Only Feng Xi and Feng Chang remained in the tent. They sat facing each other, one wearing a faint smile, the other expressionless, a full zhang of distance between them. Their gazes met — and yet the feeling was one of immense distance, as though each stood atop a separate precipice with an abyss of ten thousand zhang between them, neither able to draw near, for one step forward would mean utter destruction.

After a long silence, Feng Xi drew a half-broken bronze mask from within her robe. She lowered her gaze. The tip of one finger touched lightly at the hole punched through by an arrow. In a quiet voice, she spoke: “Do you know who the Imperial general was that I shot dead in Lumen Valley?”

Feng Chang’s brow gave a faint twitch at the question. His gaze swept over the mask in her hand, then fell on her face. That face was still and without a ripple — but at the corner of her eyes, a thread of grief that could not quite be concealed. Could it be…

“I imagine it was something even Young Master Feng could not have foreseen.” Feng Xi raised her eyes to look at him. A cold, sardonic smile touched the corner of her lips. “That person was none other than the Imperial Nation’s Lieying General, Yan Yingzhou — whom the Young Master said had died in the Xuan Mountains.”

At this, the folding fan in Feng Chang’s hand snapped shut with a sharp sound. His gaze held Feng Xi’s for a moment — then he opened the fan again slowly, and said in a composed voice: “I see. Then that Yan Yingzhou — the man whose life you once gave your own to save — this time died at your hands. You personally took his life.” His voice was as still and flat as water on a windless day — yet the edge within those words was like snow-light, cutting into flesh and bone with cold and pain.

“Yes. I personally killed a man who had crawled back out of his grave.” Feng Xi’s tone was just as unhurried, as though she had merely killed someone of no consequence to her whatsoever.

Feng Chang sat in quiet stillness. Slowly he folded the fan shut, his gaze fixed without moving on the painting of ink orchids he had drawn on it. Only when the orchids were fully hidden within the folded fan did he raise his head and look at Feng Xi with perfect calm. Then he rose, and step by step moved toward her — his gaze never leaving hers from beginning to end. “You are blaming me. And furthermore… you feel… hatred.” That last word came out with particular clarity, particular weight.

In an instant, Feng Xi’s eyes shifted — shedding all their stillness and calm, becoming cold and sharp and… filled with a grief and pain that could find no name.

“Black Fox, you and I have known each other for ten years. No matter how you may treat others, you have never once deceived me, never once concealed anything from me. But then why — why — Yan Yingzhou — why did you tell me he was dead?!” Feng Xi shot to her feet. Her eyes brimmed with a mist of unshed tears, and within that mist raged a blaze of fury, and within that fury was pain that cut to the bone and sorrow that pierced to the marrow.

Those eyes fixed hard upon Feng Chang’s face. He felt suddenly as though his face had gone cold, and his palms too — cold. It was the sweltering heat of a summer evening, and yet he felt deeply cold, as cold as a winter night of snow, quiet and chill and desolate.

“What reason would you say I had?” Feng Chang’s voice became somewhat distant, as though carried from some far-off time and space. His gaze drifted from Feng Xi, and his fingertip tapped the fan, slowly spreading it open again. He lowered his eyes to the painting of ink orchids on the fan — a single elegant orchid growing from a crack in a stone at the edge of a sheer cliff.

“I don’t know… I truly don’t know…” Feng Xi tilted her head back to look at the ceiling of the tent, her gaze lost. “By your usual way of doing things — Yan Yingzhou was your enemy and gravely wounded. You would have either taken his life or left him entirely alone. But you neither took his life nor… why?”

“There was only one Jade Snow Lotus, and at the time I used only a single petal on him. Whether it could fully neutralize the poison I had no way to know — and besides, he had also sustained a grave injury. He was my enemy. Why should I have saved him? I cured his poison simply because…” A soft snort. “I had men settle him at a farmhouse at the foot of Xuan Mountain and left some medicine. Whether he lived or died was up to heaven’s mercy.” Feng Chang’s gaze swept briefly over Feng Xi, and the smile on his face was faint and cool. “By rights, if he survived I deserve some credit for it — yet the one who took his life was you. On what grounds do you blame me?”

