Northern Peak of Xuan Mountain.

Fengxi stared at the empty cave. Her hand went slack, and the set of men’s clothing she had been carrying fell to the ground.

That man had not waited for her?! With wounds that grave, he had actually gotten up and left on his own, rather than wait for her to return with medicine?!

“What an absolute fool!”

Fengxi murmured the words in a low voice, then stepped out of the cave entrance — only to find a considerable number of people already gathered outside.

“Bai Fengxi — hand over the Xuanzun command token!”

The same line as before, only this time directed at her. Fengxi smiled with a touch of sardonic amusement.

“I do not have any Xuanzun command token. Be on your way — all of you — before you try my patience.”

Fengxi swept a cool glance across the crowd. Some she had not seen before; others had been at the foot of Xuan Mountain. She counted — one hundred, perhaps two hundred people. Truly relentless. Could one Xuanzun command token truly allow a person to command all beneath heaven and become master of ten thousand li of territory? Absurd.

“Stop talking nonsense! You were the one who saved Yan Yingzhou — he was unconscious at the time, and taking the Xuanzun command token from him would have been nothing to you! If you don’t have it, who does?!” A large man in rough hemp clothing bellowed.

His words had barely left his mouth when his vision blurred, then his throat tightened, and he found himself unable to breathe. He looked down — a white ribbon was coiled around his neck.

“You — you — cough cough — let — let go — of me! Cough cough—” The man in hemp clothing wheezed out the words in broken fragments, his face already flushed scarlet, his mouth gaping as he coughed violently, both hands yanking at the white ribbon — only for it to tighten further with every pull.

“Hmph! When I say I did not take the Xuanzun command token, I did not take it. When has Bai Fengxi ever told a lie? I am not that Black Fox.” Fengxi’s voice was cold. Then her wrist turned, the white ribbon uncoiled, and she released the man.

The man gulped frantically for air, feeling very much as though he had snatched his life back from the hands of the King of Hell.

“Wind Heroine — if the Xuanzun command token is truly not in your possession, then please tell us where Yan Yingzhou has gone.” A man of about thirty spoke — his features upright and regular, his bearing radiating integrity.

“Who are you?” Fengxi asked, giving him a glance.

“I am Linghu Ju of Nanguo, acting on the orders of our Southern King to return the Xuanzun command token to the imperial capital and bring an end to the chaos of strife dividing the realm.” Linghu Ju clasped his fists in salute. “Please be assured, Wind Heroine — I want only the Xuanzun command token, and will harm no one.”

“Bringing an end to the chaos of strife — how noble and high-sounding.” Fengxi let out a scornful laugh, then tilted her head back to look at the sky and gave a long sigh. “Linghu Ju has a celebrated name throughout Nanguo as a man of honor. That you personally harbor no selfish intent, I believe — but your Southern King… ha ha… let us not even speak of him.”

“Since Wind Heroine trusts Linghu Ju, would she please tell me where Yan Yingzhou has gone?”

“I do not know where he went either.” Fengxi shook her head. “If you find him, do not forget to let me know — I have some scores to settle with him.” She ground the last words through her teeth.

“Hero Linghu — do not let her deceive you!” A man built like a boulder stepped forward; beside him, the already considerable height of Linghu Ju suddenly seemed reduced by half, his frame barely two-thirds the size of this man’s.

“Exactly — do not be fooled! She may have hidden Yan Yingzhou herself, and the Xuanzun command token may already be in her hands.” The crowd broke into murmuring speculation.

“Silence!” Linghu Ju suddenly called out in a sharp voice. “From the time Bai Fengxi first made her name in the martial world, everything she has done has held to the code of honor and righteousness. She is absolutely not the petty schemer you are all implying — I will not allow such insults to stand.”

“Oh?” Fengxi’s eyes shifted to Linghu Ju at those words, and she studied him carefully.

She had a famous name in the martial world, it was true — but by nature she was unrestrained and freewheeling, doing entirely as she pleased. Among those of upright and proper conduct, she was largely looked down upon. Some feared her; some looked at her with contempt; some went out of their way to keep their distance. As for people who genuinely liked her — those were rarer still. To encounter someone who treated her with such respect — and one who was plainly a man of true principle and integrity at that — was enough to surprise her.

