By now it was winter. The earth was frozen hard with cold, and a bitter wind sliced through to the bone — any sensible person would have preferred to remain indoors, gathered around a basin of fire or wrapped in a warm cotton quilt.

Yet before Jian City, along the road south to Gong City, great numbers of people were still making their way toward the south. It was not that they did not wish to stay at home — they no longer had homes. Their homes had been destroyed by the fires of war. To save their lives, they had no choice but to bundle up their sparse belongings, drag their children with them, and flee — fleeing toward whatever place they believed could offer them stability.

All along the road one saw only masses of refugees heading south — braving the cold wind, some barefoot, some in straw sandals, treading on ground crusted with thin ice, listening to the crying of the infants in their arms — whether from hunger or from cold — and trudging in unsteady steps toward the south. Occasionally they would lift their eyes to the horizon, hoping the sun might find a way out from behind the clouds to bring a little warmth to the weather, for if they did not die under sword and arrow, they might yet freeze to death or starve to death on the road.

When, at the far end of the road — at that place where the land seemed to meet the sky — a single figure came walking toward them, the refugees on the road could not help but stop in their tracks, wondering whether this was the soul-reaping messenger from the underworld come to take them, or an immortal who had descended from paradise.

Closer… closer… when that robe of white, unstained by even a speck of dust, came into view, every single one of them thought: could this be the divine being sent to redeem them?

The sky was gloomy and cold and overcast — yet this person carried his own gentle radiance, and in an instant lit up every pair of eyes fixed upon him. On that flawless jade-like face there was a soft, serene smile, as though soothing away the fear and exhaustion that had settled into every bone of their bodies. In those eyes, deep as the sea and without a ripple, there was a profound compassion and sorrow — as though placing over each of them an invisible yet warm cloak, lifting from their shoulders the cold and the suffering.

In that moment, their bodies no longer felt hunger; their hearts no longer felt dread. There was only peace and tranquility, and a single thought: under the gaze of this person, whether the road ahead led to the underworld or to paradise, every step of it would be one of happiness.

The white-robed figure looked at the crowd before him — ragged clothing, ashen faces, lips gone purple — as though any one of them might collapse at any moment, and would not rise again once fallen.

He lifted the bundle from his shoulder and held it out to a man among the crowd who appeared somewhat sturdier than the rest, a man with an honest and straightforward pair of eyes.

The man took it with some surprise and hesitated over whether to open it.

“There are sesame cakes inside. Share them among yourselves — they’ll keep the cold at bay.”

The white-robed man’s voice was like the distant, fading sound of a Buddhist chant carried out from a temple, so light, so quiet — as though a faint echo lingered in the air, like the compassionate sigh of the Buddha looking upon all living things in the mortal world.

The man opened it — a full bag of sesame cakes, still warm.

“Thank you, Immortal Gentleman! Thank you, Immortal Gentleman!” The man dropped to his knees before him, bowing his thanks, his honest eyes already full of tears.

These sesame cakes might have meant nothing to some people — but to them, they were what stood between life and death. This person must surely be a heavenly immortal sent from above to save them! Only an immortal could possess such beauty, with that face of merciful compassion untouched by even a breath of worldly dust.

“There is no need for such ceremony.” The white-robed gentleman helped him to his feet, showing not the slightest reluctance at his grime and dust, his face still wearing that warm and gentle smile. “I am no immortal — I am only Yu Wuyuan.”

“Yu Wuyuan?” The man’s eyes went wide. “Young Master Yu?! The… the Young Master Yu?”

Was this truly Yu Wuyuan, the foremost gentleman under heaven? The Young Master Yu whose heart held compassion for all the world?

“Go and distribute them.” Yu Wuyuan patted his shoulder. “Look — some of those children are crying from hunger.”

“Yes.” The man turned at once, dividing the sesame cakes in his hands among every person there, calling out loudly as he went: “These were given to us by Young Master Yu — it is Young Master Yu who has saved us!”

“Thank you, Young Master Yu!”

“Thank you, Young Master Yu…”

The refugees all cast grateful eyes toward Yu Wuyuan, their lips forming the simplest and most heartfelt words of thanks. Holding the warm sesame cakes in their hands, cold and hungry as they were, they did not rush to put them in their own mouths — instead they gave first to the small children in their arms, passed them to the elderly at their sides, and the elderly only tore off the smallest piece before passing the rest back to their children.

Yu Wuyuan watched it all in quiet stillness from one side. The compassion and sorrow in his eyes deepened further still. He sighed softly, then turned and walked away.

“Young Master Yu…”

The big man, having finished distributing the cakes, turned to look for Yu Wuyuan again — only to find that he had already gone. And where he had been standing, something seemed to gleam with a kind of golden light. The man walked over — there were four gold leaves lying on the ground, radiant and bright.

“Wait—” The man snatched them up, then took off running, calling out at the top of his lungs: “Young Master Yu, wait! Young Master Yu, you’ve dropped something!”

Yu Wuyuan, already some distance away, heard the continuous shouts from behind and had no choice but to stop and look back. He saw the man running after him with all his might — though not fast, for he had very little strength left in him.

