Chasing Dreams - Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Like a swarm of locusts, a dense rain of arrows fell into the water pavilion, and for a time, the sharp whistling of arrowheads tearing through the air was unceasing. The arrows struck with terrifying force; when they hit flesh, one could actually hear the sound of shattering bones.
"Fall back behind the screen!" Tang Qianzi ordered sharply. Five or six people had already been hit by arrows. The youths pulled at one another, retreating behind the screen, and through gritted teeth, they mutually snapped off the protruding arrow shafts lodged in their bodies. Stray missiles chased them, peppering the screen with loud, explosive cracks that shattered the mica panels. Precious radiances splashed everywhere, raising tiny clouds of ice-crystal-like mist, while jet-black refined iron arrowheads pierced nearly an inch through the broken holes. Amidst the fluttering net of arrows, only the blind girl remained outside the screen, screaming in a continuous, heart-rending shriek. The infant's wails had gone completely hoarse, yet like a dying little beast, it held onto its last breath, crying without pause. Tang Qianzi closed his eyes and strained his hearing, trying to estimate the enemy's numbers. However, his ears were filled entirely with the cries of the girl and the baby. They were like two blades—one fast and blindingly bright, the other blunt, notched, and jagged—taking turns cutting through him. He counted up to seventeen before he finally could no longer bear it. He abruptly stood up, crouched low, and darted swiftly around the front of the screen.
Everyone looked at him in astonishment, yet one by one, they lowered their gazes, having nothing to say. They were still older youths unseasoned by real battle; killing people to save one's own skin was one thing, but standing by and watching others die right before their eyes without lending a hand was quite another. Listening to the girl's mournful screams outside, who among them did not feel a pang of unbearable pity? The girl had fallen right where he had tossed her aside earlier. Her legs and shoulders appeared grazed by arrows, oozing dark red blood. She was curled into a ball, clutching the infant within her body—perhaps not necessarily to protect it, but because in her terror, she desperately needed to hold onto something. Tang Qianzi fiercely swung his scabbard to bat down two or three arrows, scooped the girl up with one arm, and taking a risky sideways leap along the path they had come, rolled several times. Paying no heed to her all-over abrasions, he shoved her forcefully behind the screen, then flashed in after her himself.
Before he even had a chance to catch his breath, immediate regret surged in Tang Qianzi's heart. If he had simply left the girl to her fate, she would undoubtedly have died within moments; yet even by pulling her to safety, he would ultimately have to end her life with his own hands in the end—was that not sheer hypocrisy? "Zhenchu, did you see clearly what is happening outside?" Ji Chang asked in a low voice.
"There are about twenty people out there now. They probably don't dare to charge in rashly and are only firing bolts from crossbows. If reinforcements arrive in a moment, I'm afraid..." Ji Chang suddenly waved a hand at him, his expression one of uncertain alarm. The rain-like volley of arrows outside gradually grew sparser until it stopped altogether. Only then did a distant, intermittent, and harsh scraping sound reach them, resembling a whetstone sharpening a blade. Tang Qianzi knitted his brows and once again leaned out to take a look. There were no reinforcements outside; instead, a litter of torches had been discarded. The twenty or so royal city guards had realized that bows and crossbows were yielding little effect and had simply decided to storm the position directly.
"Why... why aren't they waiting for reinforcements?" asked one of the youths, clutching an injury at his ribcage as his voice trembled from pain.
Tang Qianzi smiled coldly. His father had been one of the deputy commanders of the Huangquan Pass. He was born in the pass and grew up amidst swords and sabers, only returning to his ancestral home in Qiuye, Lanzhou, last year after his father fell in battle. He had seen plenty of these military tricks.
"They are fighting over credit. Earlier, they relied on archery because they coveted the bounty and didn't want to request reinforcements, yet their force was too weak to dare close in recklessly. Now they are taking the risk of charging straight in because they are afraid that dragging it out will allow us to escape, turning us into someone else's prey." He paused, sweeping his gaze across the faces of the twenty youths one by one. The youths all unconsciously straightened their backs with solemn dignity.
Tang Qianzi drew his blade with a ringing clash. The tip traced a straight line in the empty air three feet behind the screen as he commanded, "All of you, stand here." And so his twenty remaining soldiers silently leaned on their blades, wobbled to their feet, and fell back to that imaginary line. Across the surface of the water behind them, the golden silhouette of the sacrificial tower rippled in the disturbance of the blazing flames, resembling vague reflections cast upon water, or numerous tall, gold-lacquered tapered candles melting as they burned. The scorching, acrid heat rushed directly against everyone's backs across the water.
Like distant, muffled thunder rolling across the horizon, twenty ringing clashes of metal echoed from afar, speeding close against the ground and sweeping sequentially toward the front of the screen. Those were the long-handled black-iron broadswords customarily used by Zhui Ni infantry. During rapid assaults, to avoid hindering movement, the blades were dragged sideways along the ground; viewed from afar at night, the sword bodies were often invisible, but a line of sparks would leap along the earth—a technique known as the "Ghost Drag." The momentum of the Ghost Drag was exceptionally heavy and solid; unless one possessed astonishing raw strength, it was impossible to lift the blade over one's head. However, if one utilized the momentum of a sprint to suddenly swing the ground-dragging blade upward and sideways in an oblique arc, it was both swift and heavy, sweeping down enemies before them like stalks of rice. Even a fine Beilu warhorse could be hacked over with a single blow. Although the side-swords worn by Donglu soldiers were the length of an adult man's arm and quite weighty to hold, compared to the Ghost Drag, they were mere children's iron toys.
The sound of long blades scraping the ground grew sharper—an unbending, straight line rushing forward with the speed of lightning, arriving at the front in the blink of an eye. Those Zhui Ni soldiers, fearing an ambush, simply intended to rely on the fierce and violent power of the Ghost Disks to hack down the thirty-two thick screen panels and engage them in all-out combat.