“What makes you so certain I am a person of honor and not a petty schemer?” Fengxi regarded Linghu Ju with an expression hovering between amusement and seriousness.

“I simply know.” Linghu Ju said nothing more, only gave a nod. “Since Wind Heroine does not know Yan Yingzhou’s whereabouts either, I shall take my leave.” He raised his arm. “All heroes of Nanguo — if you still recognize me as your leader, follow me and depart.”

With that, he clasped his fists toward Fengxi, turned, and left. From among the crowd, twenty or thirty people fell in behind him and followed.

Watching Linghu Ju depart, Fengxi turned her gaze back to the heroes who had remained, and a cold smile settled on her face. “Do you truly intend to force me into mass bloodshed? Bai Fengxi is not some kindly soul who keeps her hands clean.”

The white ribbon suddenly swirled around her body the instant the words fell, like a white dragon taking flight. In that same moment, a cutting and murderous aura surged outward, washing over every person present. A chill rose from the depths of their hearts. They could not stop themselves from channeling their inner energy and staring fixedly at Fengxi, terrified she might strike without warning.

Even Linghu Ju, who had already walked three zhang away, felt that aura. His hand moved reflexively to the hilt of the sword at his waist — then, as though catching himself, he let it fall. He let out a quiet sigh as he walked on. Whether that sigh was for Bai Fengxi or for those heroes who remained, no one could say.

The white ribbon floated back down as lightly as a breath, and Fengxi wound it in segment by segment, her voice quiet and unhurried. “Go — all of you. I have no wish to see blood.” Her expression carried what was, surprisingly, a quality of deep and genuine weariness.

The crowd swallowed involuntarily. The memory of that ferocious aura was enough to make them afraid — but the thought of the Xuanzun command token made it equally difficult to simply turn and leave.

In the midst of the standoff, Fengxi’s brow suddenly furrowed slightly. She tilted her head, listening — her eyes flashed — and her body shot upward. Swift as a bolt of lightning, she passed over the crowd and vanished. By the time anyone had recovered enough to react, there was no trace of her.

—

From the summit of the northern peak, Fengxi stood with the wind at her back and looked down, taking in the situation on the mountain below with perfect clarity.

On the western face of Xuan Mountain, soldiers swarmed upward like ants — their dress marked them as Baiguo’s imperial guards. On the southern face, two or three dark figures would flash momentarily through the undergrowth at intervals, their movements agile and precise; one glance was enough to know they were all highly accomplished martial artists. On the northern face were the martial world heroes of varied dress. The eastern face, however, showed nothing — not a single movement, not a sound. Yet her instincts told her plainly: that was the most dangerous direction of all.

“One Xuanzun command token — and it draws this many people.” Fengxi sighed.

She raised her face to the sky. The sun had begun to descend in the west, and crimson evening light painted the entire sky in brilliant hues, casting a faint and gorgeous glow across the lush slopes of Xuan Mountain. Everything the eye could reach, in this single moment, was beautiful beyond compare — yet it was a beauty that sat heavy in the chest, tinged with an inexplicable sorrow that could not be shaken loose.

*The dying sun is boundlessly beautiful — and yet it is already dusk.*

The wind lifted her sleeves and sent her long hair streaming. A faint and uncommon sadness rose to the surface of Fengxi’s face.

“Yan Yingzhou — are you dead, or are you still alive?”

She knew that with her own skill, slipping past the people searching the mountain and descending was no difficulty at all. But Yan Yingzhou — with wounds that severe, there was no way he had already left Xuan Mountain. And with this many people searching for him, where could he hide? How long could he hold out?

Fengxi took one last look at the setting sun, then turned and made her way down the mountain.

—

Zuixian Restaurant, Ruan City.

From early evening onward, the restaurant had been a scene of tremendous excitement. The celebrated Hei Fengxi had come in person, declaring openly that he would share in a great drunken revelry with all the heroes of Baiguo. As a result, not only had every guest from Han Xuanling’s birthday banquet migrated here, but others who had long admired Fengxi’s name came uninvited of their own accord — all hoping to witness firsthand the unparalleled bearing of Young Master Fengxi.

