Everyone was frightened. They held war blades in their hands, yet no one dared step forward. It had been the same before—she seemed about to collapse at any moment. But from noon, to afternoon, to when the sun set westward, to the coming of night, she still stood there like an insurmountable fortress, flashing with bloodthirsty light, refusing to retreat a single step.

Corpses piled up like a small mountain before her, winding red streams through the snow. Qing Xia’s voice was hoarse, carrying thick fatigue and killing intent: “You… killed him?”

No one could answer. They had killed too many people today—no one knew which person this thin, weak soldier was talking about. They could only watch her cautiously, slowly approaching.

Seeing no one answer, Qing Xia’s consciousness truly began to blur. She was too tired. She could barely imagine how many people she had killed, how long she had persisted, but after all, it was too late. When she fled, she had forgotten him, so heaven was resolute in not giving her another chance to make amends. Tears slowly flowed from her eye sockets, tracing bright white tracks across her blood-stained face. Her lips trembled like broken butterfly wings, and finally she slowly spoke: “You… really killed him.”

A trace of pain slid through her eyes. Qing Xia’s brow furrowed tightly, like the agony of having one’s heart carved out and bones scraped. Suddenly, with a thud, her entire body fell forward heavily into the pool of blood, then remained motionless.

The White Deer Plains mercenaries carefully approached. Dozens of soldiers formed a line, very cautiously taking one step at a time, finally reaching her side and slowly lifting her body.

“Second Leader, she’s a woman!” A soldier suddenly cried out in alarm. Tremendous clamor thundered around them as the White Deer Plains warriors who had been terrified by Qing Xia all exclaimed in unison. No one could imagine that the soldier who had single-handedly killed dozens of men would actually be a woman!

The middle-aged man called Second Leader had white cloth bandaged around his lower abdomen—he was the big man whose intestines Qing Xia had hooked and torn as a target.

“A woman? Tie her up—I want to personally slaughter her!” The originally flawless plan had paid such an enormous price because of this woman’s sudden appearance. How could he not be filled with hatred? A group of people roughly tied up Qing Xia, their savage movements making her frown. She slowly opened her eyes. The glaring torches made her momentarily dazed. When she finally recovered, she suddenly heard a slap as a heavy blow struck her face.

Qing Xia’s body jerked and fell to the ground. A big foot stomped hard on her cheek, the mud and sand on the sole grinding against her skin with sharp pain.

“Falling into my hands, I’ll make you taste every torture in the human world—it won’t be in vain that you walked this earth.” Having spoken through gritted teeth, he tore the armor from Qing Xia’s shoulder. With a ripping sound, large patches of white skin were exposed to the air, particularly dazzling among the blood stains everywhere.

Qing Xia no longer had strength to struggle, couldn’t even move a finger. She was trampled underfoot, her clothing torn, yet Xi Lin Chen’s features flashed before her eyes. If she hadn’t encountered him, perhaps he would still be alive, would be rescued by others, would live well somewhere—definitely not here, wouldn’t die on the battlefield.

Tears silently flowed. She had lost all strength and could only lie here, quietly waiting to be violated and killed. Her mouth was stuffed with cloth, hands and feet bound—she couldn’t even commit suicide. Like a lifeless puppet, her heart filled with vast desolation and despair. Many faces slowly passed before her eyes. This lifetime, barely over twenty years, yet it seemed so long—almost endless at a glance. Now everything would finally have an ending. Her head seemed suddenly emptied, many faces slowly flashing through her mind. She looked at their faces but couldn’t call out their names.

“Second Leader!” A guard suddenly shouted loudly, “Someone’s coming!”

Hearing this, everyone hurriedly looked down the slope to see winding torches like a long dragon. Countless horses trampled through the snow, roaring toward them. Under the distant sky, from a point to a mass, covering mountains and plains, overwhelming like surging sea tides rolling against the wind. The entire heaven and earth seemed to shake in that moment. That kind of terror crept up people’s spines, drilling straight into their hearts. All of life was screaming in horror.

“It’s the Yan Character Battalion!”

Terrified screams issued horrifying shrieks from the depths of souls. Countless people were all trembling together, the earth’s rumbling echoing everyone’s fear.

One person, two people, ten people, a hundred people—soon over a thousand people shouted in unison, their voices traversing the long sky, gathering into a tremendous torrent in mid-air!

