At the Hour of Shen on the twenty-third day of the fifth month in the seventeenth year of the Ren reign, the kings of Feng Guo and Hua Guo signed a ceasefire peace agreement in Wuhui Valley. As the nation that had initiated the war, Hua Guo was required to pay Feng Guo five hundred thousand gold leaves in reparations, withdraw one hundred li from the border territory between the two nations, and have the Hua King personally offer an apology to the Feng King.
After the peace agreement was signed, the two armies followed custom by lighting bonfires in the valley, bringing out fine wine and slaughtering cattle and sheep to hold a banquet of peace together. At the very front of the bonfires, a platform roughly one zhang in height was erected. With the platform as the dividing line, the Fengyun Cavalry and Mo Yu Cavalry sat on one side, and the Contending Heaven Cavalry and Golden Armor Cavalry sat on the other.
Because the war had ceased, in this moment all men set aside their blades and their enmity and gathered around the fires. That night in Wuhui Valley held no more killing intent, no more blood, no more death — only the laughter of soldiers drinking freely and heartily. Yet even in their revelry, their gazes would drift now and then toward the high platform above, where the Hua King, the Feng King, Young Master Lanxi, Young Master Huang Chao, and Young Master Yu Wuyuan sat in composed dignity.
The soldiers of Huang Chao and Hua Guo looked at the Feng King on the platform and found it difficult to believe that so striking and elegant a woman was the Rakshasa King of the battlefield — the one whose archery was godlike, whose cold and deadly bearing made men’s courage shatter.
The soldiers of Feng Guo and Feng Guo, on the other hand, fixed their eyes mostly on the noble and handsome young master in violet robes and the transcendent young master in white.
Compared to the uninhibited drinking of the soldiers below, the platform above was somewhat too quiet. At the head sat the Hua King and Feng Xi side by side. To the left were Huang Chao and Yu Wuyuan; to the right, Feng Xi. The Hua King’s complexion was now pale and aged, his frame slightly hunched, his gaze timid and shrunken, his left hand occasionally pressing at his chest — nothing remained of the commanding, sky-piercing majesty of a sovereign lord he had displayed barely a month before.
Huang Chao remained as handsome and proud as ever, his golden eyes even brighter than the bonfire flames. He drank from his cup whenever it was raised, and his gaze would occasionally fall upon Feng Xi — regal and striking in her crown and royal dress — and there would be a fleeting moment of daze before his eyes went bright and cool again in an instant.
Yu Wuyuan was, as ever, serenely otherworldly. His gaze swept in a vague, drifting manner — over the green hills beyond the valley, over the clusters of fire within it, over the rough and vigorous soldiers, and over the Hua King, Feng Xi, and that regal, silent Feng King before him. Now and then he would bow his head to look at the palm of his own hand, and then a faint, vacant, slightly cold smile would rise to his lips.
Feng Xi sat to the side of Feng Xi like a man removed from the whole affair — composed and unhurried, a wine cup in hand, yet he rarely drank. His gaze would occasionally drift across to Huang Chao and Yu Wuyuan opposite him, deep and dark as the color of night, still carrying a trace of the night’s chill clarity.
Feng Xi — she sat upright with poise throughout, a faint, restrained smile on her face, regarding everyone with a calm and gentle gaze. Now and then she took a small sip of rice wine, her eyes lowering slightly, concealing the full weight of the thoughts within.
By the time the banquet reached the Hour of Xu, all present were seven parts drunk and three parts clear.
“When wine flows freely, how can there be no song?” Feng Xi suddenly rose to her feet, walked quietly to the center of the platform, and swept her gaze around the valley. In an instant the valley fell utterly silent. Every man set down his cup and his food, their attention fixed upon the beautiful and noble Feng King on the high platform above.
Feng Xi turned back to look at the Hua King, Huang Chao, and Yu Wuyuan in their seats, and then smiled slightly. “On such a fine occasion, Xiyun wishes to offer a song to enliven the spirit of the wine — and wishes also…” Her gaze swept far and deep across all the soldiers below the platform. “Wishes also that peace may be restored to all under heaven!”
“Wonderful!” A fervent cheer rose from below, and every man rose to his feet to pay tribute to the queen on the platform.
“Young Master Huang Chao — might I borrow your treasured sword for a moment?” Feng Xi turned her eyes toward Huang Chao, extending her hand slightly.
