The green-forest masters rushing to reinforce against the Huaxia Army’s assault unleashed the strongest killing techniques of their lives from the very first instant.

Spurred on by countless war cries, the counterattack surged forward from the second line of defense and from the already-chaotic first line — first came a hail of arrows, hidden weapons, flying pellets, stones, caltrops, and roof tiles hurled down from above.

Combat among the green-forest fighters — after being romanticized in southwestern martial tales — might value open, honorable exchanges when sparring for show, but once real killing began, every school of martial arts had its own ruthless, underhanded techniques. Casting fishing nets, scattering hidden weapons, flinging lime powder, throwing up clouds of dust — depending on the situation, these were all moves that many martial artists had drilled into their bodies. And among the many schools of martial arts, branches that sounded far from honorable — ground-crawling techniques, assassination arts, poison use, and the like — were things many practitioners had at least dabbled in during their training.

Atop the buildings and rooftops to the south, a martial artist charged up and, with blindingly fast leg work like a wild ox plowing earth, kicked up a great sheet of roof tiles that scattered forward like flowers flung by a heavenly maiden. To the side, a master skilled in Rat-Fist Style had drawn his body into a tight coil, feet moving with lightning speed as he raced along the edge of the rooftop, flipping between the eaves and the beams below, appearing and vanishing, occasionally letting out a rat-like screech.

Most of the world’s martial arts had been derived by imitating the movements of animals, and this Rat-Fist style, comical as it looked, was in fact perfectly suited to complex urban combat — leaping onto roofs and rafters, dodging and flickering like lightning. At night, a Rat-Fist master’s assassinations within a city could chill the heart.

Ahead, a figure who had leapt onto a rooftop spread his arms wide like a great roc taking flight.

Someone ran through the alleys like a wolf. Someone crouched low like a giant spider. Someone wielded a massive hammer, charging forward like a rhinoceros. Someone moved with a bewildering, evasive gait, twisting and turning so that no one could tell which direction he intended to go — yet in only a moment he had already crossed more than ten zhang, twin blades concealed in his hands.

Figure after figure came surging forward like a tide.

Li Duanwu and his companions pushed their shield-carts, rolling forward at high speed—

On a rooftop, a tall, dark-skinned man was struck and sent flying down, skewered on the forest of blades in front of the shield-carts like meat on a spit. The dark-skinned man immediately pulled out a grenade and hurled it down from above. Li Duanwu bellowed, “Get clear!” His body leapt out just as, in front of the shield-carts, someone else threw another grenade over.

A thunderous explosion filled the street with smoke. Several of the shield-carts ground to a halt. Li Duanwu shouted from the roadside, “Bring up the fire-thunderbombs — blow them to hell—”

Gunpowder had been used on a large scale by Ning Yi for years now. Though the Fair Party had not fully standardized its use across the battlefield, the elite units were always familiar with it and kept it ready. Almost the very moment the Black Banner Army threw their grenades, Lu Xian’s side had already had men bring out their own fire-thunderbombs and light the fuses.

Several strong, sturdy men from the Li family village swung their fire-thunderbombs, preparing to hurl them forward. At that instant, Lu Xian waved urgently, signaling Li Duanwu and the others to fall back or take cover, and Li Duanwu’s seemingly aged body lunged backward like a fierce tiger. Meanwhile, on a rooftop further up the street, Yuwen Feidu, in some inconspicuous spot, squeezed the trigger.

Some of the fire-thunderbombs flew into the air and tumbled off into the distance, while close beside Lu Xian, a comrade’s forehead burst open in a spray of blood, and he collapsed backward. The lit fire-thunderbomb in his hand fell to the ground and rolled away, sputtering.

“Fuck, get down—!” Lu Xian roared until his voice cracked.

The reflexes built up over years of martial training sent several figures bolting in different directions in that same instant. In the next moment, a rolling explosion engulfed half the street. Rooftops and ground alike shook, smoke and dust billowed upward, and the fire-thunderbomb that had fallen near Lu Xian set off a chain reaction among the stockpile of thunderbombs on that side.

