The great army crossed the sea from Quanming and arrived at Qicheng, a port in Hanzhou, then proceeded toward Shuanghuan City. More than three hundred years ago, when Shuanghuan City was still called the Northern Capital, merchants from Leizhou brought fire-silk cocoons here and paid hefty sums to hire craftsmen from the Eastern Continent. During the brief thirty days of the driest season each July, they wove the fire-silk into heavy brocade. It was said that even in the icy northern reaches of Shangzhou, a single garment made from this brocade could ward off the biting frost. Thus, it was named "Frost-Return Brocade" and became exceedingly precious. Gradually, the place came to be known by the name of its famous product. As the territory of the Zhen Dynasty expanded northward, and the northern tribes retreated, the people of the Eastern Continent renamed the Northern Capital as Shuanghuan City, making it the capital of Hanzhou under the Great Zhen.
Traveling westward from Shuanghuan, the scenery grew increasingly distinct from that of the Eastern Continent. Along the way, wherever there was water, lush meadows flourished, dotted with herds of cattle and sheep, and prosperous towns thrived. Beyond these oases lay nothing but gravel and barren deserts. The northern climate was harsh and cold, and every winter, the Huku tribes would cross the Piro Mountain Pass to migrate south, seizing pastures and livestock. Therefore, every five years during the autumn troop rotation, 70,000 seasoned soldiers and 30,000 new recruits would garrison at Huangquan Pass, with 30,000 veterans returning to the Eastern Continent in the spring.
During the reign of the previous emperor, the usurper Chu Fengyi took advantage of the weakened defenses in the capital during the autumn-winter troop rotation to rise in rebellion. Rebel generals such as Wang Yannian, Cao Guang, and Luo Siyuan also seized territories and stirred chaos, plunging the Eastern Continent into turmoil. It was then that the seventeen-year-old Prince Xu, Chu Zhongxu, led the Capital Garrison and various loyalist forces in a grueling eight-year campaign to unify the realm. He ascended the throne as Emperor Xu, adopting the era name "Tianxiang." Now, it was the thirteenth year of Tianxiang. In this autumn's rotation of the three major garrisons, in addition to the usual 30,000 troops from each camp, an additional 30,000 new recruits were deployed, significantly increasing the burden of military conscription and labor. While there was some discontent in the court, it was not merely about the additional 90,000 conscripts this year. The real concern was that these troops were originally intended to bolster the Imperial Guard and the 200,000-strong Capital Garrison. Any weakening of the capital's defenses drew opposition, particularly from veteran officials, as the rebellion of the usurper Chu Fengyi twenty-one years ago had left a deeply painful scar in their memories.
"Strange..." Zhang Chengqian squinted slightly against the northern wind carrying yellow sand.
Haishi caught up from behind and asked, "What's wrong?" "We're traveling from southeast to west. Every year before the heavy snow blocks the mountains in October, we usually encounter some daring Leizhou merchants rushing to transport saffron, kapok, and musk into Jiaman. With 130,000 troops wintering at Huangquan Pass this year, the Huku wouldn’t likely choose this time to pick a fight. The roads in Hanzhou should be safer than ever." As he spoke, the seasoned border general shifted his gaze to his hands holding the reins, muttering as if explaining to Haishi or simply talking to himself. "But it’s been eerily quiet along the way—no Southern Pira, Chola, or Nihwara people. Damn, it’s cold." "Are you saying the Huku have already reached Huangquan Pass..." Haishi looked toward the northwest. The Gobi stretched vast and desolate, while the overcast sky seemed fraught with hidden dangers, unpredictable and ominous."If they were to attack Huangquan Pass, we should have received word by the time we crossed Frost Return. But at this time of year, all the seasonal springs in the Gobi Desert should have dried up. Apart from the water and vegetation along the river in the Pilaro Mountain Valley, everywhere else is barren, rugged, and impassable. If they aren’t storming Huangquan Pass, where else could they go?" A gust of wind swept a white fleck past Haishi’s eyes, landing on the back of her hand. When she looked closely, the feather-like object had turned into a drop of icy, murky water. Startled, she looked up at the sky. Leaden clouds churned restlessly, scattering sparse, dull white specks. The wind suddenly turned dry and bitingly cold.