“Young… Young Master Yu, you… you dropped… something.” The man came panting before him, one hand raised to hold out the gold leaves, the other braced against his own knee. That desperate run had left his head spinning, his eyes going dark, his limbs drained of all strength.

Yu Wuyuan reached out a hand — but not to take the gold leaves. His palm rested against the man’s back for a moment and gently moved across it. Strangely, the man felt his body suddenly much more at ease — his breath no longer came in gasps, his head no longer felt heavy, and a warmth spread through his entire body.

“Young Master Yu, your things.” The man held out the gold leaves to him again.

Yu Wuyuan shook his head. “You need not return these to me — they are for you all.”

“But… surely this is too…” The man felt the weight of such a gift was too great to bear.

“Keep them.” Yu Wuyuan folded the man’s hand closed around them and let it go. “You are all trying to reach Huangguo, are you not? With so many of you, even this much will only stretch to one sesame cake each per day.”

“Thank you, Young Master Yu!” The man took it, and once again dropped to his knees.

He was a country man, without any schooling — he did not know what words to use to express the full measure of his gratitude, and could only offer the deepest form of respect he, as a farmer, knew, to this person who had saved the lives of an entire village.

Yu Wuyuan extended a hand and would not allow him to kneel. “Go back now. Take all of your villagers and go to Huangguo — it will be better there.”

“Mm.” No matter how the man tried to press himself down, he could not kneel. He could only rise, and look up at his benefactor. “Will you continue north, young master? It is very dangerous there!”

“Mm.” Yu Wuyuan nodded, his gaze directed ahead. “Baiguo and Nanguo are at war up ahead, aren’t they. Many people must have died.”

“Yes — young master, please don’t go.” The man urged him.

“I must go.” Yu Wuyuan’s voice was still calm and quiet, drifting like wind.

“Is there something young master needs to do there? If so, would you allow…” The man wanted to say that if there were something to be done he would go in Yu Wuyuan’s place — he simply could not bear to see someone like this heavenly figure walk into that living hell.

Yu Wuyuan smiled at him and shook his head. “Go back quickly.” He turned and walked on.

“Young master, please take care! Please take care!” The man called out from behind.

Yu Wuyuan raised a hand in farewell without looking back, and continued on his way.

The man looked at the gold leaves in his hand, then lifted his eyes to watch the one who walked ahead — more precious than gold itself. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms together in prayer to heaven, asking that his benefactor be kept safe, that he might live a hundred years. Only — could heaven hear his prayer? And even if it could, would it grant it?

Between Baiguo’s Wu City and Nanguo’s Jian City lay ten li of desolate wilderness, ordinarily without a single soul — but at this moment the wilderness was filled with the noise of countless human voices and the cries of ten thousand horses, for tens of thousands of Nanguo’s forces were encamped there.

Since the beginning of the tenth month, when Nanguo’s vanguard launched its first attack on Wu City, the two armies had clashed several times, with gains and losses on both sides — and the result of those gains and losses was that both Baiguo’s Wu City and Nanguo’s Jian City had been reduced to rubble. With the reinforcement of Grand General Tuoba Hong and his main force from Nanguo, the southern army had gained a slight edge. The White Army had withdrawn from Jian City, and the Southern Army was now pressing directly upon Wu City of Baiguo.

War drums thundered; ten thousand soldiers roared; iron lances rang; banners blotted out the sun. The Southern Army launched another assault, pressing in on Wu City from three sides, determined to break through in a single strike.

Arrows were nocked; long spears polished; broad sabers sharpened. Inside Wu City, the White Army held fast, defending the city walls — life or death would be decided in this battle. If they could only hold on until tomorrow, their reinforcements would arrive, and then they need not fear the Southern Army’s advance.

Boom! Boom! The Southern Army loosed its full force!

Swish! Swish! The White Army raised their arrows!

One hundred zhang… eighty zhang… fifty zhang… The Southern Army pushed forward without pause, drawing ever closer to Wu City.

Grand General Tuoba Hong of the Southern Army sat astride his war horse, narrowing his eyes to gaze at that isolated city. The army had surrounded it on three sides — with a single word of command from him, Wu City would cease to exist!

On the crumbling battlements of Wu City, the garrison commander Mo Shengyuan watched the Southern Army closing in. Even in winter, fine beads of sweat had gathered at his temple. His left hand gripped his sword; his right hand gripped the command flag. The moment the Southern Army attacked, ten thousand arrows would fly as one!

Tuoba Hong raised his command flag!

Mo Shengyuan raised his command flag!

“Chariots rumbled, horses neighed, soldiers marched with arrows at their waists. Fathers, mothers, wives, and children ran to see them off — the dust rose so thick that Xianyang Bridge was lost from sight. They tugged at sleeves, stamped their feet, blocked the road and wept — the sound of weeping rose straight up to pierce the clouds. A passerby asks the soldiers where they go; the soldiers only say: there are call-ups without end. Some were sent north to guard the river at fifteen; by forty they were farming in the western camps. When they first left home the village elder wrapped their heads — when they returned, white-haired, they were stationed at the border still. Blood flows at the frontier until it fills a sea; yet the Emperor’s ambition for conquest is never done! Do you not see — at the head of Qinghai Lake — ancient white bones that no one gathers? New ghosts cry out in grievance; old ghosts weep; under the cloudy, rain-wet sky, the voices shriek and wail.”

