A fierce northern wind howled like a knife flaying the night, shaving icy flakes from the snow under the dark sky.
In Gemhill County, within the inner district of Silver Creek, Courtyard No. 9, people slept on, unaware.
“Feng’er!” Yan Yu jerked awake, breathing hard in the darkness. Gradually, her breathing calmed, and she nestled closer to the man beside her.
“A nightmare?” Li Yuan asked.
“Mhm...maybe it’s from seeing too much suffering today,” Yan Yu murmured. “Back then, when we were the ones struggling, all I felt was fear. But now, watching other people suffer, especially the children, my heart only aches further.”
Li Yuan chuckled softly. “A saintess’ heart is merciful, unwilling to see the masses suffer. Seems those people outside weren’t wrong to call you one.”
Yan Yu blushed, shaking her head. “A saintess? Don’t be silly. Anyone who’s well-fed and warm would feel some sympathy.”
“I don’t,” Li Yuan said lightly.
She sighed. “I know, Husband. You don’t because you’re cautious above all else, always making sure everything is perfectly secure. That’s precisely why Xue Ning and I feel so safe under your roof. We’ll take care of kindness; you focus on keeping us all protected.”
She paused, then added, “Where I grew up, there was a temple with a Bodhisattva statue. One side of its face was smiling, but the other side looked stern and frightening. When I asked the abbot, he said that Buddha feels both compassion and righteous wrath. The same Buddha who keeps the lantern can, if needed, raise a blade.”
“And?” Li Yuan yawned.
Yan Yu said softly, “I keep the lantern; you wield the blade.”
“Amitabha, greetings to the Bodhisattva,” Li Yuan teased. “Will you be seated on the lotus throne tonight?”
“What lotus throne?” Yan Yu asked curiously.
Li Yuan leaned over and whispered in her ear. Yan Yu’s cheeks reddened instantly. “You rogue!”
Even so, his playful words chased away her earlier unease. Turning on her side, pressing her back against him, Yan Yu stared into the dark, her voice drifting through the silence. “Feng’er didn’t come by today.”
“They left yesterday afternoon, headed straight back to that Fragrant General’s bandit camp.”
“Oh...really.” Yan Yu fell quiet. After all, Feng’er had made her choice, following her man out of the county. Even so, an inexplicable sense of worry tugged at Yan Yu’s heart. “She and Bear...they’re all right, aren’t they?”
“I can’t see them,” Li Yuan replied. “You really think your husband is all-knowing?”
“Do you truly forgive her?”
Yan Yu hesitated, then nodded slowly. “At first, it was just to go along with your plan. But when I actually said I forgive you, I realized I meant it. Later, she told me over and over she’d never harm me again, whether alive or dead, in this life or the next. Feng’er is naive; she wouldn’t say such a thing otherwise. I...I just hope she can live well.”
Silence fell for a moment. Then Li Yuan murmured, “Let’s sleep.”
Another two days passed.
The Fragrant General’s camp prepared to march. They had chosen their target—Flowerpath County.
Unlike Gemhill County’s old three-way balance, Flowerpath County was dominated by a dual alliance between the Floating Moon Abbey and Frost Sword Sect, both exclusively female sects. According to scouts who returned three days prior, a series of disappearances had rocked Flowerpath County. Traces pointed to a carpenter’s home, and upon investigating, both the head abbess of Floating Moon Abbey and sect master of Frost Sword Sect went missing as well.
Those two were the top fighters in Flowerpath County. Their disappearance sent both sects into turmoil. The Frost Sword Sect split into factions vying for leadership, creating internal strife. The chaos presented an ideal opportunity to strike.
Meanwhile, Southsky County was stable, showing no sign of conflict. And though Gemhill County had endured plenty of infighting, it was now guarded by that mysterious Blood Blade Patriarch.
Of the three, Flowerpath County clearly stood out as the best target. So the Fragrant General mustered his 3,000 men and set out toward Flowerpath County.
High above, a white finch soared, watching the army descend from the mountain. It didn’t dare get too close, just followed from a great height. From above, the 3,000 troops resembled a wriggling earthworm.
The bandit stronghold, though now seemingly abandoned, was not truly empty. Left behind were the women the bandits had seized and not yet killed—those battered and broken, cowering in corners. Some stared blankly, others so filthy they barely looked human, and still others lay on the brink of freezing to death, souls hollowed of hope.
But one among them refused to give in. It was Feng’er; she clung to a dim spark.