Huang Chao gave a faint nod. With a flick of his wrist the sword at his waist left its scabbard and flew into the air. Feng Xi leapt up gracefully, one slender hand reaching out to catch the sword. She spun, her sash flying wide — like a golden lotus blooming in midair, trailing a ribbon of white silk as she alighted lightly back upon the platform.
“Wonderful!” A burst of admiring shouts rose through the valley.
Feng Xi lowered her eyes to gaze at the sword in her hand. The blade was like ice, its cold light flickering with deadly brilliance in the firelight. “The Xuexue sword — Xiyun shall use the blade as song to enliven the spirits of you all!”
As the last word fell, she swept the sword through the air, and a chill descended from above. The blade danced, silver light scattering in all directions — at once vast and boundless as snow covering the earth, and magnificent as a rainbow piercing the sun.
“The sword —
pierces the blue sky, its edge still keen and unbroken.
It stands long and tall,
through wind and snow, across a thousand mountains!
The sword —
grief-stricken souls and blood-shadows, seen no more.
It sings within the sheath —
frost-forged blade and radiant beauty revealed.
The sword —
three feet of cold steel, its gleam enough to chill the courage.
Light flashes up in an instant —
as though startled snow bursts into bloom.”
Feng Xi opened her throat and sang. Her voice was clear and bright, yet within that clarity there rang a vigorous and lofty spirit belonging to a man of valor — the bold and heroic ardor that only heroes of a turbulent age possess. Silver light flew outward, the sword danced like a serpent, and that graceful figure wrapped in magnificent gold-and-red royal robes moved now spreading wide like a phoenix, now leaping and twisting like a dragon, now poised and elegant as a crane, now light and swift as the wind, now flowing and free as clouds…
Upon the platform one saw a sphere of silver light wrapped in a streak of golden radiance — like a lake of snow-water cradling a golden lotus. The two hundred thousand soldiers of four nations in the valley watched, unable to tear their eyes away, at that figure on the high platform dancing like a celestial maiden. Their vision blurred, their souls reeled, their hearts drunk with enchantment… So it turned out that the Feng King — that queen of inviolable and commanding dignity — could also be so superlatively beautiful, so beyond the mortal world.
“The sword —
by lamplight in the haze of drink, I lift it and look upon it.
Lone smoke rises —
wild song and laughter through the years.
The sword —
it hangs at my waist through wind and rain’s turmoil.
A single sigh —
and clear tears fall, spent and scattered!”
The clear and soaring song swept like a cool breeze past every ear. As the final verse was sung, the heroic spirit gradually ebbed away, leaving only a single strand of pure sound trailing like mist and rain, drifting and seeping, winding itself around every heart — leaving all feeling adrift and wistful, touched with the faint, light weariness of one who has passed through the vastness of the sea.
As she came to the final line, her gaze shifted softly, drifting to settle upon that Tianren in robes as white as snow in the seats before her. The stillness of her eyes stirred gently, like clear dew trembling into being. Their gazes met. Those eyes — as fathomless as the deep sea, as crystalline as clear ice — seemed to be saying something. Her lips moved almost imperceptibly, then pressed tightly shut again. She gave a faint sigh, then turned back around. Her black hair streamed like silk, flying like a cascade. Her gaze swept across ten thousand soldiers — cool, clear, and quietly luminous. Her pale hand drew back with ease, the silver arc spiraling to rest, the sword’s light gradually scattering. She leveled the blade toward the sky, and stood upon the platform like a phoenix aloft.
That night, the King of Feng Guo, Xiyun, brought the four nations’ armies in Wuhui Valley to their knees — and brought down those heroes of the turbulent age. That night, no one could forget the Feng King’s powerful yet faintly weary song; no one could forget the Feng King’s soaring yet slightly heartrending dance. And it was also that night that Feng Xiyun was hailed as “the Phoenix King.” Her peerless talent and unmatched grace became the object of every person’s admiration, spoken of with relish by generations to come. Not only did the history books praise her as one whose “brilliance surpassed all her age and whose zither-heart was without equal,” but even unofficial histories, legends, and works of fiction made her a principal figure — invariably linked with dashing young masters of that turbulent era such as Yu Wuyuan, Feng Xi, and Huang Chao, always claiming that between them there existed a most extraordinary bond.