They toasted one another, tore at whole roasted sheep and seized great cuts of beef, competed in drinking contests, and cheered one another on. Every last person drank to their fullest satisfaction.

And Fengxi himself proved capable of drinking a thousand cups without faltering. Every time someone offered him a toast, he drained the cup clean in a single swallow.

By the time night had fallen and covered the sky, every single person had grown drunk. Some had collapsed facedown on the tables; others lay heaped beneath them. Not one remained conscious.

“Come now — keep drinking! ‘Slaughter the sheep, butcher the oxen, and let us make merry — we must drink three hundred cups before the night is done!’ Three hundred cups are not yet reached — everyone get up and keep drinking!” Fengxi’s voice rang out through the restaurant in full and spirited song — yet not one person responded. All that answered him was a chorus of snoring.

“Aih — what a feeble lot.” Seeing no one answer him, Fengxi clapped his hands together and rose gracefully to his feet. His handsome face showed not the faintest trace of intoxication; his eyes, perhaps suffused with just enough of the wine’s warmth, were clearer and brighter than the stars in the night sky.

“Young Master — a letter.” Zhong Li stepped into the restaurant and handed him an envelope.

Fengxi accepted it, cast his eyes across it, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

He looked once more at the sea of drunken forms sprawled throughout the restaurant, and gave a quiet, light smile. “Since all the heroes have already gotten drunk, I shall take my leave.”

He walked out of Zuixian. A cool night breeze met him. He looked up at the sky — a thin crescent moon hung aloft, and the stars were sparse.

“Tonight’s stars and moon do not seem as fine as last night’s.” He remarked, lightly, to no one in particular, and then turned and walked away, hands clasped behind his back, Zhong Li and Zhong Yuan following at his heels.

—

On the southern face of Xuan Mountain, Fengxi moved through the forest without sound, like a wisp of pale smoke sweeping past in an instant — so swift that the eye could barely catch it before the trace was already gone.

Suddenly, a very faint sound of labored breathing reached her — like a wounded animal struggling for air. Fengxi halted abruptly, tilted her head, and listened. Then nothing.

The forest at night was a wall of darkness. Through the gaps in the trees, the faint light of stars filtered in here and there. When the wind moved through, the leaves gave a soft rustling sound. Beyond that, there was only shadow and silence.

Fengxi held her position and waited.

At last, a second faint intake of breath reached her. She flew toward the sound, and in the same instant a flash of sword light stabbed toward her. She had been ready — the white ribbon shot out, coiling around the blade in a single heartbeat. Then the smell of blood reached her.

“Yan Yingzhou?” she called softly. The white ribbon released and flew back into her sleeve.

“Wind Heroine?” A hoarse voice answered, and the sword light withdrew.

By the faint starlight, relying on the sharper eyesight that came with years of martial training, Fengxi could see that Yan Yingzhou was kneeling on one knee. She crouched quickly beside him. Large drops of sweat stood out on his face; his complexion was as white as paper, and his lips had turned a deep and dark blue.

“Your wounds have worsened.”

Fengxi murmured under her breath and immediately reached into her robes for the medicine she had brought. She fed him two Foxin Pills, then pressed her hand to his side beneath the ribs. At the touch, she felt wetness — without even looking, she knew it was a hand full of black blood. Her heart clenched. With no time to be careful, she tore open the clothing over his wound, crushed a Foxin Pill, and pressed the powder directly onto the wound. She then sprinkled Zifu Powder over it, removed the sash from her waist, and bound the injury tightly.

“Take off your coat — I will apply medicine to the rest of your wounds.” Fengxi said quietly.

This time, Yan Yingzhou did not blush. He cooperated entirely and began to undo his clothing.

“Ha…” A quiet, unexpected laugh escaped Fengxi, as though something had just struck her as amusing. “I assumed you had run off bare-chested. To think you are actually dressed. Where did you get those clothes?”

“Killed someone. Took them.” Yan Yingzhou answered in a low voice, then drew in a hissing breath through clenched teeth — the fabric had stuck to his wounds, and even peeling it away with care sent pain shooting through him.

