From the novel: Let Me Try the World

“Transmit this letter back to the capital by swift fire relay — to General Qi Shu!”

“Yes!”

A swift, agile silhouette flashed through the night sky and vanished.

“A swift fire relay? Xiyun, has something happened?” Jiuwei, who stood nearby, handed a cup of hot tea to Xiyun.

“It’s nothing.” Xiyun took a small sip of the tea; its sweet, clear taste slid down her throat, leaving a clean fragrance lingering between her teeth. She let out a long, unhurried sigh. “Jiuwei, the tea you brew is truly more fragrant than anything Liu Yun makes!”

“If it’s nothing, then why did you use a swift fire relay?” Jiuwei nonetheless remained fixed on his earlier question.

“Hmm…” Xiyun gently swirled her teacup, her gaze chasing the deep green tea leaves as they rose and fell within the cup. “Jiurong said today that there are fewer than thirty thousand men in the city capable of joining battle right now. I was thinking… perhaps I ought to make some preparations.”

“I see.” Jiuwei asked no further.

“Jiuwei…” Xiyun set down her teacup and looked at him, as though she wished to say something but held herself back.

“What is it?” Jiuwei looked at her, finding her hesitation at this moment somewhat unusual.

Xiyun raised a hand and rested her cheek against it, her gaze settling on some fixed, distant point. After a long silence deep in thought, she said, “I was wondering… in this world…” She trailed off abruptly. A moment later, her voice came again, so low it was barely audible — a murmur to herself: “Can one trust… would one even trust…”

Such fragments of words were impossible to understand clearly, yet Jiuwei understood what lay in her heart. It was only that… he could not answer her, nor was it his place to answer her.

“What would you like to eat tonight? I’ll go make it for you.” That was all he could offer.

The eighteenth day of the tenth month — for the common people of Juan City, this day was no different from any other. The sun hung high and bright from early morning; the autumn breeze, carrying the faintest chill, swept the yellow leaves across the ground. Along the hillside, wild chrysanthemums bloomed in riotous, graceful abundance, spreading across the entire slope in a carpet of color. The adults began their day’s work; the children gathered on the wild slopes and started their games. Juan City, it seemed, had changed very little — save that its master was now the beautiful and noble Queen of the Feng Kingdom.

And early that very morning, the queen whom the people of Juan City regarded as both beautiful and approachable was leisurely enjoying the elegant and delicious breakfast Jiuwei had prepared at the official residence — until a report from her subordinates made her involuntarily raise her voice: “The Grand General of the East is leading eighty thousand Imperial Guards and marching on Juan City to subdue me?”

“Yes. According to the scouts’ report, the Grand General’s vanguard force is now less than five days’ march from Juan City,” Lin Ji answered. Beside him, Xiu Jiurong watched his queen in silence — no fear, no sharp anxiety, only the quiet, absolute confidence that no matter what arose, it would be resolved the moment it reached his queen.

“Oh.” Xiyun replied with a light, unhurried sound, then said nothing more, turning her full attention back to the unfinished breakfast before her — a bowl of clear congee scattered with a few pale yellow chrysanthemum blossoms, and a small dish of steamed buns shaped delicately like lotus flowers. Her manner of eating, needless to say, was entirely graceful and refined, maintaining the composed and dignified bearing befitting a queen.

The two generals who attended her felt not the slightest discomfort or boredom while the queen ate.

Lin Ji pulled a chair to sit beside Jiuwei, and in a voice only the two of them could hear, quietly floated a proposal — might it be possible to break the principle of cooking only for the queen, and out of some small-hearted generosity, prepare food this beautiful and this delicious for the two of them as well someday? He received no answer, however, for Jiuwei simply looked at Xiyun — who was eating with evident, contented enjoyment — with a faint smile on his face. Jiurong, for his part, sat cross-legged on the floor beneath Lin Ji’s chair, his gaze seeming somewhat distant and unfocused as it rested on a landscape painting on the wall — though those who knew him well understood that he was deep in thought.

“This Grand General of the East is no ordinary military commander.”

In the closed study, the first words Xiyun spoke were an acknowledgment of her adversary.

“If it were the Hua King who came, I would have nothing to fear even if he led a hundred thousand Zhengtiandi cavalry. But if it is this Grand General — then even if he leads only fifty thousand Jinyi cavalry, he is without question a formidable enemy.”

