Having rushed on without rest or sleep, and with her nerves strung taut, Xiao Nanhui had barely slept in three days. The jar of aged fruit wine had left her sunk in the exhaustion that follows after emotional release. And after so long eating and sleeping in the open, the simple fact that she now had a roof over her head — something to keep out the wind and weather — caused her to relax in spite of herself.

Though she reminded herself again and again to stay alert, she still drifted into a brief and fitful sleep.

She did not dream. But somewhere in her haze, she seemed to hear a sharp cry filtering through layer upon layer of stone, drifting in from a great distance — and she jolted awake.

She stayed still and listened carefully. She was certain she had not imagined it in her half-sleep.

It was the call of a night owl.

The joy she felt in that instant was beyond words. She had the sense that even the pitch-black sky around her was beginning to brighten.

Following the direction from which the wind was coming, she quickly found the nearest opening that led outside. She pushed her head through.

Not far away, the hillocks were still draped in night; at the horizon, a faint pale blue was just beginning to show — the color of the first, faint light before dawn.

The moment she poked her head out, the cries drew closer. She craned her neck upward and searched the sky, and sure enough, she spotted a round, plump silhouette circling in the air overhead.

She gave a short, sharp whistle. The figure plunged into a dive, and in moments it had landed right in front of her.

Looking at that familiar, round-bodied shape, Xiao Nanhui’s eyes nearly filled with tears. If this spotted, freckled creature hadn’t been a beast, she might have wrapped it in a great big hug.

The night owl lifted one foot and scratched impatiently at the two tufts atop its head, as though urging her to hurry and get the message ready — it had somewhere urgent to be.

Xiao Nanhui found herself in a bit of a bind. She had nothing even resembling a brush or paper, let alone a scrap of white cloth. She tore another piece from her already-too-short hem, then took one of the charred sticks from the night before and wrote two characters on the cloth: “Seqiu.” She thought it over and decided that wasn’t specific enough, so she flipped it over and added two more: “cave.”

She secured the strip of cloth tightly to the owl’s leg. The bird raised its tail, crouched low, and with a whoosh shot up into the air.

She watched that small shape go, knowing it carried her hope of survival. She willed it to fly higher, to fly faster—

Whoosh.

A flash of cold light shot out from between the mountain ridges, streaking straight toward the owl the instant it had taken flight. From the distance, it looked like a silver needle moving very fast.

Xiao Nanhui’s face drained of color. She couldn’t stop herself from lurching forward.

The owl heard the wind, beat its wings, and hovered — the cold light grazed past it, then wheeled back in a loop and dropped back into the valley. It appeared to be a fowling line, the kind with a cord attached to the arrowhead.

Among archers, some specialized in shooting birds, using barbed arrowheads with lines tied to them. When a bird of prey was struck but fought free, as long as the cord attached to the arrow held, the hunter could follow the line and track it down.

This was the sport of nobles and princes — but she was deep in a desert now; what royalty or aristocrats could possibly be out here? Nine times in ten, these were simply the people they had encountered in daylight.

The fowling archer loosed a second arrow, faster and fiercer than the first.

The night owl let out a cry, wheeled upward into the snow-laden clouds above. The drifting snow swallowed its silhouette in an instant, and the arrow that followed lost its quarry and fell away — only to be sliced in two by an unseen blade of wind.

She held her breath and fixed her gaze on those bare, featureless dunes.

After a moment, a figure emerged from behind them.

An Lv’s eyes were locked onto the sky overhead, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “No rush. The monk may flee, but the temple stays put.”

Pu Huna, standing at his back, said nothing. He only stared fixedly at the bells on his wrist.

An Lv noticed, and turned around. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Move quickly — those two must be nearby. We’ve searched all day without finding a trace of them, which means they’ve probably taken cover in one of these caves.”

Pu Huna was silent for a moment, then spoke abruptly: “Young Master, the bells rang just now.”

