On the twenty-eighth day of the eighth month in the three hundred and seventy-second year of the Great Wilderness calendar, Jing Hengbo first used llama cavalry on the battlefield against Zhanyu, conquering Yilan City in one battle and making Zhan Xin spit blood atop the city walls. However, she didn’t linger, bringing her new cavalry roaring past, heading straight for the Huangjin tribe.

Jing Hengbo didn’t engage in prolonged battle, which made Zhan Xin breathe a huge sigh of relief. The Zhanyu tribe immediately sealed the city gates and gathered their troops. Zhan Xin and his army had been terrified by the ferociously unmatched llama cavalry and didn’t even dare send scouts to investigate the subsequent situation, fearing Jing Hengbo would return with a surprise attack, letting those llamas’ watermelon-sized hooves trample through their fragile city walls.

So Zhan Xin didn’t see that after Jing Hengbo charged through Yilan City in one breath, she faced the chaos on the ground cursing like a fishwife—

“Damn it, why are they so disobedient!”

Llama cavalry were rolling all over the ground, all thrown off by their own mounts. Jing Hengbo’s llamas actually had no formation at all, nor had they undergone training. The llamas weren’t used to having people on their backs for such vigorous movement. They couldn’t run far before throwing their riders off.

Her Majesty the Queen cursed while still leading the three armies to collect things—various iron knee guards, iron arm guards, and iron parts were scattered all over the ground. The llamas also weren’t used to wearing battlefield armor, and after charging for a stretch, they used their mouths to desperately bite at those protective gear, clanging things dropping all over the ground. These protective items were all specially made and very valuable, so Her Majesty the Queen had to personally carry a basket and run all over picking them up, just like a little girl gathering mushrooms.

Her Majesty the Queen cursed while feeling fortunate that Zhan Xin was cowardly and didn’t dare pursue, or their scheme would have been exposed. The llama cavalry hadn’t undergone even one day of training before being directly thrown into battle, relying entirely on the shock and impact of llamas’ first battlefield appearance. To continue would have been disaster.

The group of steady, experienced titled colonels broke out in cold sweat after learning the truth, but Yélu Qi smiled slightly on the side—directly equipping llamas with cavalry for direct charging was his suggestion, yet Jing Hengbo had almost without hesitation immediately agreed.

Courage and boldness are essential elements for success.

Before implementation, she said it was her idea; after success, she said it was Yélu Qi’s plan. She shouldered the risk of failure alone, but attributed the glory of success to others.

Yélu Qi smiled and tapped his riding whip.

Being willing to take responsibility and not grabbing credit—this was the demeanor of a king.

He very much looked forward to the Imperial Capital’s expression when facing her again.

However, due to the llama cavalry’s troublesome nature, Jing Hengbo had to stop first to reorganize. She had to at least fix up the llama cavalry that had already gained such great fame to look somewhat presentable before continuing forward. Her journey to the Imperial Capital could not allow the slightest imperfection.

Also because of this stop, she received news that another secret army advancing through the marshes had been intercepted by mysterious forces.

…

On the night of the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month in the three hundred and seventy-second year of the Great Wilderness calendar.

Before them spread a vast expanse of land that at first glance didn’t differ much from ordinary soil, only occasionally glinting with dark, ghostly light when moonlight passed over. Among the gleaming black mud were scattered points of white light—looking closely, these were bones of humans and animals, making one realize this was a marsh that could cost lives.

On both sides of the marsh grew evergreen long grass with thick leaves, rustling softly.

After the rustling, over this lifeless marsh, an object suddenly slowly slid out.

Long and narrow like a shuttle leaf, with a smooth bottom from which extended many long flat boards lying flat on the surface like oars.

On this boat-like thing were some soldiers in light armor, with silk masks covering their mouths and noses to avoid injury from miasma that might suddenly arise from the marsh.

Such strange boats slid out one after another, connecting head to tail on the marsh with no end in sight.

On the foremost boat, Yingbai gazed ahead. Though there were still mountains and dense fog ahead, he seemed to already see through these barriers to the Imperial Capital’s towering walls.