Those last words struck Feng Xi like a sharp sword driven into her body. She flinched, and raised her hand, eyes lowering to look at her own hands — these hands that had loosed that fatal arrow… these hands that had personally ended Yingzhou’s life. Yingzhou… She bit down hard on her lip, afraid the pain in her chest would overflow. Those words echoed ceaselessly in her ears: Remember me… I will come back for you… in my next life I will certainly not die young. Since you said that, then why… why did your life end at my own hands? Yingzhou… why must this be so? You had already parted from me at Xuan Mountain in what felt like death — why did your soul have to be extinguished at Lumen Valley as well? Was this the bond between you and me… Yingzhou?

Feng Chang’s gaze grew more and more distant, more and more cold. Yet the smile on his face did not diminish by even a fraction — still graceful and at ease. He swayed his hand, and the fan swung open, sending a breath of cool air drifting across the faces of both of them. For an instant, it was as though wind and snow flew past, blurring both their fields of vision. In that moment, the face of the other person seemed impossibly vague and impossibly far away.

“Is it that… when I am in pain, you… you can… smile?” Feng Xi stared hard into Feng Chang’s eyes, speaking each word with deliberate weight. The moment the words left her mouth, a sudden wrenching pain seized her chest. Without thinking, she raised her hand to cover it. But why — why exactly did it hurt?

The hand holding the fan went still. The smile on Feng Chang’s face finally faded. His eyes became sharp as awls, like needles and pins, like fire and like ice — pressing into Feng Xi, branding themselves on her heart. Carrying the cold desolation of deep winter, his voice rang out with crystalline clarity in the tent: “I have no heart and no feeling — but when have you ever had heart or feeling?”

As the words fell, the figure was already outside the tent. That tall, slender black silhouette in the dim darkness of night was so utterly solitary — as though a shadow of weathered, ancient sorrow accompanied him every step of the way.

Inside the tent, Feng Xi crumpled back into the chair, her hands dropping to her sides with no strength left in them. She leaned her head back against the chair, her unfocused gaze passing through the ceiling of the tent. A single clear tear slipped quietly from the corner of her eye and in an instant was absorbed into the hair at her temple.

The Hour of the Pig had passed. The night had grown deep. She stepped outside the tent. Stars filled the sky. The night was cool as water. A solitary figure stood in perfect stillness beneath the starlight.

“The wind is not good for your wound. Come inside.” Feng Xi looked at that figure, let out a quiet sigh, and turned back into the tent.

Behind her, Xiu Jiurong quietly followed her in.

“Speak then. It is so late — why are you not resting, but standing out there in the night?” Feng Xi settled into the chair and waved a hand to indicate that Xiu Jiurong should also sit.

But Xiu Jiurong did not sit. Instead, he stepped forward a few paces, his eyes bright as he looked at Feng Xi: “Your Majesty, why have you allowed the Mo Yu Cavalry to enter Feng?”

Feng Xi gave a quiet smile at this. “Jiurong, you are worried that it is easier to invite a god in than to send one away?”

“Your Majesty, you are fully aware of Feng Nation’s ambitions. And yet you still…” Xiu Jiurong could not understand why the king would take such a step — inviting the tiger through the door.

Feng Xi rose at these words and walked to stand before Xiu Jiurong. She tilted her head slightly to look up at him, her gaze calm and gentle. “Jiurong, how do you see the world as it is today?”

“Mm?” Xiu Jiurong had not expected this question and was briefly taken aback. “The world as it is today?”

“Yes.” Feng Xi turned and walked to the entrance of the tent. She raised her gaze to look at the magnificent, brilliant sky of stars. A breath of night breeze swept past the tent, cool and fresh against her face. “Such stars. Such a gentle wind. And yet not everyone has the fortune or the leisure to appreciate or enjoy this.”

“Your Majesty, do you mean…?” Xiu Jiurong ventured a guess, though with some uncertainty.