It was only the end of September, yet it was already snowing.
The snowflakes grew denser, and within moments, the road several miles ahead was no longer visible. A faint commotion rippled through the long, serpentine convoy. Just as Haishi was about to order the captains to calm their troops, Zhang Chengqian abruptly seized her shoulder.
"The glacier! They came in through the glacier!" "What glacier? The Floating Mountain Glacier? That place is impassable!" Haishi winced in pain, her brow furrowing.
"In recent years, the weather has been unusually warm, causing the glacier to melt somewhat. The deep crevasses, dozens of feet deep between the ice tongue and the rocks, have gradually been filled with water and sediment. When winter comes and it freezes again, the surface becomes much smoother. But this makes the glacier prone to sliding and collapsing, making it nearly impossible to traverse. If the vibrations are too strong, it could even trigger an avalanche. That’s why we only stationed fewer than two thousand troops at Shuijing Garrison in front of the Floating Mountain Glacier. But this year, it’s snowing at the end of September on the Hanzhou route. The Hoku people—I’d wager their pastures were buried in snow as early as September, no, even the end of August!" Snowflakes clung to Zhang Chengqian’s beard, and as he shook his head vigorously, they scattered like trembling dust. "In such a rare, decades-long cold snap, the glacier would have frozen solid. Aside from taking the Pilaro Mountain Valley to Huangquan Pass, the glacier is the best route. Plus, the rugged terrain makes it easy to conceal troops and horses. If I were the Hoku, I’d choose the glacier too!" "They can’t bring much provisions, so they must be planning to plunder?" Haishi pressed urgently.
Zhang Chengqian clenched his jaw, the muscles in his cheeks taut. "Yes. Just twenty li beyond the glacier lies Shuijing Garrison. There are fewer than two thousand stationed troops and just over two thousand settlers there. Merchants traveling east and west all resupply there. Right now, we’re 550 li from Huangquan Pass and 210 li from Shuijing Garrison. We’re also escorting winter rations for 130,000 people—we can’t act recklessly. Shuijing Garrison is probably already..." "Brother Zhang, you take the grain back to camp. Let me go to Shuijing Garrison!" Haishi suddenly declared.Zhang Chengqian couldn't help but scrutinize his young colleague more closely. He had heard earlier that the newly appointed commander Fang Haishi was the third-ranked military graduate of the latest imperial examinations. Before leaving the capital, Zhang had only seen him twice. The first time was beneath the Vermilion Bird Gate, where Fang Haishi, clad in formal court attire, stood tall and straight, his skin the color of golden honey, his brows and eyes as delicate as a woman's. Rumors also circulated that he was the adopted son of a powerful eunuch, which left Zhang Chengqian disheartened. He had encountered many such privileged young officials, none of whom amounted to anything. He held little hope for this one, merely praying that the young man wouldn't die at the frontier and cause complications for the rest of them. Yet, along the journey, he began to notice the youth's resilience—how he endured every hardship as if inhabiting another's body, showing no regard for his own well-being. Now, hearing Haishi's words, Zhang grew even more concerned.
"This is your first battle, and you have no one to guide you. This is..." "Brother Zhang, the winter provisions for 130,000 men rest on your shoulders. You must not be distracted. But we cannot stand by and watch Shuijing Garrison perish. If word spreads of our inaction, who would dare to settle these lands in the future?" Zhang Chengqian knew the young man spoke reason, yet he feared he might be an inexperienced novice unaware of the battlefield's dangers. Reluctantly, he summoned several seasoned commanders and assigned eight thousand elite soldiers to Haishi. He watched as the contingent, swift as rolling tumbleweeds, vanished into the raging snowstorm toward Shuijing Garrison. Brushing the snow from his mustache, Zhang turned to the main troops behind him and barked, "Why are you standing around? Hurry up! We must reach the main camp before nightfall tomorrow!"