At the very instant the two armies were about to clash, a song of deep, mournful, desolate weight rose suddenly across the wilderness — long and meandering, resounding over the entire expanse of wasteland and reaching the walls of Wu City.

Tuoba Hong and Mo Shengyuan forgot to lower their command flags. The archers stopped drawing their bows. The spear-and-sword bearers let their weapons fall to their sides. In that moment, every single person was lost in the grief-laden song, thinking of the parents, wives, and children waiting at home — and sorrow flooded their hearts unbidden.

“Who is there?”

Tuoba Hong gathered his inner strength and called out in a carrying voice that rang out far and wide, making the eardrums of the Southern Army nearby vibrate, and reaching even the White Army within Wu City as a faint echo.

“This one is Yu Wuyuan.”

A voice lighter than the wind, more drifting than cloud, sounded with gentle warmth — as though the speaker were right there before them, yet somehow every one of the tens of thousands of White and Southern soldiers heard it without exception.

“Young Master Yu?!”

Ten thousand voices erupted at once. Was it really Young Master Yu? Every person involuntarily craned their neck, straining forward — was that Young Master of boundless compassion truly here?

“Is it Young Master Yu?” Tuoba Hong called out loudly.

“Where is Young Master Yu?” Mo Shengyuan also called out loudly.

“It is Wuyuan — Wuyuan is here.” As those gentle words settled, a white figure drifted down and alighted on a small earthen mound in the no-man’s-land between the two armies, robes rippling as though at any moment the wind might carry him away.

Tuoba Hong rode his horse to the front of his army; Mo Shengyuan leaped up onto the battlements. Neither of them gave a single thought to the fact that in making themselves so conspicuous, they might draw fire from the enemy.

“Young Master Yu!” Tuoba Hong clasped his fists from horseback in salute.

“Young Master Yu!” Mo Shengyuan also clasped his fists from the city wall in salute.

“General Tuoba Hong, General Mo.” Yu Wuyuan returned the gesture with a slight bow of his own. “Baiguo and Nanguo are both subjects of His Imperial Majesty — they should by rights live in peace together. I wonder — what is the reason the two generals are waging war?”

“Young Master Yu, since both Baiguo and Nanguo are subjects of His Imperial Majesty, we ought to be obedient to the Emperor’s will. His Imperial Majesty once issued a decree throughout the land that whoever found the Xuanzun Token must return it to the imperial capital. Yet the Baiguo King obtained the token and concealed it — is this not a violation of the imperial decree? Therefore my king has sent me to attack Baiguo, and to see to it that the Xuanzun Token is returned to the imperial capital!” Tuoba Hong called out in a carrying voice.

“Young Master Yu, in your wisdom you will see clearly — though there are rumors the Xuanzun Token appeared in Baiguo, our king truly did not obtain it. How, then, could he return it to the imperial capital? This is plainly nothing but a pretext for the Southern King’s attack!” Mo Shengyuan also called out in a carrying voice.

“Generals — all soldiers of Baiguo and Nanguo — do you trust the words of Wuyuan?” Yu Wuyuan only smiled with unhurried calm and raised his voice in inquiry, showing no desire to determine which kingdom was in the right.

“We trust!”

Before either general could answer, all the soldiers replied as one voice — and in that instant, the sound shook the heavens over the wilderness.

“The Xuanzun Token is not in Baiguo. It is in Huangguo.” Yu Wuyuan’s voice drifted out — and it was as though a stone fell from the sky into a still lake, sending a thousand rings of waves rippling outward.

“What? The Xuanzun Token is in Huangguo?”

“Then have we been fighting this battle for nothing?”

“So many people died fighting a battle that was never even justified!”

…

Not only were Tuoba Hong and Mo Shengyuan shaken — so were every one of the tens of thousands of White and Southern soldiers. They had not imagined that the Xuanzun Token they had been bleeding for was not in Baiguo at all, and that Nanguo’s cause for war was entirely without foundation.

“Generals — since the Xuanzun Token is in neither Baiguo nor Nanguo, let us call a truce. Why allow ‘weeping to rise straight up and pierce the clouds’? Why ‘flow blood until it fills a sea’? And above all, do not leave ‘ancient white bones that no one gathers.’ I believe every soldier of Baiguo and Nanguo would be unwilling to continue fighting.” Yu Wuyuan’s gentle voice rose above all the clamor, sounding softly beside every single ear.

In an instant, the wilderness fell utterly silent. Apart from the occasional whinny of a horse, the entire heaven and earth was still — as though those thousands upon thousands of soldiers simply did not exist, so absolute was the quiet.

“General Tuoba Hong — if the Southern King wishes to demonstrate his loyalty to His Imperial Majesty, then let him go to Huangguo and retrieve the Xuanzun Token.” Yu Wuyuan looked toward Tuoba Hong and spoke.