“Since the reign of the Li Emperor, spanning decades of foolish and brutal governance, with natural disasters and the chaos of war… the people have suffered greatly. And as it stands today, six nations wage war against one another, attacking and maneuvering in a state of constant upheaval. All of this… this world has changed beyond recognition. We who are noble and royal are shielded by great armies and nourished by fine clothing and rich food — we have never truly known hardship. But in ten years of wandering the martial world, I have seen slaughter and disaster in their fullness. The ones who suffer most keenly, most deeply, are always those at the very bottom — the common people.” Feng Xi’s gaze was still fixed on the stars above, her voice low and heavy, carrying a thread of pain she could not conceal. “Those people — they do not pray for grand houses or lavish meals of fish and meat. They only want to eat enough, dress warmly, have a thatched roof to shelter them from the wind and rain. Their wishes are truly very simple. Though it is impossible to fully satisfy wishes so humble — at least… at least there should be an end to this age of chaos. At least they should be given back a peaceful sky above.”

“So Your Majesty wishes to form an alliance with Feng Nation, and with the strength of two nations together restore peace to the world?” Xiu Jiurong said.

“That Feng Nation has the ambition to contend for the world is not in itself a bad thing — having the ambition is what makes the achievement possible.” Feng Xi turned to face him. “If we are to form an alliance, why should we fear their soldiers entering our borders?”

“But if that is the case, will our Feng Nation not become a dependency of Feng Nation? Might there one day come a time when the name of our nation ceases to exist?” A trace of quiet worry crossed Xiu Jiurong’s face.

Feng Xi smiled faintly — a smile as tranquil as parting clouds and a clearing breeze. She moved back to stand before the royal chair, yet did not sit. Her gaze rested lightly on that chair. At last she said, unhurried: “If the world is made whole, if the people may live in peace — then what does it matter whether it is called white Feng or black Feng?”

“Your Majesty, why are you certain that Feng Nation — that Young Master Lanxi — can unite the world under one rule? Why did you choose him?” Xiu Jiurong looked at her back and voiced the question that had long lived in his heart.

Feng Xi turned at this. Her gaze settled on Xiu Jiurong’s face — so calm and so knowing that Xiu Jiurong instinctively dropped his gaze slightly. After a moment, the clear and unhurried voice came: “To win the world requires a heroic ruler. But to govern the world requires a wise and enlightened lord.”

“But Your Majesty would also be a powerful and enlightened ruler. Why must there be an alliance with Feng Nation? Why not become the empress who rules the world yourself?” Xiu Jiurong blurted this out before he could stop himself. Immediately after, he seemed to feel that he had been somewhat rash — but still he raised his eyes to look at Feng Xi, unyielding.

Feng Xi seemed a little surprised that this usually shy and reserved Xiu Jiurong could say such a thing. She looked at him for a moment, her expression still. Finally she settled quietly into the chair, one hand resting on the golden dragon coiling across the arm of the royal seat. “Ruling the world… people all have their own aspirations, don’t they. Jiurong — what are yours?”

“To protect Your Majesty. To be loyal to Your Majesty.” Xiu Jiurong answered without a moment’s hesitation. His eyes were full of earnest, fervent sincerity.

Feng Xi heard this and gave a faint smile, touched in some way, and in some way wistful. “Then do you know what my aspiration is?”

“Your Majesty’s wish? That would of course be to guard…” Xiu Jiurong had almost blurted out: Your Majesty’s wish is of course to guard Feng and let the people of Feng enjoy peace and happiness forever. But the king had just spoken of restoring peace to all the world — not merely to Feng. So what was the king’s true aspiration? Could it be…

Feng Xi sat upright in the royal chair with dignified composure, her smile settled into solemnity. The expression on her face was grave and deliberate, and from it arose naturally an air of royal majesty and authority — so much so that Xiu Jiurong found himself instinctively lowering his head and his eyes, not daring to look directly at her.

“Jiurong, to be counted among the great generals of this age, one’s vision and breadth of mind ought to be far wider — not limited to a single person or a single nation.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Xiu Jiurong bowed his head in answer.

“It is late. Rest early.” Feng Xi said lightly.

“Your Majesty — all generals and soldiers of the Feng Cloud Cavalry will be loyal to you forever. You are our one and only king.” Xiu Jiurong suddenly dropped to one knee and declared this in a clear, solemn voice, his manner conveying a resolve without the slightest reservation.

“I know.” Feng Xi rose from the chair and moved to stand before Xiu Jiurong, extending a hand to help him up. There was a faint thread of something like a sigh in her voice. “Jiurong, I imagine Qi Shu and the others are still waiting for you. Go and tell them everything I have said.”