By the following evening, the main force of 52,000 men, escorting the winter provisions, arrived at Huangquan Camp beneath Mount Piluo. After deliberation, it was decided that two commanders would lead their five thousand cavalry units each to reinforce Shuijing Garrison. Deep into the night, shouts and whinnies erupted from the southwestern road. Zhang Chengqian rushed out of his tent to find the sky pitch black, a winding trail of torchlights approaching. At the forefront was the young man, drenched in blood, his face as pale as death. Spotting Zhang from afar, he spurred his horse forward.
"How did it go?" Zhang asked, noticing Haishi stumble as he dismounted, and quickly reached out to steady him.Haishi swallowed hard and parted her parched lips to speak. "We arrived too late. Over half of the people in Shuijing Village... are gone." The burly man clenched his jaw, then asked after a moment, "What about the Hoku people?" The young man's face, illuminated by the flickering firelight, bore a piercing gaze. "Of the three thousand two hundred Hoku, seven hundred escaped. The rest refused to surrender, and we barely managed to capture about twenty alive. We're now urgently digging trenches at the glacier pass. With insufficient guards, I thought to return and request reinforcements. On the way, I happened to meet Cavalry Commanders Lu and Chen, so I asked them to head to Shuijing Village first while I came back to report."
"With Cavalry Commanders Lu and Chen, it should be enough," said a man cloaked in azure, who had been standing behind them unnoticed until now. "You need not return to Shuijing Village. Stay here in the camp. Once the trenches are dug, the glacier route will be effectively blocked. We'll leave only a small guard. I suspect this might be a feint—the main pass is where we need manpower." Zhang Chengqian bowed respectfully. "General Tang."
Haishi realized this must be Tang Qianzi, the commander of Huangquan Garrison, and followed suit with a formal salute. Tang Qianzi, in his thirties, had been stationed at Huangquan Pass for only six years, yet his reputation was widespread. He was known as an exceptionally formidable man. For years, the Hoku had been causing disturbances along the border, with villagers suffering the loss of men, humiliation of women, and theft of livestock, all breeding deep-seated resentment. Whenever Hoku spies were captured, Tang Qianzi would order them handed over to the villagers. After the prisoners endured brutal torture and died, he would have their mutilated corpses hung at the pass. By the time the Hoku attacked again, the villagers had no room for negotiation and would fight to the death. Haishi had not expected such a formidable figure to be of average height, with refined and elegant features—more resembling a strategist or advisor than a military commander.
Tang Qianzi nodded and said, "Tell the cooks to arrange a meal for those returning from Shuijing Village immediately. Adjutant Fang will join us tonight." With nearly two thousand defenders lost at Shuijing Village, Tang Qianzi and his adjutants were in a somber mood, and the meal in the main camp was eaten in near silence. The food was nothing extravagant—coarse grains, beef, and mutton, the same as what the soldiers ate, though prepared with more care. An orderly brought out a large platter of roasted lamb, a common dish among the border folk. Drawing a knife, he carved it into large chunks, serving each person a portion that sizzled with tiny bubbles of oil. Everyone used their own knives to cut the meat into smaller pieces. Haishi drew her dagger and sliced off a corner. The lamb was tender and pink, and blood immediately seeped out, vividly reminding her of the sensation of cutting through Hoku flesh. Her face turned pale, and a wave of nausea rose in her chest.
Zhang Chengqian glanced at his young colleague beside him and asked with concern, "What's wrong? Are you unwell?" Haishi forced a smile, unwilling to appear weak, and offered no explanation.
Tang Qianzi remarked, "Adjutant Fang is young and new to battle, and the fighting was particularly brutal. It's natural to feel queasy. We were all like that once—it passes with time. But to ward off any lingering resentment, it might be wise to pay a visit to the shrine." Zhang Chengqian slapped his forehead. "How thoughtless of me! I should have taken you to the military shrine earlier."