An Lv’s expression turned irritated.

This southern Qiang man was peculiar through and through — always muttering to himself in a language An Lv couldn’t understand — and as for that string of bells at his wrist, An Lv had never heard a sound out of them.

A string of bells that had gone mute. What was he playing at?

“The bells rang? I didn’t hear anything.” He stepped forward and shook the bells forcefully. “Not a sound. And even if they had rung — so what? You probably imagined it—”

“Young Master may not be aware: these spirit bells cannot be rung by shaking them. They only respond when they detect a spell, or when—”

The southern Qiang man stopped there, as though something gave him pause.

An Lv grew more impatient. “If you have something to say, say all of it. What are you holding back? Or is it that you have no respect for me, and will only speak your mind if my elder brother were here?”

The man lowered his head, murmured something in southern Qiang as though offering an apology, then slowly spoke: “It is not that I am unwilling to say it — only that the elders of our tribe once warned us: if the bells sound on their own, without any spell to move them, then a divine presence is near, and one must retreat to a safe distance.”

The man finished speaking and lowered his head again. An Lv stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing — as though he had just heard something utterly absurd.

“Marvelous! Truly marvelous!” His laughter reached its peak and gradually shifted into something unhinged, a manic expression spreading across his face, eyes filled with a contempt he could not shake off. “In that case, let us go and pay this true god a visit. I want to see for myself what a god looks like.”

A dozen or so expressionless faces melted into the gray-shrouded ravine, advancing silently through the dark.

From this far away, she had long since lost sight of those people — and yet she felt a threat more acute than anything she had ever felt before.

A cold gust swept past, and Xiao Nanhui quickly drew back into the cave entrance.

If the Tiancheng army had already passed through Sanmu Pass, then the night owl’s reinforcements might arrive within only a few hours. To take the risk of leaving now might mean missing the best chance to rendezvous with them — but to keep hiding in this cave, was that not simply waiting to die?

Dawn was just ahead, and yet this was the darkest moment.

By the time she ran back to the cave, the fire had already gone out.

The man was already awake, standing beneath the great mural. A thread of cold light outlined his silhouette from behind, and for a fleeting instant he seemed to merge with the divine figures on the wall.

He heard her come in, but did not turn around.

“Someone’s coming?”

She nodded breathlessly, the sound of that flying cord still ringing in her ears.

“Friend or foe?”

Xiao Nanhui said nothing. She stared at him steadily, as though by looking long enough she could make him understand what was about to happen without her having to speak.

After a pause, she made her decision.

She strode forward and took off the only padded cloth jacket she was wearing, then carefully draped it over his shoulders.

“Though this cave is warmer than outside, the nights still get bitterly cold. If Your Majesty cannot keep a fire going, you will likely freeze past enduring.”

Then she gathered up the remaining food from the ground, wrapped it, and placed it in his hands. She also carefully covered over the fire pit with sand and grit.

His gaze was steady and still as he watched her. “What are you doing?”

“I — I am going to draw them away.”

She said this with her head low, but her voice was resolute.

She had returned to the formal address for lord and subject, as though using it to remind herself: do not forget who you are.

“The night owl has already gone for help. It won’t be long before the Tiancheng forces arrive. If I lead those people away, Your Majesty need only stay here — you will certainly be rescued.”

Having said it, she felt as though a measure of hope had settled into her chest.

From the day she had chosen to step onto the battlefield, she had been prepared to die. Her hope could be given to someone else — and that someone else was the most honored person in this dynasty. She should consider it an honor.

The Emperor looked at her steadily.

In the darkness, that dirt-smudged face held a pair of eyes that were steady and bright, carrying the fierce and fragile quality of someone fully alive.

Even though her heart had been frightened just moments ago, when it truly came to this moment, she had brought forth every measure of courage she possessed.

The fearlessness of the ignorant is worth nothing. But one who knows fear, who understands dread, and yet still chooses to be brave — that is what is as precious as gold.