“Your Majesty, you…” Xiu Jiurong stood, seeming a little surprised that the king already knew the minds of the other generals.

“After more than ten years together, how could I not know what is in your hearts?” Feng Xi gave a quiet smile and patted Xiu Jiurong’s shoulder. “You are all loyal to me. If you had doubts about me it would feel like a form of disrespect, and yet you are not foolish people — to leave those doubts unresolved would be to let them sit like a stone in your hearts. So… I imagine you lost at finger-guessing to Lin Ji again?”

“I did. I lose to him every time — the only one I win against is Cheng Zhi.” Xiu Jiurong’s face went faintly red.

“Go on.” Feng Xi waved a hand.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Please rest early as well.” Xiu Jiurong took his leave.

The Hour of the Yin, May 20th.

The world still lay in murky, ambiguous darkness. The lamps before the tent cast a dim, yellowed light across the faces of the guards on duty outside — their faces showing a faint trace of weariness, yet their eyes burning brighter and more fiercely than the lamps themselves. Beyond the lamplight it was still dark and overcast, and far off in the distance stood a solitary figure — motionless, silent — only the cool wind lifting the hems of robes and sending long hair dancing, hazy and elusive as a phantom.

By the Hour of the Mao, the sky gradually brightened. The red sun, like blood-red jade, rose slowly. The pale crimson light spread across the earth, painting the land in a faint and delicate morning blush. Occasionally a birdsong rang out — crisp and solitary — echoing through the valley. The Valley of No Return, which had lain in the sleep of night, began again its day of either slaughter and blood, or silence and stillness.

“Your Majesty, have you not rested all night?” Qi Shu’s voice came from behind her, quiet and carrying its customary note of concern.

“I could not sleep.” The motionless Feng Xi answered without turning, her head tilting back very slightly. Her long black hair fell straight downward like a curtain of dark silk behind her, and the tender morning breeze seemed reluctant to let it go.

“Lieutenant Yu told me you have not rested for several days. If you continue like this, how will your body bear it?” The worry in Qi Shu’s voice was hard to conceal, and his heavy brows drew together involuntarily.

Feng Xi turned at this to look at Qi Shu, and gave him a faint smile. “With my level of cultivation, going several days without rest has no real effect. Qi Shu, there is no need to worry about me.”

“Your Majesty, you are the person whom the entire Feng Cloud Cavalry exists to protect with our loyal hearts. So please — take care of yourself for our sake.” Qi Shu said this with earnest solemnity.

“Mm.” Feng Xi nodded, her gaze drifting — and in the distance, Feng Chang was emerging from his tent. As though he felt Feng Xi’s gaze, he turned and raised his head. Their eyes met — and then he walked quietly toward her.

“Your Majesty, Young Master — I will take my leave.” Qi Shu stepped back respectfully once Feng Chang drew near, and withdrew.

“Mm.” Feng Xi gave a light wave of her hand, then turned her gaze forward to the stone formation. “Young Master Lanxi has set up the Asura Formation once more.”

“Does the Feng King find it too cruel?” Feng Chang raised one long brow and asked lightly.

“No.” This time Feng Xi shook her head. Her gaze traveled to the Hua and Imperial army camps across the field, and a faint, cold smile touched the corner of her lips. “This is a battlefield — a place of earthly carnage. Where there is carnage, the Asura Formation is fitting.”

She reached out and quietly lifted the sword from its rack, then quietly drew it from its sheath. An instant chill swept across her face. The blade was bright as autumn water, reflecting the morning sunlight that fell through the tent entrance, scattering a dazzling snow-white glare. Her hand swept lightly through the air — and the chill cut through the empty space and spread through the entire tent. The warm summer morning turned sharp and cold in an instant.

This was the famous sword that Shi Di himself had once bestowed — Wuxue, the Bloodless. Wuxue — no blood — the peerless sword in the world that killed without leaving a drop of blood.