“My Queen, should we recall Xu Yuan and Cheng Zhi?” Lin Ji asked. At present, the Fengyun cavalry within the city capable of fighting numbered barely thirty thousand, and with two of their senior generals away on assignment while the enemy fielded eighty thousand, holding the city would be no small difficulty.

“There is not enough time,” Xiu Jiurong said. “The Grand General will have reached Juan City long before they could return.”

“Indeed.” Xiyun nodded. “Provisions, clothing, medicine, and all other supplies must under no circumstances run short for the army. Moreover, they are already near their destination, so there must be no abandoning of the mission halfway.”

“If that is the case… My Queen, the walls of Juan City are both thin and low — it is by no means a city suited for a prolonged defense,” Lin Ji said. “Furthermore, half the city’s provisions have already been transported away. By my reckoning, what remains will barely sustain us for twenty days.”

“Hmm… we are not necessarily bound to defend Juan City to the last.” Xiyun rose with an easy sweep of her sleeve, and said with an air of casual lightness, “The Grand General is indeed a renowned commander, yet for the past ten years he has rarely set foot beyond the imperial capital… and so…” Xiyun swept her gaze over her generals, a light smile blooming at her lips. “For a senior, we juniors ought to show proper courtesy — to go out and greet him from a distance as he travels from afar!”

“My Queen…” Lin Ji and Xiu Jiurong — both their eyes brightened at the same instant.

Slender, fair fingers moved lightly and deftly across the map, and from those pale rose lips flowed one strategy and command after another…

“Your servants respectfully obey the Queen’s orders!” Both generals within the room bowed in heartfelt reverence.

“Good.” Xiyun gave a calm nod. “Whether or not we can achieve a complete victory in this battle hinges on the Mo Yu Cavalry. Therefore… Lin Ji, have a messenger carry this letter in my own hand to Shizi Lanxi at once. However, the Grand General will certainly anticipate this move on our part, so the matter of delivering the letter requires your particular attention in how you arrange it — and furthermore… it must be placed directly into Shizi Lanxi’s hands!”

“Yes!” Lin Ji accepted the order.

“Go and make your preparations.” Xiyun dismissed them with a wave.

“Your servants take their leave.”

After the two generals bowed and withdrew, Jiuwei remained in the room alone. From beginning to end, he had only listened and watched in quiet stillness.

Xiyun rose from the queen’s seat, clasped her hands behind her back, and tilted her head back to gaze at the ceiling for a long while. At last, she let out a long, slow sigh — a sigh that carried the weight of someone who had seen through something and was left with a lingering unease, or perhaps the helplessness of someone who had finally resolved to take a step she had never wished to take.

“Jiuwei.” Xiyun shifted her gaze toward Jiuwei, who sat quietly nearby. She raised her arm slightly; the long sleeve slid back. The hand within had been clenched in a fist — now she opened her five fingers, and a command token appeared in her palm, resembling a pristine cloud drifting through the wind. “I am giving this to you now.”

“The Feiyun Token?” Jiuwei looked at the command token revealed in her palm and asked with a puzzled frown. “This is the commanding seal of the Fengyun cavalry. Why are you entrusting it to me?”

“Because…” Xiyun walked toward Jiuwei and leaned close to his ear, speaking in a voice so low that only he could hear — a single sentence.

“…” Jiuwei, upon hearing it, stared at Xiyun with eyes wide in astonishment, as though he could not believe what he had just heard, so stunned that he was speechless for a long, long moment.

“If even you are this startled, how much more so would others be.” Xiyun smiled faintly — a bitter smile, touched with the faintest self-deprecation. “That is precisely why this is a step I will never take unless absolutely forced to. So… Jiuwei, you must not act before the time I have told you. You absolutely, without fail, must act only after.”

