The night wind was icy cold, with bonfires everywhere. The Great Xia royal tent was extremely vast, made from northwestern snow deer pelts, brushed with Black Sea gold powder, adorned with dragon pearls, and embroidered with colorful coiled dragons. The dragons’ eyes were made of eastern pearls, their mouths painted with cinnabar, and their claws were ferocious. Two enormous oil basins were placed in front of the main tent, with torches flickering, dazzlingly bright. High flags fluttered proudly, with imperial guards standing watch between them, surrounding the area. Their armor gleamed brightly. From a distance, the imperial yellow royal tent camp resembled an Eastern Sea divine dragon crouching in the darkness, exuding tremendous momentum and incomparable majesty. The royal aura rushed forward, keeping all unrestrained merriment far away.
“Young Master,” A Jing quietly approached, drawing close to Yan Xun’s ear and whispering, “Someone is secretly approaching our camp. Should we take action?”
In the darkness, the man’s eyebrows slightly raised, his brow furrowing in confusion as he asked in a deep voice, “Who is it?”
A Jing respectfully replied, “I don’t know, but they don’t appear to be from the Mu He clan.”
“I’ll go check,” Chu Qiao stepped forward and said quietly.
Yan Xun nodded, his tone low, “Be careful. Unless necessary, don’t resort to violence. The banquet is about to begin. I’ll wait for you to come.”
“Don’t worry, it might be Zha Lu’s people causing trouble. I’ll be back soon.”
With that, she led A Jing toward the camp.
“A Chu?” Seeing Chu Qiao leave, Zhao Song was startled and immediately called out loudly, making a move to follow her.
“Thirteenth Prince,” Yan Xun held Zhao Song’s arm, smiling faintly, “A Chu has some matters to attend to. She’ll be back soon. Let’s go first.”
Zhao Song was reluctantly dragged away by Yan Xun, constantly looking back as they walked.
The cold wind mixed with snow hit their faces. The sound of hoofbeats rang out as the torches and lights on both sides gradually became sparse. Under the pitch-black sky, the cold moon was like a knife, with scattered stars. The heavens appeared high and distant, dark and profound. Occasionally, the wings of an eagle would cut through the air, emitting a fluttering cry.
In the blink of an eye, it had been eight years since she arrived in this unknown dynasty. Life had never given her the opportunity or right to indulge in seasonal melancholy or worldly games. The terrible environment, endless killing, and bloody brutality had always forced her to fight and flee continuously. Too many unknown variables lay before her, too many uncontrollable traps and schemes hidden in unknown places, too many successive desperate situations compelling her forward, making it impossible for her to stop. She was not born a killer, much less a bandit. She merely wanted, under the premise of survival, to maintain that simple distinction between good and evil in her heart.
Heaven and Earth are not benevolent, treating all creatures as straw dogs. The edge of world destruction hangs overhead, but if taken up, it might become the world-saving blade that overturns the world.
“Hya!” Chu Qiao shouted fiercely, spurring her horse to gallop, racing at extreme speed across the vast, snowy plain.
The sound of hoofbeats came galloping from the distance. A man dressed entirely in black rode alone across the vast snowy plain. Chu Qiao and her companions reined in their horses with a shout. A Jing frowned and said in a deep voice, “Miss, something’s wrong with this person. He’s coming from the direction of our camp.”
A Yan guard stepped forward and shouted at the approaching figure, “Hey! Who are you?”
As soon as the words fell, before he could even take a breath, a gleaming flying dagger suddenly cut through the cold, quiet night sky. Swift as lightning, with astonishing momentum, carrying thunderous sharpness and killing intent, it howled toward the shouting Yan guard.
With a “clang,” knife and sword collided, sending a shower of dazzling sparks into the darkness. A Jing drew his sword in reverse to deflect the flying dagger, then bent his bow and stepped forward, shouting fiercely, “Who goes there? Such viciousness!”
The person seemed to notice the large number of people ahead and craftily turned his horse to ride westward. Seeing this, Chu Qiao raised an eyebrow and commanded in a low voice, “After him!” Everyone responded in unison and spurred their horses into a wild gallop, giving chase.
The distant mountains were pitch black, the dense forest like ink. The enormous snowy plain resembled a ferocious white beast, with countless hoofbeats trampling upon it, snow flying and howling in the air.
