Spreading beneath the moonlight were flames, the flash of blades, and blood.

Before dawn on the eleventh of the second month, at Siping Ridge. By this hour, the faint smell of blood still lingered in the mountain air, but the sounds of fighting had largely died down, drawn away toward the southwest, and since this was no longer a large-scale clash of formations, once the losing side scattered and fled, all that remained was a scene of wreckage.

At the start of the fighting, the stronger side had come in an encirclement, and the surrounded side had struggled to break through, leading to a standoff that lasted for a time before the fighting suddenly shifted southwest. In this area now, aside from the searching soldiers, constables, corpses, and prisoners, the forest nearby still occasionally produced a wounded straggler who hadn’t managed to escape, lashing out before being surrounded by several soldiers and either captured or killed. But since the government forces left behind here weren’t numerous enough to form a truly overwhelming search net, the sweep of the surrounding woods remained somewhat cautious.

Most of the soldiers, constables, and yamen runners who had come this way had chased off toward the southwest.

The chief constable named Zong Feixiao emerged from the darkness carrying two steel truncheon-whips. He was tall and powerfully built, standing nearly a head above most of the men around him. Though he wore the robes and cap of a Ministry of Justice official, his martial training meant he had no hair on his head at all. Of the two chief constables from the Ministry present this time, Tie Tianying was shrewd and capable, while Zong Feixiao seemed far more ferocious and fearsome, though deep in his eyes there remained a keenness, a sinister sharpness. His steel weapons were now smeared with blood and shreds of flesh, making him look even more oppressive.

“Search the area! Carry the wounded brothers down! Find the bodies of the dead! If there are any stray bandits left, I want every last one of them dragged out—not one left behind!”

The burly man’s voice carried through the night air, and as clusters of torches swayed, his men led him to look over the bodies and prisoners gathered nearby. Though the government forces had launched this encirclement, in the end their own side had suffered heavier losses than the surrounded party—but given that this represented the last of the elite forces Fang Baihua could still muster, such losses were considered reasonable.

“…Stele-Breaker Hand, at least twenty years of cultivation… this one’s Eagle Claw… hm, Southern Hegemon Blade, Sky-Piercing Blade Du Sha… still Du Sha… hm, this is the Yuanming Blade…” He walked through the grass where the bodies had been laid out, examining them one by one, then asked the man beside him, “Of those we needed to watch for, how many were captured, how many are dead?”

The subordinate constable following him leaned in and reported: “Those captured include Yu Fangshi, Chen Tian, Zheng Yishan, Luo Liu’er… those confirmed dead so far—”

The man, one of the Ministry’s finest, recited the names one after another. Zong Feixiao nodded. Not far off, another burst of fighting suddenly broke out, followed by the clash of weapons, and another straggler was captured. Zong Feixiao glanced over, then heard his attendant say, “The Hegemon Blade group—some of them have already been scattered. That woman blade-wielder was driven east; we’ve sent people after her already. Chief Constable, should we send reinforcements to the southwest?”

“You won’t catch up with them…” Zong Feixiao said in a low voice. Before he’d even finished speaking, a group came in suddenly from the east, dragging something wrapped in cloth. Zong Feixiao narrowed his eyes; when the object was brought over, it turned out to be a great blade of pattern-welded iron, and this made him grow serious for a moment. “This is…”

Wrapped in the cloth was, unmistakably, the great steel blade Liu Xigua always carried.

“Reporting, Chief Constable—we chased after her, but lost the girl’s trail not long into it. Then we found this blade in a nearby stream.”

“No wonder.” The anticipation that had risen in him settled back down. He shook his head. “I told you you wouldn’t catch her. Now you’ll never catch her at all.” There wasn’t much disappointment in his tone, though.

Years ago, when the Ministry of Justice had orchestrated the encirclement that killed Liu Dabiao, both Zong Feixiao and Tie Tianying had taken part. Now Liu Dabiao’s daughter had appeared, clearly seeking revenge against the two of them—but because of the investigation surrounding that old operation against Liu Dabiao, they had at least some understanding of this girl.

Wielding a blade of that size gave considerable advantage in formation combat, but in one-on-one fighting against a strong enough opponent, it wasn’t necessarily an asset. And mastering such a weapon demanded not only strength but also lightness of foot. For her to suddenly discard this weapon, which had become almost a symbol of her identity, in the middle of a battle like this, was indeed somewhat unexpected to Zong Feixiao—but it also told him she had made up her mind to shed the burden. Not to mention his own subordinates, even he and Tie Tianying together might well not have been able to catch her that night.

Since they couldn’t catch her, there was no point forcing it. He waved a hand. His man asked again, “Chief Constable, what about the bandit leader—”

Zong Feixiao looked toward the southwest, silent for a moment, then shook his head. “We’ve already sent plenty of people after them—that’s enough. Fang Baihua’s remaining followers all have solid skill. If we chase now, we won’t find anyone anyway.”

