It was said that in the valleys to the southwest of Tiancheng there lived crimson flood dragons of terrible venom — yet in their youth they were dark in color and harmless, so much so that even hawks and sparrows could peck at them freely.

And so, when young, these flood dragons developed a special ability: they could go seven days without eating or drinking inside wind, rain, and fog, until they had grown the markings that would ward off their natural enemies. Later generations called this manner of hiding oneself from harm “concealment in the mist.”

This was also Lu Songping’s secret name for their response to this battle.

The Emperor’s carriage was quietly tucked away within the supply wagons of the Tiancheng army — just like a flood dragon hidden in the rain and fog.

The interior of this carriage had been reinforced with a cast-iron skeleton, and its walls were more than an inch thicker than an ordinary carriage — yet from the outside it looked no different from the rest of the wagons carrying military supplies. The deployment around it was also free of heavy guards; instead it was surrounded by seemingly ordinary and casual infantry archers, though each of them was a standout within the camp. Among the familiar faces were Black Feather personal guards, every one capable of taking on ten opponents at once.

The last piece of the incense stick burned out, and the ash fell into the dish without a sound.

The yin hour had passed; the mao hour took its place.

Xiao Nanhui quickly lit another one. Only when she saw the smoke rising in a curl once more did her heart settle somewhat.

After completing the act of lighting the incense, she pressed herself flat again — her entire face laid sideways against the carriage’s floorboards near the axle housing — and listened carefully.

The faint trembling coming through the earth was moving from far away toward them, muffled and indistinct as it was — whether the fog had something to do with it, she wasn’t sure.

“Cavalry night raids almost always wrap their horses’ hooves. The advance riders on light horses are often completely silent.”

Su Wei’s voice came from above her head. She felt somewhat impatient and for a moment made no reply, continuing to listen.

She didn’t know whether one quarter-hour had passed or half. Then a dull thud came — heavier than the surrounding murmur — like a pebble dropping into a deep pool.

That was one of the rolling stones Lu Songping had placed at a high point earlier.

The terrain here was too flat. Even with a slight rise of ground, it was not enough — not like in a gorge — to use rolling stones as an ambush to crush the enemy.

Lu Songping’s rolling stones served a different purpose: to confirm the distance between the Bai Family cavalry and the Tiancheng forces. Cavalry carried heavy loads; their passage left tremors in the earth. The rolling stones, set vibrating, would tumble down — and the Tiancheng commanders could use the sound to gauge the enemy’s position and direction.

Now that the sound had come, it meant the enemy force had pushed into the outer perimeter of Tiancheng’s defensive line.

Xiao Nanhui rose then and lowered the inner iron-and-bronze panel over the carriage window. The interior of the compartment went a few degrees darker. Only the small red glow atop the incense stick flickered, faint and precarious.

The man’s low, deep voice broke through the suffocating silence.

“What must come — will come, sooner or later.”

Xiao Nanhui blinked, trying to make out that person’s outline in the darkness. In the end she could see nothing.

Her mouth was dry. She only wanted to say something to give herself a little courage.

“This official has previously witnessed the endless variations of the Black Feather Camp’s formations at Sanmu Pass. Southern Qiang barbarians are skilled in brute force attack but lack tactical art — given today’s circumstances, that is a considerable advantage.”

“The Black Feather formations rely on variation. Given today’s situation, where we cannot even tell where the enemy is positioned, the formations are a dead arrangement — they will be broken eventually.” That voice paused for a moment, then floated back again unhurried: “What Xiao Qing does not know — the Black Feather formations are commanded by musical tones, and only I can direct them.”

Xiao Nanhui’s breath hitched. She reflexively asked: “Then how do we deal with the enemy’s surprise attack? What if they have come fully prepared and use the terrain to trap us here?”

“Lu Songping’s deployments are scattered rather than clustered. To encircle us would require no fewer than a million troops. As for adapting to changing circumstances — the Black Feather Camp is no different from any other camp; since the banners cannot be seen, they will use drums, gongs, and horn calls for advance and retreat. But this method — the Bai Family knows it too. And so — Tiancheng has already lost the initiative.”

With every additional word the Emperor spoke, the stone in Xiao Nanhui’s heart sank a fraction deeper.