Beneath the gaze of Yu Wuyuan — that gaze which could see through all things in this world with crystalline clarity — Tuoba Hong found himself unable to say a single word. For he himself knew perfectly well that the attack on Baiguo was not truly about the Xuanzun Token. The token was merely a pretext — a pretext to deceive the common people and soldiers of both Baiguo and Nanguo, to give the army a justification for marching. And yet now Yu Wuyuan had laid it bare in a single sentence, stripping him of any further reason to attack Baiguo. At the same time, he equally could not bring himself to say that he would go and seize the token from Huangguo — for Huangguo was not so easily attacked!

“Wuyuan has said all he has to say. Farewell.” Yu Wuyuan gave a light bow — as though to the two generals, and as though to all the soldiers — carrying with it a quiet sigh. Then he turned and drifted away.

Every person watched him go, seeming to want to call him back, yet none of them said a word. They only gazed with reluctance at that white, slender figure, slowly receding, until at last it vanished entirely into the wind.

“Ahh — I’m absolutely stuffed! It’s been ages since I’ve eaten like that!”

Outside the Nine-City Restaurant in Tai City, Fengxi and Han Pu emerged, hands pressed to their full bellies.

“Sister, how many silver leaves do you have left? We won’t end up with this meal being the last we see for another ten days to half a month, will we?” Han Pu squinted at Fengxi’s coin pouch and asked.

“Hic!” Fengxi let out a satisfied belch, then waved a hand. “Don’t worry, Puer — I won a total of one hundred silver leaves this time. That’s enough for three to five months.”

“You won that many all at once?” Han Pu exclaimed — then immediately grabbed Fengxi’s sleeve and started pulling her back the way they had come. “If you’re that good at gambling, why didn’t you win more? Come on, let’s go back and have another round. At the very least we should win enough for a year or two of meals!”

“Puer…” Fengxi drew out his name in a long, slow tone.

“What?” Han Pu turned.

“Fool.” Fengxi’s hand shot out and rapped him sharply on the head. “Did your father never tell you that a person must know contentment? Only the contented can be happy, and the greedy will always invite calamity. Do you understand? You must know when to stop while you’re ahead!”

“Ow!” Han Pu let go of Fengxi and clutched his head. That knock had been genuinely hard — his forehead was stinging with pain.

“Though…” Fengxi propped her chin in one hand and studied Han Pu with a considering look. “That old man Han was quite a greedy one himself. It’s understandable if you’ve inherited something of that from him. Only…”

Her hand shot out again, landing on top of Han Pu’s head. “With me guiding you from here on, I believe you will grow into a great hero of perfect integrity — without a tarnished coin to his name — respected by ten thousand people!”

“Stop smacking my head!” Han Pu grabbed Fengxi’s hand and looked at her with a furrowed brow. “It hurts!”

“All right.” Fengxi stopped smacking him, and instead gave the top of his head a consoling rub. “To make up for those two smacks, I’ll take you to buy new clothes — and while we’re at it, buy a carriage as well. In weather this cold, walking out in the wind and rain is more than this lady can bear.”

At Fengxi’s words, Han Pu’s grip on her hand relaxed — but he didn’t let go. He just looked at her.

“Come on — let’s go get you new clothes.” Fengxi took his hand and turned to look for a clothing shop.

“Puer, what color do you like? First let me say — you are absolutely not allowed to pick any of those expensive silks and satins. Just something practical — as long as it keeps you warm and fits well. As for color, how about white? Since you’ve become my little brother, you should naturally wear white like me. I am Bai Fengxi — so in the future you can be Bai Han Pu. What do you say? Puer…”

Fengxi had been chattering on for quite a while when she realized the person beside her had not made a single sound. She turned to look at him sideways — and found Han Pu walking alongside her with his head bowed in silence, his steps quiet, the hand she held in hers trembling ever so faintly.

“Puer, why aren’t you saying anything?” Fengxi stopped walking. “Is this a silent protest because I’m not buying you anything fancy? Let me tell you—”

Fengxi’s words came to an abrupt halt. She looked at Han Pu — who had lifted his face toward her. That handsome young face was streaked all over with tears.

“Puer, what’s wrong? Are you too cold?” Fengxi rubbed his trembling hands between hers.

“Sister.” Han Pu threw himself into Fengxi’s arms, wrapping both arms around her. The tears on his face pressed into her chest. “Sister… sister… I know… I know it all!”

The warm body he held told him everything — Fengxi was not bothered by the cold at all. With inner strength as deep as hers, she could stand in ice and snow and still be warm as jade. It was for his sake that she spoke of buying new clothes to ward off the chill, of buying a carriage to shelter from the wind and rain. Otherwise, Fengxi would never have gone to gamble. And if she were willing to gamble, she would not have spent this whole journey sleeping rough and eating out in the open. To win money from those people… she could not have felt good about it.

And yet for him… in truth, she need not have had anything to do with him at all. They had no family connection — the only tie between them was that prescription. And though that prescription was precious, it was equally dangerous: if anyone learned she was carrying it, every martial artist in the world would come competing for it, and she might be hunted down and killed at any moment. Yet she still kept him with her, without a single word of complaint, and the teasing and playing along the way was simply her way of moving through the world.