It was the Yan Character Battalion! The war myth of a hundred battles and a hundred victories, the terrifying legend of iron-blooded annihilation, the night army corps that could stop children’s crying, roaring past on such a stormy night full of demons and monsters, treading upon moonlight!

Defeat flowed like tides—wave after wave of deserters fled northward in terror across the wasteland. No amount of shouting could help now. Wherever the great banner of the Yan Character Battalion went, it was extremely difficult to encounter resistance, let alone from this rabble.

Qing Xia felt time seemed to pass so long. She lay on the cold snow, the blood throughout her body seeming frozen. The skin exposed to air was already too numb with cold to feel it. Her eyes had blurred—hazily she could only see those panicked, scurrying White Deer Plains mercenaries, and behind them rows of regular soldiers with banners flying and armor gleaming, slowly walking to her side.

Countless boots surged to both sides like tide, opening a path. In the quiet air, a pure black warhorse thundered near. The rider nimbly jumped down—a pair of white deerskin boots stepped onto the blood-soaked snowy plain, striding toward Qing Xia.

A scent of fine Sichuan fritillary suddenly came toward her. Qing Xia’s eyes stung—in this familiar fragrance, she suddenly felt piercing pain.

Her consciousness must be blurred. She mockingly tried to curl her lips but found her face frozen stiff. Before even seeing the face in her hallucination, she already wanted to cry.

I must be dying, Qing Xia mocked herself inwardly. She wanted to blink to confirm whether she was still alive, but suddenly felt herself tightly embraced.

“Yima’er…”

The mellow voice poured into Qing Xia’s throat like a cup of warm wine. She struggled to lift her stiff neck, slowly looking upward.

Phoenix eyes, silkworm eyebrows, high-bridged nose, slightly pale and thin cheeks—this face had echoed countless times in her heart, but at such a life-and-death moment, she seemed somewhat stunned. The ropes behind her had been untied. She slowly raised her stiff hand, her blood-covered palm slowly reaching out to gently touch the young general’s cheek.

“Qin… Zhiyan?”

An uncertain voice, slightly rising tone, softly sounding in the air.

“…Am I… not dreaming…”

Her voice was low and hoarse, as if scorched by charcoal, but she still managed to smile. After desperate slaughter, among countless corpses, in a mess of blood pools, she asked with trembling voice.

Qin Zhiyan’s brow tightened, the pain in his eyes surging overwhelmingly like the sea. Gradually tightening his arms, he held that body he had longed for day and night tightly in his embrace, speaking word by word softly:

“Yima’er, I came too late.”

All the flowers in the world bloomed in an instant.

Like being in a raging fire, with no escape route in any direction—east, west, south, north, up to heaven or down to earth. In the overwhelming red light, everywhere were fierce tongues of flame and scorching magma. Those ancient totems roared and writhed in the flames, almost sweeping her down. Countless despairing spirits shrieked all around, seemingly pulling her into that bottomless abyss. She stood on a protruding rock, feeling the entire space shaking madly—shattered rocks, gushing magma, scorching flames. The earth seemed enraged, so it sent down these punishing flames to burn to death this woman whose hands were full of blood and slaughter.

She knew she was probably going to die.

She wanted to curl her lips into a bitter smile, but the wound at her lip corner stopped the movement. Just the intention already made her frown tightly in pain.

“Yima’er…”

A low voice sounded in her ear, very close yet seemingly so distant. Like clouds at the horizon, floating distantly there, far away, with sacred whiteness and warm sound.

Qing Xia stood in the raging fire, slowly extending her palm to shield her eyes, looking through her fingers, wanting to see the clouds clearly. But she couldn’t distinguish them—only steamy white mist blocked her vision, making her blind though her eyes were open. She knew that white purity could only be watched from afar, not approached, much less touched, because she would stain it.

She smiled peacefully. For the first time in her life, she lost all fear of death. She didn’t know if it was because life held no attachment or because she was truly too tired.

In this lifetime, she had killed too many people, her hands stained with blood. By now, she could no longer deceive herself that all this was just.

This chaotic life, like rootless wild grass, drifted everywhere with the turbulent times. Where was the place she could stop? The young general stood before the bed, gazing at the pale-faced girl before him, feeling pain in his heart surging overwhelmingly like tide. He slowly sat down, grasping the woman’s cold hand. His lips pressed tightly together, phoenix eyes slightly half-closed, his gaze calm as water, like a deep ancient well rippling with quiet waves.