The so-called military shrine was nothing more than a side room west of the commander's quarters, lit by an eternal lamp. Behind the dim, yellowish light hung a scroll. Though the paper showed signs of age, it was kept meticulously clean, having passed through many hands over the years, surviving countless journeys and hardships.Zhang Chengqian instructed Haishi to light three sticks of incense, bow, and kneel in reverence before stepping forward to place them in the incense burner before the scroll. As Haishi lifted her head, her gaze met a pair of narrow, phoenix-like eyes that held a profound depth, as if concealing bottomless mysteries. Her hands trembled slightly, causing ash and embers to scatter and burn red marks on the knife wound on her hand. When she looked again, the armored youth in the painting carried a long bow, one hand resting lightly on the purple-gold chiwen-engraved sword at his waist, standing guard alongside others around a central figure dressed in royal attire—there was no mistaking it. On the youth’s dignified and gentle face, a half-inch scar curved slightly upward, lending him an ambiguous, almost smiling expression.
“This is… this is…” she murmured to herself.
Zhang Chengqian nodded. “Indeed, this is from the time when His Majesty was still the Prince of Xu. Over the eight years from the Chengji Gate Rebellion to the Battle of Hongyao Plains, these were the six great generals who followed him in quelling the rebellion and subduing traitors—the renowned Six-Wing Generals who shook the world.” Tang Qianzi gazed intently at the seven vibrant figures on the scroll, recounting them one by one: “Gu Dacheng, originally a notorious bandit from Qi County; Guo Zhixing, once a minor clerk in the Yuezhou granary; Ju Qiqi, who started as a lowly maid in the pleasure quarters; Su Ming, the illegitimate second son of the famed general Su Jingfei; Amolan, of unknown origins, who fled across the sea from the kingdom of Zhenla. And these two in the center—one is the Prince of Xu, who is now the Emperor of our Great Zheng, Emperor Xu. And this one,” Tang Qianzi’s finger shifted to the armored youth, and he sighed almost imperceptibly, “is the eldest son of the late Duke Qinghai, Fang Jianming.”
A faint tremor ran deep in Haishi’s voice. “But… weren’t all the Six-Wing Generals who suppressed the rebellion already deceased?” “Yes… Guo Zhixing’s horse went mad and threw him, breaking his neck. Ju Qiqi, nearly thirty, died in difficult childbirth. Half a year later, a death-row prisoner revealed that Amolan, who had long held a grudge against Guo Zhixing, had placed caltrops—a specialty of Zhenla—between the saddle and the horse’s back and coated the stirrups with insect glue, thereby murdering Guo. Amolan fled but was killed by a hail of arrows during his escape. Shortly after, Fang Jianming succumbed to a sudden, severe illness and died.” Each word was spoken with propriety, yet carried an undercurrent of peril. A sharp chill seeped into Haishi’s spine with Tang Qianzi’s detached tone, coiling deeper as if to freeze her very marrow.
But no—Haishi knew with certainty it wasn’t true. At least one of the Six-Wing Generals was still alive. Yet, why had Fang Jianming, who should have died from that sudden illness, concealed his identity and secluded himself deep within the palace as Fang Zhu, the Chief Steward of the Phoenix Court? What had caused the once brilliant and untamed young warrior, who had dominated the battlefield over a decade ago, to shed his edge and become the gentle, unassuming man in blue robes who had raised her for ten years?
“After that,” Tang Qianzi continued, “Gu Dacheng allowed his troops to plander freely and was slain by a wandering vigilante. Su Ming, on a diplomatic mission to Shangzhou, vanished in the desert between Juzi and Dumulan in southwestern Hanzhou, caught in a sandstorm before even leaving the border. In less than five years since the founding of the dynasty, not a single one of the Six-Wing Generals remained. Truly, the heavens are fickle, turning clouds to rain and fate to mystery.” The final verdict felt like a tangible, icy object sliding coldly over Haishi’s skin.Hai Shi turned her head to look at the commander of Huangquan Garrison, who was shrouded in the dim shadows, and recalled the words Fang Zhu had spoken to her on the eve of their departure. Against the backdrop of Tianqi's brilliant nightscape, his tone was as calm and ordinary as ever, as if he were merely asking her to close a window or grind ink for him. "I want you to protect Tang Qianzi as you would protect me. But once I send you a letter from the capital, no matter what it says, kill him as quickly as possible." And so, the handsome new adjutant, who looked as delicate as a young girl, nodded and remarked casually to the commander, "The will of heaven is unpredictable, isn't it?"