She bit her lip, feeling all along as though the other person were deliberately adding to the tension inside her — yet she didn’t dare openly push back, and could only press that unease down on her own.

At that exact moment, another strange sound came through the thick walls of the carriage.

A wailing cry rang out from mid-air — like a crane keening mournfully amid the clouds — and then transformed into a heavy drumbeat that slammed into the earth.

This was the sound of ten thousand arrows released at once.

Lu Songping had opened the first round of long-range offense.

The viscous air filtered out the roars of rage and the wails of the dying, but in her mind she was tracing the sounds of that killing — holding them like a last talisman gripped in both hands.

“The Black Feather archers under Lu Songping’s command carry more than a thousand cloud-treading arrows. These arrows are capable not only of long-range attack when paired with the setting-sun longbow — their striking force is also formidable; even at a hundred paces, they can pierce through armor.”

“Have you heard of rhinoceros-and-buffalo hide armor?”

Xiao Nanhui stopped short, and shook her head blankly.

“Since ancient times, the area around Bijiang has been rich in rare and exotic beasts. Among them, the nomadic tribes disfavor gold and iron for armor — instead, they use beast hides. The Qiang people in particular are skilled at tanning rhinoceros and buffalo hide into armor, hard as gold and stone, which can last a hundred years. Ordinary blades and swords cannot penetrate it — and even cloud-treading arrows lose half their power against it.”

As she listened, her expression grew more and more urgent: “Does Captain Lu have any countermeasure?”

“To the best of my knowledge — no.”

She was dumbstruck: “Then — then what do we do?”

“Rhinoceros-and-buffalo hide armor is extremely precious. It cannot be that an entire army of ten thousand all possesses it. If we can kill a hundred, we kill a hundred.”

When he finished speaking, he waved his hand — as though explaining a trivial, slightly amusing matter of no great consequence.

Xiao Nanhui was somewhat dazed. She almost had the impression the Emperor was joking with her.

Yet the current situation truly made it impossible for her to find anything amusing. She was not a madwoman — she genuinely could not laugh.

Su Wei’s gaze in the darkness effortlessly caught the expression on someone’s face. He tilted his head, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Does Xiao Qing refuse to die on the same day as I?”

Xiao Nanhui was on the verge of tears: “Your Majesty, please do not jest with this official. Your Majesty is the true dragon, the Son of Heaven — longevity equal to that of heaven and earth — naturally with gods and Buddhas guarding—”

Su Wei gave a low, dismissive sound: “There are no others present. There is no need for such pretense.”

Xiao Nanhui was again at a loss for words.

“All are born with but one mortal body of flesh and blood — what purpose then does it serve to invoke divine names?”

She thought for a moment, then finally gave a firm shake of her head: “Though all are born human, no two fates are alike.”

That person seemed to let out a low laugh — and then it disappeared in an instant.

“In Xiao Qing’s view — is it destined that my life end here?”

She resumed her slightly cowed demeanor and rubbed her hands: “Your Majesty — this official is overcome with awe—”

But before she could finish the second half of that sentence, a muffled thud rang out to her left, and at the same instant the entire carriage compartment shuddered slightly.

Xiao Nanhui’s whole body jerked. She swiftly raised Pingxian across her chest, shielded the person in the darkness behind her, then reached out to check the left wall of the carriage.

“Do not be alarmed — it may simply be a stray arrow.”

Su Wei’s words had barely fallen when another thud came.

This time she saw it clearly — an arrowhead, bristling with sharp teeth, protruding from the wood of the carriage wall.

“Ah. It seems not.”

He smiled — that smile held no particular meaning, yet it created an uncanny sense of displacement with their present circumstances.

“Your Majesty — make no more sound. This official needs to listen to the movement outside.”

Her tone was uncommonly grave. Her entire person was like a hunting hound that had caught the scent of a bear — every single strand of fur along the back of her neck standing on end.

The dark feathers on the flying eaves of the carriage hung low, utterly still.

On this morning without wind or sunlight, every sign could only be read through sound.

At last, the sounds of slaughter closed in through the fog — closer and closer.

Had it been a little brighter, people might have seen the fog itself stained blood-red from the spattering of blood.