His hand turned the sword back to its sheath with a light, crisp ring of metal. His gaze settled on the scabbard — the golden body of the sheath was engraved with blood-red flames, and within the flames was carved a heart dripping with blood. It was with this sword that the founding ancestor Huang Yi had followed Shi Di in conquest across the world, cutting down innumerable enemies and achieving undying merit — earning the title of Wuxue Yan Wang, the Bloodless Flame King. The golden-brown eyes blazed with fervent, hungry, exhilarated light. Today — would this sword finally meet its true worthy opponent? Feng Xiyun? Feng Lanxi? Whichever one it was, they would not dishonor this blade.

“Are you taking the field yourself today?” A voice broke the quiet of the tent — light and without inflection.

Huang Chao turned. Yu Wuyuan had entered without a sound. The morning sun behind him gilded his entire figure in a faint layer of light — as though a celestial being who stirred not even a particle of dust had come walking down from the nine heavens, his whole person carrying a sense of the ethereal and the unfathomable, so elusive that the moment one reached for him he would disperse like a mirage.

“They are worthy of a battle from me.” Huang Chao walked back to his chair and sat, the sword still in his hand.

“You cannot take the field today.” Yu Wuyuan said nonetheless, walking forward in quiet unhurriedness and settling into the chair across from Huang Chao. His gaze rested on Huang Chao — calm, without a ripple. “The Hua and Imperial forces cannot move today either.”

Huang Chao’s sharp gaze shot toward Yu Wuyuan. He seemed somewhat surprised that these words would come from him at this moment.

“I looked just now — the Feng army has deployed the Asura Formation.” Yu Wuyuan said lightly, as though this were explanation enough for why Huang Chao could not take the field.

“You said you could already break the Asura Formation.” Huang Chao raised both sword-sharp brows.

“That I can break it does not mean the Imperial and Hua soldiers can break it.” Yu Wuyuan’s tone remained unhurried. His gaze passed through Huang Chao with quiet penetration. “Even though I have already taught them the method of entering and exiting the formation, what will be deployed today is a formation held by people — by the supremely elite Feng Cloud Cavalry. A stone formation and a human formation are incomparable. Once the formation is activated, the force and speed of it are something soldiers who have only just learned the method can never adapt to in time — let alone break out or break through.”

“How long would it take?” Huang Chao looked at the sword in his hand and asked.

“At least two days.” Yu Wuyuan’s gaze also fell upon the sword — resting quietly on the dripping heart carved into the sheath. A shadow passed through his eyes. “Both of them are masters of formation-setting. The Asura Formation in their hands is absolutely the most ferocious and brutal formation in existence. Without thorough preparation, all sixty thousand troops would be destroyed within the formation — this is no idle warning. Besides… that she has even deployed the Asura Formation means…” He paused. “It means she has resolved to settle things with you here, at this Valley of No Return — with no return for either side.”

“To settle it here, with no return?” Huang Chao’s golden eyes narrowed slightly. He raised his hand and gently drew the blade partway out — the snow-bright sword-light illuminated his eyes, blazing brighter than the sun above. He rose abruptly, lifting his head. “Very well. No return… no return… three days from now shall be the day of the decisive battle.”

It seemed as though everything was ready. Both sides were poised and waiting. The final reckoning at the Valley of No Return was now unavoidable. And yet — the world is ever thus — however brilliant your mind, however many the plans and calculations you devise, you cannot catch what the world holds in exact and certain terms.

The Hour of the Rooster, May 22nd.

When that great army of fifty thousand in black descended soundlessly as a drift of dark feathers falling from the sky, all three armies within the Valley of No Return — the Feng, the Hua, and the Imperial — stared in astonishment at the great black banner streaming through the wind. None could believe it had arrived so quickly, so utterly beyond expectation.

“Worthy indeed of being called the fastest cavalry in the world — the Mo Yu Cavalry.” At the front of the Feng army’s formation, Feng Xi had come out upon hearing the news. She gazed at the black army sweeping toward them at breathtaking speed, her voice carrying something of admiration. “They are something.”

The other five Feng Cloud generals, however, all watched the black army with a wary look, then glanced at Feng Chang, then at their queen.

Feng Chang, who stood at Feng Xi’s side, seemed utterly unmoved by the wariness of the Feng Cloud generals or by Feng Xi’s admiration. He simply watched the rapidly approaching Mo Yu Cavalry in quiet stillness, his expression tranquil.