He said this, then after a moment gave a strange laugh. “Still, when the wall falls, everyone gives it a push. The Fang La line made countless enemies across Jiangnan in their day. Whether they truly manage to escape or not—that’s anyone’s guess.”

The night stretched vast and hazy; whatever movement there might have been in the direction Fang Baihua’s group had fled was no longer visible. Only the moonlight lay across the mountains like rising mist, and in Zong Feixiao’s words there lingered something strange and unreadable…

…

Amid the moonlight, something crept low through the woods, silent and slow.

Two figures in constable’s uniforms came from ahead, their long blades sweeping through the underbrush as they advanced and searched, speaking quietly to each other. Suddenly, a shadow leapt through the bright moonlight!

There was a soft thud as the shadow collided with the two constables, swift and silent. One was sent flying backward, his body slamming into a tree without so much as a sound. The other, turning halfway to swing his blade, had his arm slashed, and then, given a gentle push, his head was twisted sharply the other way!

In the darkness, it was all just a black-and-white silhouette: as the slender figure shot forward like the wind, one constable’s body was sent flying to slam into a tree, while the other, from that touch and that push, merely shuddered as if electrocuted, his head rotating unnaturally against his body. Beside the attacker, the momentum of the strike made her skirt flare briefly in the moonlight before settling back down.

Beside the attacker, the constable whose head had been turned collapsed silently; over by the tree, the one struck first also slid down to the ground, limp as mud. Then the attacker’s slender form bent low again and merged back into the darkness.

Not long after, at the edge of another patch of scrub, the girl called Xigua emerged silently from the grass. Guided by the darkness, she advanced further, and soon sounds reached her from ahead.

Two short blades slid out silently in her hands, held close against her sides. But in the next instant, she didn’t strike—instead she pressed forward silently and swiftly. Ahead appeared the figure of Fang Shuchang, “Yuanming Blade,” and beyond him, Ji Qian’er, “Mandarin Duck Blade,” Qian Luoning, “Phoenix Blade,” and three other Hegemon Blade Camp fighters who had come along.

“How’s it looking? How many have made it here?”

“Not many. Some are still further out… The government struck too suddenly this time. Only we managed to slip through the gaps to help; Brother Du and the others got chased and couldn’t break free.”

“There’s an informant among us, or the government couldn’t have hit us this accurately… but never mind that for now. Is there a chance?”

“…It’s going to be very hard.”

The group kept their voices low as they spoke, moving past a screen of cover ahead. Liu Xigua looked toward a cluster of lights below and off to the side—that was where the camp still holding Fang Qifo and the remaining Yongle prisoners lay.

Everyone had known their group might be targeted and had already discussed a few contingency plans. When Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao brought their finest men out to guard against a rescue of Fang Qifo, that had counted as one of the more plausible scenarios. But for there to be any real chance, the enemy needed to show a genuine weakness. This night’s ambush had been executed too well—it was likely there had indeed been an informant among Fang Baihua’s people. In the chaos, Du Sha and Zheng Qiming hadn’t found an opening and had been chased southwest along with Fang Baihua’s group. Fang Shuchang and the others had finally put their contingency plan into action, but looking now at the camp’s formation, the girl still frowned.

To pull off a full encirclement against her side, Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao would in theory have needed to commit a great many men—likely their entire elite force wouldn’t have been enough. And yet, looking at it now, either they hadn’t deployed as many people as expected, or they’d already summoned reinforcements from the surrounding prefectures and counties. The camp before them showed little sign of weakness or any opening for infiltration—if anything, their guard had been strengthened even as they launched this strike.

After watching for a while, someone came up from below—it was “Gold-Backed Blade” Zheng Huihuan, who had gone further ahead to scout. He nodded a greeting to Xigua, then frowned and shook his head. “Probably no chance—Tie Tianying is still stationed right there…”

Liu Xigua was silent for a long moment, brow furrowed in thought, then took a deep breath and flicked her fingers through the air twice, then twice more.

“Then we go.”

She said this and turned away, her expression complicated. But the others knew that taking a risk now would accomplish nothing; they exchanged glances and nodded.

Not long after, they had all vanished back into the darkness.

The night wore on, and the group circled silently around the mountains ahead, tracing the direction Fang Baihua and the others had fled. After chasing for nearly an hour, someone finally spoke.

“They pulled in reinforcements.” A simple conclusion.

“This is government territory around here to begin with.”

“Good thing the government has more men, but their masters still aren’t as good as ours.”

“Whoever gets away—but after this, there probably won’t be another chance…”

“Auntie and the others are probably trying to chase all the way to the capital,” Xigua said in a low, dark voice.

“What good would that do! Just walking into the net…”

“Probably can’t talk her out of it.”