“There is no need.”

She stared blankly at the hand that had closed around her arm, still wrapped in the fresh strip of cloth she had changed for him that very day.

“There is no need to leave. Stay here with me and watch the dawn break.”

“But they are almost upon us—”

“This place has more than one entrance. If you leave from here while they come in from another, how am I to protect myself?”

Xiao Nanhui stood rooted to the spot, unable to advance or retreat.

He was right.

And yet — did she have any better plan?

“I do not know how they tracked us here — perhaps by scent. If I put on Your Majesty’s robe and leave from another direction, they may follow me instead—”

“Xiao Nanhui. Do you remember what you said?”

She was startled for a moment, then dropped to one knee and spoke her oath: “I remember. As long as I draw one more breath, I will keep Your Majesty safe.”

“That is not the vow I am referring to.”

Not that one?

Good lord, the number of things I’ve said must number in the thousands, if not the tens of thousands. Which one are you talking about exactly?

She hadn’t had time to ask when a thunderous rumble rose from deep within the cave. Dust sifted down from the walls with a soft rustling sound, thick enough to set them both coughing.

In a cave like this, sounds from a great distance could carry through the stone walls and reach every corner. All the more so for a tremor like this.

When the echo of the rumble faded, faint footsteps began coming from every direction.

What had to come had come.

The divine figures in the murals on the surrounding walls gazed at them without grief or joy, as if this were simply the most ordinary of days in their long ages of keeping watch here.

And yet a killing chill saturated the air — the stillness before the gates of hell swung open.

Pingxian extended, its rust-colored patterns stained with dried blood. It was the last line of defense standing between the two of them.

Xiao Nanhui’s face was still somewhat pale, but the hand gripping her weapon did not tremble once.

She turned the formless, looming terror into something she could name — a pack of wolves on a barren plain. If she could not escape, then she would face it. She would be the dog that protects the flock — fighting until the last moment with the savage will to tear the other side apart.

“Xiao Nanhui.”

He called her name from just behind her, so close.

She turned slightly, and found he had slipped the string of prayer beads off his left wrist. Then he took the hand gripping her spear, and placed the beads in her palm.

“Hold onto these.”

She didn’t understand. “What for?”

He actually smiled a little. “Isn’t there a battle about to start?”

Xiao Nanhui was struck speechless. She looked at those long, slender fingers — not a callus on them — and gave a smile that looked more like a grimace: “Your Majesty, please don’t make trouble.”

The footsteps were drawing nearer. The cave’s acoustics tumbled the sounds together into a chaotic din, like a swarm of bees bearing down on them.

He let the smile fall. Gravely, he lifted Xiao Nanhui’s hand. The string of beads slid toward her wrist, carrying a trace of warmth from his skin. “Once all of this is over, you must put these back on my hand. No matter what — you must do this.”

What? What do you mean by that?

She felt that the question she hadn’t had time to ask might never be asked at all.

The air became still, like the moment before a sudden downpour holds its breath.

The next instant, something came piercing through the darkness first — a sound like the harrowing cry of a crane — screaming toward them.

It was the sound of arrow-fletchings splitting the air.

She swung Pingxian with full force, snapping the shaft; the iron arrowhead with its barbed tip clattered to the ground — the creaking sound of hell’s gate swinging open.

Then, a barrage of arrows came roaring in like a storm. Each one dragged a long silver cord behind it, and when they missed their mark they wove themselves into a net invisible to the eye, seeking to entangle the prey within and tear it to pieces.

The polearm in Xiao Nanhui’s hands swept like a solid wall, beating down wave after wave of probing arrows.

But in the next instant, those attacking her revealed their true malice — an unseen blade of wind slipped through her defenses and, without a sound, sliced open the side of her waist.

Blood welled up. She had no time to deal with it. Looking up, she saw An Lv standing in the dark mouth of the cave, smiling at her without making a sound.

