Yuan Zhen had seized Ye Xiaoqian’s sword. In an instant, it was driving toward Ye Xiaoqian’s back — toward his heart.

The blade plunged in — nearly to the hilt — and yet at that very moment, Yuan Zhen’s brow creased.

Thud.

Ye Xiaoqian’s foot came around and struck Yuan Zhen squarely in the chest. Yuan Zhen staggered back in pain.

The sword that had gone nearly all the way into Ye Xiaoqian’s body had left no wound. It had retracted. Section by section, it had collapsed back into itself.

Only in that moment did Yuan Zhen understand — this was no ordinary sword. When it met resistance against Ye Xiaoqian’s body, it gave way, each segment telescoping inward…

Ye Xiaoqian’s kick connected. He pushed off the ground and went after Yuan Zhen again.

“My sword — does just anyone get to use it?”

With a weapon in hand now, Yuan Zhen tried immediately to find the mechanism — there had to be a release on the hilt. He glanced down, but the hilt showed nothing unusual whatsoever.

He thrust again. Ye Xiaoqian didn’t even bother to dodge — and seeing that, Yuan Zhen understood at once. The sword would do nothing. So in the same instant he let it fly out of his hand, hurling the hilt directly at Ye Xiaoqian’s face.

Ye Xiaoqian tilted back, letting the sword pass overhead, then caught the hilt as it came through and took it back.

A single flick to reset it, then a thrust at Yuan Zhen’s throat.

Yuan Zhen twisted sideways to evade — and as he did, his left hand scattered something from his palm. He had somehow gathered a fistful of earth without Ye Xiaoqian ever seeing it happen.

This was a level of fighting Ye Xiaoqian simply hadn’t anticipated — this man would use anything.

His right hand was already injured, so he was fighting left-handed, which was not his dominant side. He raised his right arm to shield his face with the wide sleeve — and in that instant his left grip faltered, and Yuan Zhen seized the sword again.

“Can it be used now or not?!”

Yuan Zhen poured force into his grip and drove the sword into Ye Xiaoqian’s chest.

And still it retracted. Segment by segment. Back into itself.

Ye Xiaoqian’s left arm swung. His wide sleeve billowed outward in a great surging arc and struck Yuan Zhen full in the chest.

Yuan Zhen absorbed the blow solidly, body pushed back a pace.

Ye Xiaoqian was confident that impact had cracked several of Yuan Zhen’s ribs. But Yuan Zhen stopped after one step.

Yuan Zhen remembered: before Ye Xiaoqian had thrust earlier, he had given the sword a single shake behind him. Yuan Zhen understood now. He did the same — swung it back hard — and thrust again, faster than before. Ye Xiaoqian couldn’t get out of the way, and the blade drove into his chest again.

And yet it telescoped inward just the same.

In the instant Yuan Zhen stared at it in disbelief, Ye Xiaoqian’s sleeve came sweeping back — thud — and Yuan Zhen went flying again.

Yet this time too, Yuan Zhen took no visible injury. Only the slight pallor of his face told anything — and whether that was from the force of the Flowing Cloud Flying Sleeves or simply from sheer fury at the sword, it was hard to say.

“Take it back!”

Yuan Zhen flung the sword at him. Ye Xiaoqian gave a cold laugh, stepped aside, and caught the hilt.

“I told you — does just anyone get to use my sword?”

Yuan Zhen saw Ye Xiaoqian gather himself for another charge. He kicked suddenly at the ground — the sandy soil here, this close to the eastern coast, came up in a spray that engulfed Ye Xiaoqian’s face.

Ye Xiaoqian was swinging the sword to deflect Yuan Zhen’s pressure while raising his sleeve to shield his face — and in that split second, his left grip loosened. The sword was taken again.

“Still not working?!”

Yuan Zhen poured every scrap of force he had into the grip and drove the blade into Ye Xiaoqian’s heart.

And it retracted. Still.

Ye Xiaoqian’s left arm swung wide — the sleeve rose like a great wave and crashed into Yuan Zhen’s chest.

Yuan Zhen was sent flying, real and solid this time. Ye Xiaoqian was confident this strike had been enough to break several ribs.

But Yuan Zhen stopped after barely a step.

Ye Xiaoqian, his sword lost for the moment, pressed forward. But Yuan Zhen had loosed three stones in quick succession.

One struck Ye Xiaoqian’s left arm — sharp agony, and the sword dropped from his hand.

The other two came at his legs. Had Ye Xiaoqian not reacted fast enough, they would have landed directly on his kneecaps, and that would have been the end of both legs. As it was, he moved just enough that they glanced away — but the pain still bent him backward involuntarily.

Yuan Zhen launched himself forward, both feet driving down at Ye Xiaoqian’s chest.

Ye Xiaoqian’s hand flicked. A stone flew — an instant later it struck Yuan Zhen’s eye with a dull impact. Blood burst from the socket, vivid and immediate, and the stone lodged itself in the orbit.

“Who said only you can use them?”

Ye Xiaoqian rolled clear of Yuan Zhen’s descending feet. Yuan Zhen, one eye ruined, was screaming with agony and rage — and lashed a kick into Ye Xiaoqian’s ribs.

Ye Xiaoqian had tried to push himself upright using his left arm when he rolled — and the arm gave out under him. Only then did it register: the bone in his left forearm must be broken.

He tried to use his core strength to rise straight up. But his legs were screaming — he couldn’t generate enough power.

Only his right hand was still serviceable — two broken fingers, but functional enough to have thrown that stone.