The spring, summer, and autumn seasons at Huangquan Pass were brief and distinct, while winter was long and seemingly endless. Once the snow began to fall, it never seemed to stop. The snow covering the mountain peaks gradually spread toward the azure slopes, looking from afar as if white flowers had hastily bloomed across the ridges. This winter had arrived abruptly and harshly, and it was clear that the spring thaw would be especially late. "This year, the migratory birds of the Mingmeng Sea will likely not pass through the pass until April or May," Zhang Chengqian said. Every year, during their spring and autumn migrations, the birds would always traverse Huangquan Pass.
Back when they were still on the road to Huangquan Pass, Zhang Chengqian had pointed out the Mingmeng Sea to Hai Shi. The people of the Eastern Continent called it the Mingmeng Sea because of the fog that rose at night, obscuring its view. The border inhabitants, regardless of whether a lake was freshwater or saltwater, referred to them all as "seas," hence the simple name. The Ni Hualuo merchants called the lake Cuo'e Mubo, with "Cuo'e" meaning lake or sea, and "Mubo" meaning azure. The Huku people called it Kuku Nuor, the "Blue Sea."
On the Gobi plains, it was not uncommon for mountains to appear deceptively close, only to take half a day's hard riding to reach. The Mingmeng Sea seemed no more than three to five miles away, but to actually approach it would likely require a galloping horse for half a day. Hai Shi said indifferently, "I don't like water," and so she did not go. From afar, through the dusty haze, she could see a patch of dark gray water, though she couldn't tell if it had frozen over. She had not seen the sea since she was seven. No matter how vast and magnificent the waters of the north might be, they always had boundaries, unlike the sea. The boundless, bitter, azure waters weighed heavily on her memories, often waking her from nightmares in the middle of the night, the taste of densely beaded cold sweat on her lips reminiscent of seawater.At the Yellow Springs Pass, the Pilo Mountains abruptly split into two sections: the Eastern Pilo Mountains and the Western Pilo Mountains. The Western Pilo Mountains lie slightly to the north, with a perennial spring on their southern slopes, from which the Pilo River originates, flowing southward until it merges into the Misty Sea. Between the two towering, cloud-piercing snow peaks, a zigzagging narrow river valley has been carved out. North of the perennial spring, a treacherous mountain pass leads directly to the Red Medicine Plains outside the mountain entrance. This is the only route spanning nearly two thousand li of the Pilo Mountains that connects the north and the south. Although it is a river valley and a mountain pass, it still stands three hundred zhang higher than the flatlands. With an experienced guide, one could cross it in a day and a night. When the Pilo River reaches the valley of the slightly more southern Eastern Pilo Mountains, it diverts underground, resurfacing at the foot of the mountains, leaving behind a forty-li-long dry riverbed carved out millennia ago. The Yellow Springs Pass is situated on this dry riverbed, securing this vital route and serving as an impregnable fortress in the northwest of the Zheng Dynasty. Beyond the Pilo Mountains, the Han Province stretches out in open plains. After crossing south by boat, there are few natural barriers along the two-thousand-li journey toward the imperial capital. If the Yellow Springs Pass were to fall, the northwestern Han Province would be left wide open, putting the eastern provinces in grave danger. The strategic importance of the Yellow Springs Pass is self-evident.
Haishi stood before the camp at the foot of the mountain, looking up. Dozens of torchlights, like strings of pearls, flickered along the winding river valley in the night. According to Zhang Chengqian, two hundred soldiers were stationed at the pass in rotating shifts every three hours, with additional sentries posted along the northern route.
"If the Huku people have plentiful water and grass, you couldn't drive them south even with a whip. But if there's a drought, a freeze, or an outbreak of livestock disease... they come like locusts," Zhang Chengqian said, shaking his head.
