Xiao Nanhui’s heart skipped a beat in a surge of retrospective dread. She hurriedly took the person beside her by the arm and rose to her feet, pulling back two cautious steps.

Before her lay the deep chasm of the Tianmu River’s ancient riverbed — a divide she would sooner brave crossing the Tianmu River in winter ice than attempt to ford.

She suddenly understood why, moments ago, the two of them had been riding together on one horse at a pace that was not particularly fast, while their pursuer had consistently maintained a set distance from them the entire time.

The other party meant to drive them into a dead end before striking in one decisive blow.

The faint clip-clop of hoofbeats drifted closer, carried on the air. The person riding toward them seemed utterly unhurried, carrying a certain leisure quality, like a cat toying with a mouse.

She would not let herself fall into such a person’s hands — and she absolutely could not allow Tiancheng’s sovereign to fall into them either.

That resolve slowly hardened. Xiao Nanhui reached toward her waist.

Two throwing chain-darts remained — the last ones Ding Weixiang had left her before departing.

Thank heaven.

If it came to it, she was willing to thank his ancestors for eighteen generations, right to his face.

She pressed her palms together and clasped the chain-darts within them, murmuring a silent prayer.

She rarely beseeched any deity, but in this moment, she would offer any tribute she had in exchange for even a single instance of divine favor.

After a brief prayer, she mustered all her strength and threw both chain-darts out at once.

The instant they left her hands, she began silently counting in her mind, until she heard the sound of the darts striking a stone wall through the mist.

Seven counts.

Between her and the western bank of the Tianmu River lay a chasm of ten thousand fathoms — seven counts wide.

She rapidly calculated the distance in her mind, then forced herself to forget what that calculation had yielded.

Well. It was not that far, really.

Xiao Nanhui sniffled in bitter grievance, and took advantage of the remaining time to buckle the clasp of the other chain-dart to Su Wei’s waist sash.

“Your Majesty, are you wearing armor beneath your outer robe?”

The man who had been silent all this time gave a quiet nod.

She nodded along with him. “Excellent, excellent.” Then, still not quite at ease, she reached over without a second thought and parted his collar to look — when she saw the fine silver chain mail beneath, she released a long, heavy breath.

Immediately after, she suddenly realized that what she had just done was somewhat improper. Yet in the next instant, she felt that the circumstances were strangely familiar, as though something like this had happened before.

She felt a touch embarrassed, and quickly explained: “This subject needed to confirm the type of armor, to ensure Your Majesty’s imperial person is completely without risk.”

The man slowly pulled his collar back into place. “Have you confirmed it?”

She could barely keep her head up. “Con — confirmed. It is a seamless soft armor. They say it can withstand heavy lances, cavalry sabers, and a single blow from ten years of a swordsman’s skill. Most reliable indeed—”

A clear voice suddenly rang out in the mist, as though he had been standing there for some time already.

“If I need only take his head, what use is soft armor to him?”

Xiao Nanhui pulled Su Wei behind her at once.

This person’s lightness skill was far superior to hers, and his ability to project his voice through air alone spoke of depths she could not fathom. Even at a distance where she could not see her opponent, she had no real confidence in her odds.

Moreover, for some reason, that voice sounded somewhat familiar.

But before she could act on any of this, Su Wei’s voice rose calmly from behind her.

“If you had sufficient confidence in your own sword, you would not behave this way.”

A pause of silence fell over the mist, followed by the sound of a blade being drawn from its scabbard.

“My sword has no need to prove itself to anyone.”

The sword’s cry rang out — this time without its lingering echo, replaced by a sudden, sharp shrieking rush of air.

Xiao Nanhui held her breath and focused her entire being on catching that gleam of cold light slicing through the curtain of mist toward her.

At last, she saw it clearly.

It was an ancient sword, completely devoid of ornamental markings — its form was the very summit of plainness and simplicity, like an ordinary sword one could purchase at any market stall.

That thrust was unadorned in the extreme, like the first technique a student of the sword learns from their master.

And yet this single, utterly simple thrust made her feel as though she faced a mortal enemy.

The hand gripping that sword was so poised and steady — no matter how forcefully she pressed or how craftily she tested it, not once did it lose its composure; while the sword’s edge was so cunning and relentless that no matter how she twisted or evaded, it pursued her vital points without cease.

By the time she realized what had happened, the cold blade had already grazed past the light armor covering her left flank.

A grating, rasping sound followed, and a burst of sparks erupted.

She felt her left arm lighten all at once. The layered plates of armor over the entire limb fell away in an instant, and even the sleeve beneath them was sliced clean through — the cut as neat and precise as if someone had deliberately sheared it.

“The next time, it will be your arm.”

A violet figure stepped toward her through the mist. Xiao Nanhui finally saw the face of the sword’s wielder clearly.

It was him.

The Bai Family swordsman who had appeared at Prefect Sun’s banquet — Yanzi.

His eyes were rounded in shape, with very large, dark pupils that gave them a whole look of innocent vagueness, carrying with them a kind of guileless quality that might cause a person to lower their guard.

Had she not once witnessed him kill several people in an instant without so much as blinking — and witnessed the terrifying technique he had just displayed — no one would ever have thought that a person with such a boyish face could be a ruthless and cold-blooded assassin.

“I have heard that the person at Tiancheng’s Emperor’s side is a blade fighter.”

Xiao Nanhui produced a somewhat strained smile. “He has the day off. I am on duty in his place.”

Yanzi’s gaze drifted slowly downward, coming to rest on the tip of Pingxian’s spear. His expression shifted, something unusual in his eyes.

“Are you of the Mei Family?”