A group of martial world experts couldn’t turn the tide of a proper military engagement, but even with the government’s numerical advantage, wiping out an entire cohort of accomplished martial artists was still an exceedingly difficult task. Everyone shared this understanding—though this ambush had caught them off guard, with many dead or captured, those remaining still had a chance to escape, or at least to fall back and regroup. It was clear they were being led step by step into a trap; things couldn’t go on this way.

At that moment, none of them yet imagined that the entire operation might face total destruction right then and there. But that assumption would be tested less than an hour later.

It happened near the woods where they were about to reunite with Fang Baihua’s group, the moment they were suddenly ambushed.

Xigua, Fang Shuchang, and the others tracked at great speed, and after another half hour or so, they caught up with a few stragglers from the fleeing column—and were immediately ambushed.

The first to engage were Ji Qian’er and Qian Luoning. Enemies of formidable skill burst from the darkness, swinging a pair of long, curved blades in rapid strikes at the two women. They had barely blocked the attack when seven or eight more assailants struck at once, all clearly skilled fighters. Xigua moved to meet the enemy ahead, and even as she engaged, her heart cried out, this is bad.

Earlier, when Ning Yi’s letter had arrived, he’d had Chen Fan relay clearly who was behind this whole matter of Fang Qifo—Wang Fu at the head, with several powerful clans involved. If they truly meant to wipe them all out, then alongside deploying government forces, these families had likely also sent out the wandering martial artists they kept as house guests. Engaging now, hearing the sound of fighting still ringing out from the woods ahead, this was Xigua’s first thought.

She drove back the man in front of her with a flurry of strikes and called out in a low voice, “Push through!” The others tried to break free of their opponents as well, though not without difficulty. Fang Shuchang was locked in combat with a middle-aged swordsman, seemingly evenly matched, and was on the verge of forcing him back—but the man seemed to know his moves in advance and thrust his sword straight at an opening in Fang Shuchang’s guard!

Fang Shuchang shifted his stance and leapt back in an instant, but a gash still opened along his leg. His heart filled with alarm—this opponent was clearly very familiar with Hegemon Blade swordwork. But there was no time to dwell on it; from somewhere came a low shout: “It’s the Hegemon Blade Manor!” Then came the sound of wind cutting through the air—scattered projectiles and arrows raining toward them.

The group dodged the projectiles and arrows, pressing forward through the cover of the trees, friend and foe intermingled in the chaos, occasional pockets of fighting flaring up here and there—a great host of enemies had already closed the ring around them.

In woods like these, if their attackers had been ordinary men, Xigua alone could have terrified a hundred of them into fleeing. But if the attackers were all skilled fighters, the whole situation would become truly deadly. It still wasn’t clear how the enemy had assembled so many masters—by her understanding, even families with wealth enough to rival nations, however many first-rate martial artists they might keep as retainers, could never gather forces on this scale.

Pressing forward, torchlight gradually brightened ahead—there stood the abandoned “altar” of the Mani Sect from years past, in truth nothing more than a few crumbling temple buildings. Fang Baihua’s group was clearly there. In the midst of their charge, two figures suddenly clashed in the dim woods ahead—one with hair loose and flying, roaring aloud, the two of them trading blow after thunderous blow, the force of it so great that two people caught nearby were sent flying. One of the two fighters was, it seemed, Chen Fan.

As Fang Qifo’s direct disciple, Chen Fan possessed not only formidable skill but tremendous strength, and having spent years in the brutal chaos of battle, his methods, when he truly meant to kill, were vicious and ruthless. Yet even fighting now with everything he had, the wild-haired giant across from him managed, amid his own roaring shouts, to fight him to a standstill.

After a few exchanges, Chen Fan suddenly disengaged. The giant charged after him, passing through several trees before losing sight of him entirely, and in his fury punched a tree trunk hard enough to send splinters flying. Meanwhile, Xigua and the others crept over and ran into Chen Fan.

“Something’s happened.” In the darkness, seeing them, Chen Fan licked the blood off his knuckles and said in a low voice, “A group of masters just showed up out of nowhere, don’t know who they are… that fellow’s got real strength…”

“Are Auntie and the others up ahead?”

“Right over there. Some of our people are hiding in the woods around here, scattered by the fighting—I came over to pick off a few easy targets and try to regroup them. If we don’t figure something out soon, it’ll be too late…”

“Understood.”

Xigua nodded. Right now, everyone was still in the middle of being hunted—if they got pinned down by this group of masters and the government troops closed the ring, that would be the end of everything. She was about to push forward when Fang Shuchang came up close, his expression alarmed. “Wait—’Mad Tiger’ Wang Nantuo…”

“What?” Chen Fan asked.

Xigua had also meant to ask, but then she remembered—she’d heard that name before too.