“Serves you right.” Fengxi murmured the rebuke — yet the hands doing the work went lighter and more careful, easing the fabric away with deliberate gentleness so as not to disturb the wound she had already dressed at his side. “Why didn’t you wait for me to come back?”

Yan Yingzhou said nothing. Only in the darkness, his eyes caught the light for a moment as they looked at her.

“Does Bai Fengxi seem like someone who would put other people in danger by staying near them?” Fengxi gave a low and cold sound of dismissal — yet her hands continued their careful work, sprinkling the Zifu Powder without pause.

Yan Yingzhou still said nothing.

After that, neither of them spoke. One concentrated on applying the medicine; the other cooperated in silence.

Only — the first time this had happened, one of them had been unconscious, and the other had been focused entirely on saving a life, her mind unclouded by any other thought. The proximity of a man and a woman had not entered her awareness at all.

But now, both of them were fully awake. In the darkness they were close — very close — each breathing warm breath that reached the other’s throat. One felt a pair of cool and gentle hands moving across his skin and felt his heart stir and his thoughts loosen into something dangerously soft. The other touched the firm muscle and powerful body beneath her palms and found that the wounds, rather than seeming frightening or ugly, made something in her heart go quietly, inexplicably tender. A subtle and undeniable awareness rose between them — a clear and conscious recognition that the other was someone entirely, fundamentally different from oneself. A warm and close atmosphere unfurled between them like mist, setting their faces burning and their hearts beating loud as a drum. Neither of them had ever felt this way before.

When the medicine was finally applied, one quietly put his clothes back on, the other sat unusually still beside him. Not a word passed between them, yet each seemed to be trying to sort through something, and both could feel it — that something unlike anything ordinary was beginning to take root in the space between them.

Suddenly, both of them sensed a threat approaching. Without any exchange of words, they each reached out — and their hands closed around each other’s.

A brilliant arc of blade light crashed down toward them. Both swept backward at the same instant, barely clearing it. Then a white ribbon shot outward, and a flash of green steel thrust forward together — meeting the group of black-robed figures who had descended silently from above.

The black-robed figures were all elite fighters, nothing like the uneven gathering of heroes from every nation they had faced in daylight. This group numbered ten. Four of them moved on Yan Yingzhou; the remaining six tangled with Fengxi. They carried soul-severing blades in their hands, their technique refined and precise, their balance of attack and defense disciplined — it was clear they had all trained under the same school and spent years training together, their coordination seamless and wordless.

Fengxi faced six opponents without any visible difficulty, holding her ground easily while keeping up her own offense.

Yan Yingzhou, however, was in serious danger. Any one of these black-robed figures, in a straight one-on-one fight, would not be his equal — but the gap was not enormous. Four of them fighting together was another matter entirely, and he was already working desperately to keep up. Moreover, his body was already severely wounded; both his inner energy and his concentration had been drastically reduced. Within moments, two new wounds had been added to his body.

Fengxi caught a glimpse of this. Her brow drew together in a sharp frown, and she threw herself into full force. The white ribbon blurred and swept — at one moment sharp and piercing as a sword, at the next fierce and relentless as a long whip, then sweeping like a great blade clearing a thousand troops — a dense, storm-like assault crashing down on all six opponents at once.

The offensive formation of the six shattered immediately; they were left with nothing but defense. Yet Fengxi gave them not the smallest pause to recover. The white ribbon suddenly rippled like a silver serpent toward the three on the left. Those three reflexively sprang backward, pulling out of range — and in the instant they leapt, Fengxi’s body shot upward. Her left hand formed a palm and struck toward the three on the right. The three on the right hurried to raise their blades in defense — only for Fengxi’s left palm to shift in a flash from palm to blade-edge, driving through the gaps between the three swords like lightning. Three sharp cracks rang out, and all three men had their right shoulders struck; their blades dropped to the ground.