A group of ragged children ran past Haishi, laughing and tussling, tugging and scratching at the legs of the sentry at the camp entrance, nearly knocking him off balance. The sentry, smiling, scolded the grimy children and gave each a light kick. Haishi was surprised to hear the children speaking an unfamiliar barbarian tongue. "Where did these little savages come from in the middle of the night in the military camp?" Zhang Chengqian shook his head again. "Those with black hair and black eyes are Jaman people. They say this year's snow disaster left them starving and freezing, so they risked their lives to flee here. Several groups have arrived over the past few days." "And they're just kept in the military camp like this?" "Not at all. With the snow so deep now, we have to let them stay temporarily. Once their numbers reach about a thousand, they'll be sent to Shui Jing Settlement to learn how to make a living." As they spoke, shouts arose from the pass, and someone on the mountain waved a torch. Zhang Chengqian squinted to see. "Speak of the devil, another group has arrived. Look at the torch signals: one vertical flame in front means they're not enemies, and six horizontal flames behind indicate six hundred people." Haishi, however, furrowed his brow and slowed his pace, intently watching the Pilo River flowing past the camp. The cooks and their assistants had broken the ice by the riverbank to fetch water with buckets, but for some reason, they were now making a commotion.
"What's going on?" Zhang Chengqian noticed Haishi had not followed and turned to see him squatting beside the cooks.His young colleague hurried over and showed him the damp object lying in his left palm. It was a broken wooden plaque, polished smooth and dark from years of use. Characters had once been carved into it, but now only half of the character for "spring" remained discernible.
"Brother Zhang, this is..." Zhang Chengqian’s face suddenly paled. "This is the waist token of the guard on duty at the spring!" "On the way to the pass, one must pass by the Unfrozen Spring, right?" "That is... the only route." Zhang Chengqian turned and ordered the gate guards, "Light the signal fire! Tell those above not to open the gate for anyone." "I’ll take a few men up first!" Haishi said, then turned and sprinted toward his own tent.
"Wait!" Zhang Chengqian called out to the youth. "Take a few quick and experienced men with you, and wait up at the Suspended Tower first. Bring plenty of arrows." "Yes!" Haishi had already run far ahead, his silvery voice piercing through the night.
"Don't die on me like this," Zhang Chengqian thought silently as he hurried toward the central army.
As Haishi ran, he discreetly wiped his right hand dry on his lapel. The pearly white glow in his palm gradually faded until it vanished completely.
Haishi and the others raced all the way, reaching the pass in less than half an hour. The officer on duty, Fu Yi, was a lean, dark-skinned man in his forties. After listening to Haishi’s hurried report of the unusual situation, Fu Yi’s brows furrowed deeper and deeper, and he fell into a heavy silence.
"Commander Fu?" Haishi frowned slightly, his clear, bright eyes gazing intently at Fu Yi from beneath his war helmet.
"Lord Fang, please take a look over there," Fu Yi said, and soldiers ushered them to an arrow slit.
Peering through the palm-sized opening, Haishi couldn’t help but draw a soft, sharp breath.
Huangquan Pass was built to follow the contours of the mountain, its entrance extremely narrow but toweringly steep, like a gate along a zigzagging path. North of the pass lay Jiaman to the east and Huku to the west. From this vantage point, the borders between the two nations were indistinguishable—only a vast, desolate plain stretched out before them. In the 674 years since the founding of the Great Zheng dynasty, the empire had never launched a northern invasion. The pass had originally been built for trade, and its gate was somewhat wider, though still only wide enough for two horses to pass side by side.