Along the way, he had already crossed seven or eight marshes. This was the marsh closest to the Imperial Capital. After crossing here tonight and traveling another stretch, he could attack the most remote of the Imperial Capital’s nine gates—Xuanning Gate—at maximum speed.

Originally they could have been faster, but to coordinate with Jing Hengbo’s attack, the Heavenly Star treasure boats had slowed their advance.

It was very quiet all around, with a faint fragrance in the wind. This marsh was near Xiang Kingdom’s Fragrant Lake, so the smell was acceptable.

But Yingbai suddenly felt something strange in the wind sweeping from behind.

Cold.

Cold as ice and snow.

The temperature all around seemed to have suddenly dropped.

This coldness wasn’t obvious—another person might not have noticed—but Yingbai was very familiar with this three-parts chill, three-parts clear coolness.

His heart shook. Looking back at the chaotic darkness they had come from, he suddenly raised his hand.

Stop advancing.

The helmsman drew in the oars, the treasure boat stopped immediately, and the following boats, well-trained, stopped one by one.

Yingbai made another gesture to raise oars—how much the treasure boat’s oars were raised determined the speed of advance.

The oar-operating soldiers raised their oars and suddenly heard clicking sounds. Looking down, they saw the mud had somehow turned white, with oars frozen in the mud, unable to be lifted for a moment.

Yingbai’s expression changed. He immediately shouted: “Force withdrawal!”

The boats had backup wheels to prevent oar withdrawal failure. Soldiers immediately turned the wheels to withdraw oars, forcefully pulling those oars from the mud, splashing countless black and white ice fragments.

The soldiers cried out in alarm.

In just this instant, the entire marsh suddenly turned black and white—black was mud, white was ice and snow. That ice and snow hadn’t formed complete ice surfaces but appeared like swords, suddenly crisscrossing the marsh. You couldn’t see where they came from, only seeing white traces like lightning, like tree branches, swiftly covering the entire marsh.

Heavenly Star treasure boats could still glide on solid ice surfaces, but this half-ice, half-mud would trap them.

The chill in the wind grew fiercer. Soldiers wearing only light armor to reduce weight shivered violently.

Yingbai made an immediate decision: “Abandon boats!”

This was a narrow part of the marsh, not far from both shores, with dense forests on both banks. Abandoning boats for shore would at least preserve their strength.

The soldiers moved quickly, dismantling the most important mechanisms from the boats in just a few moves so the enemy couldn’t use them, then opening bridge mechanisms. The treasure boats’ horizontal oars extended and connected, quickly forming a floating bridge to one shore.

The Heavenly Star treasure boats had been improved by top craftsmen from across the nation that Jing Hengbo had found, and their functions were now increasingly comprehensive.

The soldiers formed a line and charged toward the front treasure boat, racing across the floating bridge to shore. The people charging in darkness suddenly heard a series of strange “swish, swish” sounds.

It sounded like many brooms sweeping across mud surfaces.

Then they saw many “people” sweeping toward them.

Whether they were actually people was uncertain—they looked long and soft, approaching in various postures and speeds beyond what human bodies could achieve, suddenly gliding from the dark depths of ice and mud.

They seemed completely unaffected by the marsh, their bodies undulating like snakes, twisting closer in moments. Under moonlight, black mud and white ice stuck to their pale faces, making them look more like giant black and white pythons.

The soldiers had seen real pythons, but never imagined that people resembling pythons could be so terrifying.

Some young soldiers had already begun vomiting.

Yingbai’s expression grew colder and harder as he continuously issued loud commands: “Formation column! Build another floating bridge! Soldiers first, generals last! Quick!”

The foremost “person” suddenly sprang up, actually writhing in mid-air like a python. With several screams, the frontmost soldiers almost reaching shore were swept down in a row.

White light flashed as Yingbai drew his sword.

“Boom!” The Heavenly Star treasure boat beneath his feet suddenly flipped over. Yingbai, caught off guard, stumbled and nearly injured the deputy general beside him. He curled his sword flower, grabbed the deputy general and leaped up. Looking down from mid-air, he saw a human figure writhing as it emerged from the narrow space beneath the treasure boat, not forgetting to smile back at him. The phosphorus-white face was half mud, half snow, but the teeth were gleaming sharp and long—one part human, nine parts ghost.