Puer, a boy this sensitive and perceptive — I truly don’t know whether that will serve you well or ill in the years ahead. Fengxi’s heart softened without her willing it to. She patted the person in her arms, and exhaled a soundless sigh.

“Sister, Puer will take care of you too! For a whole lifetime!” Han Pu solemnly made his promise — not knowing how heavy a promise it was!

“Puer, let’s go buy clothes first.” Fengxi lifted Han Pu’s face and wiped the tears from it. “Look at you — a boy, crying twice in one day. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Han Pu’s face flushed red, and he buried it back into Fengxi’s chest. He loved this embrace — warm, and fragrant. Nestled in it, the entire world seemed to transform, becoming peaceful and still.

Many years later, the White Wind Dragon — famed throughout the martial world, who loved to recite poetry while dancing with his sword — was, at this moment, nothing more than a child who cried easily, blushed easily, and loved to lazily burrow into his sister’s arms to be indulged.

“Let’s go.” Fengxi took his hand.

The two walked through four streets and turned into a deserted alley. Ahead stood what appeared to be an uninhabited residence — its grand vermilion gates had gone dull and flaking, cobwebs thick across the eaves, and the pair of stone lions at the entrance had one lying toppled on the ground while the other still kept its post at the main gate, though both were covered head to toe in dust and fallen yellow leaves.

Fengxi walked over, swept the dust from the standing stone lion with a wave of her sleeve, then touched a toe to the ground, taking Han Pu with her and vaulting lightly onto the lion’s back — nimble as a young swallow.

The two figures on the stone lion, set against the broken walls and fallen tiles behind them and the ground carpeted with yellow leaves, stood out like two living people who had suddenly stepped into a yellowed, somewhat forlorn old painting — as though to bring a measure of life to it, yet only ending up absorbed into that ancient, bone-deep stillness.

“Sister, I thought we were going to buy clothes? Why have we come all the way here?” Han Pu waited a while without Fengxi offering any explanation, and had to ask on his own.

“Waiting for someone.” Fengxi leaned lazily against the stone lion, her long legs dangling and swaying.

“Who are we waiting for?” Han Pu copied her, settling in as well, swinging his legs and tilting his head toward her.

“Waiting for someone who doesn’t know their own limits and dared to follow me.” Fengxi narrowed her eyes slightly, looking up at the sky. “If they don’t show themselves soon, don’t blame me for being direct about it!”

The words had barely left her mouth when a figure dropped down, kneeling with head bowed, speaking in respectful tones: “Greetings to Lady Hero Feng!”

“I am neither your mother nor a government official — there is no need to kneel.” Fengxi glanced sidelong at the person, her tone unhurried. “I have never liked kneeling before others, and I do not like others kneeling before me.”

The person rose and lifted their head toward Fengxi. “Does Lady Hero Feng still remember me?”

Fengxi looked at him, then nodded. “So it’s you. How have these years been?”

He was a man of about thirty-four or thirty-five, with a powerful build, thick brows, and large eyes — imposing and martial in his bearing. Yet across his face ran a scar cutting from the bridge of his nose down to his lower right jaw, making that face look fearsome and frightening.

“Lady Hero Feng actually remembers me?!” The big man, seeing that Fengxi did indeed recall him, was overcome with surprised joy. A delighted smile spread across that scarred and fearsome face.

“My memory isn’t too bad.” Fengxi smiled slightly. “Six years ago — Yan Jiutai, the chief of the thirty-eight strongholds of the Wuyun River. A name that thundered through the jianghu. How could I forget?”

“Sister, didn’t you put down those thirty-eight strongholds of the Wuyun River with a single kick, six years ago?” Han Pu, overhearing this from beside her, immediately cut in. He could recite the jianghu exploits of Baifeng Heixi from memory.

“Smack!” Fengxi’s palm landed on Han Pu’s head. “When adults are talking, small fry keep quiet!”

“I am not small fry! I’ll be taller than you soon!” Han Pu puffed out his chest.

Yan Jiutai just smiled and watched the two of them — paying no mind to what Han Pu had said.

“Chief Yan — you’ve been following me since the gambling house. What brings you here? Are you looking to settle accounts for what happened six years ago?” Fengxi ignored Han Pu and addressed Yan Jiutai.

“Please don’t misunderstand, Lady Hero Feng.” Yan Jiutai shook his head quickly. “Your bearing and grace remain unchanged — the moment you walked into the gambling house you drew everyone’s attention. I followed you here not for revenge, but to repay you for sparing my life six years ago!”

“Jiutai?” Fengxi tilted her head and repeated the name, then smiled. “So that Nine-Tai gambling house is yours. No wonder you spotted me.”

“Yes. Six years ago I brought some of my brothers to Tai City and settled down. People of our background as bandits can’t do anything refined — only things like running a gambling house, a pawnshop, a restaurant. Anything in this city with the characters ‘nine’ or ‘tai’ in the name — those all belong to my brothers and me.” Yan Jiutai said.

“That’s not bad — at least it’s an honest living.” Fengxi smiled. “This scar on your face was left because of me, and your life was also left by me — those two cancel each other out. Let’s not speak of revenge, and there’s no need to speak of repaying kindness either.”