The great black army moved like feathers skimming lightly over water — tens of thousands of soldiers, yet not a sound of commotion, not even the beat of their hooves rising loud, as even and measured as fine rain landing on the face of a lotus leaf, as light as a breath of wind sweeping a black feather. In the blink of an eye they were before them.

“Wensheng pays his respects to the Young Master!”

“Qishu pays his respects to the Young Master!”

The army halted. Two young generals dismounted and strode forward swiftly, dropping to their knees before Feng Chang with respectful composure.

Feng Chang swept a glance over both of them and gave a light wave. “Go and pay your respects to the Feng King.”

“Duanmu Wensheng pays his respects to the Feng King!”

“He Qishu pays his respects to the Feng King!”

Both men immediately turned to bow before Feng Xi.

“There is no need for such formality, generals.”

Feng Xi raised both hands slightly to indicate they should rise, her gaze settling in quiet stillness on these two great generals of Feng Nation — deep and without a ripple.

Both men, like every soldier of the Mo Yu Cavalry, wore dark armor — but one was cloaked in a blue mantle and the other in a brown one. Duanmu Wensheng in the blue mantle was tall and upright in build, with bold, heavy brows and large eyes. There was about his bearing a sense of openness and breadth that immediately conveyed he was the sort of man who paid no heed to small details — a man of large spirit. He Qishu was somewhat shorter and leaner, with long, fine brows and narrow eyes, slender of limb, and slightly fair of complexion. At first glance one might have taken him for a young scholar fresh from an academy, full of book learning and untried by the world — but in the quick dart of those eyes there flickered a keen and shrewd intelligence.

Both men rose, and their gazes went immediately to the queen standing before them. They wanted to know what manner of person could be this woman — whose talent and military renown had spread throughout the world, who for nearly ten years had stood as the equal of their Young Master.

They raised their eyes — and the pale light of dusk cradled a white, slender figure. Their gazes landed on a face of pure, otherworldly clarity. The faint gold and rose of the evening light settled around her, making her appear all the more noble and luminous. Her expression was composed and grave — and yet in their hearts something fresh, at ease, and drawn-near arose without any reason they could name. The lips, slightly curved, seemed at any moment about to bloom into a soft, amused little smile, and without knowing why they found themselves waiting — waiting for the next moment, for what would surely be the most brilliant and flawless smile in all the world. But that smile did not come. Instead, those clear, bright eyes — able to illuminate even the deepest depths of an abyss — cast their gaze across the distance without a sound, and when those eyes met theirs, both men bowed their heads instinctively.

Feng Xi turned to look at Feng Chang. Their gazes met, and in silence they exchanged their thoughts. Then she beckoned lightly. “Qi Shu, take the two generals to rest, and see to the comfortable settling of the Feng Nation soldiers who have come from afar.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

But Duanmu Wensheng and He Qishu both turned to look at Feng Chang at the same moment.

Feng Chang’s gaze rested on Feng Xi. Those ink-dark eyes were as fathomless as the night sky — with not a single star visible within them. He said lightly: “While in Feng Nation, you are to follow the Feng King’s orders in all things.”

“Yes!” Both men bowed their heads.

“The Mo Yu Cavalry has arrived. It would seem that Feng Nation of the white and Feng Nation of the black will truly become one.”

Gazing out at the sweep of dark feathers crossing the Valley of No Return, Yu Wuyuan’s voice was light as a breeze skimming a water’s surface — the faintest ripples there and gone in an instant, yet a trace of hazy mist lingering in the air above.

“The Mo Yu Cavalry arrived remarkably quickly.” Huang Chao’s sword-brow furrowed slightly as he looked at the black army across from them.

“The Mo Yu Cavalry has long been called the fastest in the world — and the name is well deserved.” Yu Wuyuan’s gaze tracked the full black banner streaming through the wind — no emblem or device of any kind, as though it were a feather dancing in the air, light and elusive, yet carrying within its darkness a kind of night-born enchantment, as though one more glance would draw the eye under completely.

“She is willing to allow the Mo Yu army to enter Feng — can she truly place such wholehearted trust in him?” Huang Chao stood with his hands clasped behind him, head raised. Yet there was a thin thread of wistful resentment in his voice that was impossible to conceal. Looking at the white phoenix and black feather banners dancing side by side in the wind — almost as if they were the embodiments of those two people, facing him from across the distance — his fingers curled involuntarily into fists at his sides.