At this moment, Yingbai also felt the urge to vomit.

Where had these ghost-like things suddenly appeared from!

A green shadow flashed, the sword like a rainbow. Yingbai didn’t try to chase and kill those slippery soft-boned people. Like a meteor streak, he flew across all the Heavenly Star treasure boats, his long sword continuously striking countless flashing star ridges. Wherever he passed, the treasure boats all flipped over like silver ingots with pointed tops in the mud. The overturned treasure boats immediately fired countless hidden weapons along the marsh surface—this was a design to prevent being overturned by giant marsh beasts.

Buzzing urgently, moonlight cold and bleak. Under the overturned treasure boats in the moonlight, those soft-boned people indeed had nowhere to hide, writhing as they slid out, the marsh beneath them creaking and groaning. Some soldiers who hadn’t had time to step on the floating bridge were surrounded by them. After a spine-chilling sound of bones, the soft-boned people laughed and slid away, leaving only a mass of unrecognizable bone and flesh on the mud.

Fortunately, more soft-boned people were busy avoiding the randomly firing hidden weapons from the overturned boats, buying the soldiers more time. Some soldiers had reached shore and immediately took long ropes from their waists to pull up comrades who couldn’t charge over.

Yingbai roamed the marsh, specifically targeting soft-boned people trying to ambush, not seeking to kill but to save himself. Just as the soldiers were finally about to all reach shore, Yingbai was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he suddenly heard a scream from shore.

He turned sharply and saw that within the dense green forest on shore, leaves rustled as a claw suddenly reached out, grasping a soldier resting against a tree by the throat!

That soldier screamed and struggled, actually managing to pry open those claw tips. The claw suddenly withdrew, and the next instant a hand flashed out like lightning, holding a dagger that savagely slashed across the throat!

Blood spurted, pattering on green leaves. The leaves exploded in sound as if someone bounced among them, with vague spotted shadows that disappeared in a flash.

In the blink of an eye, soldiers on shore stared blankly at their comrade’s corpse, not even able to react to what had happened.

Only Yingbai, who had seen everything clearly from the marsh, felt ice-cold all over.

There was only one “person” behind that tree! That “person” first used left claw tips to hook the soldier’s chest, and after being broken free, used a right-hand dagger to slash the soldier’s neck!

He was absolutely certain he hadn’t seen wrong.

Left claw, right hand!

Was this human?

Soft-boned people, half-beasts—what kind of force was this?

…

Zou Zheng slept very uneasily tonight.

In his magnificent golden bedchamber, he tossed and turned, constantly having nightmares.

He no longer lived in the Quiet Court, finding it too plain and lacking imperial majesty, dignity, and nobility. Living there, he would always think of that person, think of his simple yet bizarre death, think of the white shadows that often drifted from the beams in the days after his death.

He had chosen the best palace within Yuzhao Palace, renovated it, and moved in as his sleeping quarters.

Tonight’s dreams were numerous and chaotic—sometimes banners flying, Imperial Capital walls, a woman in red beneath the city laughing wildly, whip raised pointing forward. Sometimes Mingcheng approaching gracefully, grasping his hand and whispering low, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying, only feeling her palm sticky and snake-cold. Sometimes seeing vast marshes, black mud gleaming ghostly under moonlight, vague white bones pale in the black light, as if countless objects were quietly approaching—black, nimble, flashing with the cold light of blades…

He suddenly woke with a start, eyes flying open, his chin touching the cold bedding, only then realizing he was covered in cold sweat.

No, not just cold sweat, but cold itself.

The chamber had somehow become ice-cold, bone-penetrating chill. He sat up trembling, about to call palace attendants to add braziers, when his whole body suddenly shuddered.

Directly facing his dragon bed was a screen, and beyond the screen, facing it distantly, was his throne in the hall.