Fengxi followed through without pausing, arcing back in midair to sweep toward the three on the left. Those three swung their great blades, the blade light blazing, weaving a wall of steel — but the white ribbon transformed into a white arc of light and drove straight into that wall of blades. Three loud crashes. All three tempered steel blades snapped clean at the middle. Before those three men could recover their senses, Fengxi was already before them. Her left hand swept out, her fingers graceful as orchid petals — and all three men felt a numbing blow to the chest, then were flung to the ground.

At the same moment that Fengxi was pressing her advantage, Yan Yingzhou on the other side was in increasingly critical straits. The four, sensing his sword strikes growing weaker and weaker, pressed their assault harder. Four great blades wove a rain of steel around him from every direction, leaving him nowhere to retreat. In the chaos, his back took another blade strike. The straps of the bundle he carried on his back were severed. The bundle fell, and the box inside tumbled free — and from within the box, a dark object spilled out onto the ground.

The moment the four men saw what had fallen from the box, they abandoned Yan Yingzhou in unison and lunged toward it. Yan Yingzhou looked and his face changed — he shouted, his body shooting after them.

Fengxi had just driven back those six when she heard Yan Yingzhou’s shout. She turned — and saw them all converging on whatever lay beside the fallen box. Without hesitation, her hand swung; the white ribbon shot out and coiled around the object, pulling it back. She spread her left hand, and the object landed in her palm — ice cold to the touch. It was the Xuanzun command token — the thing every person desired.

Yan Yingzhou saw Fengxi catch it and cried out in desperation: “No!”

Fengxi had already swept to his side. Seeing his alarm, she assumed he feared she meant to take it, and offered reassurance. “Do not worry — I have not lost it for you.”

The moment he saw Fengxi beside him, Yan Yingzhou snatched up the bundle cloth from the ground, grabbed Fengxi’s wrist, and hissed urgently: “Let it go — quickly!”

Seeing how desperately he clung to this token, Fengxi felt a flicker of disappointment. She opened her hand, and the token fell onto the cloth. Her voice was quiet and even. “I was not going to take your Xuanzun command token.”

As she spoke, her right hand swept out, and the white ribbon struck with full force toward the four lunging at them. The four had no time to dodge and were swept together to the ground.

But Yan Yingzhou had already seized Fengxi’s left wrist. His hands moved quickly — several precise strikes sealed the pressure points at her wrist. Then he raised his eyes to her, urgency written plainly across his face. “Swallow some medicine — quickly!”

It was only then that Fengxi looked down and found her left palm had turned entirely purple. And the purple was spreading — already creeping up toward her forearm. Even with Yan Yingzhou having sealed her pressure points, it had only slowed fractionally. She understood immediately — poison had been applied to the token, and she had made contact with it and been infected. She reached into her robes without hesitation, drew out the Foxin Pills, and swallowed two.

The ten black-robed figures had recovered by now and were closing in around them again.

Yan Yingzhou grabbed her right hand and hauled her into a run, fleeing backward at full speed. Between them — one severely wounded, the other poisoned — there was no longer any capacity to fight those ten. And behind those ten, who could say how many more waited?

Yan Yingzhou pulled Fengxi and ran. At first she kept pace with him — but gradually she felt all the strength in her body being slowly drawn away, as though something were draining it out of her. Her limbs grew heavier and weaker with each moment; her head felt like a stone pressing down; something blocked her chest and made breathing difficult. Her footsteps began to slow.

And Yan Yingzhou was wound upon wound — his energy and strength long since spent beyond his limit — and the desperate running depleted what little remained. Before long, he stumbled, and both of them tumbled to the ground together.

“Go on without me.”

Fengxi’s voice came out faint and weak. Even her vision had grown blurry; she barely had the strength left to form words. She laughed at herself inwardly, a quiet, bitter thing — she who in her usual days laughed and jested while cutting people down had reached a day like this, when she could do nothing but wait helplessly for the end?

Yan Yingzhou looked at her — just one look. It seemed to pierce straight through her soul and pull her back to a shred of clarity. She blinked and looked at him in return — and found that the face drenched in sweat was remarkably, startlingly handsome, and the expression on it was one of absolute, unbreakable resolve.

He pushed himself upright, lifted her in his arms with tremendous effort, and continued forward. But his pace was agonizingly slow, and behind them the sound of pursuing footsteps was already audible.