Xiao Nanhui was taken aback, unsure what the other party meant.

In that brief moment of distraction, the swordsman narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Looking more closely, perhaps not. No matter — this spear of yours does look most interesting. I shall fight you with my full strength, which at least allows this spear to be put to worthy use.”

Full strength? You might as well run me through right now and be done with it.

In a confrontation between skilled fighters, the pressure of one’s inner energy can clash before weapons are ever drawn. If one side shows hesitation or fear before making a move, they have already lost half the battle.

Xiao Nanhui had already lost the initiative.

Not that she could be blamed. She simply could not match him to begin with.

“I had not imagined that Tiancheng, in the end, would leave a person like you to accompany the sovereign.”

There was little mockery in Yanzi’s tone — only genuine bewilderment, as though this were a question whose answer he had long pondered without resolution.

“This one also had not imagined that Bai Family would bestow a stolen sword upon a subordinate as a weapon.”

The Emperor’s voice was as calm as the motionless air surrounding them — a plain statement of fact, devoid of embellishment.

The swordsman’s countenance, however, slowly filled with a rage he could not conceal.

The one thing he could tolerate least in his life was anyone presuming to speak carelessly about his sword, or pointing fingers at it.

“You speak nonsense — this sword I obtained myself—”

“The Dongyao Sword: it is said that when its edge stirs, the entire configuration of the cosmos shifts in an instant. Forged of red gold, the blade three feet and one inch in length, the guard two and a half fingers in width, cast in a single piece — no markings, no inscription — save for a single point of red at the ricasso. Is that not so?”

A flash of astonishment crossed Yanzi’s face, quickly replaced by the haughty air that had been there before.

“What of it? Even if you recognize this sword, do not think you can use it to deceive or unsettle me. My master commands me to take your life. You are welcome to resist with all your strength, but I will not fail.”

Hearing the exchange between the two of them, Xiao Nanhui gradually grew very still.

She had not come here today as a representative of any martial sect or clan for a contest of honor. Glory, dignity, victory and defeat — none of these mattered to her. What mattered was only a single thing: life and death.

Forward was death. Retreat was death.

Then perhaps — choose a way of dying that felt a little more satisfying?

Or perhaps —

Her gaze settled on the boundless, misty abyss of ten thousand fathoms.

The advantage of not being able to see the bottom was this: sometimes, you could trick yourself into the feeling that it was not quite so deep as all that.

She turned slightly sideways, drawing closer to Su Wei behind her.

“Your Majesty — do you trust this subject?”

She kept her voice very low, as though were it any louder, the emotions in those few spare words would no longer be able to hide.

After a moment, Su Wei gave no reply.

Yanzi’s voice carried a toying amusement. “Not only cowardly — but foolish.”

Xiao Nanhui did not respond. She seemed utterly indifferent to the contempt in his words.

The next instant, she felt someone gently close their hand around hers, which was trembling ever so slightly.

That hand was still somewhat cool — yet in this moment, it steadied her unease and kindled her resolve more than any bold declaration or burning bloodlust ever could.

She had made a promise: to bring him out of this place alive. She could not go back on her word.

The fine wire at her waist gave a faint tremor — the canyon winds shifting the chain-dart into motion.

The wind was picking up. This boundless mist, stretching as far as the eye could not see, was ready to disperse.

She grinned at the swordsman who stood before her with his deadly blade and peerless martial skill.

This smile was one of particular ease.

“There will be many more things that Mister Yan has not anticipated.”

With those words, she pulled the person beside her into her arms and turned, leaping decisively off the edge of the cliff.

She knew how fast that sword was — so she could not allow herself even a moment’s hesitation.

And yet even so, she still heard the rushing sound of something cleaving through the air behind her.

She swung Pingxian back to deflect it, but the sword’s aura split in two. One part struck the spear’s tip, sending a numbing shock through her palm and fingers. And the other—

A sharp crack.

The chain-dart at Su Wei’s waist snapped in two.

The taut metal cord whipped upward and sliced a line of blood across her cheek, then went slack and floated down into the abyss like a strand of limp hair drifting on the breeze.

Both their weights fell in an instant onto the last remaining chain at Xiao Nanhui’s waist. That slender wire capable of cutting through gold and stone let out a horrifying series of creaking sounds — like someone grinding their teeth, the bone grinding against bone.

The sword’s aura came again from behind. This time she had no chance to dodge or counter. She simply held the other person firmly shielded against her front, and with the protection of her light battle armor, took the full force of the blow on her body.

Hold on just a little longer. Just a little.

Xiao Nanhui murmured in the depths of her heart.

Five, four, three—

Those brief seven counts of time felt as though half a lifetime had passed within them.

Finally, she caught sight of the rough stone face of the opposite bank.

Yet in the very instant before reaching the other shore, she felt the tremendous force pulling at her waist suddenly go completely slack.

Well. She had known this would happen.

Could they not have let her fly just a little further?! Just a little longer.

The body, now without any tether, began to fall through midair. Xiao Nanhui seized on the last remaining momentum carried by the chain-dart and drove Pingxian forward with all the strength she had left.

This technique she had used once before — when leaving Huozhou, at the suspension bridge there.

But that time, only her own weight was involved, and the northern cliff rock was also far denser than that of the Suyan area, where the stone was mostly loose sandstone.

She had no time to weigh all the ways in which these changed conditions might affect the outcome. She did not even have a chance to say a word of explanation to the man beside her: this time, the odds that both of them would survive were perhaps no more than thirty percent.

So be it.

All hope for survival rested in this single strike.

In the instant she thrust forward, she heard the man’s voice at her ear — low, and steady.

“This one trusts you.”