That night came to be known in the historical record as “the Wuhui Pact,” or alternatively “the First Meeting of the Four Kings.” But historians commented that “the Hua King Yi Tian’s lifetime of accomplishments fell far short of those of Chao, Lan, and Xi — on what grounds should he be named alongside them?” And so the event was also referred to as “the First Meeting of the Three Kings,” or “the First Emergence of the Royal Stars.”
The Battle of Wuhui appeared on its surface to have ended in a ceasefire and peaceful settlement. Yet every person who had taken part in it — regardless of which of the four nations they belonged to — understood clearly, and recognized clearly, that within Wuhui Valley it was Hua Guo and the Hua King who had suffered utter defeat. Huang Chao and the Feng King had fought to a draw. And the one who had yet to even make a move was the noble Young Master Yu and the enigmatic Young Master Lanxi.
It was also after that night that the martial world began to circulate the legend that Bai Fengxi, the number-one heroine of the martial world, was none other than the Feng Guo queen, Xiyun.
When the music ended, the people dispersed. When the banquet was done, everyone returned to their own camps.
The bonfires burned out, leaving only a heap of ash. In the hazy light of early morning, a white-clad figure sat beside those now-cold ashes. The pure, cool notes of a zither drifted out quietly. Wuhui Valley, which had seated hundreds of thousands of soldiers just the night before, was now empty and still — only those zither notes floating and drifting through the valley in solitary play, as though hoping to await a kindred spirit who understood its music, or perhaps playing for all the living things of the valley, for the vast sky and broad earth, entrusting to those notes all that could not be spoken, all that could not be told — one by one, carrying them far away to that distant…
“Pour out all the clear water to receive the moon upon the heavens — mirror flowers and illusions, intentions adrift and far away.” A voice as pure and cool as the zither notes sounded softly, lightly.
“You have come.” Yu Wuyuan spoke gently, raising his head. Feng Xi stood quietly before him. This was Feng Xi — this was the simple and carefree Bai Fengxi of the martial world. Plain white robes, hair loose and unbound, snow-jade skin pale as the moon, eyes bright as stars, a faint smile on her face, her whole bearing unhurried and unrestrained.
“I came to say farewell. Bai Fengxi should not be the kind of person who leaves without a word.” Feng Xi’s voice remained cool and unruffled as still water — no wistfulness, no regret — flowing past like a mountain stream winding over stones.
“Farewell, is it?” Yu Wuyuan looked at the woman before him — plainly dressed, unadorned, yet still as graceful as fine jade. His heart sighed again — a deep, helpless sigh. At last his hands left the zither strings, and he rose, cradling the instrument. His eyes were like cold stars behind a veil of mist. “Will there no longer be a Bai Fengxi in this world?”
Feng Xi smiled faintly — like a blue lotus blooming on the water, soft and understated, carrying a trace of the coolness of a clean breeze. “From now on there will only be the Feng Guo queen, Feng Xiyun.” Her gaze reached forward into the distance, her faint smile unchanged. There, a violet-clad figure was slowly approaching.
Huang Chao gazed quietly at the woman before him — plain white robes, jet-black hair — at that flawless smile on her face and those eyes faintly touched with a smile’s warmth, clear as water, pure as lotus. This person… In a moment of daze he seemed to cross a vast stretch of time and return to the very beginning — to when they had first met on a desolate mountain, when they had been exactly like this. He had said he would “dig through a mountain to make a lake” and invited her to “wash away the dust and cleanse her face.” She had said that “even if she were at the farthest edge of the sky, she would make her way back.” But… barely a year had passed, and yet they had walked so far, so very far from each other. Those playful words seemed as though spoken in a previous life — so impossibly distant.
“Will Bai Fengxi truly cease to exist?” Huang Chao murmured softly, as though asking Feng Xi, as though asking himself.
“When Feng Xiyun is present, Bai Fengxi is not!” Feng Xi replied with a light smile, her voice gentle yet so resolute.
Ahead, from behind Huang Chao, a figure in blue moved swiftly forward — long brows, large eyes, a short fitted robe and a curved bow at the back, bearing upright and heroic, vitality and spirit emanating from every line.
Qiu Jiushuang strode over with wide, purposeful steps. She had simply wanted to see for herself this Bai Fengxi who had transformed Xiao Xuekong and who the Young Master had praised as one whose brilliance surpassed all her age. What kind of sorcery did she possess?