Even under this dark and overcast sky, no one could block out the iron smell of blood boring straight into the depths of one’s nostrils.

Yet beyond the oppression that came from the senses — an unspoken struggle, buried deep in every heart, was the emotion that truly filled every Tiancheng and Bijiang soldier on that field.

Bai Heguo in his time had taken away an army of a hundred thousand — who had originally been Tiancheng soldiers. The majority of them were not Southern Qiang at all; some had even been born in Quecheng itself, sons of noble families who had once warmed themselves by lantern-lit streets and sung in wine-soaked nights — fine young men of spirit.

But now, more than ten years on, half of those young men had stayed in the capital and made names for themselves in court or on the battlefield, becoming the pillars of state that defended their homeland today.

And the other half — those once-passionate young men ablaze with ambition — had been left cold by the winds of Suoyan. Forced to put down roots in a land that was not their own, they had gradually come to have a new home they wished to defend.

Now they raised their weapons against each other — against enemies, and against old companions, against shadows from a past that still haunted their dreams.

To defend the land, to pacify all under heaven — this was an unshakeable faith, as immovable as the sword in their hand, which could only ever point in the direction of the campaign and never turn back.

And the crime of treason allowed no clemency or pardon — just as every step they had stamped down with their horses’ hooves had no road home.

The eclipse was slowly lifting, and the light between heaven and earth was gradually returning.

The ringing clash of iron hooves was like a roaring river rushing into the sea. The earth trembled faintly, and then came the cries of charge.

The true slaughter had only just begun.

Su Wei’s carriage had been carefully nestled in an inconspicuous corner — already the safest spot in Lu Songping’s entire deployment.

Yet the outer perimeter could not hold under wave after wave of siege for more than half a quarter-hour, and gradually enemy soldiers began to break through and infiltrate the surrounding area. From inside the carriage, Xiao Nanhui could already hear clearly the sound of blades piercing flesh and bone.

The Bai Family cavalry had killed their way into a frenzy — they seemed to have no fixed target, only to slaughter every Tiancheng soldier they could find. One wave fell and another surged forward; all of them with a kill-or-be-killed ferocity.

It was this corner, so quietly set apart, that drew the attention of one particular pair of eyes among the enemy.

Those were the eyes of a jackal — the pupils small and cramped, surrounded by broad whites that made them look ferocious and ruthless.

These were the eyes of Kui Lang, one of the Bai Family’s four mounted warriors.

This man’s background was not unlike Mo Chunhua’s — both were of mixed Tiancheng and Southern Qiang blood. The difference was that he had grown up in Bijiang, with hatred for Tiancheng flowing in his very bones.

Kui Lang wrenched his spear free and sent a spray of blood droplets flying, then launched himself from his horse, treading across the heads of a line of soldiers and charging straight toward the supply wagons.

Everyone said Tiancheng’s Emperor couldn’t fight. Could this be…

He would not allow himself to speculate wildly — he would verify it himself.

He was skilled with the horse lance — his style was sweeping and forceful, very domineering. The archers Lu Songping had positioned lost their advantage in close combat, and the originally tight and clever defensive line was violently torn open.

The premonition grew stronger and stronger. The frenzy of slaughter gradually expanded into a surge of excitement. He wanted to dig out that damned Emperor’s heart and liver and display them on the divine statues of Sanmu Pass — and see if any Tiancheng soldier would dare set foot in Bijiang again.

After overturning several more carriages and horses, his lance grew more and more fluid in his hand. The next instant, the eight-edged lancehead plunged into the door panel of one carriage, and his hand paused — reining in his horse with a hard stop.

This feeling — unlike all the others just now.

Though it was only a brief moment of resistance, he was certain: this carriage’s compartment walls were different from all the other carriages.

A sardonic smile curved at his lips. His small forearm flexed with force, intending to wrench the weapon free — when a flying wood splinter, of all the rotten luck, entered his right eye.

“To hell with this.”

Kui Lang cursed under his breath. Wincing, he extended his lance behind the door panel to probe inside.

The expected cries for mercy, panic, and commotion — none came. The carriage was as quiet as if it were empty.