The youth, usually refined and handsome, had his hairline and the corners of his eyes streaked with blood and grime as he resolutely rose, gripping his saber.
Against the backdrop of the blazing, city-wide inferno behind him, he was a slender, jet-only silhouette. Only the old military saber passed down from his father, reflecting the raging fire, looked like a strip of molten iron fresh from a Louluo forge, radiating scorching heat and light.
"Those who covet glory and refuse to advance or retreat alongside their comrades—do you know what kind of end awaits them on the battlefield?" He paused, his voice suddenly rising high like a banner in a fierce gale. "Let the blades in your hands tell them!" Driven to a desperate corner, the youths instead found their surging blood and killing intent uncontrollable. They roared like wild beasts and slammed their bodies fiercely against the screen. That row of thirty-two mica-paneled, gold-inlaid, pomegranate-stone-镶嵌 screens was already ruined beyond recognition; battered by their suicidal impact, it collapsed forward with a thunderous crash.
The art of wielding the Ghost Drag broadsword emphasized only weight and speed, utterly lacking agility or redirection; it relied solely on fierce and dauntless valor. Once the swordsmen started running, they flew toward their target like arrows loosed from a string, pressing forward relentlessly. By the time they realized the situation was turning sour, it was already too late to evade.
The broad, heavy screen fell upon them like a collapsing wall, wiping out seven or eight Zhui Ni guards in a single breath. Some had their ribcages instantly shattered by the impact of their own long blades.
The Donglu youths shouted battle cries and charged out.
Although the Ghost Disks were unstoppable, the layout within the water pavilion was limited, making them difficult to maneuver. Once the initial strike failed to inflict casualties, trying to wind them up again became exceedingly clumsy. These twenty youths had not yet fully matured and still possessed the flexibility of children. They ducked, rolled, leaping through the gaps in the roaring, wind-whipping attacks of the long blades, seizing moments to thrust their sabers, managing the situation with surprising ease.
Terrified to the extreme, Ji Chang crawled aside using both hands and feet, hugging the little girl. The little girl also tightly embraced the infant in her arms. Without crying, she bit down on Ji Chang's sleeve to stifle her sobs and keep from screaming out, the bells on her wrists jingling softly.
Rain continued to fall from the crimson night sky. Illuminated by the blazing pillar of fire rising to the heavens, even the fleeting raindrops flashed scarlet. It was as though a burning royal city hung in the heavens above, with blood flowing everywhere within it; the rivers of the sky could no longer bear the weight, and so they trickled down into the mortal realm. Across the royal city, the shouts and screams of combat echoed everywhere. War drums shook the buildings, and all the beams and pillars groaned with a brittle, rustling sound. No one else noticed that in this dark water pavilion, two small factions were locked in a desperate struggle to the death.
Zhui Ni casualties had already exceeded half, and Ji Chang's imperial guards had also lost five or six men. The cold, fishy stench of rust and blood silently permeated the water pavilion. The fallen bodies collapsed listlessly, exposing wounds where flesh and bone were torn apart. The youths formed an arc, holding out against the heavy long blades of the Zhui Ni to protect the two children in the corner. Blade lights rolled like thousands of shattered waves crashing against reef rocks.
At that moment, on one side of the screen's wreckage, a Zhui Ni guard struggled to stand up from a pile of corpses. His left eye was a bloody mess, the eyeball rolling fiercely within a whitened socket stained bright crimson, until it finally locked onto his target amid the crowd. The guard roared, dragging his long blade across the hibiscus-stone tiled floor in a cascading shower of sparks as he charged straight into the clashing battle formations. The Yulin guards had no spare moment to intercept him, and he actually broke through to where Ji Chang was. With a ringing clash, the blade tip lifted from the ground, and a piercing glint of murderous intent flared brilliantly in the darkness, sweeping toward the huddled children. With such terrifying force, if a child were to take even a single blow, their internal organs would likely be crushed to pieces.
Knowing there was no time to dodge, Ji Chang could only squeeze his eyes shut and bury his face in the girl's long hair.
At the critical moment of life and death, a figure suddenly lunged out from the side to block them. Meeting the ferocious onslaught of the Ghost Drag broadsword head-on, he planted both hands firmly on his own fragile side-sword—simply standing unyieldingly like a mantis trying to stop a chariot, without moving an inch further.
A triumphant, mocking sneer appeared in the Zhui Ni swordsman's blood-red eyes. He seemed already to envision how, upon the clash of the two blades, the military saber of the Zheng Dynasty would spin and fly out of the wielder's hand, and how the swordsman would bleed and tumble into the dust. Given the newcomer's exhausted, unsteady footsteps and mediocre swordplay, blocking such an overbearing Ghost Drag was an impossible feat.
Yet, the anticipated sound of steel violently crashing and shattering still never came. In the flash of lightning, at the very last moment before impact, the master of that Donglu steel saber channeled a burst of strength into his wrists, twisting them inward. The blade's edge turned silently, no longer meeting the shaft of the Ghost Drag, but instead intercepting the Zhui Ni swordsman's wrist.
The blade's edge was as thin as a thread.
Flesh and bone, carrying immense momentum, slammed into the paper-thin edge. In an instant, fabric, skin, and bone were sliced through sequentially, cutting through them like bamboo splitting. With a crisp, clean "shwip," the Ghost Drag broadsword veered off and tumbled to the side, a severed hand trailing a line of blood still stubbornly clinging to the hilt as it was flung away.
The Zhui Ni swordsman clutched his severed wrist and let out a shrill scream of agony. The man-length Ghost Drag hilt lost control, spinning through the air and smashing viciously against the newcomer's left shoulder. The figure listed sideways, nearly collapsing to the ground, but enduring the pain, he spun his blade around with a backhand strike, fiercely slashing upward in an oblique arc toward the soft flesh beneath the swordsman's jaw. The swordsman toppled over instantly.
