Shu Shenhui spurred his horse northward, away from the fortress, galloping farther and farther.

During the day, he had drifted and spun with the floating log in the great waters. Initially, he was completely unable to control himself, repeatedly being swept against the wood and nearly losing his grip. It was only after drifting several li that he found an opportunity to sink to the muddy bottom where the surface was relatively calmer, swim underwater to shore, then travel dozens of li on foot before finally reaching this place.

His mount was seized from a Di soldier patrolling near the fortress. Though the horse’s stamina was ordinary, under his control, Chi Shu and his large contingent of troops initially could not get close. After galloping at full speed for dozens of li, the horse gradually lost strength and could no longer maintain its pace.

The distance grew shorter, and the excited shrieks of the Di soldiers became increasingly clear.

Chi Shu shouted for his soldiers to overtake and shoot arrows, forcing him to turn west. Gradually, the ground became soft and wet, with horse hooves sinking deeper into the mud, slowing progress.

This area must be marshland. Chi Shu, familiar with the terrain, wanted to trap and capture him alive. He abandoned his horse and continued traversing along a stretch of high ground with firm footing that extended upward, finally coming to a stop.

There was no path ahead. Below the slope lay pitch darkness with a few sparse, short trees. Beyond that stretched an endless grassland marsh with luxuriant reeds taller than a man. Under the moonlight, the water surface gleamed with an eerie, ghostly dark color.

Large numbers of Di soldiers quickly pursued and arrived. Chi Shu rode forward, directing his soldiers to surround him.

Torches blazed to life, instantly illuminating the surroundings. Chi Shu sat on horseback, staring at the figure at the edge of the firelight, speaking word by word: “Capture him!”

Shu Shenhui seized a blade from the first Di soldier who lunged at him and struck back with a reverse blow. Half the soldier’s forehead was cleaved away, with dirty blood gushing out, instantly covering the face full of greed and savagery beneath. The man fell at his feet.

He repeated this action again and again, one blade stroke after another.

Amid the splashing blood and endless shouts and screams, Di soldiers fell one after another. Yet there was no end to killing them. One fell, and more continued to surge forward, one after another, competing to be first.

He had once been the most noble person in Great Wei, renowned and prestigious, sitting high above the clouds, looking down upon Chang’an beneath his feet. He was the thousands of gold pieces, the marquis of ten thousand households that the Di soldiers dreamed of. The hot, stinking blood spraying from their comrades’ bodies not only failed to frighten them but further stimulated their eyes and noses. Like a pack of jackals, they swarmed around this lion king trapped in their midst, each wanting to use their fangs and claws to tear off a piece of fresh, living flesh first.

“I struck his back!”

“It was me! I wounded his leg!”

Accompanied by the agonized groans of constantly falling comrades, such chaotic, wild cries of joy and claims for credit rose and fell, sounding from time to time.

Chi Shu watched this scene at the edge of the firelight, watching that man. The blood on his body increased layer upon layer—blood of those he had killed, as well as blood continuously flowing from wounds on his own body. His figure grew increasingly rigid, and the arm wielding the blade became more and more sluggish. Thus, Chi Shu’s face, originally twisted with hatred, slowly relaxed, finally even showing a pleased expression.

“Keep him alive!”

He issued another command, then took a wine pouch from his saddle bag, pulled out the stopper, and drank while appreciating his opponent’s desperate struggle—hopeless, futile combat destined to fail.

Now his only regret was not being able to make that woman named Jiang Hanyuan witness this scene as well, to see her man, this most powerful man in Wei, struggling for survival under his hands.

But no matter—when he returned at dawn, this scene would soon unfold. He knew that the fortress was about to be breached by him.

Another heavy blow from a blade’s back struck the man’s back. He staggered forward and spat blood.

“Stop! Everyone, back off!”

Chi Shu shouted.

The Di soldiers slowly retreated.

Wild wind howled, and the firelight danced wildly in the wind. On the ground lay more than ten corpses scattered about, with seven or eight wounded still struggling. Blood dripped continuously from between Shu Shenhui’s fingers, yet he still gripped tightly the notched blade, its point touching the ground to support himself, refusing to fall. Not only that, but slowly, he even straightened his body, standing at the edge of the firelight with two blood-stained gazes shooting straight toward Chi Shu across from him.

Chi Shu squinted, tilted back his head, drank the last mouthful of wine from the wine bag, threw it aside, then took up his bow and arrow, aimed, and shot an arrow toward that figure.

With a muffled “thud,” the cold-gleaming, sharp arrowhead buried itself in the man’s right chest, just as this person had once done to him. Even now, Chi Shu still bore a scar in the same position on his chest.

Shu Shenhui could no longer maintain his stance.

Like a collapsing mountain peak, he lay in a pool of blood, eyes half-open and half-closed, blood slowly seeping from the corners of his mouth.

Chi Shu leaped down from his horse, drew his waist knife, and walked toward the man on the ground, stopping before him.

“Do you know what I’m going to do next?”

With a “clang,” he kicked the blade away, his gaze falling on the blood-soaked empty hand, smiling as he said: “I’m going to personally chop off this hand of yours and send it to Chang’an, for the Wei emperor, officials, and common people to see. Then tell me—exactly how much is your hand worth!”

Chi Shu stared down at the critically wounded, dying man at his feet, his eyes glinting with cold, excited light. He raised his blade, and at that moment, Shu Shenhui in the pool of blood opened a pair of bloody eyes, brilliant light bursting from their depths as he swept his leg out, heavily kicking Chi Shu’s leg sideways.