On the rooftops and on the second floors of the buildings, the charging green-forest masters had already crashed into the Huaxia Army soldiers advancing with shields, mostly in groups of three. Compared to the ferocity and viciousness the green-forest masters displayed, the Huaxia Army soldiers relied mainly on their two front shield-and-blade men for defense, while the one behind wielded either a spear or a broadsword as the main means of support or attack. As the enemies charged in, the shield-and-blade men raised their shields to form a barrier and pushed forward, while the spearman behind thrust at whichever enemy looked easiest to strike.

A simple, swift thrust — out, then back.

The next instant, the two shield-and-blade men flipped their shields and struck in unison.

There was little flourish to it — just two steel blades cutting down at one enemy with decisive, ferocious force, then swinging horizontally at another, then flipping the shields back up to block.

In that clash, some five or six masters had leapt at them from the front. Blood sprayed, the clatter of blocked strikes rang out, the spear pierced clean through one master’s shoulder, and the two flipped blades tore open the chest and arm of the nearest attacker before knocking aside the blows of several others nearby.

The Rat-Fist master was the most nimble of them all. Just before impact, he suddenly dropped away to the side, shot through a beam on the second floor at high speed, and reappeared slightly behind three Huaxia Army soldiers, bursting up through the roof with a roar — “Waaah—!” — his twin blades swinging to cut them down. But what met him was the man with the spear, spinning around.

The enemy’s spear seemed to vanish from view — and then, in the next instant, its point flashed out and back, a textbook return-horse spear thrust.

The Rat-Fist master was run clean through the chest, his body crashing down from the rooftop behind him.

The shield-and-blade soldiers kept slashing and advancing; of the several masters who had charged them, four now lay slaughtered in pools of blood. The roar of the explosion below struck like thunder, shaking the entire street for an instant. Those on the rooftops fought to keep their footing — some tumbled off — and the Huaxia Army spearman rolled with the shockwave, driving his weapon through the thigh of an enemy in front of him.

The shield-and-blade men pressed forward; flesh and blood burst apart along their advance.

At that moment, Xue Jin, staggering forward with the paper in his hand, had only just reached the barricades at the mouth of the street when the shockwave of the rolling explosions surged forward as though to swallow the whole avenue, and the earth itself shook. Though he had already resolved himself to die, in that instant his eyes still went wide, as if beholding some spectacle of annihilation.

He staggered onward, step by step.

At the same time, on the outer edges of the defensive positions at the west and south sides of the old martial yamen, Huaxia Army soldiers in other places were likewise advancing. If the counterattack surging forward was like a massive, thunderous wave, the Huaxia Army’s advance was more like a great plow with a dozen sharp blades — in the instant the two forces collided, it tore open the earth, shredding the wave that crashed against it. It did not move fast; it simply pressed forward as though meeting no resistance at all.

Like some meat-grinding machine, it tore the first wave of charging green-forest masters apart in midair.

Even within the Huaxia Army, the skill of individual soldiers naturally varied. But over the years, whenever a squad was sent out on a long-distance mission, it had become standard practice to select the army’s most elite special-operations personnel. During the southwestern war, for example, the teams sent out — men like Qu Qing and Zhuo Yongqing — were not only responsible for negotiations with various parties, but often also shouldered the heavy duty of eliminating traitors and assassinations, coordinating in operations such as impersonating Yu Mingzhou, disguising as Wanyan Qingjue to capture Li Touhe, and scheming against Yinshuke.

During the southwestern war, manpower in the Huaxia Army had still been tight, but after Nianhan and Xiyin were crushed, during the period of rest and recovery that followed, there had come to be more than enough candidates to choose from for the special-operations teams. This time, the men Qian Luoning had brought out included former members of the Overlord Blade group as well as former green-forest masters — but most importantly, all of them had already been tempered through brutal combat coordination in the southwest against the Jurchens.

Some of these men, before joining the Huaxia Army, might have had skills far inferior to those of the green-forest masters now charging them — but after years of being honed in battle, their spear-and-blade teamwork could kill without needing a second strike. Sometimes a single cut or thrust carried so little overt killing intent that the opponent didn’t even sense the danger before it struck — because after being forged through countless battles on the front lines, such killing strokes no longer even required malice; they were as precise and natural as a butcher slaughtering livestock.