It was the same technique she had seen that evening when she left Bijiang.

An invisible blade of wind.

How could anyone command such a technique? What weapon did he even use? Even the most formidable martial arts master could not conjure from thin air a blade that could not be seen yet could wound.

An Lv seemed to know exactly what was perplexing her, and had no intention of offering any explanation.

“Kill her.”

The dense web of cords around her began to rotate and tighten, drawing in to flay the prey alive.

These Pu Huna fighters were more formidable than the group they had encountered in Mu Er He — their movements were seamless, clearly honed through long partnership. In practiced coordination they wielded the cords in their hands, pushing her steadily into a dead end. And the barbed arrowheads had a quality of a hunt about them — if she showed any intent to break free, they would shoot her full of arrows and make a kite of her. As long as the cords remained in their hands, there would be no escape.

To break through, she had to find a flaw in this formation. But An Lv’s technique was waiting precisely for an attempt like that — the moment she made the slightest move away from the center of the formation, that strange, invisible blade of wind would come for her from the most treacherous angle.

The space around her had shrunk to almost nothing. Her defense was crumbling. The cords churned the air with a keening roar that made her eardrums tremble, until she could no longer hear even her own voice clearly.

“Your Majesty — get down! Get down now!”

Through the ringing in her ears, she could not tell whether he had responded, but she felt the person behind her lean slowly against her back, and then a pair of arms wrapped around her entire frame.

Shocked, she had no time to react to the embrace that came from behind. The polearm in her hand faltered for just a moment — and an arrow trailing a silver cord spotted the opening and came straight for her face.

The arms around her waist pulled her, turning her half a circle. Her vision lurched — and what she saw, filling her eyes, was a pair of lapels embroidered with familiar, dark patterns.

He had folded her against his chest.

In that same instant, she saw the barbed arrowhead come like a poisonous serpent, tearing through that exquisite, intricate embroidery — and bursting through from the other side. Warm blood spattered on her brow, carrying with it a faint tremor of breath, a little like a tickle.

Her right hand still gripped the polearm. Her left hand slowly found his back. Her hand was like something sinking into a warm spring — a wave of heat spread out beneath her palm.

What had just happened?

The noise around them fell silent for a single instant, as though even the enemy had been shocked by what they had just witnessed.

She could only stare, her lashes brushing against the line of his jaw.

“Xiao Nanhui. You said you were not afraid of me. Remember what you said.”

His breath was still close at her ear. The next second, a tremendous force erupted outward in all directions. The hair she had just pinned up was scattered in an instant by that fierce surge of energy.

The dark hair came undone like a length of silk torn apart, spreading in every direction. The jade hairpin fell with a bright, clear sound right before her eyes. Then an enormous pressure struck her, bearing down until she could not stand upright, and she collapsed flat against the ground.

A strange sound bored itself into the deepest part of her ears — like ten thousand ten-thousandfold ants gnawing on leaves, or like a swarm of bees sweeping overhead. The sound came from every direction and went in every direction, fine and dense, penetrating everything, working its way into the very core of her.

Xiao Nanhui pressed her hands over her ears, fighting through the sensation that her head was about to split open. Then she slowly, carefully opened her eyes.

What lay before her was a sight she had never seen in all her life.

Many years later, she would still remember how it felt.

It was as if the air had been cut in two by an invisible blade — then cut again into four, into sixteen, into hundreds, into thousands, into countless pieces, until it could be divided no further.

She watched as the arrows that had been flying through the air dissolved into wisps of mist and scattered on the wind. The net woven from silver cords simply vanished on the spot — as though it had been drawn in charcoal on paper and then swept clean away with a single gesture.

The dozen or so assassins still stood where they had been, as though entirely uncertain what had just occurred. They remained frozen in their attacking postures, but the weapons in their hands had ceased to exist.