One look, and she saw no sorceress. Only a broad, flowing white robe, long hair loose behind the figure’s back. When the breeze passed through, the garments drifted and the hair swayed like dark silk. At the brow hung a moon-shaped jade ornament that seemed as though it had always been there naturally. The whole person was so simple, so perfectly at ease. When those eyes turned casually in her direction, the taut string in her chest was suddenly released, and she could not help but let out a soft, unhurried breath. In an instant she felt her vision clear and her mind settle — a freshness and ease she had never known before spread quietly through every limb and bone.
So this was Bai Fengxi, hailed as the number-one woman of the martial world?
“Are you General Frost, Qiu Jiushuang?” Feng Xi’s gaze settled on that spirited and vigorous young woman in blue, and she smiled lightly in question — asking so naturally, smiling so warmly, as though they were familiar friends, as though they were not enemies, as though she had not shot Feng Guo’s Bao Cheng and she had not shot Huang Chao’s Yan Yingzhou.
“Yes, I am Qiu Jiushuang.” Qiu Jiushuang could not help but return her smile.
Those eyes were transparent as ice, yet one could see all the way to their deepest depths — so utterly clear and unflawed. They swept coolly across her face, and equally coolly across the scar on that face — the one that made countless people feel pity and sorrow — and within those eyes there passed only a flash of admiration and a warm trace of a smile. Then a look of regret crossed her face. But Qiu Jiushuang understood that she was not expressing regret for the scar on her face. What she seemed to regret was something else entirely…
“What a pity — if we had met earlier, I would certainly have invited you to sneak into Zuigui Valley with me to steal the old ghost’s Zuigui wine.”
“Hm?” Qiu Jiushuang was taken aback. She had still been wondering what it was that Feng Xi regretted — and it turned out she regretted this: that she had one fewer companion to sneak off and steal wine with. And she was so certain that Qiu Jiushuang would have been happy to go along?
“The wine the old ghost brews is truly the finest under heaven!” Feng Xi narrowed her eyes with a look of deep longing, the corners of her eyes nearly dripping with craving. “It is only a pity the old ghost guards it too closely. If you and I went together, we could coordinate perfectly — steal every drop of the old ghost’s wine and make him so furious he’d turn into a real ghost!”
“Ha ha ha… That is so very Fengxi!” Huang Chao burst into open laughter at this, looking at the woman before him with that expression of sheer craving on her face. This was Fengxi — the fun-loving, food-obsessed Fengxi, the uninhibited and unrestrained Bai Fengxi.
“I can drink ten jars in one sitting.” Qiu Jiushuang extended her hand with a grin toward Feng Xi.
“Hehe — the old ghost says his wine is the finest under heaven. I say my drinking is the finest under heaven!” Feng Xi laughed, extending her own hand in turn. Their two hands met in midair with a light, crisp clap.
Looking at the woman before her, smiling like flowers in full bloom, Qiu Jiushuang could not help but inwardly marvel in that moment: What a Bai Fengxi — clear as water and as free as the wind! She glanced back and saw the Young Master laughing more openly and freely than she had ever witnessed. Even Yu Wuyuan — forever composed and expressionless — now had in his eyes a faint yet genuine warmth of a smile.
Far away, at the mouth of the valley, a figure appeared. It reached the entrance but came no further — standing still and silent, as though waiting for something, like a painting that had drifted in from the ancient past.
Feng Xi looked at that figure for a moment, then turned back with a smile. “Until we meet again.” Her gaze swept over the three of them. The smile gradually faded, and she spoke quietly, without a ripple: “Or perhaps — until never.”
As the last word fell, she had already turned and walked away — so quickly and decisively, as if leaving no one any chance to call her back. Her black hair swept a long arc through the air, then settled quietly back onto that white robe. The white figure seemed to walk very slowly, and yet went very far.
The zither notes rose again quietly — as though reaching out to hold someone back, or perhaps only to offer a farewell. So gently, so tenderly lingering.
Watching Feng Xi gradually walk toward him, Feng Xi felt a sudden lightening in his heart. Slowly, softly, he let out a breath — as though he feared that if he breathed out too quickly, he might let something slip.
The zither notes played on behind him, clear and unhurried. His feet seemed to have a will of their own, carrying him swiftly forward. He very much wanted to turn and look back once more — but ahead… that figure stood there without a word, and yet she knew he was waiting for her. Gradually she drew closer. The lines of his face and form became clear and distinct, carved into clarity — and those eyes, like dark jade… For some reason, that gaze made her heart give a single, startled beat. But what was it that stirred?