Dragging herself over a threshold, she fell under the knife-sharp wind. Yet she forced herself to stand, staggering a few more steps before collapsing again. Though she hardly felt the pain, she rose once more, leaning on a piece of wood for support, trudging onward with a vacant gaze.
Hate, bitterness, curses, and shadows of despair folded over and over in her heart, layer after suffocating layer. Yet even so, she held onto something—an image of a door in the gray distance, and beyond that door, a light. A voice like Yan Yu’s calling her name.
No matter how far that door might be, she would reach it. And once she did, she would stay forever.
Not far down the mountain, an ox cart pulled into a small grove and came to a halt. The cart bore several iron cages stacked under heavy black cloth—mobile warehouses for living cargo on the black market.
A couple of men jumped down, tying up the ox. It began to moo and snuffle around for bits of dried grass. Then more brawny figures with weapons appeared—brokers, and the muscle they hired.
They had come to trade in human lives.
One of the slave traders peered up the winding mountain path. “The bandits have cleared out. There’s bound to be something left behind, maybe even living goods we can sell.”
Another trader agreed. “With the black market getting bigger, there’s a better chance we can unload whatever we find. Let’s go up there and take a look. If we do find any survivors, we’ll drag them off to market and split the profit.”
A third nodded. “Sounds good. Ol’ Ding, you stay and guard the cart. We’ll head up the mountain with a few men and see if there’s anything worth taking.”
Outside Flowerpath County, flags billowed in the wind and war drums boomed as fierce combat raged. From the viewpoint of a certain white finch perched on a distant old tree, the brutal battlefield looked like a giant meat grinder, churning out death after death.
Yet Flowerpath County was no easy prey. Both the Frost Sword Sect and Floating Moon Abbey were capable sects, not pushovers to be devoured by the Fragrant General so easily.
Clashes flared back and forth, but that night, the Fragrant General seized an opening. His hidden agents inside the township triggered a surprise assault from within, coordinating with the outside to break through Flowerpath County’s gates.
Just as the bandits rushed in, a mysterious band of fighters materialized from deep within the township. Their faces were expressionless, each carrying a large, heavy sack slung over a shoulder. Something inside those sacks wriggled and squirmed.
The Fragrant General recognized them.
“The Orange Blossom Sect! The poison-cult of Southsky County...”
He hadn’t expected the Orange Blossom Sect to provide secret help to Flowerpath County. Glancing warily at the sinister sacks, he knew all too well the deadliness of their toxins. Gritting his teeth, he barked, “Retreat!”
Better to abandon the siege now and fight another day, rather than lose his entire force and be left with nothing. The Orange Blossom Sect fighters didn’t pursue. They simply watched him go before closing the township gates again.
No sooner had the gates slammed shut than the so-called Orange Blossom Sect warriors collapsed in exhaustion, sweat beading on their foreheads. One by one, they loosened the sacks, and out tumbled chickens, ducks, even piglets—nothing poisonous at all.
From a nearby alley emerged a painfully thin girl. She wore a purple gown a size too large, its fringes swaying in the torchlit night. Despite her gauntness, one could imagine she had once been a remarkable beauty.
Her name was Pang Yuanhua. Just three months ago, she was known as the county’s most elegant woman and its keenest strategist. Now, no one knew why she had wasted away to skin and bones, or what grim fate had bestowed upon her this frail condition.
But her plan had worked. She had bluffed the Fragrant General with a fake display of venomous reinforcements. The moment she appeared, the disguised Orange Blossom Sect fighters all rose to heap praise on her.
“Lady Pang, your clever scheme sent those bandits running for their lives!”
“Indeed. Your mind surpasses anyone else in Flowerpath County, likely in many other places, too.”
“Hah! That so-called Fragrant General will be furious when he learns he got tricked and marched his men right back out after finally breaking through the gate!”
Pang Yuanhua listened without a flicker of emotion, her face drawn.
A tall, broad-shouldered woman stood behind her, wearing a teal coat of chain mail with matching arm straps and gripping a gleaming sword. She leaned into Pang Yuanhua’s ear.
“You don’t seem particularly happy about the victory,” the swordswoman said. Her name was Pang Han, clearly one of Pang Yuanhua’s loyal followers.
Pang Yuanhua forced a smile for the crowd, then said quietly, “I’m fine.” After a pause, she told Pang Han, “Let’s head back. The Fragrant General won’t make another move right away.”
“Yes.” Pang Han, ever obedient, turned to follow.