Another portion of the men in these teams had already been famous masters in the green-forest world before joining the Huaxia Army. Whether coordinating with comrades or fighting somewhat alone, they now maintained a grasp of the overall battlefield far beyond that of ordinary martial artists.

Explosions roared, shockwaves clashed, tiles and dust rained down. Lu Xian clambered up from amid a jumble of fallen door panels; not far off in his field of view, the stocky young man nicknamed Pillar dangled a severed hand, turning about in bewilderment amid the smoke and dust. These men had experience using fire-thunderbombs, but having faced few such scenarios, they had not yet developed the instinct for safety that came only from repeated brushes with disaster.

Lu Xian could barely hear anything through the ringing in his ears. He bellowed, “Fall back, fall back—!” waving his arm before charging forward himself. Amid the drifting smoke, all along the street figures still spun and staggered through the dust — some crawling up off the ground, their tattered bodies riddled like sieves, some supporting each other as they retreated. Li Duanwu, who had been sheltering behind a wall, suddenly surged forward, sprinting toward this spot, waving his hand.

Known as “River-Breaking Dragon,” the man who had taken Lu Xian in and trained him in the martial world, Li Duanwu was a master of Tiger-Form Fist, and in his younger days had made quite a name for himself in the jianghu. Now he charged forward with a tiger’s stride, covering several zhang in a single bound, and in the blink of an eye had nearly reached the front. Lu Xian saw his mouth still shouting something.

Not far away, on another rooftop, two figures had already been watching for a while.

“Take out the one giving orders.”

“Which one—”

“The one with the loudest voice?”

The sniper squeezed the trigger.

“He’s moving fast—”

In front of Lu Xian, Li Duanwu — running at full speed — suddenly burst with blood, his body flung forward past him. He crashed to the ground and skidded a long way further, but the way his body lay made it clear he was already dead.

Just an instant’s difference, like an illusion.

“AAAAAAAAAAH—”

Lu Xian let out a savage roar. Amid a howl like thunder, like a wounded beast, a figure dropped from the sky, steel blade slashing down at Pillar’s maimed head.

At that moment Lu Xian’s fury had reached its peak, and his senses had sharpened to their utmost. He swung his blade up violently to block the strike, his body surging forward, slashing wildly with his steel sword. The attacker rolled on the ground, rose, and traded a blow with him before retreating in a flurry of steps. Lu Xian’s blade came down like a storm, each strike heavier than the last, trying to cleave the enemy apart — yet the youth before him kept retreating while deflecting each blow, the clash of steel ringing out like rain hammering banana leaves, and no matter what he did, Lu Xian could not break through his defense.

In response, the youth’s blade also blazed with ferocity beyond measure; his mouth open, he screamed “AAAAAAAH” as he pressed his own fierce counterattack. Having just lost a loved one, Lu Xian’s hair and beard stood on end like some demon god’s — yet the youth showed no fear. Though he had lost the initiative, he kept summoning up his inner strength, his blade-light surging like tide after tide, seeking to strike back at the height of his opponent’s fury.

To the side of the street, “Black Iron God” dropped from above, his comrades beside him screaming as they charged into the fray. Ahead, surviving disciples of the Xuandao Sect scrambled past the crooked, overturned shield-carts, weeping and fleeing through streams of blood, several Huaxia Army figures giving chase from behind. On a rooftop along the road, bodies fell one after another, blood-soaked, as a Huaxia Army squad pressed steadily forward.

Behind them, even more comrades were charging forward now with mad war cries — Zhou Shang’s men had no shortage of fighters who did not fear death — and as the first wave of vanguard fighters burst apart against the Huaxia Army’s assault, the true main force was finally arriving. In the distance, even the cannon carts had already been lined up in rows.

Beside him, a blade-wielder from the Li family village, drenched in blood, fought his way through, trying to drag Lu Xian back. The youth who had been trading blows with Lu Xian for so long, seeming consumed by savagery, suddenly found an opening and leapt sideways instead. His steel blade flashed, flying straight into the chest of a “Yama King” member charging in two zhang away. As the blood burst forth, the youth had already leapt like a leopard behind a nearby shop, cutting sideways into the courtyard beyond.