“The outcome of the reckoning at the Valley of No Return is far from certain,” Yu Wuyuan said, turning to walk back toward the tent.

“Feng Xiyun — Feng Lanxi — if I cannot defeat them, how do I speak of holding the world in my hands?” Huang Chao’s voice from behind was resonant as struck gold or stone. Yu Wuyuan turned to look back at him. In those golden eyes there was only resolute, absolute light.

Yu Wuyuan was quiet for a moment, then said: “Their forces currently outnumber yours. In that case, use the Nine Gates Formation — better to be still than to move first.”

“No — stillness and waiting are not my way.” Huang Chao said with characteristic pride, “And besides…” His voice broke off abruptly. His gaze seemed to be pulled by something, and he looked far into the distance. In the next instant, a smile surfaced on his face — bright and certain. “It seems my calculation was not wrong.”

Yu Wuyuan turned to look. To the west, a blaze of golden light — like a sunset plunging into the valley, with gold light surging and spreading across the ground. That was… the Golden Armor Cavalry. Hua Nation’s Golden Armor Cavalry.

“The Golden Armor Cavalry has truly come.” Yu Wuyuan gave a faint sigh. “And indeed they have gathered at the Valley of No Return.”

“Hua Chunran — I was not wrong about her.” Huang Chao laughed openly, looking at the approaching Golden Armor Cavalry. He turned to gaze back at the Feng army. “Now the question of who takes the deer is anyone’s to answer.”

“Hua Chunran, famed throughout the world for her beauty — it seems she also has considerable talent and courage.” Yu Wuyuan looked on at the bright-armored, high-spirited Golden Armor army with something of admiration in his voice. “A princess who has lived all her days in sheltered luxury deep within the palace — and yet she dared to deploy a great army entirely on her own authority. That sort of courage is no less than the finest among heroic men. And in summoning this army, on one hand she comes to reinforce the King of Hua — and on the other…” Yu Wuyuan’s gaze fell on Huang Chao, and he gave a faint smile. “It seems she has also anticipated your… other intentions. Such wit and strategic thinking is genuinely rare.”

“It seems there truly are in this world no small number of women whose talents are no less than a man’s.” Even the proud Huang Chao gave a nod of acknowledgment. “The foremost beauty in Hua Nation is also, it would seem, the foremost clever woman in Hua Nation.”

“Only — the chaos of the battlefield, the slaughter of war… none of this could have been foreseen by a Hua Chunran who has never passed beyond the palace gates.” Yu Wuyuan remarked with a faint note of regret. “What she has done has fallen entirely within your plans. The only person who has consistently fallen outside your plans is…” A quiet sigh, and the words went no further.

“In this world there is after all only one Feng Xiyun.” Huang Chao swept a glance at Yu Wuyuan, then lifted his gaze to the sky above. “If all the women in the world were like her — what place would remain for the men of the world?”

“Have you ever considered — for the sake of the world in your heart, there may come a day when… the Bloodless Sword is stained with her blood?” Yu Wuyuan said suddenly and quietly, his gaze fixed on Huang Chao.

“Stained with her blood?” Huang Chao lowered his gaze to the sword hanging at his waist. This sword, untouched as unbroken snow — would it one day be raised against Feng Xi? Would it be stained with her blood?

In a moment of trance, a vision rose before his eyes: the sword like a bolt of cold lightning driving into a chest — a spray of vivid red blood flying outward — staining a white robe red as though the snow had been bled upon, raining down on a face, hot and aching. The blade without blood was suddenly branded with a streak of crimson that no wiping could erase. The white figure fell from the air — that face the ash-grey of death, without life, without sound, slowly falling, falling into some boundless, lightless abyss. No. No — he reached for his sword hilt and seized it, clutching it tight, as though afraid it might leap from the scabbard of its own accord. He raised his head — and met that clear, knowing gaze that seemed to carry a faint sorrow. He set his jaw with sudden fierceness, drew the sword, and raised it high into the air.

“By this sword I swear — my heart holds only the world.”