Suddenly, numerous silhouettes appeared ahead—a large group of riders approaching. The horses were silent, everything quiet, but in the orderly footsteps, there was an indescribable chill and killing intent. Chu Qiao was startled and immediately raised her hand with a light shout, reining in her horse. But before she could speak, the black-clad man, cornered by the Yan guards, immediately took up his bow and shot fiercely at the riders opposite!
“Who goes there?”
A thunderous shout suddenly rang out. The night was deep, and the distance great—how could anyone see clearly who was approaching from the opposite side? The riders, ambushed, mistook the Yan guards for accomplices of the black-clad man ahead, and unsheathed their weapons with a series of “shua shua” sounds. Swords gleamed coldly, and arrows flew through the sky. The other side’s counterattack and reaction speed were astonishingly fast!
“Stop!” A Jing shouted. “We are not—”
Before he could finish speaking, an arrow suddenly shot toward them. Chu Qiao moved swiftly, supporting herself with one hand on the horse’s back, leaping up and kicking A Jing in the abdomen. The man grimaced in pain, his body bending. There was a muffled “thud” as the arrow pierced flesh. Although it missed the vital point of his heart, it still firmly embedded itself in his shoulder.
Chu Qiao’s brows immediately furrowed tightly. The other side, not distinguishing right from wrong and not clarifying the situation before launching a deadly attack, was truly detestable. The young woman in the snow-white fur coat rode forward, flipped off her horse, and knelt on one knee. Holding a giant crossbow, her expression serious, her eyes cold like a leopard’s, she stared intensely at the pitch-black snowy plain opposite. Her ears moved slightly, her brows furrowed tightly. The cold wind blew her bangs, and the young woman’s gaze was like lightning, flashing with sharp brilliance.
“Swoosh!”
A powerful arrow immediately left Chu Qiao’s fully drawn bow. Its momentum was like lightning, its intimidation palpable, leaving only a bright white flash that almost created sparks in the air as it shot into the funeral-like night.
Almost simultaneously, from the darkness opposite, the sound of a vibrating bowstring also rang out. An arrow left the string, suddenly heading toward Chu Qiao.
Two lightning bolts howled along the same trajectory, their speed astonishing, advancing relentlessly. Everyone watched wide-eyed as, with a crisp “crack,” the two arrows collided in mid-air, breaking simultaneously and shattering onto the vast snowy plain.
In an instant, Chu Qiao, with amazing skill, continuously changed positions and forms, altering the trajectory and force of her arrows, and firing seven shots. And the other side, using equally mysterious methods, countered each one.
In mid-air, one could only hear the “swoosh swoosh” of arrows leaving bows and the shattering sound of arrows colliding—a perfect match of skill and force!
The intense sounds suddenly disappeared. Chu Qiao’s gaze was sharp, her eyes narrowed slightly as her fingers touched the last three arrows in her quiver, silently waiting for the perfect moment.
A strong wind suddenly rose, blowing snow across the ground. Everyone instinctively covered their eyes to shield themselves against the sand and snow. However, in the darkness, only two people simultaneously sprang into action, running with force, releasing three arrows one after another shooting toward the front, like shooting stars chasing the moon, emitting soul-stirring bright, cold flashes in the night sky. The “pa pa” sound immediately rang out as four powerful arrows folded at the arrowheads, transforming into powder with a “suo suo” sound. As the strong wind blew, the last arrow seemed to have grown eyes. Witnessed by the swirling snow, the arrows coming from east and west passed each other’s shoulders, raising a trail of dazzling sparks, speeding toward each other’s hiding places!
Chu Qiao instantly resembled a wild beast springing into action, her entire body filled with explosive power. She threw away her bow, her right hand touching the ground as she thrust herself up, using her waist strength to stand. However, with a “shua” sound, the powerful arrow, carrying fiery force, passed right by her neck, scraping out a dark red blood mark.
“Miss!” The Yan guards were greatly alarmed and all rushed forward. Chu Qiao stood up, covering the neck wound that had begun to ooze blood, remaining silent, her gaze cold as she looked far into the darkness opposite.
She knew that the person on the other side had also dodged her lethal arrow, but like her, had sustained a minor injury.
All around was quiet, silent. The night was pitch black, with snow falling heavily, but through the layers of darkness, she could still feel that cold gaze, carrying an icy sharpness, shooting over from afar.
The sharp cry of an eagle suddenly cut through the sky above. In the darkness between the two sides, an agile shadow suddenly rose from the ground—the black-clad man who had been lying on the ground inciting trouble. He immediately sprang up like a bullet, running wildly, trying to escape this place of conflict.