“Black Iron God” Qiu Shuyan likewise moved sideways toward the shops and courtyards. The Huaxia Army’s masters fought with overwhelming force, yet only now did Lu Xian realize that neither the battle-hardened “Black Iron God” Qiu Shuyan, nor the seemingly young and hot-blooded “Five-Foot Demon,” had continued charging forward on sheer bravado — instead, once past the front line, they had both chosen to move laterally, off to the sides.

Along both sides of the road, and even in courtyards further off, one Huaxia Army squad after another pressed its spearhead of attack forward, the lines faintly connecting into one long front. As the soldiers advanced, they kept in contact with each other, maintaining pressure and deterrence against the enemy.

Bang—

Bang, bang—

In the air, the crack of firearms sounded now and then; amid the crowds charging in from behind, a burst of blood would occasionally bloom, screams and shouts rising and falling in waves. Now and then a grenade would go off. On the street, some of their own tried to hurl fire-thunderbombs, only to be shot down in a burst of blood by rifle fire, followed by roars and chaos rippling through the crowd…

The Huaxia Army’s front line pressed on steadily. Along Zhou Shang’s front, once the initial chaos had broken out, there was no letup — wave after wave of vicious green-forest fighters charged in, only to retreat in panic, like a surging tide crashing against a seawall and rolling endlessly back.

The sky, in Lu Xian’s eyes, turned the color of blood, then faded to a pale, bloodless white.

By now, less than half the time it takes an incense stick to burn had passed since the fighting broke out. At the eastern and northern approaches to the old martial yamen, large crowds of petitioners had begun to gather, followed by group after group of martial artists surging toward these intersections — widespread chaos was beginning there as well. But without artillery or firearm support, the assault on the east and north sides quickly bogged down into stalemate the moment it began; only a small number of green-forest masters managed to break into the outer courtyards, and they were soon killed or wounded by the Great Brightness Sect and Baofeng Firm masters stationed there.

Only on the western and southern approaches, as the Huaxia Army’s advancing front reached the second intersection, did the streets and courtyards behind fill with wave after wave of wounded and fleeing men, plunging that area into ever greater chaos.

Huaxia Army snipers, positioned on high ground, fired on any figure that appeared especially threatening. Against those charging head-on, the advancing squads moved to break or kill them on the spot. But against the sheer numbers of green-forest fighters gathered here, even eleven squads could only manage to break the portion directly before them. Some enemies fled in panicked disarray amid the rout, while others still chose to launch surprise attacks against the Huaxia Army from different directions.

Xue Jin pressed forward through the drifting smoke.

All around, the roar of battle rolled like thunder, the sounds of killing near and far. Members of the Black Banner ran past him; someone walked forward along a rooftop above. His gaze was sorrowful, faintly lost, as though he had fallen into some strange dream.

That blood-soaked intersection would not become the end point of his life — the black banner tore open the path ahead, and there in his field of view a long road still awaited him. After all these years, it seemed as though Ning Yi — that familiar name — had descended upon this place bearing an unfamiliar will.

What did any of this mean…

He stepped over thick pools of blood, over corpses with entrails spilled crimson across the ground, as though wading through a churning sea of chaos toward the final stretch of his life.

Yueniang…

Swaying, unsteady…

This weary, endless life…

His steps struggled around an abandoned shield-cart up ahead, its rack of long blades bristling like a forest. He glanced back — at the mouth of the street behind him, figure after figure came cowering and howling forward…

To the side, smoke filled a shop as Li Yanfeng, his face bruised and bloodied, crept low and fast. He had been chased by a Huaxia Army pair, a man and a woman, who showed no regard for martial etiquette; only by plunging into a crowd of his “comrades” had he managed to break free of the fight. Someone in the air had fired a rifle at him, nearly killing him — but through careful observation from concealment, he had gradually come to understand that a rifle was, in essence, just a faster, more violent kind of arrow, and that with quick enough reactions, it could still be dodged.