The founding of the Huku nation had occurred just over three hundred years earlier, during the reigns of Emperors Zhuang and Mu. During the Duan dynasty, the climate north of Tongyun Mountain, near the border of Ningzhou in Hanzhou, turned harsh and unpredictable. A tribe calling themselves the Huku were forced to abandon their ancestral homeland and began wandering as nomads across the grasslands of Hanzhou. In Huku legends, their people were born of the Heavenly Horse, who was herself the daughter of a dragon. The name "Huku" in the barbarian tongue meant "Dragon’s Descendants." Other tribes on the grasslands, however, scornfully referred to them as "Buboluo"—mongrel foals. The Huku were taller than most barbarians, with golden hair and blue eyes, leading many to believe they were the mixed-blood descendants of barbarians, Kuafu, and the Winged Tribe. Some even argued they could not be considered a true branch of the barbarian race. Yet this wandering tribe grew like a lone wolf separated from its pack. Four hundred years after leaving their homeland, under the leadership of King Balan, the Huku had become one of the most powerful tribes on the grasslands. Some claimed that King Balan carried the Bronze Blood of the Pasur lineage—the blood of Gu Xuan—and that he had descended upon the mortal world to reap human lives, much like farmers in the Eastern Lands harvested rice. Of course, these were merely rumors. The Pasur clan of Qingyang had begun to decline after the death of Lord Zhao Wu, Lü Guichen, and by the Duan dynasty, they had faded into obscurity, their whereabouts unknown. In King Balan’s time, the territory of the Zheng dynasty in the Eastern Lands had expanded as far south as the Piro Mountains. After sweeping across northern Hanzhou and conquering the Youjin and Chunzhi tribes, the Huku pressed southward, repeatedly attacking Huangquan Pass. From then on, to make the pass easier to defend, its gate was rebuilt into a lifting gate, narrow enough for only one person to lead a horse through at a time.Now, along the narrow snow-covered path, clusters of murky, shadowy figures hunched their backs, quietly and tightly pressed together, the line stretching into the unseen darkness ahead. Occasionally, one or two faces among the crowd lifted, their features pale and indistinct, casting a glance toward the city tower before sinking back into the shadows as if without hope.
"Those people are genuine Gaman refugees, with black hair and black eyes. The Hokku people, with their golden hair and blue eyes, are a distinct branch among the barbarian tribes—easily distinguishable at a glance. That's why they've forced the Gaman people to act as human shields," Fu Yi explained as he stood up, picking up his helmet from beside him.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs as several more officers hurried up, relaying General Tang's order: "Open the northern gate and advance, push them out." "Open the northern gate and advance..." Fu Yi's face was dark and unreadable. "When will the main force arrive?" "Reporting to Lord Fu, the Great King's thousand riders and the Lesser King's thousand riders, each leading four thousand men, will arrive in three-quarters of an hour." Fu Yi let out a long sigh, pounding his lower back with a fist, his joints cracking audibly. "Thirteen years without setting foot on the Red Medicine Plains, and my body has grown old." A desolate, small sound echoed against the mountain walls. Hai Shi focused her gaze and saw, beneath the city tower, a tiny lamb's head emerging from the tattered felt robe of a dark-eyed Gaman girl.
"Lord Fang, I've heard you are skilled in various martial arts, with riding and archery being your specialties. This year, you placed third in the military examinations, yet your performance in riding and archery outshone all others, earning cheers from the entire arena," Fu Yi remarked after taking a few steps, suddenly turning back.
"Lord Fu, you flatter me. It was only due to the humility of my peers," Hai Shi replied.
"Then, I entrust the Hanging Tower to you, Lord Fang. Take a few skilled archers with you." "Understood." Hai Shi saluted, then turned and dashed off nimbly.
The Hanging Tower wasn't actually a tower but rather a few natural caves on the eastern cliff face, about two or three li north of the Yellow Spring Pass. Accessible only by a steep, treacherous path from within the pass, it overlooked the area below. Though intended to serve as an arrow tower, the pass had long been free of conflict, and the caves had fallen into disuse, storing only arrows, coarse felt, tung oil, and a small supply of food and water.
Hai Shi led twenty archers up to the Hanging Tower, concealing themselves within the caves, holding their breath and waiting for the right moment. Faint noises gradually drifted from the southern valley as a troop emerged—all clad in white robes and mounted on white horses, moving swiftly and silently across the brilliantly lit snow. They numbered around a hundred and fifty riders.
"Impressive, they've brought out nearly half of the Qilin Battalion," whispered one of the archers lying beside her, rubbing his bowstring with ox fat. "Those Gaman people have no way out." "What can we do?" another replied, shaking his head. "The Hokku barbarians must be starving mad this winter. Once that gate opens, I fear it won't close again. Military strategies have always taught the use of fire-ox formations, never using living humans as shields. To seize our provisions, they've resorted to such wicked deeds. In the end, it's not our fault." From the Hanging Tower, the shadowy figures of Hokku cavalry could be faintly seen quietly turning their horses southward. Meanwhile, the Qilin Battalion had formed ranks before the pass, with over seven thousand additional troops positioned eight zhang behind them, stretching five li along the winding, treacherous valley. Caught between the two poised and formidable forces, the six hundred ragged Gaman refugees huddled together in silent fear."This year, the Hokkuru barbarians are starving. Knowing we have grain at the pass, they’re like wolves catching the scent of blood. They were completely wiped out at Wellspring Village, and now they dare attack Netherpass—but if they’re trying to circle three thousand li from the west for food, they’ll likely starve to death before they find any." "Judging by their formation, they’re here to fight to the death." In the cold, dark cave, murmuring voices coiled around like countless invisible hands. Haishi suddenly felt the silver chainmail clasped too tightly over her chest, suffocating her.
