Lin Huiyun had no idea what Xiao Qi had endured to secure a single night’s shelter inside the Mengyuan Fort stockade for the three of them — herself and her two children.
But she could see the swelling on Xiao Qi’s face. She could see the bandage wrapped around his head. She could see the filth and stains on his clothing.
“Mistress, please.”
Xiao Qi made a welcoming gesture, his body inclined at a respectful angle.
“Xiao Qi…”
Lin Huiyun drew a slow breath and stepped forward. As she walked, she said: “If you had to spend your dignity — or even your lives — to buy us one peaceful night’s sleep, I hope this is the last time it ever comes to that.”
Xiao Qi quickly replied: “Nothing like that. The people of Mengyuan Fort are all very hospitable…”
Lin Huiyun said: “As a mother, I too have things I cannot avoid. The two children truly needed rest, and I wanted to ask for some rice porridge. Please don’t think less of me for yielding and showing weakness in this way… If it were only me, I would sooner die fighting the enemy than let any of you suffer on my behalf.”
Xiao Qi’s eyes reddened slightly, yet he kept his head bowed. “Mistress worries too much. The brothers have no complaints.”
That year — a snowfall just like this one — a gang of bandits had charged into his village, burning and killing and plundering. It was the Chief himself who had personally led men to come for him, which was the only reason he was alive today. And for all the years since, the Chief had spared no effort helping him search for word of his surviving family.
So Xiao Qi had always carried only one thought in his heart: this life belongs to the Chief.
Now the Chief was dead. How could he bear to watch the Chief’s wife and children shiver and starve in the howling snow?
The White Mountain Army had carried a foul reputation once, it was true. But from the moment the Chief took charge, the White Mountain Army had gradually transformed — from a rebel force, into an army that the common people saw as their protectors. The Chief had let the brothers shed the stigma they had carried. He had worked to safeguard the lives of the people around them. And this good man had been murdered.
Elder An of Mengyuan Fort was standing at a distance, waiting for them. When he saw the woman holding one child in her arms and leading another by the hand, something in Elder An’s expression went momentarily distant. He pointed to the room beside him, then turned and walked away without waiting for the mother and children to reach him.
Lin Huiyun brought the children inside and looked back at Xiao Qi. “The wind outside is cold and the snow is heavy. Come inside too.”
Xiao Qi only shook his head.
He could not go in. He had to protect his Mistress’s reputation.
Inside the room, a meal had already been prepared — steam rising from dishes of hot food. This surprised Lin Huiyun. The two children had been on the run with her for at least a full month. Not once in all that time had they eaten a single hot meal. She stared at the food on the table and felt almost as if she were dreaming.
“Xiao Qi, come in and eat.”
Lin Huiyun called to him.
Xiao Qi still didn’t move. With his back to the doorway, one hand resting on his blade, he stood bolt upright before the entrance like a guardian spirit carved from stone.
“Xiao Qi.”
Lin Huiyun called again.
Xiao Qi answered: “Mistress, I won’t be going in. Please finish eating and rest early with the young masters — we’ll need to set out at first light tomorrow. The pursuers behind us may be catching up soon. If Mistress calls to me again to come inside, I’ll have no choice but to take my post somewhere farther off.”
Lin Huiyun found herself without words. She sat down, and her tears, uncooperative things that they were, began to fall.
In the heavy snowfall, a layer of white quickly gathered over Xiao Qi’s body, and before long he had become a snowman. From inside the room came the laughter of small children. That laughter touched Xiao Qi too — the corners of his mouth curved upward.
Warmth. Food. A roof overhead. For those two little children, such simple things — things they had been unable to have, even for just a little while.
He hoped they could get through the pass soon. Get to Youzhou soon. The General said that once they crossed Dragon Head Pass, they would be safe. No matter how savage those pursuing soldiers were, they would not dare to provoke the Ning Army of Jizhou. The red battle banners above Dragon Head Pass were the one thing the Mountain Sea Army feared above all else.
Letting his thoughts wander like this, Xiao Qi drifted gradually into something like standing sleep, his consciousness slowly growing hazy.
It was as though he had been transported somewhere else — somewhere with a warm hearth, with all manner of delicious food. The room was almost too warm; the heat made sweat bead on his skin, and the heavy padded jacket he wore began to feel suffocating.
And then — a sharp crack. And with it, sensation returned to his face, stinging with pain.
Elder An had come running over and slapped Xiao Qi fully awake with one hand, then without a word bent down and hauled Xiao Qi up onto his back and began to run. He ran with a deliberate bouncing motion, the jolts pulling Xiao Qi’s consciousness back more and more. Once he heard Xiao Qi speaking, Elder An set him down, then planted a foot against Xiao Qi’s backside. “Run!”
Xiao Qi was still dazed, but he quickly pieced together what had just happened. He crouched down, grabbed a handful of snow, and scrubbed it vigorously across his face. Then he began to run circuits around the area — lap after lap — and Elder An kept pace right behind him the whole time.
Hearing the commotion, Lin Huiyun opened the door and came out. Seeing the scene before her, she mistook it for the people of Mengyuan Fort mistreating Xiao Qi again. She let out a cry and charged toward Elder An.
The little boy, Rui’er, was only four or five years old. Seeing his mother rush forward, he gave a shout of his own and charged after her.
He had barely taken a few steps when a dark shape swept in and scooped him up. The child cried out; Lin Huiyun spun around, her eyes going wide: “Let go of my child!”
“What kind of madwoman—!”