“The man who was just fighting you, Chen Fan—he looks like ‘Mad Tiger’ Wang Nantuo. Back when I was training under my master, before I’d really made my way in the martial world, I only saw him a few times—over ten years ago now…”

“So what?” Chen Fan didn’t understand.

Just then, Fang Baihua’s voice suddenly rang out from the direction of the crumbling temple: “Who are you people?!”

In these past days of fighting, Fang Baihua had already been wounded and was thoroughly exhausted. Still, she was a heroine among women, once a commander leading armies in battle, and in situations like this her voice usually still carried a certain valiant, spirited quality. But this time, her question carried, beneath the boldness, a clear note of suspicion and alarm—strikingly similar to the alarm Fang Shuchang had just shown.

As the group rushed toward the sound, a tremendous crash rang out, mixed with the sound of shattering bone. Through the dim light, one of the crumbling temple’s earthen walls could be seen collapsing, with what were unmistakably several bodies smashed against it.

“Sister Baihua, it’s been a long time.”

Out of the swirling dust, a figure emerged—broad of frame, its outline slowly taking shape, sleeves billowing like some Maitreya statue come to life, sweeping up clouds of dust as it moved. Anyone close enough could see it clearly: this large, heavyset man was approaching, and when two of Fang Baihua’s finest tried to block his way, he took a single step and the two of them seemed to stick to his shoulders, slamming straight into what had looked like a solid wall—their bones shattered on impact—while he himself punched clean through the wall and stepped over the rubble. His voice was rich and mellow. This single feat alone marked him as being close to grandmaster-level strength; back in his day, Fang La might have managed something like it, and perhaps Fang Qifo too—but not Fang Baihua, and certainly not Chen Fan or Liu Xigua.

On the open ground beside the crumbling temple, Fang Baihua had already recognized him. Gripping her crimson spear, she straightened her back. She was in her thirties; he was in his forties. They knew each other.

Over here, Fang Shuchang studied the man carefully, and after a moment let out a sigh. “Lin Echan… ‘Demon Buddha’ Lin Echan…”

Chen Fan spread his hands. “Who’s that?”

Xigua rolled her eyes, then glanced at him. Fang Shuchang looked at him too. “The Marshal never told you…” This wasn’t a question but a statement—clearly Fang Shuchang understood the reason well enough.

“Demon Buddha” Lin Echan, “Mad Tiger” Wang Nantuo—these two names might have carried tremendous weight over a decade ago, but what truly mattered right now wasn’t just them, but the name that came attached to theirs.

Xigua parted her lips slightly. For some reason, in that moment, her eyes held nothing but an unusual calm.

The wind blew through the woods.

…

“Sikong Nan…”

…

“Sigh…” Chen Fan let out a breath.

The wind blew on through the trees, the torchlight flickering, crackling softly. A pale white glow.

Fang Baihua, half her body soaked in blood, lowered the tip of her crimson spear, angling it forward.

There are things that, once a certain symbol appears, make sense without needing to be asked why. At least in this moment, no one felt the need to ask.

A voice rose in the night.

…

“…New talents rise with every age, each generation burying the last… those were the words spoken the day she left…”

The voice was ancient, seeming to echo through every corner of the woods, its pale light falling across many faces.

Even families rich enough to rival nations couldn’t gather so many first-rate martial artists—only established sects and forces of the martial world with real depth could manage it.

The Mani Sect…

…

“…You set out to do something great, and indeed you’ve done it. If you’d truly succeeded, you’d never have seen me again in this life… but Baihua, the road ahead of you—there’s no path left.”

There had once been a person driven from her position, and in the earliest days, they had remained wary of her return. Because even in defeat, her influence had, at first, still lingered.

But time passed, and that person’s heart grew cold, and she vanished from sight. A year passed, three years, five years, and the fractured Mani Sect at last came back together as one. They began to pursue the great things they wanted to pursue, gradually forgetting her.

Until… the moment of true reckoning arrived.

“…This old woman has returned.”

With those words, Lin Echan strode toward Fang Baihua, hand reaching out!

…

The crimson spear thrust forward! Amid the light and the wind, a figure suddenly burst from the trees, throwing a punch with all his strength at that Maitreya-like man—the roar of wind as the blow landed. This was Chen Fan’s full-force straight punch. In the force of that blow, the fat man’s wide monk’s robe billowed violently backward. From the other side, a girl burst from the trees, her great blade already discarded, wielding instead a single sword in each hand—yet she swung them as though wielding something ten thousand times heavier than her old great blade, her gaze fierce and resolute! This was the Hegemon Blade!

Du Sha, Luo Bingren, Zheng Qiming, Fang Shuchang, the one called Mad Tiger Wang Nantuo, and a great host of other skilled fighters seemed to surge forward all at once, as if some final string had snapped.

In this moment, there was no room left for hesitation, and no one could stop it now—