole in the tent roof, appearing silently behind the man.
"What are Your Majesty’s orders?"
"Prepare horses and a carriage. We go to Douchen Ridge. Shan Jiangfei."
"Present."
A low, raspy voice sounded from behind the gauze curtain. The figure in imperial robes shifted, yet where was there any trace of the black-clad inner attendant?
The back that had been perpetually hunched straightened. The shoulders filled out the thin frame. Though the features were slightly different, they were hard to distinguish behind the blur of the gauze curtain. Even the restrained self-possession in his gestures was captured perfectly.
Sun Wei looked at the person through the gauze, and the person behind the curtain looked back at him. Under the flickering candlelight, it was momentarily impossible to tell if the person behind the curtain was another man or an incredibly similar shadow.
After a moment, the man in the long robe smiled faintly. He flicked his sleeves as he had countless times before, his posture graceful and uninhibited, as if he were merely a traveler who had stopped to avoid the rain and was now hurrying on his way.
"I leave this place to you. I shall return shortly."
Shan Jiangfei remained silent for a moment, then bowed solemnly.
"Rest easy, Your Majesty. Please take the utmost care."
When he straightened again, the figures of the man in the long robe and the green-clad attendant were no longer in the tent.
***
In the dense forest on the western slopes of Douchen Ridge, a gray shadow was passing through the trees. His footsteps were as light as falling rain, the sound he made as subtle as the drizzle itself.
The wet leaves before him gradually thinned, faintly revealing the winding mountain path and the swarming figures below.
The mountain beneath his feet vibrated, and small rocks continuously slid down. The old man in brown robes lightly avoided them, his gaze never leaving the scene ahead.
He was old, after all. Though his movements were still agile, his ears and eyes were far inferior to his younger self.
Once, he could see by a sliver of starlight; the night was like day to him, and nothing in heaven or earth could escape his eyes. During the years when his killing intent was at its peak, he even felt he could see the souls of those whose lives he took as they left their bodies.
In the martial world, it was said that the souls of those who died by the blade would attach themselves to it, making it faster and sharper. He would often sneer inwardly at this, for he knew that it was not the blade that took a life, but the hand that held it.
He was such a blade.
A blade of incomparable sharpness and unstoppable force. It was only that the hand that once held him was gone. Now, he was still sharp, but he no longer possessed the intent to kill.
Stopping his pace, he allowed his heartbeat to settle so as not to disturb his hearing. Then, he stood with bated breath, discerning the messages carried through the vibrating air.
Iron armor, heavy cavalry, Black Feathers, the imminent slaughter, and the sudden night rain—everything was so familiar, everything so hauntingly nostalgic.
In his trance, his white hair turned back to black, his lame leg became sturdy, and his coarse brown cloak fell away, replaced by the dark beast-patterned uniform of the Black Feather secret guard leader. On his feet were water-resistant long boots, and the Dongyao Sword at his waist was hidden beneath his cape—as lethal and restrained as his own shadow.
He walked into the deepest part of that profound palace and found his master upon the gold-and-jade throne.
The middle-aged man’s cheeks were deeply sunken, a faint blue tint touched his forehead, and his dark, thin lips drooped—not a fraction of his former glory remained.
It was the face of one who had been tormented by illness for years.
Yet, set into that sickly face was a pair of calm, bright eyes.
They were the eyes of a man of extraordinary wisdom, a master of strategy.
His master possessed the most exquisite, multifaceted mind in the world and a talent for seeing through the essence of all things.
However, no matter how peerless the soul, it was ultimately bound by the flesh.
The dying Emperor coughed heavily, the sound hollow as if it would dissipate into the air at any moment.
"How is it? Was the item found?"
He composed himself, trying his best to control his pained gaze, and knelt on one knee to beg for forgiveness.
"This subordinate is incompetent; I could not find the Tian Shou." He paused, then whispered, "Furthermore, the Xiao family had one oversight."
"Oh? Who is it?"