“What a fool. Why die together when one of us could live?”

Fengxi murmured the words, but she already knew — Yan Yingzhou had decided that even in death, he would not let go of her. This man… aih…

Without warning, she felt his body jolt to a stop. The running ceased. She raised her eyes — and found there was nowhere left to go. Before them was a steep, plunging mountain slope, and they were standing at the very top of the precipice.

“Fengxi — let us make a wager. Win, and we live. Lose, and we die together. Are you willing?” Yan Yingzhou looked down at her, and the arms holding her tightened without his quite meaning them to.

“Very well.” Fengxi answered quietly. Then she gave a small smile. “Dying with the Fierce Wind General as company — actually, that is quite a reasonable bargain.”

Yan Yingzhou suddenly bent his face toward hers — close, very close. Their breath fell warm on each other’s faces; their lips were so near that Fengxi’s mind flicked, in an unbidden instant, to whether this man carved from stone was actually about to kiss her.

But he did not. Yan Yingzhou’s eyes were deeper than the night itself, brighter than the coldest star. They held her gaze, unblinking, and within them something particular lay hidden. Then he exhaled, something close to a sigh, and breathed the words low: “To die alongside Bai Fengxi — I, Yan Yingzhou, would die without regret.”

And then he pulled her tight against him and rolled with her over the edge and down the mountain slope. As they tumbled, Fengxi could feel the impact and pain of her body striking the ground — but it was not as severe as she expected. Her entire person, from head to feet, was enclosed in Yan Yingzhou’s arms and shielded by his body. Every collision and every blow was absorbed by him first, and what reached her was dampened — not terribly painful, but it went straight to the deepest part of her heart.

It was the first time any man had ever protected her.

She had made a name for herself young. Since entering the martial world, there had been no one who was her equal — save Hei Fengxi alone. She had never needed protection, and no one had ever thought to protect the second-to-none Bai Fengxi of the martial world. But what Yan Yingzhou was doing now touched something deep and wordless within her, and her heart was beating with a feeling she could not identify or name.

She lay quietly in his arms. She let herself feel the breadth of a man’s chest. In silence she tasted something called being protected — its warmth. And then… slowly… slowly… every sensation began to drift away from her… Was this death approaching? Was this what dying felt like? It was not frightening. It carried, strangely, a faint sweetness — a quiet warmth.

—

Xuan Mountain in the deep of night appeared very still. But if one peeled back that layer of dark and quiet, dark figures slipped through the dense trees at intervals, flashes of blade light or torchlight flickering between the trunks, mixed with low voices and an occasional suppressed cry of pain.

At the foot of Xuan Mountain, a pavilion of hanging cloth had appeared in the night, erected as though from nowhere. Inside sat three people: in the large chair at the center was a handsome black-robed gentleman — Hei Fengxi himself, with Zhong Li and Zhong Yuan standing in attendance beside him.

Fengxi raised his eyes to read the sky. The thin crescent moon hung precisely at the center of the heavens.

“Zhong Li — send the signal.” Fengxi said, his voice quiet and even.

“Yes, Young Master.”

Zhong Li bowed, stepped out of the pavilion, and flicked his wrist. Something flew from his hand, blazed briefly in the darkness overhead, then went dark.

A moment later, four bright flashes appeared in the sky — each lasting only an instant before vanishing. But long enough for those who were watching to see clearly.

When those flashes had gone, Fengxi lifted his teacup, removed the lid, bent his head to breathe in the fragrance of the tea, took one careful sip, and gave a slow nod. “The measure of tea leaves is right — not too many, not too few — and the steeping time is precisely correct. The fragrance is light and carries far; the taste is bitter at first and sweet thereafter; neither too strong nor too astringent. This is what good tea is.”

“Young Master — Miss Fengxi is still on the mountain.” Zhong Yuan said quietly.

“With that woman’s skill, she is perfectly capable of descending on her own.” Fengxi showed no concern, and extended the teacup. Zhong Yuan immediately received it.

“If she cannot break through…” Fengxi tilted his face upward toward the sparse stars scattered overhead, a few of them shining with particular brightness. “…then she is not worthy of being the Bai Fengxi who shares a name with me.”