“But… Xiyun, if… if that should happen, the two of you… you would be in extreme danger!” Jiuwei’s brow furrowed tightly, his eyes filled entirely with worry. “If you have already thought this far ahead, then you must already have doubts about… and if that is so, then why not simply…”

“No!” Xiyun cut him off with unwavering finality. “Under no circumstances before the time I have set. If it can be helped…” She paused for a brief moment, then let out a long, quiet sigh. “If it can be helped, I hope you will never need to use this token at all. You must understand — once you take that step, there is no retreating from it, and what comes after…” Her gaze grew distant and hazy, settling on some indeterminate point. “It is truly impossible to imagine…”

“Impossible to imagine?” Jiuwei looked at Xiyun with a thoughtful gaze, then smiled — a faint, unhurried smile carrying a certain probing quality, a depth of meaning. “Or is it that you dare not imagine? Or perhaps… that you are afraid of his reaction?”

Xiyun’s gaze remained fixed on some far-off place, as though her entire heart and soul were drifting somewhere distant — so distant that she seemed not to have caught Jiuwei’s words. Yet just when Jiuwei thought she would not reply, she spoke.

“Jiuwei, the reason the Fengyun cavalry and the Mo Yu cavalry have managed to walk together in some semblance of harmony until now — beyond their shared purpose, the single most important reason is that the two armies’ commanders — myself and Shizi Lanxi — are regarded by the people of both nations as husband and wife, as one. And so it is only natural that the two nations and the two armies should be united as one. The reason the two of us have come this far together is because… it is not only the force of circumstance — it is also because from the time we first met as wanderers in the jianghu to this very day, more than ten years have passed. Ten years, Jiuwei. Ten years in a life is no small span. Two people who are neither kin nor old friends have had the finest years of their lives entangled together. No matter how unwilling either of us may be to admit it, the truth is… there are so very many things that have become bound together between us — things that cannot be separated or cast aside.”

At this, she raised her hand and pressed her fingertips lightly over her brow, her expression one of quiet emotion touched with a hint of bitterness. “Ten years of acquaintance — by rights, we ought to be kindred souls who know one another, cherish one another, and trust one another without question. Yet… ” Her fingers trembled faintly; her eyes closed slightly; the trace of bitterness at the corner of her mouth deepened. “Yet we… Jiuwei… as he himself has said — that kind of trust where one entrusts one’s very life to the other… it is too difficult. It seems neither of us has ever truly given that to the other. We cannot… and we dare not.”

“Xiyun…” Jiuwei lowered his eyes to look at the Feiyun Token in his hand, then raised them again to look at her — at the complex expression on her face — and let out a long, slow sigh. “Xiyun… in truth… you love him, don’t you? That is why you are so conflicted, why you carry such complex feelings — and why you are so…” Jiuwei’s own words quietly trailed off; he only looked at Xiyun with an expression of mingled complexity and quiet melancholy.

“Jiuwei…” Xiyun raised her hand and pressed it over her face. For the first time, her voice was this fragile — because it carried within it far too many things, layer upon layer. “This is our sorrow. Neither of us is the person the other would have imagined. Neither of us wants this… and yet… there it is. So we are both so deeply unwilling — and yet so utterly helpless.”

Jiuwei looked at her in silence, the spirit-deep brightness of his eyes regarding her with sorrow, his heart sighing again and again, endlessly, helplessly…

“Jiuwei, in all this world, the person I most wish I could trust is him!” Xiyun turned back to look at Jiuwei, those clear eyes of hers like a lake swept by a fierce gale. “And yet… I am so unsure. That is why I must keep that step in reserve. Only… once that step is taken, everything between us across these ten years… all of it may be reduced to ash in that single move. And at that point, it would not only be… myself and him — it would be the Mo Yu cavalry and the Fengyun cavalry, Baifeng Nation and Heifeng Nation, and even further still, this entire world beneath the heavens…”

“Xiyun, if it truly comes to that, what would you do?” Jiuwei had not wanted to ask this question, yet he asked it all the same — because that answer… the answer he hoped for…

But Xiyun did not answer this time. She released the hand pressed against her face, tilted her head slightly upward, her gaze passing through the study door as though looking toward an unknowable future. Yet the turbulent storm within her eyes was gradually stilling; the expression on her face was gradually restoring itself to the composed, unhurried serenity that was the Feng King’s own.

“When that step is finally taken… if it succeeds, it is a victory for both. If it fails, it is a ruin for both.” As the final word fell, she drew her hands behind her back, fingers clenched tight, and in her eyes blazed a light like twin blades of snow-white steel. Her figure seemed to rise like green bamboo reaching into the clouds — and from her, without a single visible gesture, there radiated a cold, absolute, unyielding resolve.