"The second son of Prince Shuo, Xiao Zhun. He participated in the hunt and, by a stroke of luck, avoided the secret guards' assassination and stumbled upon the matter."
Seeing that the Emperor remained silent for a long time, he tightened his grip on his scabbard.
"It has only been a day since the incident. He is unfamiliar with the mountain paths and will be delayed for at least another half-day. If he wishes to return to the city, he must pass through the Liwang Ancient Pavilion. This subordinate only needs to set a small ambush to resolve this matter."
The elderly Emperor’s eyelids twitched, the dark circles beneath his eyes making his gaze appear sinister and profound.
"The second son of Prince Shuo, the youngest hunter in the Spring Hunt... is he sixteen or seventeen this year?"
"Precisely. But I hear he has already spent several years in the military. Though his riding and archery do not yet match his father's, he possesses the spirit of a general's house. If given time, I fear..."
"A fine young man from a line of generals. If given time, he will surely become a great talent." Sun Yin chuckled softly, the momentary relaxation of his brow restoring a hint of his youthful spirit. "Follow him. Do not let anyone else approach him, but do not take his life. If he can return to Quecheng alive, have him come to see me."
He did not understand. Ignoring the risk of overstepping, he urged anxiously.
"Master, Xiao Zhun cannot be left alive. If you do not pull the weeds by the roots, they will surely become a disaster later."
The other did not answer immediately, only asking calmly.
"Are you aware of the situation in the court?"
As the Emperor’s personal guard, though he did not hold a court office, he knew a thing or two.
The civil officials and old ministers held sway, while the military generals were aged and had no voice. If war were to break out on the borders in the future, Tiancheng would face insurmountable troubles.
The Emperor sighed, his breath weak.
"A young wolf loses its mother and is raised among dogs. Year after year, how can it know if it is a wolf or a dog?"
He fell silent, finally understanding his master’s intent.
By cultivating Xiao Zhun as a new force to counter the court factions, the stagnant water would surely be stirred. Starting with Xiao Zhun, the military generals of Tiancheng would inevitably rise. Tiancheng would use this as a balance to quell the various forces that had been surging in the court for years.
"Hatred is sometimes not a bad thing; it can give a person infinite strength. I am leaving Xiao Zhun for Wei’er. If there comes a day when the wolf returns to the wild, do you know what must be done?"
He looked into those calm eyes, his voice as steady as a rock.
"This subordinate understands. As long as I live, the thing Master worries about will not happen."
Half a month later, the late Emperor passed away.
The master he had sworn to serve for a lifetime left this world before him.
He left Quecheng with that final command—one known to no third person—waiting for the day he would need to fulfill his promise.
He had thought he would take this promise to his grave.
But over a decade had passed, and that day had finally come.
Zong Hao opened his eyes and looked toward the figure kneeling before Bai Heliu’s corpse at the edge of the cliff, a hundred yards away.
That day on the rainy mountain path of Douchen Ridge, he should have killed him.
No matter. Let him use these hands—the same hands that had carved out the beginning—to bring everything to an end.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 动爻之剑 | Dongyao Sword | A sword/technique associated with the Andao style; "Dongyao" refers to changing lines in the I Ching. |
| 赤喉珠 | Red Throat Pearl | A rare medicinal pearl used to sustain life and alleviate chronic pain from specific wounds. |
| 天绶 | Tian Shou | A specific item or decree sought by the late Emperor; literally "Heavenly Ribbon/Seal." |
| 夙印 | Sun Yin | The name of the late Emperor (Sun Wei's father). |
| 离望古亭 | Liwang Ancient Pavilion | A specific location on the road to the capital. |
| 阙城 | Quecheng | The capital city. |
| 魏儿 | Wei'er | An affectionate/informal way the late Emperor referred to Sun Wei. |
| 单将飞 | Shan Jiangfei | A character serving as a body double for the Emperor. |
| 丁未翔 | Ding Weixiang | A green-clad swordsman/attendant serving the Emperor. |
| 鹿松平 | Lu Songping | A lieutenant (Zhongwei) in the Emperor's service. |
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