“No.” Yan Jiutai shook his head. “This scar is a consequence of my own doing — but this debt of life cannot go unrepaid. Otherwise I would never have peace of mind for the rest of my days!”

“Oh? And how do you intend to repay it?” Fengxi asked, her eyes bright with a flicker of something.

Han Pu watched from the side and could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for Yan Jiutai — this debt of his would not be easy to repay.

“I am willing to follow the Lady Hero and serve as her devoted attendant, laboring for her in any capacity she requires.” Yan Jiutai once again dropped to his knees on the ground.

“Oh?” A glimmer played in Fengxi’s eyes. She rested her left hand under her chin, her fingertip tapping rhythmically against her cheek. “I thought perhaps you were going to give me a great many gold leaves, silver leaves, jewels, and the like. You should know I have always been quite poor — and to think all you’re offering is… this.”

Han Pu heard this and thought silently: as expected. Fengxi loved to put people in awkward spots — at this rate, Yan Jiutai was not going to get rid of this particular deity without giving up every last possession he had.

“Hmm?” Yan Jiutai was taken aback for a moment, but quickly caught on. He reached into his robe and pulled out a silver token. “Lady Hero, with this token you may withdraw gold and silver from any Jiutai establishment in Nanguo!”

“Any one in all of Nanguo?” Fengxi’s interest was further piqued, and a touch of sweetness even crept into her smile. “It seems you’ve done quite well for yourself these past years — you have establishments all over Nanguo now.”

“Not badly.” Yan Jiutai answered respectfully, a note of irrepressible pride and excitement in his voice. “Under the Lady Hero’s… instruction… these years, my brothers and I have established eighty-two shops across Nanguo.”

“Oh, that is impressive.” Fengxi nodded. “And now you’re planning to give all those shops to me?”

At these words, Han Pu sighed inwardly. Of all the favors Yan Jiutai could have owed, why did it have to be Fengxi’s? Look — he must be about to get frightened off now. Who would give away everything they had?

“I will!” And yet, to everyone’s astonishment, Yan Jiutai agreed at once, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Hm?” This time it was Fengxi who was caught off-guard. She had expected that Yan Jiutai would wrap up a few packages of gold and silver to express his gratitude for the gift of his life — and that her outrageous demand was only meant to send him running. Who could have predicted…

“Please, Lady Hero, also allow Jiutai to remain in your service!” Yan Jiutai seemed prepared to kneel on the ground indefinitely, with no intention of getting up.

“Sister, how exactly did you save him?” Han Pu looked at Fengxi with suspicion. Saving someone’s life usually didn’t result in someone willing to give up their entire fortune in return, did it?

“Yan Jiutai, you are indeed a straightforward man — but none of this is necessary. I was only joking just now.” Fengxi jumped down from the stone lion and helped Yan Jiutai up from the ground. “These years you and your brothers have built something of your own — hold onto it well, and hold onto your family well, and live your lives properly. I have always wandered alone and am accustomed to it. I am neither used to nor in need of anyone waiting on me.”

“Lady Hero — before I came, I had already spoken to my brothers and arranged for them to handle Jiutai’s affairs in my absence.” Yan Jiutai stood up and looked at Fengxi with earnest intensity. “Besides, Jiutai is a lone man with no family to worry about. Six years ago I made a vow to serve the Lady Hero for the rest of my life — only I have never been able to find her. Now that I have found her today, Jiutai naturally intends to follow her to the end!”

“Heavens — he came prepared!” Fengxi pressed a hand to her aching forehead, then waved a hand behind her. “Puer, come down.”

Han Pu dropped lightly to the ground. Fengxi took his hand, and in an instant had put on a burst of speed — sweeping past Yan Jiutai — calling back over her shoulder as she went: “Yan Jiutai, the best way to repay me is to go home!”

“Lady Hero Feng! Wait for me!” Yan Jiutai refused to give up, and took off after them at once.

On the busy main street, Fengxi could not use her qinggong openly and startle the passersby — yet even walking, her pace was well beyond that of an ordinary person. She seemed to glide with wheels beneath her feet, pulling Han Pu along in a swift, flowing rush. But Yan Jiutai had once been the chief of thirty-eight strongholds — his martial arts were nothing to dismiss, and at this pace it was entirely impossible to shake him off. He too moved fleet-footed, keeping pace a single zhang behind.

Nine streets passed, seventeen turns were taken, thirty-two walls were vaulted — she looked back, and Yan Jiutai was still there, refusing to give up. Fengxi sighed and stopped.

“You mean to follow me however far I go?” In a quiet, secluded alley, Fengxi released Han Pu, sat herself down on the ground, and turned back with a look of mild exasperation to address Yan Jiutai.

“Yes… yes, that is so!” Yan Jiutai had not found the pursuit nearly as effortless as Fengxi had — having followed at such speed for so far, he was somewhat out of breath. “Jiutai has said he will serve the Lady Hero all his life!”

“You’ve worn me down!” Fengxi waved a hand in resignation, looked at Han Pu, then looked at Yan Jiutai, and after a moment’s consideration, nodded. “Very well. I’ll let you come along.”