He liked to be able to see his throne at any time when lying down and getting up. He liked opening his eyes to see that towering high seat gleaming with the most noble golden light in the gauze-like sunlight.

In those moments, he would feel immense satisfaction—a son of a declining aristocratic family had ultimately become lord of ten thousand chariots. This was heaven’s gift to him, never to be lost in this lifetime.

But now, through the hazy screen, he could dimly see that someone was somehow already seated upright on the golden dragon throne.

…

A gray eagle cried harshly, spreading iron-blue wings and soaring up, smashing through several wisps of cloud at the sky’s edge beside the mountain.

On the snow mountain, new and old snow fell more urgently.

Murong Zhen had already warned the snow mountain, yet as he traveled along, his heart was amazed.

Xu Pingran had set dense defenses on the snow mountain. Anyone stepping into the mountain’s foot should immediately encounter interception, but the foot of the mountain was cold and deserted.

He headed straight for the halfway point—the training ground for outer sect disciples. These disciples who needed to perform well would fight desperately to kill anyone daring to challenge the snow mountain’s authority.

But on the halfway ice field, the constant combat shouts were gone. The ice field was empty, and beneath the waterfall and ice spring, those round stones bore the ice waterfall’s impact in solitude, becoming ever more smooth. The young men who always sat on them were also gone.

Murong Zhen couldn’t quite process this—where had everyone gone?

He suddenly saw fresh footprints in the fire-red ash soil before the fire caves ahead on the mountain path.

Delighted, he led his subordinates toward the fire cave. There indeed seemed to be people in the cave. Just as he was about to call out, he saw a figure flash and dive into a neighboring cave.

His subordinate immediately pounced over, unhesitatingly chasing into the cave, then he heard a “hiss” sound.

This sound was too familiar, familiar enough to chill his heart. He swept over to look and his scalp immediately exploded.

At the cave mouth—several clusters of fresh ash.

He naturally knew this was bone ash, his subordinate’s bone ash.

That cave just now was a fire-melting cave!

Murong Zhen’s whole body went cold. He naturally knew this cave was a place to test disciples’ luck and wisdom. Some caves were true fire caves—entering meant certain death with no remains, while some caves could bring great benefits. But he hadn’t been here for years—who still remembered which caves were safe and which dangerous?

Seeing someone enter this cave, he naturally thought it was a safe cave. Who knew someone would risk their own death to lure him to his doom!

This was a death warrior!

Gong Yin had deployed death warriors from the start. His goal was definitely not merely to cause some trouble for the snow mountain.

Murong Zhen’s heart grew cold by degrees.

Gong Yin hadn’t pursued him. Now it was his subordinates here luring the enemy.

Gong Yin knew the front mountain was already empty. Gong Yin’s target wasn’t him at all? His real purpose was…

He suddenly turned and ran frantically toward the rear valley bottom.

At this time, Gong Yin was at the rear mountain, heading toward the inner sect’s important area.

One person, one sword, one white robe, walking calmly on the mountain path.

Not at all as Murong Zhen had imagined—following behind him, sneaking into the snow mountain, waiting for opportunities to sabotage or strike.

His posture was composed, expression calm, just like a distant-returning disciple from the snow mountain who had been executing missions outside, or more like an elder-level figure who had successfully completed his mission and was waiting to receive rewards.

Such a person walking on the path made the disciples guarding the mountain gate exchange glances. Though they found his face unfamiliar, they didn’t dare neglect him and hurried forward. Looking more carefully, they added several parts respectful expression.

The person before them had crystalline skin, eyes that seemed to contain ice and snow. Though casually holding an ordinary long sword, ice mist self-generated on the sword, clearly indicating extremely high cultivation—at minimum elder level.

It was just that all elders were known to everyone, yet this person was unfamiliar. The two disciples were still young disciples, thinking perhaps some sect elder who had been outside for many years had now returned.

The two hesitated, then respectfully asked the gentleman’s name.

Gong Yin didn’t look at them, keeping his eyes lightly closed. “Tell the sect master that Sang Tianxi has returned, bringing news of his missing son. If he wants to know, he can abdicate in exchange.”