In a trance, it seemed as though a faint, deep sigh fell silently into Jiuwei’s heart. Looking at that figure within the room — white robes like snow, long hair dark as ink, like a black-and-white silhouette — she stood apart from the world, alone on a high peak. Frail, yet unyielding. Solitary, yet proud beyond measure.

He walked quietly forward, reached out his arms, and gathered into his embrace the queen who on the court gave her commands with cold precision and decisive authority, who on the battlefield led her armies through storms of steel with matchless spirit — and who now, in this moment, was a child as solitary as a bare cliff edge.

“Xiyun…” He called her name softly, not knowing what words to say, nor what words could be said. The only thing he could do was open his arms wide — to let her rest for a little while, to give her even the smallest warmth and solace.

And yet… before his eyes there flashed a memory from long ago: a pair of lively, clear, unblemished eyes, blazing beneath the blinding light of a brilliant sun, that figure of radiant, unrestrained spirit flying into Luori Tower without a care in the world to snatch the roasted chicken right from his hands… Bai Fengxi — can she truly never return? Yet he knew. The person before him now — this one who bore a weight of a thousand catties on her shoulders and stood unyielding and solitary, her eyes at times deep and inward, at times cold and sharp as a drawn blade — this was the one who truly mattered most.

“Jiuwei, I know that I can trust you — a trust where one entrusts one’s very life.” Xiyun rested her head on Jiuwei’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and breathed a sigh — soft, yet at peace. “From the very first moment I saw you, I already knew. We… are family.”

“So you did know after all.” Jiuwei seemed not the least bit surprised. He raised his hand and gently touched the head resting against his shoulder, stroking it — from the crown, smoothly down along the silken black hair — with infinite tenderness and loving care, and within that, a deep, rich fondness and a moved, grateful warmth.

“Of course I knew.” Xiyun reached up and held Jiuwei in return, and at the corner of her mouth there rose a smile — faint, but true. “Jiuwei, one of the reasons I have walked onto this battlefield is because I wish to fulfill your wish. When Lanxi and I hold this world beneath the heavens in our hands, I will be able to fulfill your wish — which is also the promise the Feng King’s lineage has not forgotten across more than three hundred years.”

“I know, I know.” Jiuwei murmured quietly, a glimmer of moisture stirring deep within his luminous eyes, a faint tremor threading through his voice. “That is why I came to your side. I want to watch you fulfill this wish and this promise. Xiyun, I will guard you — I swear it.”

He gently cupped Xiyun’s face in his hands, brushing back the wisps of hair at her forehead to reveal her high brow. The crescent of the jade moon mark at her brow still shone, pure as snow, as it always had. His right hand moved toward her brow — the tip of his little finger faintly, almost imperceptibly, suffused with a pale green aura. With the lightest touch, he pressed his fingertip to her brow, then bowed his own head forward until their foreheads met, brow to brow — and in that instant, it seemed as though a thread of pale green light flickered between their two brows, only to vanish in the blink of an eye. One might almost have believed it an illusion.

“This will let me know whether you are safe.” Jiuwei sighed softly and drew Xiyun back into his arms once more, his long arms crossing behind her, as though building a solid, unbreakable wall around her. “Xiyun… I dearly hope I will never need to use this Feiyun Token.”

Yet the course of the world will never follow the path one wishes.

To reach what one desires, a certain price must always be paid — sometimes a price beyond all reckoning.

“Grand General, at our army’s current pace of march, we will reach Juan City in three days.”

Across a wasteland that was ordinarily empty and silent, banners now rippled in the wind, and ten thousand horses cried out.

“Good.” Dong Shufang, seated high atop his warhorse, received his deputy general’s report with only a calm, unhurried nod. He lifted his gaze to survey the boundless expanse of wasteland stretching before him, while his mind returned to the Emperor’s parting words as the army had left the capital.

“My dear minister, you must return with a great and complete victory!”

On the surface, these were merely simple words of encouragement. Yet upon careful reflection, their true meaning was unmistakable — “Do not return to the capital without defeating the Feng army.”