The heavy Ghost Drag blade dropped down with a thud in front of Ji Chang and the girl, bounced twice on the ground, and rolled into its master's pool of blood.
"Your Highness, are you alright?" the man asked, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Ji Chang trembled all over and opened his eyes, his entire face covered in tears he hadn't realized were falling. Tang Qianzi stood before him, favoring his useless left shoulder, holding his saber upright. His once-refined face was streaked entirely with blood and grime.
Even though he was trembling too badly to speak, Ji Chang managed a slight nod toward Tang Qianzi.
The youth clumsily used the back of his hand to wipe the tears from Ji Chang's face, inadvertently smearing him with a bloody smudge. Pausing for a split second, he had no time to worry about it. He furrowed his brows sharply, rose to his feet, and plunged back into the fray.
Only five or six of the Zhui Ni men remained capable of fighting, while Ji Chang's surviving Yulin guards outnumbered them nearly two to one. Seeing the tide turn, the Zhui Ni lost all fighting spirit and began retreating while fighting. Tang Qianzi ordered his subordinates not to pursue, then walked over to Ji Chang, extended a hand to him, and said, "Your Highness, let's go." As though paralyzed by shock, Ji Chang remained seated on the ground, raising his bewildered eyes to ask, "...Where to?" "We must find a way to leave the royal city first. Once we reach the port, we can board a familiar merchant vessel and put out to sea. We can consider our next steps after the situation stabilizes." The youth's hand trembled from the exhaustion of the hard-fought battle, yet he still extended it steadfastly to the child.
Ji Chang slowly let go of the little girl in his arms, took Tang Qianzi's outstretched hand, and stood up, his knees still shaking. "What about her?" he asked.
The little girl sat alone on the ground holding the infant, her bright crimson lotus-patterned robe woven with gold and silver threads already half-submerged in the pool of blood on the floor. Her startlingly large, blind eyes stared blankly into the empty air.
Tang Qianzi drew in a deep breath and shook his head slowly and heavily. "Your Highness, we cannot spare her life." Ji Chang's face turned ashen, largely out of terror. He pressed his lips together, the bloody grime on his cheeks washed away by fresh tears, yet he silently nodded, burying his face against Tang Qianzi's side, unable to bear looking any longer.
A single drop of blood hung suspended from the tip of the saber, trembling on the verge of falling. The moment the weapon was raised, the droplet flicked onto the girl's face, causing her to jump in fright.
The youth held the blade aloft, yet found himself unable to strike down immediately. In the distance, war drums thundered, and in rhythm with their beat, fine ripples spread across the water's surface. Through the swirling sparks and rain, amid the pavilions and towers, hundreds of torches could be vaguely seen reflecting on the water, winding their way toward them. Soon enough, they would be discovered.
"Mother... Brother..." Not understanding why the people around her had all left, the little girl murmured plaintively, extending a hand to grope about as if searching for Ji Chang. Finding nothing, she felt along the ground instead, only to touch a handful of cold, greasy blood. She froze, and after a long moment, as if suddenly jolted awake, she let out a piercing, unbelievably sharp scream from the depths of her tiny body.
The cry pierced the crimson rain curtain, seeming to announce the true beginning of the night's chaos.
The firelight plunged into disorder. From all directions within the royal city came the roaring and clamoring of human voices. The booming of the war drums suddenly grew intense, approaching them at an astonishing speed. Tiny ripples stirred within the small river beneath the water pavilion, lashing against the bank stones as though the very earth were shaken.
Tang Qianzi looked toward the source of the firelight in shock and disbelief. The sensation felt familiar, often encountered in the streets near the port, but this time, it was violently intense enough to beggar belief. He unconsciously took a step back. Ji Chang opened his eyes in astonishment.
The drumming had drawn close, mingled with the sound of metallic clashing as if numerous cymbals followed in its wake. Dust and wood shavings fell in showers from between the beams and pillars, as though the entire water pavilion were being jolted into the air, after which the purlins, mortises, eaves, and tiles dropped back down piece by piece, reassembling into their original form. The vibration beneath their feet drilled upward through their marrow in a tingling shiver, and the tiny ripples beneath the pavilion grew increasingly frequent. Everyone involuntarily tightened their grips on their weapons.
Most of the bridges leading to the water pavilion had collapsed or burned down. The Zhui Ni soldiers simply raised their pine torches high and leapt down into the riverbed, wading toward them in a converging mass as deafening shouts merged into a single roar. The river of flowing, fiery-orange light illuminated a massive black shadow leading the charge at the forefront of the crowd.
That physique seemed as though it had just been forged from the anvil and hammer of a Louluo deity. The flesh exposed between his steel armor shimmered with a bronze luster, and the night rain striking him raised a golden-red vapor of steam. Every bead of sweat streaming down his thick, dark bangs was as hot and bright as molten lava. He ran through water that reached chest-high for ordinary men, yet it barely crested his knees. Each time he lifted his foot, the surface of the river churned and dropped by several inches. Ornate carved bridges shattered into fragments against his ribs. There were no war drums; it was his footsteps that caused the earth to tremble, and his giant sword and armor clattered in rhythm with his stride like hundreds of warriors beating spears against shields in unison. None of his kin scattered across the vast expanse of the Leizhou lands stood taller than his armpit.
Outside the interior heartland of Hanzhou, no one had ever witnessed such a colossal Kuafu warrior. He ran, and everything standing in his path shuddered and collapsed.
Not a single person thought of fleeing, just as no one could escape from mountains, oceans, or the sky. Steel sabers slipped from trembling fingers, dropping to the ground one after another, their edges still entangled with congealed trails of blood. Before this eighteen-foot-tall giant, human weapons appeared so frail and laughable.