The kick sent Ye Xiaoqian tumbling sideways, skimming close to the ground.

Yuan Zhen moved to finish him. Then he heard hoofbeats — a thundering mass of them, closing fast.

He turned and fled into the depths of the woodland.

Ye Xiaoqian gritted his teeth and tried to stand and pursue. But the agony in his legs told him: the bone might be compromised.

Before long, riders came crashing into the woodland from behind. They spotted Ye Xiaoqian and leapt from their horses.

The first to reach him was Blade-and-Shield General Liren.

“Don’t worry about me — he’s injured, he won’t be fast. He went that way!”

Ye Xiaoqian pointed in the direction Yuan Zhen had fled and shouted.

Liren looked back — both the Censorate’s people and his own soldiers were arriving — and immediately set off in the direction Ye Xiaoqian had indicated. Liren’s lightness technique was no small thing; in a blink, he had vanished into the trees.

Ye Xiaoqian’s subordinates helped him up. He insisted he be helped onto a horse. He wanted to keep going.

His people refused absolutely. They scooped him up and pulled back.

Two quarters of an hour later, Xie Wange and Gao Yinjiu arrived from the other side, took one look, and ordered the Chief Officer loaded onto a carriage to be seen by a physician immediately.

Ye Xiaoqian asked: “Where is Tao Xiaomi?”

Xie Wange: “He didn’t come this way. He took a cavalry squad to swing around the other side of the woodland.”

Ye Xiaoqian nodded, and the esteem he held for Tao Xiaomi grew quietly in his heart.

Half an hour later, however, both Liren and Tao Xiaomi returned. The moment they saw Ye Xiaoqian, both shook their heads without a word.

“There’s a river on the other side of the woodland. The current is extremely fast.”

Liren’s clothing was soaked through — he’d clearly gone into the water himself.

Liren: “I saw that man jump in. I went in after him. The current was far too strong — if Officer Tao hadn’t brought people over, I don’t know where I’d have ended up. There was no staying upright at all.”

Tao Xiaomi: “Just now, General Liren told me this man was injured. Going into that current — he has little chance of surviving.”

Ye Xiaoqian shook his head. “The Censorate does not work on ‘little chance.’ That’s your speculation. The Censorate’s rule is: see the person alive or see the body. One or the other.”

Tao Xiaomi: “This river has to reach the sea. I’ll take people and follow it down.”

Ye Xiaoqian assented: “Go.”

Tao Xiaomi waved a hand and led his agents out. Ye Xiaoqian directed Xie Wange and Gao Yinjiu to take their people and join the search.

Ye Xiaoqian’s injuries were serious. The small bones in his left forearm were broken. Both legs, the physician found after examination, had likely suffered hairline fractures, though no clean breaks.

Liren ordered his people to carry Ye Xiaoqian back to Fulou County to recuperate, and commanded the Ning Army forces stationed there to search the river.

Strangely, no trace of Yuan Zhen was found at the river’s mouth. Searches along the banks turned up nothing.

Some speculated that with such a violent current, Yuan Zhen’s body had long since been carried out to sea.

But Ye Xiaoqian disagreed. He maintained: without seeing the person alive or seeing the body, there was no proof the man was gone. On the contrary — it proved he had escaped.

Yuan Zhen’s life was, indeed, a tenacious one.

He had gone into that torrent, and at first had no control whatsoever — battered, tumbled, utterly helpless.

His injuries compounded everything, and the devastated eye socket blazed with a pain that nearly overwhelmed him.

He was carried downriver by the current for some distance before slamming into a tangle of deadwood. He never understood why there would be a heap of branches lodged in the middle of a river channel. Several extremely large creatures — rats of a kind he didn’t recognize — shrieked furiously at him.

He had no attention to spare for any of it. He dragged himself ashore with everything he had. The bank rose immediately into a hillside; he clambered up it on failing limbs.

His luck was that this stretch of bank had no trail, and the riverside search didn’t reach this point.

He hauled himself up the hill and pushed himself forward by pure will, finding a sheltered place to collapse against a boulder. The moment he sat down, it felt as though every bone in his body had come apart at the joints.

He reached up instinctively to touch the ruined eye — and then his head rang like a struck bell.

He had been tumbled in that current for so long, rolled and spun end over end — and the stone was still lodged in his eye socket.

Yuan Zhen stripped open his robe. Tied to his belt was a small leather pouch. Most of what was inside had been soaked. But the medicines were in small bottles, and he had, in his meticulous way, wrapped them beforehand in layers of oilpaper.

He looked around, broke off a branch, bit down on it, and dug the stone out with his own hand.

Yuan Zhen’s whole body shook. Cold sweat broke across his forehead in an instant. His skull roared as though hollow, the world spinning in great violent arcs, as if he floated weightless in a vast empty space, himself no more than a leaf caught in wind.

He tipped medicine powder into the ruined socket, then tore a strip of cloth — wrung it out as best he could — spread more powder across it and used it to bind the eye.

When that was done, Yuan Zhen lay back as if the last drop of life had left him. He could not move.

He didn’t know how long he lay there. He became aware of cold. He understood that was not a good sign.

He forced himself up, checked the medicines he’d carried, and swallowed two of them.

Then he began moving upward. He had to reach sunlight.

He could not start a fire — any fire would be seen. To ward off even a fraction of the cold, he had no choice but to climb until he found where the sun reached.

It was summer, at least.

“If even this cannot kill me…”

“People of the Central Plains — you will pay for this.”