Why had His Majesty acted in this manner this time? Over the past ten years, the lords of the realm had warred among themselves; armies of chaos had risen on all sides; the royal domain, regarded as sacrosanct as the Emperor’s own face, had suffered repeated incursions. He had petitioned for troops multiple times, yet the Emperor had never granted approval — each time citing the need for a great general to hold the imperial capital as the reason to withhold deployment, allowing the royal domain to be swallowed up village by village, town by town, city by city by the various princes. Yet why, now, had the Emperor been so unyielding in his determination to send him here to subdue the Feng King? Why had he issued such a resolute imperial decree — that he must not return unless victorious?

“Where is General Luo at this moment?”

“In reply to the Grand General — General Luo’s vanguard force is half a day’s march ahead and is now less than a hundred li from Mount Luoying.”

“Good.” Dong Shufang nodded again. “Remember to maintain contact at all times.”

“Yes!”

An army of eighty thousand — a force of such immense size — was exceedingly inconvenient to move all at once. And so Dong Shufang had dispatched Luo Lun, his personally trained deputy commander of the Imperial Guards, to lead ten thousand Imperial Guards as the advance vanguard; he himself commanded forty thousand troops in the center; while the other deputy commander, Le Yuan, led the remaining thirty thousand Imperial Guards half a day behind them — both to escort the supply train, and so that should the imperial capital come under siege and the Emperor issue an urgent summons to recall the army, those thirty thousand elite rear guards could return to the capital in the shortest possible time to protect the throne. This arrangement alone revealed the commanding style of this Grand General of the East: meticulous, measured, and steady.

General Luo Lun, the advance commander, was this year only twenty-seven years of age. To have reached the position of Imperial Guards’ deputy commander at such an age — while one could not say it bore no connection to his being the Grand General’s personally trained disciple — he was in truth a man of genuine ability. At the age of twenty-four, he had once led five thousand Imperial Guards to sweep out eleven bandit strongholds throughout the royal domain; the number of bandits beheaded under his command was beyond counting, striking such terror into every outlaw within the royal domain that the mere mention of his name made them tremble. More than a few in the imperial capital had prophesied that when the Grand General one day stepped down, the two men certain to contend for the position would be General Luo and Dong Shufang’s own son, Dong Taoye — a prophecy that was, in its way, a recognition of his true strength. Yet Luo Lun took no pride in this. In his own mind, the day fit for a man to rise to the rank of grand general ought to be the day he led his army to pacify the rebellion of the six kingdoms and sweep the realm clean of all who opposed order. And so as for this particular campaign to subdue the Feng King, he felt none of the Grand General’s many hesitations — on the contrary, he eagerly awaited the chance to meet the Feng King in battle.

“General, ahead is Mount Luoying.”

Amid the galloping ten thousand horsemen, a deputy general spurred his horse alongside Luo Lun, pointing toward the distant mountain that could just be made out ahead. “If we circle around this mountain and press on at full speed, we can reach Juan City in a single day.”

“Juan City…” Luo Lun pulled back on his reins. The sun had tilted westward; dusk was drawing near. He looked out as far as his eye could reach, and there in the distance stood a mountain of somewhat unusual shape, silent and still. “One day is enough to get there?” This was not a question — merely a murmur to himself. A moment later, he gave the order: “Pass the command — the entire army rests for half an hour!”

“Yes!” A messenger was sent at once to carry the order. The soldiers who had toiled through a full day’s march received it as a gift from heaven — all of them halted and dismounted to rest.

“General, what is that?”

He had barely dismounted and had not yet managed a sip of water when, following the startled cry of the deputy general, every man present could not help but turn his eyes toward what lay ahead.

In the distance, dust suddenly billowed in great clouds, accompanied by the urgent, thundering sound of hoofbeats, and tangled within it, cries and shouts.

Could it be the Feng army coming to launch a surprise attack? Yet if a great army were sweeping in, the scale of it seemed far too small for that. All the soldiers found themselves silently wondering — every hand instinctively reaching toward a weapon.

The hoofbeats grew closer and closer; the situation ahead was now roughly visible. At the very front rode roughly a dozen horsemen, and about fifty meters behind them came several hundred more riders. Yet from the clothing of those riders, they appeared to be ordinary common people — not the Fengyun cavalry in their dazzling silver armor.

“Help! Save us! Help!”