“Truly? How wonderful!” Yan Jiutai dropped again before Fengxi, took both her hands gently and raised them to his forehead. “From this day forward, Jiutai pledges his full loyalty to you! At your word, I would face ten thousand deaths without flinching!”

Words spoken quietly — yet weighted like a vow, and heavy beyond measure.

“You are of the Jiu Luo Tribe?”

Fengxi, watching his gesture, asked the question suddenly — but did not withdraw her hands. Yan Jiutai took them up and lowered his head in a light, reverent touch, utterly without any improper intention — solemn and grave.

“Yes. Jiutai is of the Jiu Luo Tribe.” Yan Jiutai finally released Fengxi’s hands.

“The Jiu Luo Tribe — that mysterious clan that was wiped out by Shi Di over three hundred years ago? I would not have thought anyone was left.” Fengxi looked at Yan Jiutai with a deep, searching gaze, then waved a hand. “All right, get up. When you’re at my side, there’s no need for so much ceremony — and don’t call me ‘Lady Hero.’ I have a proper name.”

“Yes, Miss.” Yan Jiutai rose respectfully.

Fengxi’s brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing — only tilted her head to think for a moment before speaking: “Elder Brother Yan, since you’re so well established in Tai City, would you arrange a carriage for us and buy my little brother here a few sets of clothes?”

“Yes!” Yan Jiutai replied at once, then added gently: “Miss need only call me Jiutai.”

“What’s this? You think I’m making you sound too old?” Fengxi’s eyes went wide and she jumped to her feet. “You are older than me — calling you Elder Brother is exactly right. Or would you prefer I call you Little Brother? Am I really that old?”

“No — that’s not what I meant!” Yan Jiutai hurried to clarify.

“Then that’s settled!” Fengxi sat back down again. “Elder Brother Yan, could you go and get the carriage soon? And pick up some food while you’re at it — after all that running, the meal I just ate has already burned away completely.”

“Of course — I’ll see to it immediately. Miss, please wait here a moment!” Yan Jiutai gave up arguing and turned at once to go and take care of it.

In the countryside outside Baiguo’s Wei City, there was a small village shop — very modest, selling only steamed buns, mantou, and plain congee. A small-scale operation, its customers were mostly poor common folk passing through. The wealthy sorts who ate fish and meat naturally went into the city to dine.

“Owner, two mantou and a bowl of plain congee, please.”

That morning, the shop owner had barely finished setting things up when a customer appeared.

“Right away, honored guest — please take a seat!”

The owner was in the middle of lifting the lid off the steamer to check if the buns were done, and through the rising cloud of steam could not see the newcomer clearly. Through the haze he made out only the vague shape of someone in white entering the shop and taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Honored guest, here are your mantou and congee.” Before long, the owner brought over the steaming-hot breakfast.

“Thank you.” The customer, who had been gazing out the window, turned to offer thanks.

“Young master… is there anything else you need?”

In the instant the white-robed man turned, the shop owner felt a brightness blaze before his eyes — as though the rising sun had emerged within the thin morning light, flooding the dim and humble room with sudden radiance.

“Nothing, thank you — please go about your business.” The white-robed man lowered his head and lifted the bowl of plain white rice congee before him.

“Then shall I bring you a few side dishes?” the owner asked again, thinking whether a dish of dried radish or pickled yard-long beans would be best, or whether his wife’s freshly made fermented vegetable would be more fragrant. It was not that he was trying to make more business — only that he wanted to exchange a few more words with this young master.

“I think you might as well come with me.”

Just then, a clear and bright voice cut into the conversation from outside, and someone walked in through the door.

The shop owner turned in a hurry — and at the sight his heart immediately started pounding again. What kind of day is today, he wondered, that guests like this should come through my door? If the white-robed gentleman just now had seemed to float above the mortal world in a way not quite of this earth, then the purple-robed gentleman now entering was the kind of exalted sovereign who belonged on a golden throne. In fifty years of life, he had never once laid eyes on anyone like this.

“Huang Chao, you’ve come.” The white-robed man looked at the purple-robed gentleman, and smiled with warm ease.

“Wuyuan, you’re eating this?” Huang Chao swept a glance over the two plain white mantou before him and shook his head with a faint look of polite bewilderment.

“Come and eat some too.” Yu Wuyuan gestured to the seat across from him. “You’ve had too much bird’s nest and shark’s fin — you ought to try simple food and tea for a change. It has its own particular flavor.”

Huang Chao walked over and sat down across from him. “How did you come to be here?”

“Just walking wherever the road led, and I ended up here.” Yu Wuyuan said, then turned to call the shop owner. “Could you bring another two bowls of plain congee and some buns?”

“Of course.” The owner answered readily.

“Jian — sit down as well.” Yu Wuyuan said to Xiao Jian, who was standing behind Huang Chao. Then, looking more closely at him, he showed a faint surprise. “Jian — you’ve finally agreed to change your clothes.”

This man who was always and invariably clothed in snow-white was today wearing a robe of pale blue. It softened some of the cold severity in his bearing, and set against his snow-like complexion, the entire person was like translucent pale-blue crystal — cold, yet carrying a clarity; clear, yet carrying a warmth. Light and brilliance moved over him, drawing one to want to draw near, yet also reluctant to disturb.