Almost simultaneously, Chu Qiao and the archer opposite both drew swords from their waists, hurling them like thunder. The running man’s body shuddered, his eyes widened, and he looked down in unwilling resignation, only to see the two sword blades protruding through his chest. Then, with a “thud,” he fell heavily onto the snow.
Time slowly passed, and neither side made a sound. A Yan guard cautiously stepped forward, and seeing no reaction from the other side, called out loudly, “Friends opposite, we were pursuing a thief. Just now was a misunderstanding.”
There was no response from the opposite side, only silence. Yan guard Zuo Tang rode forward, and after a while, the sound of hoofbeats also rose from the other side’s troops.
“Miss,” after a moment, Zuo Tang returned, dismounting and handing Chu Qiao’s sword back to her, saying in a deep voice, “Your sword.”
The young woman raised an eyebrow, “What background are the others from?”
“I’m not sure,” Zuo Tang reported truthfully. “Their guards wore black fur coats, but they were of a very common style. Their appearance was unfamiliar; I’ve never seen them before.”
Chu Qiao remained indifferently silent, nodding as she took the sword, but her brows immediately furrowed.
This was a rare treasure sword, ancient in style, thin in blade, with faint jujube-red blood marks. The blade edge was sharp and bright, with dazzling brilliance flickering in the pale moonlight, like flowing mercury. The hilt was wrapped in golden silkworm silk, with two small ancient seal characters engraved: “Breaking Moon.”
Chu Qiao frowned, her fingers caressing the hilt as she said in a deep voice, “This is not my sword.”
Zuo Tang was startled and quickly said, “I will go find them to exchange it back.”
As soon as the words fell, the sound of galloping hooves rang out from the opposite side. The snow mist churned and vanished in an instant.
“You won’t catch up.”
The young woman said slowly, returning the sword to its sheath with a “shua” sound. Surprisingly, the sword fit perfectly with her scabbard.
“Bring that man’s body back. A Jing returned to camp for treatment. The rest of you, follow me to the royal tent plaza.”
The woman’s voice was resonant as she turned her horse and led everyone away.
Arriving at the plaza in front of the royal tent was like entering another world, filled everywhere with the aroma of roasted meat and sounds of laughter and joy. Chu Qiao removed her weapons, handed them to the guards, and, led by an imperial guard, entered the grand tent.
The royal tent was extremely vast, with thirty-six seats arranged in winding rows on the left and right sides. By the time Chu Qiao entered, most people had already arrived. Since the emperor had not yet arrived, the tent was filled with noise, with people gathering in groups, creating a lively atmosphere.
Chu Qiao, merely having the status of an attendant, naturally could not wander around freely. She swept her eyes around and headed directly to a less crowded, quieter area. Indeed, there sat Yan Xun in a moon-white robe, his features handsome, his expression calm, quietly drinking tea and wine. Zhao Song stood nearby, fidgeting, appearing restless.
“Young Master.”
Chu Qiao walked directly over, but before she could speak, Zhao Song exclaimed in alarm, “Ah! A Chu, what happened? Are you injured?”
Although the neck wound was just a scrape, it had begun to bleed. Chu Qiao shook her head, saying unconcernedly, “It’s nothing, just scratched myself accidentally.”
“How could you be so careless?” Zhao Song frowned with concern. “I’ll go find a doctor right away. It needs to be properly treated.”
“No need,” Chu Qiao held him back. “It’s just a minor wound, no need to make a fuss.”
“How can that be?” Zhao Song frowned unhappily, but knowing his words usually had little weight, he turned to Yan Xun, “Young Master Yan, what do you think?”
Yan Xun’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked up at the girl’s somewhat pale face. Years of tacit understanding made him understand, and he didn’t press the matter, only asking in a low voice, “Are you alright?”
Chu Qiao shook her head, saying firmly, “I’m fine.”
Seeing the two’s behavior, Zhao Song suddenly felt excluded, feeling somewhat dejected as he pursed his lips. Trying to find something to say, he announced, “Then I’ll go get some medicine for wounds.” With that, he turned and left.
Chu Qiao sat in the back seat of Yan Xun’s table, leaned forward, and said in a low voice, “It was Zha Lu’s people. They stole the secret box from your camp. I’ve already killed them.”
Yan Xun frowned and said, “That thing is useless, just a decoy. Why risk your life for it?”