The dozen riders at the very front, upon seeing so many soldiers ahead, paid no heed to which nation’s army it might be — they cried out for rescue in desperate, frantic voices. Though these ten or so people appeared in sorry disarray, their clothing was in truth extremely fine, and each of them had a long, bulging bundle strapped to their back. The riders in pursuit behind them all wore black cloth masks across their faces, shouting crude, coarse words without cease, waving their sabers and driving their horses forward in the chase.

“General, please save us! We are all merchants from Shanyao. Those behind us are bandits and robbers! Please, General, save us!” The merchants cried out loudly.

“Hmph! Bandits!” A cold, sharp light shot from Luo Lun’s eyes. “Mount up!”

The clatter of armor rang out like a wave. In an instant, a surge of brown swept forward — a thousand riders in brown armor were seated on their horses in the span of a breath, their sabers and spears leveled at what lay ahead.

“Stop!” From among the bandits ahead, a commanding shout suddenly rang out. “Soldiers! Flee!”

Before the words had even finished, those several hundred big, burly men had already wheeled their horses around and were fleeing back the way they had come.

“Pursue!” Luo Lun’s hand cut down decisively; before the word had even landed, he had already taken the lead in giving chase.

Behind him, soldiers urged their mounts forward one after another. Of the ten thousand cavalry, nearly half had followed Luo Lun in previous sweeps against bandit strongholds — they knew full well their general’s deep and abiding hatred for outlaws, knowing he would kill them on sight without mercy, and so the moment the order fell, they put their horses to a gallop. The others may not have known this particular reason, but with the general’s command given, there was not one who did not follow. Moreover, their rare moment of rest had been interrupted by these bandits — they were filled with simmering fury, and there were points to be won in battle. And so these ten thousand Imperial Guard cavalry surged forward in that instant like a brown wave crashing ahead, giving chase to the figures who had moments ago been so fierce and menacing, and who were now fleeing in a panic with their heads tucked low.

As the brown wave rolled onward, those left standing in place were the dozen or so merchants. From a distance, though the bandits were indeed fleeing in a frenzy, their horsemanship was remarkably skilled, the gap between them and the pursuing soldiers alternately widening and narrowing — yet always just barely escaping with their lives. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard commander Luo Lun rode at the very front, and the sword in his hand had nearly struck the one who appeared to be the bandit leader several times — yet each time, that man narrowly, barely slipped away.

“The Queen’s judgment is, as ever, unerring!”

The merchant at the head of the group let a look of relaxed, sardonic satisfaction cross his face. Then he pulled the bundle from his back, revealing a long bow within. The other merchants followed in turn — unwrapping their own bundles and drawing out weapons.

Up ahead, the chase continued. Several bandits had already been overtaken by the Imperial Guards, yet those bandits fought with considerable skill — cutting down several soldiers before spurring their horses to flee again. This only enraged Luo Lun further; his eyes burned like fire as he fixed them on the bandits ahead, raising his whip and lashing his horse savagely forward. In an instant, the warhorse shot forward like an arrow. His long sword swung — and one bandit’s head was struck from his shoulders, tumbling down from his horse.

“Cut down every last one of these bandits!” Luo Lun barked coldly. The sword still dripping in his hand swung again toward another bandit ahead, and another man fell from his horse.

“Kill!” Seeing their commander display such valor, the soldiers’ fighting spirit surged. They whipped their horses into a full gallop, throwing themselves into the pursuit and slaughter of the bandits with all their might.

In that instant, a brown whirlwind seemed to spiral up, raising clouds of yellow dust as it surged forward and swept ahead. The bandits ahead appeared to have had the last of their courage shattered — they fled forward with everything they had! And yet… the yellow dust kicked up beneath those hooves grew less and less. In its place rose splashing, spattering mud.

Yet the galloping Imperial cavalry paid no heed, only urging their mounts onward — until the bandits ahead actually abandoned their horses and fled on foot, and only then did the riders realize: their warhorses were slowing, more and more sluggishly, until they could not even catch up with men sprinting on foot.

“What is this…”

The cavalry looked down — and found that they were now in the midst of a swampland. Every step a warhorse took drove its hooves deep into the mire; every stride was an enormous, grinding effort.