Huang Chao glanced at Xiao Jian, and said idly: “I believe that calling him ‘Xuekong’ would make him rather more pleased.”

“Hmm?” Yu Wuyuan looked at him with faint puzzlement. Though Xiao Jian’s courtesy name was Xuekong, they had always called him Jian.

“A few young masters, your hot buns have arrived.” The shop owner appeared again, bringing bowls of congee and buns.

Huang Chao waved the owner away, then smiled at Yu Wuyuan. “Because Bai Fengxi told him he ought to wear pale blue like the sky — and the very next day he changed his clothing. And Bai Fengxi also said the name Xuekong suited him perfectly — he never said a word about it, but when I switched to calling him by his courtesy name, his brow relaxed noticeably.”

“Oh? To think Bai Fengxi’s influence would be so considerable! I find myself wanting to meet her.” Yu Wuyuan turned to look at Xiao Jian — at Xiao Xuekong — and found that his eyes had once again shifted, strangely, to a pale blue. “Xuekong truly is a perfect name for you — especially for you now, in that blue robe. You really are like blue sky over a snowy plain. Truly beautiful!”

Sitting to the left, Xiao Xuekong’s eyes deepened yet another shade of blue. He looked at Huang Chao, and his lips moved — but in the end said nothing. He only reached out his chopsticks, lifted a small steamed bun, and swallowed it in a single bite.

Yu Wuyuan watched his expression and could not help feeling a mischievous urge himself. He smiled and said: “There doesn’t seem to be a woman in all of Huangguo who is lovelier than you. If you were a woman, you might well be a rival for the Princess of Huaguo.”

“Young Master Yu — I am a man!” Xiao Xuekong swallowed a bun and looked at Yu Wuyuan, enunciating each word deliberately. The implication being — what man could be called “beautiful,” let alone be compared to a woman, and especially not to that Princess of Huaguo who was said to be the foremost beauty in all the land!

“Then why didn’t you object when Bai Fengxi said your eyes were beautiful?” Huang Chao slipped the remark in casually, then raised the bowl of congee before him, blew on it, and drank.

Xiao Xuekong looked at Huang Chao, opened his mouth — and again could not get a single word out. In the end he simply bowed his head and ate his bun.

Yu Wuyuan smiled, unwilling to tease him further, and turned to Huang Chao. “How did it go, this time?”

“Very well.” Huang Chao answered in two simple words, then looked at him. “Stopping the war between two kingdoms with a single word — formidable indeed, Young Master Yu!”

“Why add so many innocent souls to the unjust dead.” Yu Wuyuan picked up a bun.

“The world is full of unjust souls — and besides… people will die all the same when the time comes!” Huang Chao looked at him steadily.

“When that time comes, we will deal with it then. For now, whatever can be spared should be spared.” Yu Wuyuan finished the bun, set down his bamboo chopsticks, and lifted his eyes to look at Huang Chao. “And besides — I have more or less announced to all under heaven on your behalf that the Xuanzun Token has gone to Huangguo. Is that not exactly what you could have wished for? If Nanguo dares use the pretext of the token to encroach upon Huangguo, won’t you then have every justification to take a few more of their cities — or swallow the whole country outright?”

“As for the war between Baiguo and Nanguo — you are the fisherman who profits while they fight. But a kingdom that has been battered to ruins is not what you want either, is it?” Yu Wuyuan continued before Huang Chao could speak. “Why not leave it be for now, and deal with it yourself when the time comes.”

“It seems that whatever I am thinking, you always see it at a glance.” Huang Chao said evenly, his gaze drifting toward the shop owner bustling about.

“Don’t touch him.” A flash crossed Yu Wuyuan’s eyes. He pressed his hand down over Xiao Xuekong’s, which had just closed around the hilt of his sword. “Even if he heard everything — what of it? There is no need to kill the innocent with your own hand.”

Huang Chao waved a hand, looking at Yu Wuyuan with something that was almost exasperation. “You and your bodhisattva temperament.”

Yu Wuyuan smiled lightly. “What are your plans next?”

“Go home, of course. This trip has been quite fruitful.” Huang Chao’s words seemed to carry a deeper meaning.

Yu Wuyuan was quiet for a moment, then said: “Go to Huaguo.”

“Huaguo?” Huang Chao looked at Yu Wuyuan.

“Yes — that Huaguo, the wealthiest of all Dong Chao. That Huaguo which is home to the foremost beauty of all Dong Chao.” Yu Wuyuan shifted his gaze to look out the window.

“Huaguo…” Huang Chao’s gaze settled on the half-bowl of plain congee before him. He reached out, picked it up, and drank it all down in one go — setting the bowl on the table, his golden-brown eyes blazing with brilliance. “The time has come.”

“Mm.” Yu Wuyuan nodded placidly. “The sooner, the better.”

“We can stop at home on the way to Huaguo.” Huang Chao rose and walked toward the door.

Yu Wuyuan also rose. He turned to look for the shop owner, offered a faint smile — a wordless expression of gratitude for the hospitality — and then followed toward the door.

Xiao Xuekong drew a silver leaf from his sleeve, placed it on the table, and fell in behind the two of them.