“Zha Lu’s people don’t have that capability,” Chu Qiao lightly touched the wound on her neck and snorted softly. “Something unexpected happened. Have any new experts arrived in the capital recently?”
“Experts in the capital?” Yan Xun raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly becoming somewhat inscrutable. “There are certainly many.”
“Xun Ge!”
A coquettish voice suddenly rang out. From among the crowd, a young woman in purple sable robes, surrounded by a group of girls, ran over laughing and giggling. However, as soon as she approached, her smiling face instantly vanished, replaced by a cold glare at the young woman sitting behind Yan Xun. “Why is she here?” she asked coldly.
Chu Qiao stood up and respectfully bowed, “Eighth Princess.”
Zhao Chun didn’t even glance at Chu Qiao, walking directly to Yan Xun’s side and sitting down, angrily saying, “You haven’t come to see me these past few days. Is it because she’s back?”
Yan Xun rose, standing beside Chu Qiao, and said indifferently, “Yan Xun is terrified and dare not disturb the Princess’s rest.”
“Fine! As soon as she returns, you start calling me ‘Princess’?” With that, she suddenly pointed at Chu Qiao and coldly said, “Who allowed you, a lowly slave, to enter?”
As soon as the words fell, Yan Xun’s face immediately turned cold. The man’s handsome brows slowly furrowed, “Princess, as a noble golden branch and jade leaf, how can you use such vulgar language? A Chu was brought in by me. Does the Princess wish to expel me as well?”
Zhao Chun pursed her lips, her eyes immediately reddening. She stomped her foot in hatred but didn’t answer Yan Xun’s question, only pointing at Chu Qiao and shouting, “You just wait!” With that, she turned and ran off. The group of royal daughters who had come with her glared at Chu Qiao with shared enmity before chasing after her.
Chu Qiao sighed and said in a deep voice, “Why alienate her at this time? I can just leave.”
The man’s deep voice, like clear spring water from a mountain ravine, said slowly and deliberately, “When I was little, I had to endure because I had no other choice but to endure. If I still need to swallow my pride for this kind of thing now, then all my efforts over these years would be meaningless.”
Yan Xun sat in his seat, slowly taking a sip of wine, his expression calm, his features handsome, white-robed with black hair, like a person from a painting.
Just then, a sudden gust of cold wind blew in from the entrance, bringing a chill. Everyone immediately turned to look.
The tent curtain moved, and a young man in purple robes with white fur entered. He had a heroic bearing, eyebrows like swords, eyes like cold stars, and a face like fine jade. His entire person was handsome and straight, like an unsheathed sword, flashing with intimidating cold light and the sharp edge of a blade. However, incongruously, on his straight neck was a scrape wound, currently oozing with traces of blood.
Chu Qiao’s pupils immediately contracted, and her brows furrowed tightly.
“Fourth Young Master,” the Jing Prince and a group of aristocratic sons immediately went forward to greet him, their faces beaming like spring as they said, “After seven years apart, Fourth Young Master’s bearing is even more impressive than before!”
Zhuge Yue’s lips curled into a faint smile as he returned each greeting. His manners were measured as he stood among the crowd, talking and laughing—no longer the obsessive, suspicious, and solitary youth of the past. Seven years of life’s tempering had made him like an unsheathed treasure sword, capable of radiating his dazzling light at any time.
The lamps flickered, and the tent was filled with jubilation. Zhuge Yue, having escaped the entanglement of the crowd, scanned the gathering and finally fixed his gaze on the last seat in the corner.
Yan Xun quietly drank his wine without raising his head, his posture open and his demeanor elegant. But his broad back completely shielded the woman behind him, preventing that cold, sharp gaze from probing further.
“Young Master Yan, how have you been?”
The deep voice slowly sounded overhead. Yan Xun raised his head, smiled casually, and stood up. “Brother Zhuge, long time no see.”
Zhuge Yue’s lips curved into a smile, cold and bewitching, as he tilted his head slightly to look behind Yan Xun, slowly saying in a deep voice, “Xing’er, don’t you recognize me anymore?”
Time flowed by, the years surged on, the footsteps of time breaking through the emptiness of space. Seven years passed in the blink of an eye. People who had once crossed blades now stood once again on the scales of fate.
Chu Qiao raised her head, her expression calm, her gaze indifferent, as she looked at her former master who was looking down at her. Her lips parted slightly, “The fame of Fourth Young Master Zhuge fills the world. Who would not recognize you?”