With the Kuafu's strides, the river's tide surged ever higher and more fiercely, finally gushing impetuously into the water pavilion. The ground vibrated violently enough to make footing unstable, as though an invincible army were roaring as it charged toward them. Yet Ji Chang did not close his eyes, nor did he cry anymore. He stared blankly as that massive shadow swiftly blotted out everything, like a dark moon swallowing a bright one. The city-wide firelight was instantly cut off outside, plunging the water pavilion into darkness.
Abruptly, everything fell still. The booming footsteps of a myriad of troops and the roaring human voices resembling ocean tides vanished in a single instant. If not for the crackling flames burning all around, one might almost suspect they had gone deaf. The tidal surge gradually subsided without receding, its rolling ripples lapping against their military boots.
With astonishing agility, the Kuafu arrested his momentum and came to a halt in the river channel outside the water pavilion. His army of hundreds halted neatly in disciplined rows a dozen paces behind him, the light of their torches entirely blocked by the giant's body so that not a single ray could penetrate. Standing in the shadow, the youths could only see his legs, which were as thick as pillars; his trousers were pieced together from entire hides of rhinoceros skin, and a giant steel sword taller than a man hung at his waist. Knee guards as large as heavy shields were strapped to his knees with two-inch-wide Di-fang leather belts, reflecting the blurred, distorted faces of the youths. In the deathly silence, the water surface beneath their feet began to rise slowly and noticeably once more, with faint ochre-colored trickles diffusing through the water, quickly swelling to calf-height. Ji Chang lunged forward, pulled the dazed, bewildered girl sitting on the ground to her feet, and retreated back into the crowd. Tang Qianzi whipped his head up, his brows furrowing slightly, yet he refused to step back an inch. Ji Chang and the girl stood directly behind him; among the dozen survivors, he was the only one still gripping a side-sword.
The Kuafu lowered his body, dropping to one knee in the river water before the water pavilion, yet his entire form still towered a full story high. The water pavilion swayed slightly, and in the river water beside the giant, the ochre-colored trickles rapidly spread into a vast, vivid expanse of red, churning up from the riverbed. The greaves, which had initially appeared reddish-brown, gradually washed clean to reveal a pale, dark-green luster—those mottled red and black hues were, in truth, layers of dried blood. Just how many human lives had to be drained dry to stain this giant's entire body red? The Kuafu looked down at them. Compared to his massive frame, his face appeared narrow and severe, and his pure black pupils were the size of tea bowls, as though filled with thick, dark ink, brimming with a wild, clear, sharp, and violent expression. Aside from their own kin, no one dared meet such a gaze head-on. It was a bloodline and spirit inherited from ancient ancestors, resembling the echoes of war drums deep within the desolate plains.
"Tilan..." A hoarse voice called out softly in the dark. "Tilan." The silver bells on her wrist jingled sharply. The girl held tightly in Ji Chang's arms raised her head alertly like a little beast, trying to guess the source of the voice.
The youths looked in the direction of the voice, only to realize that someone was sitting upon the Kuafu's left shoulder. Seen against the light, that thin, withered figure sat upon the giant armor that slanted upward like the ridge of a roof—quiet, inconspicuous, resembling merely a raised, protruding beast-head door ring.
Could it be a Louluo? Each youth secretly harbored such a speculation in their hearts.
The little girl sprang up, shook off Ji Chang's hand, and rushed out of the crowd toward the front, crying out shrilly, "Uncle! Mother is dying, save her! Please save her!" "Your Highness! Your Highness!" Several Zhui Ni soldiers waded through the water, intercepting her and wrapping their arms around her waist. The girl kicked and threshed with all her might, nearly sending the embroidered swaddling clothes in her arms flying.
"Tilan! Do not be unruly!" that voice rebuked sternly. "What you are holding in your arms right now is already the Crown Prince of our Zhui Ni." The girl named Tilan abruptly clutched the crying infant tightly to her chest and stopped struggling.
"Big Brother Jielan... is he dead?" Tilan raised her head toward the empty air, but received no answer.
After a moment, the dark shadow on the Kuafu's shoulder seemed to sigh, its already hoarse voice growing even more weary and heavy. "Uncle couldn't save your mother... Lingjia is also gone." Tilan's entire body suddenly went limp and lifeless, her heavy, long hair drooping down like waves into the water. If not for her breathing, Tang Qianzi would have thought the figure hanging from the soldier's arms was merely an ornate, hollow little garment adorned with silver bells, emitting two cold, crisp clinks in the dimness.
"Guotu." The dark shadow spoke, making a gesture.
The Kuafu warrior reached his hand into the water pavilion in response, poking the soldier holding Tilan with a finger thicker than a spear shaft. The soldier respectfully handed Tilan and the infant over together. The Kuafu's giant palms, over two feet long, gently closed, cradling her waist with one hand as if afraid of crushing her, lifted her up, and placed her onto his left shoulder, beside the dark shadow.
The dark shadow drew Tilan close to his side and spoke distantly downward. "This must be His Highness Prince Chang of the Da Zheng." Ji Chang stared up in a daze at the Kuafu warrior before him, still temporarily speechless and forgetting to offer a bow.
The dark shadow let out a low, hoarse chuckle. "Our nation's hospitality has been lacking, causing you to be frightened tonight—I am truly ashamed. The filthy things inside the royal city will likely take two or three days to clean up, which would inevitably offend Your Highness. Why not let us assign another residence and invite Your Highness to move there for a brief stay?" Ji Chang blinked, at a loss for how to respond, his face flushing crimson. Even on the Kuafu's stone-chiseled lips, a trace of a smile appeared.