Just as several thousand cavalrymen were mired in the swamp and could barely move, the bandits who had been fleeing on foot suddenly stopped altogether, turned around, and faced them head-on. And on the hillside ahead, a vast expanse of white cloud suddenly poured forth, moving rapidly — and in an instant was upon them. It was the Fengyun cavalry, wearing close-cut, practical field garb and racing toward them on foot!

“The Feng army is here! We’ve walked into a trap!” Cries of panic erupted from every direction throughout the swamp.

Before those cries of alarm had even fallen, the long sabers and swords of the Fengyun cavalry were already sweeping down upon them!

The Imperial Guards were clad in thick, heavy armor — even their warhorses wore protective plates — and on dry ground, this was undoubtedly a great advantage. But in this wet, yielding swampland, it was nothing but a burden to both man and beast alike, driving the warhorses’ hooves ever deeper into the mud. Even those cavalry who managed to leap from their mounts and fight on foot found their heavy armor made their movements sluggish and slow — often they had barely raised a saber when an enemy spear had already pierced through their chest.

The Fengyun cavalry in their light, practical field garb swung their sabers deftly, chopping at the legs of the warhorses — the riders were immediately thrown from their mounts, either snapping their necks in the fall or having their heads struck off by Feng soldiers rushing in from all sides. Those wielding long spears drove them savagely into the faces of riders still mounted on horseback; those gripping swords slashed in quick, precise cuts across the throats of enemies fallen to the ground. Innumerable soldiers cried out in agony; innumerable horses screamed in pain; dismembered limbs went flying without cease; heads were severed and fell without pause. The shallow water lying across the swampland had turned dark red; the sun hanging in the west seemed to take on the same hue, like a red gemstone, casting a reddish crimson light over all the world below…

While to the rear, the several thousand cavalry who had not yet sunk into the swamp found themselves under a storm of arrows. Behind them, the Fengyun cavalry’s archery contingent had long since quietly circled around to their back, taking aim at enemy eyes, taking aim at enemy throats… Every volley of arrows loosed brought a great swath of riders crashing down from their horses. Forward, the swamp could not be crossed; backward, arrows filled the air with no safe retreat; and so some cavalry attempted to flee to either side — only to find the Fengyun heavy cavalry waiting in full readiness to receive them there as well.

Having marched for a full day, then expended their remaining strength in the urgent chase just now, these Imperial Guards who had already burned through eight parts of their strength in ten — how were they any match for the Fengyun cavalry, who had been resting and conserving their strength and who surpassed them in fighting ability to begin with? And beyond that, their courage had already collapsed, their morale shattered, their will to fight utterly extinguished. The outcome of this battle had been sealed from the very moment the Imperial Guards spurred their horses forward in pursuit. By now, this had become a one-sided slaughter.

Unlike the desperate plight of those under his command, Luo Lun himself was fierce and unstoppable. Every stroke of his sword brought a Feng Kingdom soldier to the ground. He cut a bloody path through the muddy swamp, and as dusk closed in, he at last stepped out onto dry land, making his way step by step closer to the high slope ahead. That was where his target waited.

On the high slope, white phoenix banners rippled and danced in the wind. Beneath the banners, a white horse stood; atop that horse sat a silver-armored rider, composed and still — like a phoenix that had settled to rest beneath the flag. Even the dimming murk of dusk could not conceal her radiant brilliance and her cold, sovereign pride.

Was this the Queen of Feng Kingdom — Feng Xiyun? But why… why had she disguised herself as a bandit? Unforgivable! Luo Lun gripped the long sword in his hand, raised his mud-and-blood-soaked feet, and climbed toward the high slope, one step at a time.

“Jiurong.”

Xiu Jiurong had just raised his sword in hand when Xiyun stopped him. She watched the figure approaching in rapid, determined strides — his entire body covered in mud and blood — and at the corner of her lips there bloomed a smile that was somewhere between sardonic and quietly moved. “Let him come since he wishes to come.”

At a distance of roughly three zhang away, Luo Lun halted. His gaze blazed as it locked onto the silver-armored queen upon her white horse — the figures of Xiu Jiurong and all the other guards around her might as well not have existed to him.

Without any visible movement on her part, she was already rising into the air with a lightness and grace that was effortless — dismounting from the horse’s back like a phoenix gliding down from a branch, landing on the ground with an unhurried dignity.