—

Torches flickered across the northern face of Xuan Mountain.

The heroes of the martial world from every faction, after a full day and a night of combing the mountain, were now exhausted and hungry. Every one of them was soaked through with sweat, their expressions haggard and worn.

“Damn it all — where on earth is Yan Yingzhou hiding?!” someone snapped in frustration.

“I know — I have been out here all day with nothing to eat and nothing to drink. It’s all this cursed Yan Yingzhou’s fault!” someone agreed.

“And that Bai Fengxi! If not for her, the Xuanzun command token would already be in our hands!” someone else added, redirecting the grievance.

“Exactly! That insufferable woman — always sticking her nose where it does not belong! If she ever falls into my hands, I will hack her into eighteen pieces — only then will the hatred in my heart be satisfied!” someone ground out through clenched teeth.

“Hero He — I think we should head down the mountain for tonight? It is this dark now, and there is clearly nothing more to find. What do you say we get some proper rest, bring enough provisions tomorrow, and try again?” someone proposed.

“That makes sense,” another agreed. “We can post men at every point of descent at the foot of the mountain — the moment Yan Yingzhou tries to come down, we will have him.”

The one addressed as Hero He was He Xun. The Tianxun Escort Bureau had branches throughout the territories of Dong Chao, its reach and influence enormous, and He Xun himself was a man of formidable martial skill — without any formal arrangement, he had naturally become the de facto leader of this group.

He Xun looked at the faces around him. Every one showed signs of complete exhaustion. And truthfully, he himself was very much missing hot food and a warm bed. He gave a nod of agreement. “Very well — let us descend for tonight, and return tomorrow. Yan Yingzhou cannot get far.”

And so the group made their way down the mountain.

Going down has always been faster and easier than going up. These were all trained martial artists, agile and nimble — and the promise of food, drink, and warmth below put extra speed in every step. Before long, they could already see the lights of the town. They were nearly back among the living.

But as they walked, they found they could not seem to get out. They went back and forth, circling — yet they were only going in circles, and the lights ahead stayed at the same distance, seeming so near, yet somehow utterly beyond reach.

“Something is wrong — why do we keep ending up back in the same place?” someone shouted.

“It must be — the ghost wall!” someone cried out in terror.

The moment those words were spoken, every person felt the air around them suddenly turn cold and sinister, as though countless shadowy shapes were converging upon them from all sides. A gust of mountain wind swept through and extinguished every torch in every hand, and the darkness closed around them completely.

“Mother — ghosts! Ghosts!”

“Help! There are ghosts! Save me!”

“Don’t touch me! Get away!”

“Help! Help—”

“Get back! I will cut you down, all of you ghosts!”

“Aiyah — the ghosts are killing people!”

All at once, these men who had in ordinary times styled themselves as heroes and warriors were either cowering with their arms over their heads and fleeing in every direction, or hacking wildly in their terror at whatever they perceived around them.

In the darkness, only the faint stars and the thin moon above could witness what was actually happening: they were cutting one another down. Crimson blood soaked into the earth beneath their feet; severed limbs lay heaped upon severed limbs. At last, the screams of terror and the battle cries of fury fell silent alike, and the foot of Xuan Mountain’s northern peak returned to stillness.

A li away, a few lantern lights flickered softly in the dark of the night — like lights left burning for a traveler who has not yet come home.

—

Fengxi woke to pain.

She opened her eyes and found herself inside a cave. A single torch burned with weak and uncertain light.

She looked down — and found a cut had been made across her left palm, and Yan Yingzhou’s left hand was pressed firmly over it. He was drawing the poison out of her hand using his inner energy. The blood dripping to the ground was purple.

“Stop — don’t—”

Fengxi called out — only to find her voice thinner than a cat’s mew. She tried to stop him, and found she could not move at all. What kind of poison was this? This severe?

At last Yan Yingzhou stopped drawing the poison. He reached into her own robes, took out a Foxin Pill, crushed it, and pressed it onto the cut he had made in her left hand. Then he tore a strip from his sleeve and bound the wound.