Tang Qianzi stepped forward, dropped to one knee in the shallow water, and answered loudly in the Zhui Ni language, "We are deeply grateful for the great monarch Yingjia's kindness and feel utterly unworthy. His Highness Prince Chang's imperial Yulin guards have set up camp near the port, and this subordinate is preparing to escort His Highness to the main camp." The dark shadow on the Kuafu's shoulder paused slightly, as if surprised to be recognized by a youth he had never met before, and a hint of a smile crept into his tone. "Then, leave a few men to escort His Highness to the port. By coming to Zhui Ni this time, you have truly brought along a fine general." He nodded toward the eleven-year-old boy standing frozen in place, then summoned the Kuafu warrior by name: "Guotu, let's go." The giant stood up, bringing up a torrential downpour of river water, turned, and strode away, his footsteps shaking the earth. The blood-red firelight lost its barrier and poured inward abruptly, stinging the youths so intensely they could barely keep their eyes open. Hundreds of Zhui Ni soldiers trailed behind the Kuafu, leaving behind only about thirty on the spot to escort them to the port. The ends of those soldiers' waist sashes were embroidered with the indigo dog-tooth insignia of the Five Southern Commanderies, and their short sword hilts were bound with thick indigo silk laced with gold threads—they were indeed the personal bodyguards of the Great Monarch Yingjia.
The instant the Kuafu turned around, amidst the continuous cluster of firelight, Tang Qianzi caught a clear look at the dark shadow. That person must have once been a rather handsome young man, but now he was withered and emaciated from illness, his features ruined, leaving only a pair of the uniquely rich and deep eyes characteristic of the Zhui Ni, retaining a clear, piercing light amidst the beacon fires and chaotic troops. Beneath his pine-green gold-inlaid robe, a pair of legs hung limply down, their white soles as clean as if they had never touched the ground to walk in his life. It turned out to be true that, as rumors said, when the Great Monarch Yingjia was hunting in Fengnan at the age of seventeen, his mount stepped on a poisonous snake, reared in fright, and threw him from the saddle, leaving him unable to walk ever since.
The crimson sky lowered itself over Pibo City, and a thick, sluggish current of blood hung heavy in the night wind. Rain beat against the charred remnants of the royal city's walls and purlins, stirring up a lukewarm, acrid stench of smoke as desolation met the eye in every direction. Corpses drifted and swirled in the currents of the water, their stiff, pale hands gently striking the stone foundations of the palace.
The main force of the Zhui Ni had already traveled far away. Ji Chang remained standing in place, silent for a long time, his face flushed with blood.
"Your Highness?" Tang Qianzi lowered his body and scooped him up into his arms. "What is wrong with you?" Ji Chang turned his eyes to look at him, and Tang Qianzi was momentarily startled by the expression in those delicate phoenix eyes. The eleven-year-old boy's light tea-colored pupils had turned a deep, inky black, resembling storm-laden vortexes lurking before a downpour, with sharp, serpentine flashes of lightning darting and hiding within them. "Zhenchu, I no longer want to practice martial arts," Ji Chang said softly, burying his face against the youth's neck. "I always used to think that to be a hero, one needed martial prowess, courage, and prominent military achievements, just like King Yulie in the epics. But Zhenchu, look at that man—he has no martial arts, no military achievements, and cannot even walk; yet he only needs to speak a single sentence to make such a ferocious Kuafu bow its head and obey. There is something within him... I want that very thing! With it, the power of life and death is mine to command, every order is executed instantly, no one will ever dare bully me again, and everything in the world will bend to my will." His previously sweet and childish voice tightened, whispering word by word against Tang Qianzi's shoulder, "One day, all the people of the Nine States and Ten Lands will know my name—Chu Ji Chang." The soldiers of both nations marched in neat ranks around them, yet none heard the child's words.
According to the records of later historians, on that night, a subordinate minister of King Junliang of Zhui Ni instigated a rebellion. Taking advantage of the banquet hosted by King Junliang for the Great Monarch Yingjia, he attempted a regicide at the feast. Queen Lingjia and Crown Prince Jielan sacrificed themselves one after the other, dying locked in each other's embrace. The personal bodyguards of the Great Monarch Yingjia sprang into action and slaughtered the rebels, but King Junliang suffered severe injuries and could no longer manage affairs of state, while the Crown Prince had also died a violent death. Consequently, the Great Monarch Yingjia had no choice but to temporarily assume the regency. Princess Tilan, left behind by Queen Lingjia, was under six years old at the time, and the infant prince Solan had been born merely three months prior; both were raised by the Great Monarch Yingjia, and Solan was subsequently named the new Crown Prince. Palace attendants, eunuchs, and royal city guards implicated in the crime numbered no fewer than three hundred. Since it was an insurrection by treacherous ministers, why the royal city guards and the personal guards of the Great Monarch Yingjia had engaged in a bloody, all-night battle beneath the banquet terraces, and why the Kuafu bodyguard of the Great Monarch had violently burst into the inner city—these crucial details remained impossible to investigate ever since. It was the end of summer, still lingering with sultry heat, and rotting green-feathered hunting falcons circled and gathered in swarms over the royal city day and night for half a month without dispersing, earning the event the name "The Panxiao Mutiny." King Junliang's injury dragged on for over thirty years; until the very day he breathed his last, he never fully recovered. And so, the regency of the Great Monarch Yingjia continued uninterrupted for more than thirty years.
Through the misty, overcast smoke and rain, Tang Qianzi vaguely saw the young princess on the Kuafu's shoulder turn her head back toward them. Her sightless, blind eyes rolled emptily in this chaotic, turbulent night, as if searching for someone. A single vibrant drop of blood lingered on her cheek—the very droplet he had flicked from the tip of his blade just moments earlier.
To see that little girl again was a matter of two or three years later.
The red-lacquered table had seen many years, scarred by piping-hot plates and bowls into countless overlapping white rings, permanently coated with a thin layer of grease where every press of a finger left a print. A gold coin spun upright on the filthy tabletop, transforming into a tiny, whirring golden shadow.
Gold-haired and black-haired sailors argued loudly, recounting some scandalous affair about a companion being tossed out of a second-story window by the madam of a Qicheng port brothel; at the funny parts, they burst into raucous laughter, overturning coarse pottery cups and dishes across the table.