Striking back, however, was another matter entirely. Every member of the Black Banner who had come to Jiangning was far from an amateur, and they had trained extensively in coordinated tactics — even with his own skill, if two of them managed to pin him down, escape would be extremely difficult.

Still, in the midst of this chaotic killing field, his own “comrades” remained the majority for now. With so many people running and fighting all around, there was still a chance he might find an isolated Huaxia Army soldier to cut down.

Moving through a shop, he spotted a figure vaulting over a shield-cart just outside.

He charged out, club raised, meaning to finish the man in one strike — but from a rooftop diagonally across the way, a long spear-shaft swung around to bear on him.

Li Yanfeng’s feet dug in, and he cut sharply sideways, carving a great “Z” across the road before tumbling like a monkey into an alley on the far side.

He swiped his claw-like hand like a tiger, and with a crack, gouged half a brick loose from the wall.

Xue Jin staggered forward.

Crack—

The brick whistled through the air…

…

Blood is red…

And yet somehow it seemed to carry a thick, cloying sweetness…

His vision spun, a droning hum filling his body…

He had long since grown used to pain…

The brick struck him, and he rolled across the ground, his swaying vision turning, turning, dissolving into a long stretch of sky trailed with clouds; the rooftops of the street stretched out on either side of his view into long black lines.

When had he seen a scene like this before…

Perhaps it was the sky he’d seen as a child, when his parents took him on an outing to the outskirts of Jiangning…

Or perhaps it was lying shoulder to shoulder with a woman he had just met, somewhere…

He thought he could smell the faint scent of fresh grass…

Am I about to leave this world…

He lay there, waiting quietly for a while…

And yet the vision before his eyes remained…

Yueniang…

…is it still not time?

On the long street, Xue Jin slowly rolled himself over.

He pushed forward with all his strength, crawling a single step…

A young monk who had just fought clear of the chaos was hastily straightening his robes as he ran, and it was then that he caught sight of this scene.

On a rooftop, Yuwen Feidu hesitated for a moment — he had no idea, after all, who Xue Jin was or what he meant…

On the street, the man who had long since become lame dragged himself forward, his hand still clutching the petition, crawling four more painful, halting steps, blood streaming beneath him.

He was making his way toward the place he wished to go…

And all across the land, surging destruction and slaughter had long since arrived.

…

At some point,

the young monk swung his begging bowl and charged forward into the fray…

On the rooftop, Yuwen Feidu rose to his full height and leapt forward.

A comrade beside him likewise dropped down toward the ground with a howl.

“Monkey King” Li Yanfeng burst from the alley and plunged into the crowd, running through the chaos; behind him, a comrade’s body burst with blood from gunfire, and wave after wave of disorder spread out in the wake of his flight…

Along the front line where the Huaxia Army faced off against the “Heavenly King” and “Yama King” factions, the storm of slaughter and clashing blades still churned on, pocket after pocket of chaotic fighting steadily adding to the Huaxia Army’s casualties. Ning Ji cut forward with his Overlord Blade, then immediately turned to join the urgent effort to save the wounded…

Some of the true masters were gradually making their presence felt amid the fighting, while over at the second intersection, the roar of cannon fire rolled in like a collapsing mountain, drowning out entire stretches of the street; nearby snipers began working to suppress the enemy’s artillery positions…

Lin Zongwu’s figure had already vanished atop the temple tower…

…

All the violence fell away behind him.

On the wind, it seemed a quiet song began to rise.

When will the bright moon appear…

Cup in hand, I ask the blue sky…

I wonder, in the palaces above…

what year it is tonight…

I long to ride the wind and return…

yet fear the jade towers and halls above…

are too high, too cold to bear…

I rise and dance with my own shadow…

how could that compare to being among the living…

…

He had always disliked that ci-poet, the one named Ning Yi.

But little by little, he had come to hear this song more and more.

Because the woman named Yueniang used to sing it, often.

When will the bright moon appear?

…

While she was here…

it was always there.

…

Xue Jin stood in the long street. He waited there a while.

…

And a smile spread across his face.

Revised several times…