As he did all of this, by the weak and unsteady light of the torch, Fengxi looked at his hand and her own. The purple on her palm had faded considerably. And he — his entire left arm had turned purple.

In an instant, a cold terror wrapped around her.

She thought of the two Foxin Pills she had swallowed — pills said to counter a hundred poisons — and yet the poison in her body had not cleared. A terrible thought flashed through her mind, and she felt a chill run through her from head to toe.

“What poison is this?” she asked, her voice raw and hoarse.

“Wiman grass.” Yan Yingzhou answered in a calm and even tone.

Wiman grass. The most lethal poison known beneath heaven. A poison for which there was said to be no cure whatsoever.

“You — you—” Fengxi stared at that calm and expressionless face. She wanted very much to strike him into his senses — but in the same moment, a swell of something aching seized her. After a long silence, her voice came out hoarse and low: “Are all four generals of Huangguo — Wind, Frost, Snow, and Rain — this foolish? If so, I have to wonder whether Huangguo’s ‘Zheng Tian Cavalry’ has earned its name at all. With someone like you — how could you ever contend for the realm?!”

“I, Yan Yingzhou, never owe anyone a debt. You once drew poison from me — I am now drawing poison from you. After this, we are even. Besides — you were poisoned because of me.” Yan Yingzhou’s tone remained quiet and measured.

He looked down at the hand he was holding — slender and elegant, smooth and luminous as jade, traced through with the faintest trace of purple. Beautiful in a way that was almost unearthly. These were the hands that had swept the white ribbon to save lives and to take them. And yet truly — hands like these, a person like this, should have been sitting beside a window of pale green gauze, holding a quiet orchid blossom, bending her head to breathe in its fragrance, her expression one of soft and serene ease.

“How can there be a person like you in this world?! Knowing full well it was a poison with no cure — and you drew it into yourself anyway! Do you want to die that badly?”

Fengxi’s voice was low, and then another thought struck her — one that dropped her as though into an ice-filled abyss.

There were no more Foxin Pills.

A single bottle held six pills. The last one had just been crushed and pressed onto her palm. And he — he had no means left to prolong his life. None at all.

“For as long as you can hold on — hold on. The longer you last, the better the chance of surviving.” Yan Yingzhou released her hand and looked up at her. “Bai Fengxi is not someone who should die so easily.”

“And you? Do you care so little for your own life?” Fengxi stared at him. In the firelight his face was entirely still — yet beneath those eyes, something surged like a hidden undercurrent.

Without warning, Yan Yingzhou raised his hand and extinguished the torch. Then he rose to his feet, walked to the edge of the cave, and assessed the situation outside for a moment. He came back, lifted Fengxi, and carried her to the deepest part of the cave, settling her into concealment.

“Those black-robed figures are coming? You—”

Fengxi’s voice stopped abruptly. Yan Yingzhou had sealed her mute point.

A rough and callused palm passed across her cheek — as though not daring to truly touch her, grazing over like a dragonfly skimming water, feather-light, and pulled away instantly. He gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist, turned sharply, and walked toward the cave entrance.

*Don’t go. Do not go.*

Fengxi screamed it in the depths of her heart. Going out there was nothing but death.

As though he had heard her, Yan Yingzhou suddenly stopped walking. He turned and looked at her. He stood there for a moment, something waging a fierce and silent battle in his mind. And then, at last, he moved back toward her.

In the dark of the cave she could still feel the heat and the weight of his gaze on her. Then he bent his head, brought his lips close to her ear, and breathed the words low: “I will come back. In our next life — I will come back and find you. In our next life, I will not die young. Fengxi — remember me.”

His lips fell. Like a feather, they brushed across hers — then fell again, harder, biting down. Fengxi felt a sting of pain at her lips, then tasted something salt and iron-sweet at the corner of her mouth, then something else — something salt in a different way. And the last thing that entered her sight was a pair of eyes that shone in the darkness as bright as stars — eyes filled with boundless longing and clear and glistening light.

A string of tears slid down.

Hers? His? She did not know. She only knew that the black figure at last stepped out of that cave entrance. She only knew that the sound of blades and swords came from outside. She only knew that perhaps — perhaps — she would not see him again.