Sitting alone in a dark corner, the youth watched the spinning gold coin with complete disinterest, the wine beside his hand having long since gone cold. A large, soft, matte-gray raw silk cloth was wrapped tightly around his head and shoulders, draping down to his waist, leaving others to see only half of a handsome chin and a pair of thin, cold lips. This attire was ordinary enough—the winds and sands along the Hanzhou roads were ferocious, and travelers often dressed this way—yet in this warm and humid city of all seasons, it was remarkably conspicuous.
This was a tavern no different from any other beside the Pibo Port, reeking of crude curses, vomit, the pungent aroma of cheap wine, and the greasy, salty scent of bar snacks. Sailors came ashore and headed straight for such places to drink a few cups; once their faces flushed and their bodies warmed up, they would wrap arms around each other's shoulders and head out in search of other amusements—though quite a few drank themselves into a stupor and passed out beneath the tavern tables. Merchants also favored meeting here, as the dim and noisy environment served well to conceal all manner of illicit, small-scale business negotiations.
The youth suddenly raised his head. A stubby figure hopped onto the chair opposite him and unceremoniously unfolded a tattered oilcloth in front of him, revealing its contents: three or four pale-cyan, translucent, dried flowers, cut from thin silk.
"Young master, would you like some Dream-Weaving Flowers?" the Louluo woman asked in a grating voice. Seeing that he did not reply, she pressed on enthusiastically, "Good stuff, these! Picked from Mount Minzhong. Brew one in wine and drink it down, and you can have a wonderful dream lasting a full day and night—become an emperor, marry a beauty, mountains of gold and silver, all alive and exactly as you wish! They usually cost a gold coin and a half each, but I'll let you have one for a single gold coin. That's a real bargain for you..." With that, she nimbly picked a dried flower from the oilcloth, preparing to drop it into the youth's winecup, while her other hand reached for the gold coin spinning on the table.
The youth's hand was faster than hers. His right hand covered the wooden cup, while his slender left index finger pressed down, pinning the gold coin firmly against the filthy tabletop. "Elder sister, don't fool people," the youth said, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Aren't these just Xie Luo flowers? It's true that drying them and drinking them with wine lets you dream for a day, but you can only dream of your own past circumstances. They're fine to sell to homesick sailors, but I have use for this gold coin, so don't set your sights on it." Without pressing further and showing no trace of shame on her face, the Louluo woman nimbly gathered up her wares, wrapped them in the oilcloth, hopped off the chair with a brisk bounce, and left.
No sooner had the youth pulled back the hand covering his winecup than he felt the building gradually begin to vibrate. Red dirt rained down from the ceiling, pattering onto the clear wine surface—likely a Kuafu walking down the street outside. In the shadows, the youth twitched his brows, his right hand slipping casually and nonchalantly into the folds of his head-wrap.
The Kuafu's footsteps stopped outside. After a moment, a finger as thick as a bamboo pole reached in, using its tip to push the greasy black door curtain aside for his employer. His employer was a middle-aged Zhui Ni man dressed as a merchant. He blocked the doorway, scanned the room once, and marched straight to the youth's table.
The youth raised his head slightly higher, saying nothing. The indifferent gaze hidden beneath the silk scarf had already sized him up from top to bottom. The merchant himself seemed to sense it and, as if deeply offended, straightened his slender frame even further while his voice turned stiff and harsh.
"Young master, your actions this time around were truly unseemly." The youth let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "You went to such circuitous lengths to have someone pass a message, arranging to meet me in a place like this—could it be that you did it for some entirely honorable reason?" The Zhui Ni merchant's face turned a shade of pale green, and just as he was about to erupt, he forcibly reined it in. He pulled a chair over, sat down, leaned his face in close to the youth, and lowered his voice. "The night before last, our firm's warehouse caught fire, and a batch of top-quality brocades from Huanshuang City was looted. Those twenty or so night bandits all wielded sabers, moving with uniform coordination, and disappeared without a trace once we pursued them near the main camp. This matter, I'm afraid, cannot be entirely disconnected from you, young master." "Have you tallied your losses then?" The youth toyed back and forth with the gold coin in his left hand, his tone calm.
"Huanshuang brocade has no market price lately, as you well know, young master. This batch of goods came from a master craftsman, of superior quality, and is worth a full eight thousand gold coins!" The Zhui Ni merchant tried his best to keep his voice down, his wheezing breath blowing straight onto the youth's face.
The youth leaned back against his chair and drawled slowly, "That would be equivalent to five hundred Louluo curved sabers and half a ship's keel." The Zhui Ni man's face turned completely, thoroughly green.
"Last month, a merchant vessel of the Fengyuan Company encountered pirates in the Yingge Straits. Five hundred Louluo curved sabers urgently ordered at a high price were seized, and the ship was scuttled, barely making it back. Coincidentally, your shop just happened to acquire five hundred identical curved sabers to make up for the shortfall—quite a profitable ledger entry." Beneath the matte-gray silk, the youth's crisp laughter rang out. "Ever since the Panxiao Mutiny, the trading houses and warehouse ships of the Da Zheng merchants in Pibo Port have all been under our watch. Although it's not strictly above board, over the past two years, our colleagues have still shown us some courtesy. As for matters at sea, we truly cannot guarantee anything, but seeking redress is always an option, isn't it?" The table rattled and vibrated. The Zhui Ni merchant stared at the youth, sweat beading heavily across his forehead, veins bulging as if exerting immense physical effort, yet unable to utter a word.
The youth raised a hand and called for the tavern attendant. How astute was a Pibo tavern attendant? Seeing the subtle signs of friction between the two diners, he had already kept his heart on edge, waiting nearby. Catching the youth's raised hand, he scurried over with an obsequious smile. Without wasting words, the youth handed over the gold coin and said, "Settle the tab." The attendant was taken aback, grinning as he pushed it back while saying, "Esteemed guest, this is enough to buy seventeen or eighteen barrels of wine. You've only had two cups; you don't need this much." But the youth caught the attendant's hand, shoved the coin into his palm, folded his fingers closed, and patted them, saying, "It's not too much, not too much at all." Knowing what was implied, the attendant grew so anxious he was practically on the verge of tears, while the youth rose with carefree grace, adjusted his head-wrapping cloth to conceal his face, and walked out on his own accord.
