Xiu Miluo was left dazed by Li Chi’s blow. He lay on the ground for a long while before he could rise, and the handful of Black Wu soldiers still standing rushed to form a protective ring around him.

Li Chi, meanwhile, was nearly spent. He stood before Mister Yan, hunched forward, arms hanging, drawing breath in great heaving gasps — as though he were wresting air from the sky itself by sheer will.

Xiu Miluo had wanted to get up at first, but it was not only searing pain that held him down. A violent dizziness, impossible to resist, swept over him.

For a moment the pain was overwhelming — and then it vanished entirely. That whole side of his face went numb, while the dizziness grew more and more intense.

“Kill…”

Xiu Miluo managed only the one word before his mouth fell open and he vomited a great rush, then began to convulse. The rest of what he meant to say was beyond him, but his men understood well enough: he wanted them to kill that man from the Central Plains.

By appearances, the man truly was at the end of his strength — swaying where he stood, barely keeping himself upright through sheer stubbornness.

But who dared go forward?

Not many Black Wu soldiers remained — barely a dozen. Under normal circumstances they would have swarmed in without a second thought.

Yet today, Li Chi had reduced every last shred of their courage to powder, then scattered it to the wind. Every man still breathing had borne witness to the slaughter.

One man. He had cut down over a hundred, and still left Xiu Miluo unable to rise. A man like that — even appearing to have no strength left — still inspired fear.

The survivors all understood perfectly well: even if they managed to kill him, whoever went in first was as good as dead.

“General, let’s withdraw. Reinforcements are coming from behind — if we don’t go now, we won’t be able to leave.”

One of the Black Wu soldiers urged this, and the others echoed him at once. They hauled Xiu Miluo onto a carriage waiting at a distance. The rest mounted their horses, and the whole group fled in haste.

In truth, Li Chi had no reinforcements coming at all.

He went on swaying where he stood, looking as though a slightly stronger gust might topple him.

His vision was going blurry. A wind blew in, sending yellow dust skimming close along the ground — and that moving haze seemed to grow and grow until it felt as though an ocean of sand was rolling toward him.

When Li Chi came to his senses again, he had no idea how much time had passed. The sky beyond the window curtain looked very bright — bright enough that even filtered through the fabric, the light made his eyes ache.

He thought: it must be blazing sunshine. That was why his eyes were so difficult to open.

“He’s awake!”

Li Chi heard a voice cry out in startled joy — hoarse, trembling with relief.

A short while later. The study of the Grand General’s residence.

Dantai Yajing came rushing in and bowed at the threshold: “Father, Li Chi has woken.”

His father Dantai Qi lay half-propped against the headboard, a medical officer in the midst of changing his dressings. At his son’s words, Dantai Qi slowly let out a breath: “Heaven looks after the worthy.”

When Li Chi had first been brought back, Dantai Qi had been gravely wounded himself — but he had still had men help him over to see Li Chi at once.

The sight of Li Chi at that moment had shocked even this battle-seasoned general. A man soaked in blood, breath barely a thread — yet somehow that thread still held.

Every medical officer in the general’s residence had declared there was no saving him. Dantai Qi had cursed them out in a fury and ordered them to do whatever it took.

Then Tang Pidi had returned. After bringing Li Chi back, he had left again immediately without explanation. When he came back, he brought the physicians from the Shen Medical Hall — at which point everyone realized that the Shen Medical Hall had first opened in Liangzhou.

“Help me go see him.”

Dantai Qi waited for the medical officer to finish the dressings, then looked toward Dantai Yajing. “This young man commands respect.”

In the guest room, Li Chi had by now adjusted to the light. He lay looking at the faces of his companions gathered around him, reading the concern in every pair of eyes.

Which told him, without a word needing to be said, that this time his injuries must be very serious indeed.

He lay there for some time, gathering himself — and finally spoke his first words.

He asked Gao Xining, in a testing tone: “How bad do I look right now?”

Gao Xining’s eyes were red. She seemed to consider the question briefly, then glanced at Yu Jiuling.

Yu Jiuling thought: *Brother, this one’s on you.*

Li Chi looked at Yu Jiuling, thinking: if he looked that bad, it would be hard to accept — but considering he’d just been beaten by a hundred men and come out looking only as rough as Yu Jiuling, that was actually somewhat reassuring.

Li Chi coughed several times, his voice scraping and ragged: “Well… I suppose that’s still just barely acceptable.”

Yu Jiuling said: “You shouldn’t all deceive him like this…”

Li Chi said: “Are you saying I look even worse than you?”

Yu Jiuling walked out, came back carrying a bronze mirror, and held it up in front of Li Chi’s face.

Li Chi looked for a moment, then couldn’t help a low, strangled cry: “*What in the hell kind of creature is that?!*”

His face bore no cuts — but the swelling was truly spectacular. His eyes could barely open because his eyelids were so puffed up.

Yu Jiuling said: “I don’t say this to be cruel, but I owe you the truth: you don’t look like Yu Jiuling right now. You look like Yu Jiuling’s *backside*.”

Li Chi sighed. “Where’s Mister Yan?”

Yu Jiuling said: “Mister Yan’s face is also swollen like Yu Jiuling’s backside — actually he’s a bit worse than you, because you look like his whole backside, while he only looks like half of—”

There was a thud as Mister Yan kicked him squarely in the rear from behind.

Miss Ruoling helped Mister Yan forward. His head was still enormously swollen, one side bearing a large lump where he had been struck.

Mister Yan had just opened his mouth to speak when he caught the light in Li Chi’s narrowed little eyes — a distinctly insufferable gleam.