The one who stood nearest let out the first scream. He saw his own outstretched arm as though it were being consumed by something — dissolving into the air. His scream then caught in his throat and became a strange rattling sound. His legs seemed to want to carry him away from this place, but he could not move an inch. In that same instant, his entire body dissolved into a mist of blood, and vanished from this space without leaving behind any evidence that a person had ever been there.

An Lv crumpled to the ground, then turned and scrabbled at the cracks in the stone wall behind him, clawing upward in a frenzy.

The remaining fighters still stood in place. Their faces, destroyed as though made of wax, showed only pairs of eyes expressing terror and trembling. One of them suddenly fell to his knees, pressed his palms together, and murmured something — praying that a god would hear him.

The divine figures on the cave walls remained as they had always been — and yet soon even those lines began to blur, growing faint as though the color was washing away, dissolving into a cloud of golden light and being swept up into the air that now spun and churned at furious speed.

Xiao Nanhui stared hard, widening her eyes to make sense of it, and at last she understood: those glittering specks of fine powder were the remnants of the cave walls as they were ground apart, flecked with the precious stones and gold thread from the murals. Those beautiful, hard stones were being pulverized into dust by that invisible wind.

The howl of the wind grew sharper and more piercing. The air warped and twisted under the tremendous speed of its vibration. The fragments of rock caught within it were reduced to dust, which then traced the shape of that invisible wind — forming gossamer curtain after curtain, layering and wrapping into a vast sphere. And still that sphere continued to expand, to grow, pressing outward against the surrounding stone walls.

Her head felt unbearably heavy. She had to strain simply to lift it.

She dug her fingers in and gripped the lapels of his robe until they creased.

Beneath that fabric, the body was like stone — impossible to move. The barbed arrowhead had nearly passed through him entirely. She watched as the blood flowing from his chest gradually became fine threads, spreading out like leaf veins into the air around them, expanding the terrible eye of this storm further and further — as though it meant to swallow the entire world.

The air grew thin. She felt her breathing become more and more difficult, her vision darkening again and again, as though an invisible dome had been pressed down over her head, slowly consuming what life was left in her.

“Your Majesty—”

She reached out with a trembling hand, parted the loose hair that had fallen across his face, and revealed that face she both knew and did not know.

He still wore no particular expression. Across his pale face there shone an unearthly brilliance that was difficult to look upon directly. Those eyes — that had once been so calm and still as an ancient well — now held only two endlessly expanding pupils, black and terrible as a void, and within them: madness and suffering without any bottom to be seen.

A strange soul lived there, like the cold and solitary god of those ancient legends.

Under the compulsion of that terrible force, blood began to seep from his pupils. The threads of red crept out from the corners of his eyes, slowly trailing toward his temples.

“Your Majesty — Your Majesty, wake up—”

He gave no response, as though he could hear nothing at all.

She reached for his hand — those pale, slender hands that now looked as though carved from the coldest, hardest stone, immovable no matter what she tried.

Only one thought remained in her mind: no matter what, she had to get those prayer beads back onto his hand.

“Your Majesty!”

She screamed herself hoarse, desperate for him to recover even a thread of his usual awareness. But her cries were like a bubble sinking into the deep ocean — when it burst, it left no trace of an echo.

With the very last of her strength, she used her fingertips to scratch and dig at the rough, hardened ground beneath his left hand. Grit and stone bit into her nails; blood seeped from her fingertips. She did not notice. She kept repeating the motion without pause until she could slip her hand into that narrow gap.

The crushing pressure that made breathing impossible caused her hands to shake uncontrollably. One by one she gathered his fingers into hers, then slowly curled them closed and folded her own hand over his.

She thought of the character he had written in her palm with vermilion ink.

“Su Wei—”

Bloodied fingertips locked tight around the back of his hand, and she slipped the string of relic prayer beads she had been wearing at her wrist onto his hand instead.

Su Wei—

She called his name again and again until she sank into the deep, enveloping darkness.