The Zhui Ni man across the table seemed to have caught his breath by then. He also sprang up, raised his voice to the rafters, and shouted into the air, "Apen! Come here!" Everyone in the room was startled, looking around, but saw no one answering him. The tavern quieted for a moment, then grew lively again as patrons resumed their finger-guessing drinking games and bantering. Yet before a single drop of wine could slide down their throats, they all understood—the person called Apen was waiting outside.
In all the Zhui Ni ports along the shores of the Chuliao Sea, there was always an open area where a towering twelve-cornered cowhide tent was erected, with one side left uncurtained to allow horse-drawn carriages to pass through. During festivals, it served as a venue for storytelling and banner-plays, while on ordinary days, it was a gathering place for Kuafus to drink. As for ordinary taverns in the city, they neither provided long tables and chairs nor barrel-like mugs and giant-shield-sized dishes, and their buildings were all cramped; they had never catered to Kuafus, and naturally, their doorways were built low—this tavern was no exception.
Yet at that moment, the bricks and mortar beside the door began to writhe, and gray dust poured inward in small rivulets.
The youth paused in his tracks, and the Zhui Ni merchant sneered behind him.
The thin lips hidden beneath the shadows instantly tightened into an even colder, straighter line, shaking his head as if too lazy to waste words.
The building vibrated more violently. Cups shifted across the table, and the brick walls seemed as though they were competing to burst outward. One by one, bricks could be seen loosening and pushing against each other, allowing the dazzling daylight from the street outside to pierce through the widening gaps.
Yet the youth did not retreat, simply standing quietly in place.
Finally, a large portion of the tavern's street-facing wall collapsed inward with a thunderous crash. Where the doorway had originally been, a jagged gap was left behind, with rubble and wood chips still dropping in a scatter. Sunlight poured into the dust, splitting into faint threads like countless sharp, chilling sword auras. Standing amidst the billowing dust and sunlight, the youth's entire length of gray, soft silk cloth was flipped upward by the air currents, revealing a refined face beneath.
The youth raised his head, coming face-to-face with the towering Kuafu standing astride outside the gap. He was already seventeen years old and tall among his peers, yet compared to the giant's rock-solid frame, he still looked as slender as a reed.
"Apen, what are you waiting for? Crush him to death!" the Zhui Ni merchant stamped his feet and shouted. "Don't you want your pay?" The Kuafu scratched the back of his neck and responded in a gruff voice, "Oh." With that, he truly reached out a gong-sized hand to grab the youth's head and neck.
Yet the youth did not evade him at all, the silk cloth draping down to his waist still fluttering.
The Zhui Ni merchant's sneer froze midway before it could fully spread. Someone from behind suddenly propped up his chin, and a cold short curved blade was instantly pressed against the taut skin beneath his throat. Rolling his eyes sideways in a desperate glance, he caught sight of a golden-haired, dazzling middle-aged man holding the blade. The sailors who had been drinking and laughing nearby also drew their swords and stepped forward, instantly plunging him into remorse.
Two years ago, a gang of green-clothed night bandits began haunting Pibo Port. Clearly hired by the Da Zheng merchant consortium, they did not guard the areas near the commercial warehouses on ordinary days, and their numbers seemed small—always under thirty—yet their movements were exceptionally swift. Whenever anyone attempted to steal bulk cargo or waylay merchants, these masked night bandits would arrive instantly with airtight protection, making those who harbored designs on the Zheng merchants gradually dwindle in number.
Pibo Port was inherently a chaotic harbor city where fish and dragons mixed freely. Countless pieces of cargo, news, weapons, and people arriving by sea flowed quietly into the deep, winding interior of Pibo City, only to converge and flow out from various points, day and night without stopping. This lazy, colorful city absorbed excess wealth, desires, and greed, swelling like a fat taproot day by day to nourish a brilliant, dazzling prosperity born of vice. A sleepy pawnshop clerk by day might be a cold-calculated pirate liaison; a master thief leaping across rooftops as if walking on flat ground might, upon changing clothes and pinning flowers in her hair, pass for a young housewife next door. In this city, theft and deception were not shameful; what was shameful was failure.
For today's meeting, this Zhui Ni merchant had personally gone to the Kuafu tavern to pick out this seemingly largest and fiercest Apen, hiring him at great expense while having people scout out the tavern beforehand, fully believing he had laid foolproof preparations. Since the young night bandit leader was proud and arrogant enough to attend the meeting alone, even if the goods could not be recovered, Apen's raw strength alone should have been enough to eliminate this bandit chief, leaving the two or three dozen remnant followers harmless. Who could have anticipated this outcome?
If all the sailors inside the shop had been black-haired Donglu folk, they would naturally have been on guard against a potential ambush, but with several Winged People mixed among them, the scouting lackey had grown lax and careless. In truth, those lower-status Suifeng and Wugen folk frequently mingled with humans; temporarily summoning a few of them was an effortless task.
"Apen, save me!" the Zhui Ni man shrieked at the top of his lungs in a panic. However, his Kuafu was already trapped in a dense forest of blades. "We agreed you wouldn't bring outsiders! How can you go back on your word!" The youth smiled and said, "Could it be that you came alone?" With that, he pulled the silk cloth back over his face and walked straight out through the gap in the wall. The scorching heat of the southern land rushed to meet him, mixed with the buzzing, swarming clamor of the marketplace.