Li Chi raised one arm with great effort and pointed at the lump on Mister Yan’s head: “I was right — it does look like half of Yu Jiuling’s backside. This side’s a bit more presentable. The other side doesn’t even have a proper curve to it.”

He looked around the room. “Where’s Old Tang?”

“Old Tang…” Gao Xining said. “After you were injured, he was the one who brought you back. Then he left the city. You were unconscious for three days and two nights, and he hasn’t returned in all that time.”

Tang Pidi had left without saying where he was going. But everyone knew perfectly well.

“Send someone—” Li Chi started, then coughed. “Send someone to find him and bring him back. Out there in the borderlands, it’s nothing but enemies. And if he wanders into the desert and loses his way, there’s no getting out.”

Gao Xining gave a quiet affirmation. “Every day these past several days, we’ve sent people looking for him. Dantai has also sent Liangzhou cavalry out to search. There’s been no news yet.”

At that moment, Dantai Yajing helped his father through the door. Everyone made way. Dantai Yajing looked at Li Chi, and the guilt in his eyes still had not faded.

There were two reasons for it. First: some of Li Chi’s wounds had been caused by Liangzhou Army archers. Second: when Li Chi had broken out, Tang Pidi and the others had found themselves blocked in behind him.

In fact, it was precisely because Li Chi had burst through that the Liangzhou Army had gone on full alert. Trained and well-equipped as they were, their response time was exceptional. By the time Tang Pidi reached the city gate, a large force had already assembled to block it — which was why Tang Pidi had been unable to catch up with Li Chi.

That was the true source of Dantai Yajing’s guilt, even though none of it was actually his fault, nor was it the fault of the Liangzhou soldiers who had sealed the gate. They had only been doing their duty.

Li Chi had woken in the evening. The light had seemed blinding to him — but it wasn’t truly so bright. His eyes, after so long unconscious, simply needed time to adjust to even dim illumination. By the time Dantai Qi departed, the sky had gone completely dark.

Gao Xining fed Li Chi some congee. He shook his head, indicating he’d had enough. She set the bowl aside and asked softly: “That’s all you can eat?”

Li Chi said: “It doesn’t taste like anything.”

“Would you like meat?”

Li Chi made a sound of agreement. “You know me too well, Tall Beauty.”

Gao Xining said: “I’ll add that to my little notebook — a certain someone is taking advantage of the fact that I won’t do anything to him right now, getting a little too high and mighty. When you’ve recovered, we’ll see how I deal with you.”

Then, softly: “If you truly want meat, you can only have one small bite.”

The light in Li Chi’s little half-swollen eyes nearly blazed with excitement. He made a sound of agreement. “One small bite is fine.”

Gao Xining leaned down and pressed her face lightly to Li Chi’s lips, then immediately straightened up. In an instant her face was red as an apple.

“One small bite,” she said.

The look in Li Chi’s eyes could only be described as lightning — brilliant, crackling flashes of it.

Had he been able to move, he would certainly have leapt to his feet and announced at full volume: *A true man of valor does not nibble at his meat — he eats it in great, sweeping mouthfuls!*

Gao Xining reached over and pulled his blanket up a little higher. Looking at Li Chi — battered as he was, yet still struggling to get up in his excitement — she had the sudden thought that she may have made a mistake.

“Settle down, settle down. I’ll go and make you some meat congee…”

Gao Xining stood and fled.

Left alone in the room, Li Chi lay looking up at the ceiling. Slowly, worry crept into his eyes.

He was thinking about Old Tang. That man…

Meanwhile, in Dantai Qi’s study.

Dantai Qi instructed Dantai Yajing: “Tomorrow you go out personally to search again. Send more men — dispatch every cavalryman in the city. Find Tang Pidi and bring him back quickly.”

Dantai Yajing nodded. “Father, rest easy. I’ll set out at first light tomorrow. I won’t come back until he’s found.”

Dantai Qi nodded. “The men of our Dantai family put loyalty and righteousness first. We must not be remiss. He is your friend — give everything you have to finding him.”

He finished speaking and slowly exhaled. He paused, and then said, with a complicated note in his voice: “Two young men like these — their futures are without limit… Yajing. What you need to learn from them is not only their skill. It is their character.”

The next morning, before dawn, Dantai Yajing was already at the Liangzhou Army camp. He summoned the cavalry, organized the deployment, and divided sixteen hundred light riders into four columns, each heading in a different direction to search for Tang Pidi.

When his orders were given, the cavalry rode out of camp. In the early morning stillness, the columns passed by in succession, and the thunder of hooves blended into one long unbroken sound.

That sound broke the silence of the early morning. Curious townspeople opened their doors and peered out, wondering if war was coming.

It was barely light — not yet the hour when the city gates normally opened. But Dantai Yajing was anxious and had ordered them opened early.

The gatehouse soldiers went into the archway and heaved away the great barring timber. The gates were tremendously heavy; it took many men working together to pull them open.

When the gates swung wide, a gale tore in from outside, carrying yellow sand with it. Everyone raised their arms to shield their faces.

When the gusting sand settled somewhat, Dantai Yajing lowered his arm and called out: “Ride out—”

The words died in his throat.

Outside the city gate, a black horse walked slowly in. On its back sat a young rider. His left hand held the reins; his right hand steadied an iron spear resting on his shoulder. On the tip of that spear was mounted a human head.

From the horse’s flanks hung more than a dozen heads besides.

He rode in through the gate, and the wind and sand rode in with him — as though the desert had sent them as his escort, to accompany him home.

People said of him that the man was like a gale.

Looking at this gale, one thought: yes, there is something of him in it.

—