Chi Shu was completely unprepared and immediately fell to the ground. But his reaction was also extremely quick—startled, to prevent his blade from being seized, he quickly threw it aside, then swung his arm, about to counterattack with his iron claw when Shu Shenhui unhesitatingly pulled the arrow shaft still connected to bits of bloody flesh from his chest with his bloody hand and thrust it toward Chi Shu’s throat.

Chi Shu was greatly alarmed, withdrawing his iron claw to block horizontally and protect his throat, not expecting Shu Shenhui to follow the momentum and twist his arm.

With a “pop,” the arrowhead struck viciously and precisely, immediately piercing his ear canal.

Having succeeded with one strike and giving his opponent no chance to escape, Shu Shenhui used all his strength to thrust his arm forward forcefully. The arrow shaft immediately penetrated Chi Shu’s brain, entering through his left ear and breaking straight out through his right ear.

Chi Shu felt darkness before his eyes with stars flashing chaotically. Under tremendous pain, his body convulsed, and he could not open his eyes. In his wild delirium, after letting out a long, heart-rending wail, he instinctively flailed his iron claw wildly.

Shu Shenhui’s shoulder and back were slashed until flesh hung in ribbons with white bone faintly visible, yet he did not loosen his grip in the slightest.

His eyes seemed to be dripping blood as he gritted his teeth tightly. Before the surrounding Di soldiers could react and rush over, he pressed down Chi Shu’s iron-clawed hand that was attacking him, then held him tightly and rolled forcefully, tumbling down the slope together.

The Di soldiers pursued to the top of the slope and saw the two men tangled together rolling faster and faster like a spinning top, quickly reaching the bottom where they fell into the grassland marsh with a splash. Due to inertia, they continued rolling forward, crushing large patches of reeds near the shore, which slowly straightened back up after they passed.

Several zhang away, it was pitch black—nothing could be seen. Behind those reed beds came sounds of struggling and fighting, but soon these sounds also stopped. Only a vague, gasping voice carried on the wind: “Someone—pull me out—”

It was Chi Shu’s voice, broken and filled with endless pain and terror.

Di soldiers poured down from the slope, but before they could approach the marsh, their feet sank into the mud. Attempting to walk a few more steps forward, they suddenly sank deeper, reaching their knees in an instant.

Knowing the marsh was dangerous, the Di soldiers hastily pulled back their legs and retreated, all climbing back to shore.

“Someone—someone—”

From behind the reed beds, several zhang away, came Chi Shu’s repeated, mumbled cries for help.

A Di noble traveling with them, to test the depth, ordered men to bring a horse and drive it down. The horse had barely entered a zhang from shore when it became deeply mired in mud. Struggling, it quickly sank deeper. Soon, this tall horse completely disappeared into the muddy water before everyone’s eyes.

The Di soldiers watched with pounding hearts. At this moment, from behind those reed grasses came Chi Shu’s desperate and agonized voice: “Come—” Before he finished speaking, the voice suddenly became muffled, as if his mouth had filled with a large amount of obstructing matter, and the voice vanished.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

The Di soldiers stood on the shore, shouting toward the front.

A night wind blew past, making the reed beds rustle. After the wind passed, all was deathly silent—nothing could be heard anymore.

The Di soldiers looked at each other, everyone understanding that at this moment, the emperor must have sunk into the grassland marsh together with that Wei Regent Prince and perished.

Even without falling into the marsh, having his ears brutally pierced by the arrow shaft as his opponent had done, there was no possibility of survival. The only pity was that the Wei Regent Prince had also perished in the mud with him, losing a great opportunity for fame and merit.

With Chi Shu dead, they had always been at odds with Lord Zuochang’s forces who were still surrounding the fortress. If they didn’t return now and the fortress was breached by them, they would lose on both counts.

The leader summoned his subordinates to discuss briefly, quickly deciding to turn back immediately.

The Di soldiers on shore departed, and the noise disappeared.

Shu Shenhui was trapped in the grassland marsh, with mud already reaching his waist. He was grasping a large clump of nearby reeds while leaning back as much as possible to avoid sinking completely so quickly. However, those reeds could no longer support his pulling force. He could feel himself continuing to sink slowly downward.

Beneath his feet was a bottomless dark vortex, its giant mouth open, waiting to swallow him.

Just moments before, he had watched coldly with his blood-stained eyes as Chi Shu beside him struggled—the more violently he struggled, the faster he sank. At the moment when his mouth and nose were blocked by mud and his eyes were about to sink below the muddy water, Shu Shenhui saw on that face completely twisted by severe pain infinite despair and unwillingness. In the final moment, his mind, originally maddened by agony, also cleared, and he desperately raised both arms high above his head. So in that last moment, after his entire body had disappeared, his arms still maintained that upward-reaching posture and motion, as if doing so would bring salvation from heaven in the next moment.

But heaven brought no salvation. Under the dim, pale moonlight, Shu Shenhui’s gaze moved away from these still-exposed hands that gradually stopped grasping and appeared infinitely eerie.

He was severely injured, his entire body in pain, pain so intense it was almost numb. The blood loss made him feel extremely weary—at this moment, he just wanted to fall unconscious, to sleep like this and never wake up again.

Yet he was unwilling to sleep like this. He bit his tongue with his teeth, using this clear sensation of pain to awaken himself, struggling to maintain his consciousness. The mud’s embrace seemed to slow his blood loss somewhat. Slowly, laboriously, he raised his head to look up at the night sky above.

She would certainly be able to lead her soldiers in breaking out and escaping safely.

Soon, the northern lands would be autumn again. But he would probably never have the chance to see it again.

His gaze fell once more upon the iron claw before him that still defiantly reached toward heaven, yet was slowly sinking, he thought to himself.