During the rainy season, the only place in Pibo City that looked remotely like a proper city was this harbor district. The streets here were rarely flooded, the plots were relatively orderly, and without the maze of complex rivers, the red clay roads had been packed as hard as iron by generations of passing merchants and Kuafu bodyguards, refusing to absorb a splash of oil even after half a day.
They had not walked far when a dull, thunderous crash sounded from behind. Looking back two streets away, a billowing cloud of red dust and smoke had erupted from the spot where the tavern stood. A trace of a smile flickered across the youth's thin lips.
The sky was vast and distant, and the late-summer sunlight washed the noisy streets of their color. To the north lay one of the docks of Pibo Port, where the countless masts and rigging of merchant ships jutted above the rooftops, and circling seabirds formed dozens of pale-greenish-gray dots. The youth blew a sharp, shrill whistle. One of the seabirds broke away from the flock and flew toward them at high speed.
The youth extended his right arm toward the sky without breaking his stride. The bird folded its wings and plunged straight down toward him, dropping until it was a mere ten feet from the ground before spreading its wings in a circle and perching on his right arm—it was a San-tu falcon with blue feathers and a hooked beak. The youth stroked its tough, glossy tail feathers, then reached beneath its wing root to untie a small leather pouch. As he walked, he gave his wrist a slight shake, causing the falcon to leap up with fluttering wings and land on his right shoulder, freeing his hand to open the pouch and extract a two-finger-wide paper scroll.
His brisk footsteps halted abruptly.
The San-tu falcon let out a hoarse cry and nudged its master.
The sea breeze howled through the streets, causing the narrow roll of tough paper to flutter noisily in the wind, while the face-covering cloth billowed as well. The crowd surged with noise, and the long wind rushed past his ears, but the youth alone stood frozen like stone.
Slowly, the paper roll was clenched into a small, hard ball.
The raptor let out a long, shrill cry, taking flight from its master's shoulder as he broke into a sprint—silent, desperate, running as though he meant to cast off his entire physical shell. He left the main road, leaped across stagnant ditches, and wove through narrow alleys, his hand always tightly clutching his face-covering scarf. The labyrinthine, winding alleys were piled high with garbage and filth, turning every three steps and bending every five, offering no hint of what lay ahead and filled with unexpected forks and dead ends, yet the youth navigated them as though he knew them by heart. After rounding a hundred small turns, he reached the end of a narrow lane and slipped out of sight behind the door of a residential home.
Outside it was still broad daylight, but inside the house was dim and cluttered. On a low side table, a small lamp burned, illuminating a statue of the dragon-tail god worshipped by the Zhui Ni—the sole feeble light source. Spices were piled haphazardly in chests, releasing a blend of stale, greasy fragrance and the scent of raw silk. Without stopping, the youth pressed on, running at full speed toward the upper floor. He leaped over large bundles of hard goods wrapped in raw hide lying across the floorboards. Accidentally kicking over an unsealed roll, a dozen forged-iron leek-leaf sabers clattered out, casting a pale glow across the room. Too busy to pick them up, the youth hurried up to the third floor, pushed open a narrow window, and leaped across a three-foot gap into the window of a neighboring house. That was an even more dilapidated small building; though it appeared uninhabited, it was similarly crammed to capacity with sabers, armor, crossbows, treasures, and fine wine. Descending into the wine cellar, he pushed aside two giant empty barrels near the wall, pried up a wide, thin flagstone with his side-sword, and revealed a flight of stairs leading downward, with faint firelight glowing at the far end.
Descending into the underground tunnel, the youth ran forward once more while tearing off the silk cloth from his shoulder. He had never run this fast or this long in a single breath. Sweat trickled into his eyes, and the dim small wind-lamps hanging along the stone walls on either side blurred into a rainbow of colors, obscuring his vision. After running for a little less than a quarter of an hour, the stairs turned upward, bringing the tunnel to an end. The youth tapped the overhead trapdoor with his sword hilt, and someone immediately unlocked it from the outside, lifting the hatch to let him up.
"Bring my clothes, quickly." He forced down his panting breath, speaking to the young Donglu apprentice. The apprentice bowed and immediately went on his way.
This was a cool room. One wall was hung with layers of golden, emerald, and crimson fabric swatches; in the center, a small table held tea and pastries, and an expensive, large mercury mirror stood against the opposite wall—it was a fitting room for distinguished guests inside a tailoring shop. Stripping off his sweat-drenched outer garments, the youth wiped away the sweat haphazardly, tossed them to the floor, and paced anxiously around the room like a caged beast before the apprentice returned carrying his official cap, court attire, and military boots. Donning them efficiently, he fastened his buttons while walking toward the exit, murmuring to the apprentice, "Tell the camp I'm making a trip to the palace." The apprentice followed closely behind him, bowing silently in response until escorting him to the shop's storefront, lifting the curtain, and calling out loudly, "General Tang, take care. We'll have your clothes altered and sent right over!" That tunnel, barely two-li long and running in a straight line, had cut right through the middle of the narrow harbor district, bringing him to the northwest side of Pibo Port, near the encampment of the five-thousand-strong Da Zheng Yulin guards.
Tang Qianzi raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Following his burst of sprinting, his heartbeat pounded fiercely against his eardrums, and his vision darkened slightly.
Reaching into his tunic, he drew out the paper scroll. Soaked in sweat, a line of ink had smudged and bled, yet it remained glaringly striking.
"On the thirtieth day of the seventh month, Emperor Xiu passed away. On the third day of the eighth month, Prince Yi placed Tianqi under strict siege. At midnight on the fifth, Prince Chang broke through the encirclement and escaped; the city fell, and the entire royal family perished." It was the late summer of the twenty-seventh year of Lintai in the Zheng Dynasty. Across the Hanzhou sea, the eight-year-long Rebellion of Prince Yi was merely raising its curtain. During those eight years, the hundreds of thousands of commoners and soldiers destined to be marked for death were still busy with their daily struggles, songs, and weeping, completely unaware of the dark and uncertain road ahead.