The powerfully built man holding the child made a dismissive sound, carried the boy back into the room, set him down, then rummaged through his lapels and produced a paper-wrapped packet, which he opened and held out to little Rui’er. “Dried meat. Eat up.”
By now Lin Huiyun had pieced together what had actually been happening.
Once Xiao Qi had run enough laps for his body to warm through, Elder An unhooked his flask and held it out. “You little fool, have a couple swallows.”
Xiao Qi opened the stopper, tilted his head back, and took several long gulping pulls of the fiery liquor.
Elder An snatched the flask back. “I said a couple of swallows — why did you drink so much?”
Xiao Qi wiped his mouth, then let out a foolish grin. “This is some good liquor. Better than anything I’ve ever tasted before.”
Elder An glanced at the men nearby and smiled. “This little fool can actually tell good liquor from bad… Just for that, it’s yours.”
He tossed the flask to Xiao Qi, then clasped his hands behind his back and walked off.
Xiao Qi caught the flask and gave it a shake — still more than half full. He grinned again.
He called after Elder An: “Elder An, thank you!”
Elder An glanced back at him. “You ridiculous fool. Pigheaded, the lot of you.”
Before long, the men who had followed Elder An away came back — each one shouldering something: a bundle of firewood, a wooden post, and other materials. The men built a fire outside the room and threw together a simple lean-to to block the snow. Xiao Qi helped them while grinning his foolish grin.
“You silly boy — it’s warm inside. Why won’t you go in?”
One of the men asked him.
Xiao Qi shook his head. “The Mistress’s reputation matters more than my life.”
The man’s hands paused in their work. Then he turned and gave Xiao Qi a firm thumbs-up. “Now that’s a proper man!”
Xiao Qi grinned again — still that same silly, guileless look.
The man said: “Don’t blame us for not letting the rest of your people in. Over the years, we’ve taken in many travelers passing through Mengyuan Fort — people and wolves alike. Some we fed and treated well, and still they bit us. Last year a merchant caravan passed through; we let them in out of goodwill, and in the night they crept out and forced themselves on a young girl. Because of that, Elder An laid down a rule: no more outsiders allowed inside. Today he broke his own rule — and after we struck you with those snowballs, Elder An went back and punished himself for it. He said it was his rule to make and his to break, so he had to accept the penalty. He knelt in the ancestral hall for a good long while, then submitted to the clan code: three lashes across his bare back.”
Xiao Qi felt a jolt pass through him at those words.
Three lashes on a bare back. The skin would have split and the flesh laid open. And yet Elder An had not hesitated for a single moment before hoisting Xiao Qi onto his back and running.
In that moment, how much pain had Elder An been enduring?
The man said: “Elder An says he is no deity. He can’t protect this whole snowfield and all the people in it. He can’t even protect all the kinsmen of Mengyuan Fort. So he has to be a little selfish. Don’t blame him for that… Without Elder An, heaven knows how many of our people here would have died.”
Xiao Qi nodded vigorously. A man like Elder An, he felt, was a true deity.
The deities in stories consumed the offerings of mortals and looked down from on high — but had they ever truly protected the people below? Those deities were clowns compared to Elder An.
—
Deep in the night.
Outside Mengyuan Fort, General Qiao Mo came by, patted the soldier on watch duty on the shoulder, and said: “Go get some rest. I’ll take your watch.”
The soldier froze, then immediately shook his head. “No, General, you haven’t rested properly the whole journey. Every night you take the second half of the watch, and during the day you can’t sleep either. Go sleep now, General.”
Qiao Mo smiled. “That’s because this old body is tougher than you lot — iron bones and a steel frame. You soft-bellied weaklings should go get your sleep.”
He gave the soldier a light kick on the backside. “Get going.”
The soldier still refused to leave, standing there like a child digging in his heels. “General, if you’re not going to sleep either, then keep me company. I’m not leaving, no matter what — or how about you tell us a story?”
Qiao Mo made a dismissive sound. “What kind of stories do I have to tell?”
The soldier grinned. “Tell us about when you followed the Chief on that mission — how you snuck into the Bohai camp and cut down their Grand General in one stroke.”
At that, both the soldier and Qiao Mo fell silent at the same instant.
The Chief was dead. Twenty-some years old, a man who should have become a hero of the age — brought down by the schemes of petty, treacherous men.
Only half a year past, the Bohai people had come — creeping and probing toward the border town in secret, only to be spotted by White Mountain Army scouts. That same night, the Chief had taken Qiao Mo and fifty bodyguard soldiers, slipped past the Bohai night sentries, and charged straight into the Bohai main encampment, severing their Grand General’s head.
In that moment, the Chief had been full of spirit, burning with ambition and pride.
And that Chief, burning with pride, had been the Chief of barely half a year ago.
Every man fell silent. A heavy grief settled over them. Every man in the bodyguard company knew how deeply their Chief had cared for his brothers — how much he had cared for every single one of them.
Qiao Mo exhaled — a long, slow breath — and then smiled. “Then let me tell you. And if any of you ever get the chance, tell others too. Let more people know that our White Mountain Army guards the nation’s gates. That we are nothing like the old White Mountain Army. Let more people know that our Chief stood tall and unyielding.”
But at that very moment, a crossbow bolt split the air with a sharp hiss — and then a soft, wet sound as it buried itself in the throat of the soldier who had just spoken.
In the moonlight, the soldier’s expression went rigid in an instant. His eyes stretched wide. He raised a hand and pointed toward the darkness ahead. His arm didn’t quite finish lifting before his body toppled backward.
Far off in the distance, countless dark shapes came surging across the white earth — like a host of wild beasts, radiating murderous ferocity in the pale moonlight.
—