He was not satisfied. He covered his throbbing right eye with his left hand and was about to kick away the ruined door when it flew off on its own — and slammed right into the head of a Bai Family cavalryman charging in on horseback from not far away. That unfortunate soldier immediately went limp and unconscious.

A flash of utter surprise. He extended the horse lance through the opening in the door panel and probed inside.

All in the blink of an eye, everything happened at once. His lance tip reached through the shattered door into the carriage, and nothing stirred — as though it were completely empty. He was unsatisfied. He covered his throbbing right eye with his left hand and was just about to kick the ruined door away.

In the next second, the door flew out on its own, striking the head of a Bai Family cavalryman charging in on horseback from nearby. That unlucky soldier slumped unconscious on the spot.

He was somewhat taken aback, and reflexively raised the lance to thrust — only to be astonished even further when his lance, wrought from black iron tempered steel and weighing more than a hundred jin, hit something and stuck fast as though sunk into solid rock — it would not budge no matter how he yanked and pushed.

He snapped his head up. Borrowing the steadily brightening daylight, he looked in the direction of his lancehead — and was completely stunned.

What — on earth — was this?

Behind the swaying tatters of the shredded silk carriage curtain, a woman in silver armor had her left arm clamped down hard around his weapon. Her right leg, which had delivered the kick, was slowly drawing back. In front of the silk-wrapped wooden couch that had been smashed in two, she was leisurely pulling out a silver spear barely the length of an arm.

Kui Lang’s taut lips had begun to twitch. His right eye throbbed worse and worse.

“A stinking woman thinks she can fight me—”

He hadn’t gotten a clear look at the woman’s face. He only sensed there seemed to be another person behind her. He immediately flexed both arms, intending to wrench the weapon free.

And Xiao Nanhui — had been waiting for precisely this moment.

She stopped fighting against that enormous force and used her arm guards and the edge of her underarm armor to lock down the enemy’s lancehead. She borrowed that force to swing herself out of the carriage and straight toward Kui Lang.

This move was extremely dangerous — it required a spirit willing to put herself in mortal peril in order to find life on the other side.

But the disparity in raw strength between men and women sometimes truly cannot be closed.

Kui Lang sneered. His wrist turned and he pressed the lance shaft down. His other arm shot out like an iron clamp, swiftly and accurately closing around that woman’s throat — while her weapon came close enough to brush right in front of his face, and then could move no further, frozen in place.

Completely outmatched.

The horse lance was long, but the other party’s weapon was much shorter. He felt a little smug, and at the same time gave a quiet dismissive laugh at that strangely shaped silver spear.

But just then he saw the woman’s face — and on it, an expression that was almost mocking.

A crisp, clear snap rang out as a mechanism released. He only had time to catch a flash of silver shooting straight for his face — fast enough that by the time he reacted, his right eye was no longer in pain.

Because the right eye no longer existed — in its place was a dark, dripping hole.

That silver spear, which had been no longer than an arm just a moment ago, had extended at breathtaking speed into a full-length weapon, driving clean through his skull.

What killed him was not her strength — but his own arrogance.

The unwilling force at her throat finally slackened and faded. Xiao Nanhui coldly drew Pingxian back and did not even glance at the corpse — letting it be carried off every which way by the horse whose reins had gone slack — as though spending even one more expression on him would be a waste.

The daylight had grown a little brighter than before. When she turned her face toward Su Wei, the numbness of battlefield slaughter was still plainly visible on it.

The sounds of fighting all around and the whir of stray arrows continued to assail her eardrums. But she tried to let herself show a gentle expression.

“Your Majesty.” The woman wiped the blood from her hand against her robe hem and then laid it over the pair of eyes before her that were calm as an ancient well. “This place reeks of blood. If Your Majesty is unwilling — there is no need to look.”

She felt something soft and fine brush past her palm — like the wings of an insect glancing across her skin.

This one fleeting sensation — so utterly fragile and minute — drew her back, step by step, from the killing she had just done.

She paused for a moment, then drew her palm away. The person had already closed his eyes with quiet compliance.

“Then take me away from here.”

Xiao Nanhui drew a deep breath and kicked away the broken carriage shaft, then took firm hold of more than ten reins in her hands.

“This official will take Your Majesty — out of here alive.”