For the last time, he turned back to look behind him. Whether across the swampland or on dry ground, the bodies of fallen soldiers in brown armor were strewn everywhere as far as the eye could see. The battle was drawing to its close; of the ten thousand men under his command, only a scattered remnant remained.

He turned back. His gaze was as sharp and clear as a sword’s edge as it fixed on the opponent standing calmly across from him; the long sword in his hand, still stained with blood, rose high.

“Ha!” Luo Lun let out a low, fierce cry and lunged at Xiyun like a tiger springing from the brush — his long sword channeling every last ounce of his strength, plummeting down in a slash from which there was no pulling back.

“Quite a formidable spirit,” Xiyun murmured softly.

The sword was an ordinary blade of green steel, yet in that moment it seemed to carry the force of an ancient divine weapon — the kind said to split mountains and cleave rivers — fierce and unstoppable as it swept toward Xiyun. The hair at her forehead had already been lifted and scattered by the biting, fierce wind of the blade’s approach; her entire body was already enveloped within that sword aura that roared like a raging gale and crashing waves. The guards standing behind her involuntarily cried out in alarm, reaching for their weapons as one, staring at what lay ahead in taut, gripping tension — only Xiu Jiurong stood without moving a single muscle, watching.

Then — a flash of silver light slashed through the vast, dimming dusk. Within it, vaguely, seemed to be threaded the faintest trace of a deep, dark crimson. Before every pair of eyes present, it erupted into a radiance of breathtaking brilliance; eyes seemed unable to bear it and fell faintly shut. At the edge of hearing came the soft, clear cry of a sword — and then every person present witnessed: that fierce and mighty blade of green steel was sent flying, spinning away to land more than ten zhang distant. And that figure who had lunged forward with the force of a charging tiger — in one single instant, all his strength poured out of him entirely, and he sank slowly down to the ground…

“This is the first time in my life I have used the Fenghen Sword. You are the first person to fall beneath my blade.”

Xiyun lowered the tip of her sword slightly, her eyes settled and still as a windless lake as she looked at Luo Lun lying at her feet, and spoke in a tone that was entirely, utterly without feeling.

Luo Lun opened his mouth as though wishing to say something, yet in the end, nothing came out. The corners of his mouth curved slightly upward — and a smile, so faint it was almost imperceptible, rose to his lips. Blood poured without cease from his brow, yet he felt no pain at all. His gaze, unfocused and adrift, turned upward to the sky — and then the smile at his lips grew, ever so slightly, a little deeper.

“Rui’er…”

He reached out his hand. In the empty air before him, there appeared a slender, delicate silhouette — utterly unlike the filth and blood that had always surrounded him in life. This time she was dressed in the pale pink gauze she loved most, cradling pure white narcissus blossoms in her arms, gentle and smiling, reaching out her hand toward him…

“General, excluding approximately one thousand who escaped, every last Imperial Guard has been eliminated!” a commander reported to Lin Ji. “The aide-adjutant requests instruction from the General — shall we give chase?”

“No need. We have already achieved a great and decisive victory in this battle. Let those who managed to flee go.” Lin Ji replied without urgency.

His gaze swept across the battlefield, taking in the countless bodies lying across the ground. His heart felt a faint heaviness, yet what filled it far more was a deep and sincere reverence for his queen.

“The Grand General of the East and his Imperial Guards have spent nearly ten years without setting foot outside the imperial capital. Their knowledge of the terrain beyond the capital, outside of what they have studied on maps, has never been tested in person — and that is our advantage in this victory.”

Every mountain and river of the entire Dong Chao empire was most likely carved into the Queen’s mind. Lin Ji shifted his gaze toward the slender white silhouette on the high slope.

“Luo Lun was a brave general — looking at the achievements of his years, he was by no means a man of courage without strategy. Yet regarding bandits, he was far too fixated. That became his undoing. When a person harbors an unusual feeling toward something or someone, it becomes their weakness. Such as Huang Chao’s arrogance, or Yu Wuyuan’s benevolence…” Xiyun said quietly to Xiu Jiurong at her side, her gaze sweeping across the battlefield covered in fallen bodies without joy and without sorrow. “Only one person — to this day, I have yet to find his weakness.”