The black iron portcullis of Netherpass was immensely thick, with sixteen bronze chains as thick as bowls, yet it rose without a sound.
A faint stir rippled through the Garman crowd. A lamb in a young girl’s arms suddenly broke free, its four slender hooves tapping crisply on the snow. The lamb was pure white, with a streak of glossy black fur running from its forehead to its nose. Agile and light, with dark, gleaming eyes, it was likely a breeding lamb brought along for the planned restoration of pastures. Curious, the lamb took two steps forward, gazing at the forest of white horse legs revealed behind the rising portcullis. As the gate lifted higher, hundreds of gleaming silver greaves dazzled in the snowy light.
The lamb stretched its tender neck and bleated. A fierce gust of wind—an arrow—pierced its small body, splattering a patch of blood onto the paper-white snow. From the battlements and arrow slits of Netherpass, archers loosed volleys of arrows like swarms of locusts. A blood-stained hand reached for the lamb but was pinned to the snow by a whistling arrow.
A sharp whistle sounded, and the Qilin Battalion’s one hundred fifty cavalry surged forth like silver dragons, trampling over the chaotic snow and corpses, crashing like a raging tide into the first wave of charging Hokkuru riders. The Hokkuru wielded ring-pommeled swords in one hand and shields with spikes in the other—agile and powerful. During the reigns of Emperors Zhuang and Mu, Netherpass defenders had suffered greatly from these tactics. Later, the Imperial Armory specially crafted five-foot-five spears for Netherpass, roughly the height of a short man, allowing ease of use on narrow mountain paths. These spears were sharp and agile, capable of striking the tiny gaps between the Hokkuru’s shields and blades. The Qilin Battalion advanced fiercely, churning up clouds of snow as a silver wave pushed northward. Where the white light passed, Hokkuru corpses—both men and horses—piled up on the mountain path. In less than half a moment, most of the first dozen rows of Hokkuru cavalry were shattered and trampled. The remaining Hokkuru shouted in chaos as the second wave advanced. Another whistle from the Qilin Battalion, and over a hundred bloodied five-foot-five spears leveled in unison, plunging into the fray and locking in close combat.
The hanging tower stood north of the gate, facing the backs of the Hokkuru vanguard, forming a pincer attack with the archers on the walls.
Haishi knelt on one knee at the opening of the hanging tower, drawing a gold archer’s ring inlaid with pale green glass from her waist. She examined it carefully before slipping it onto her thumb. The ring, originally made for a man, was too large for her. Like a gentlewoman winding thread around a finger ring, she had wrapped it with green silk to fit."Armor-piercing arrows," Haishi said, exhaling softly as she warmed the bowstring. She drew three falcon-feathered armor-piercing arrows from her quiver, holding them between her fingers while her thumb steadily drew the six-stone bow to its full draw. Aiming at the rear of the Qiku third formation, she commanded, "Loose." The arrows descended upon the Qiku ranks like a swarm of locusts. Caught off guard by the attack from behind, the Qiku soldiers stumbled and trampled over one another, trapped between the front and rear formations with no room to maneuver.
Hearing the chaos and shoving from behind, the Qiku soldiers in the second formation suspected an ambush. Panic set in as two junior commanders barked orders, rallying their troops to reorganize and charge recklessly into the Qilin Camp's formation. The front-line soldiers of the Qilin Camp interlocked their five-and-a-half-foot spears, forming a solid line to block the Qiku shields, then swiftly drew their narrow-bladed ring-pommeled swords to engage in close combat.
"Take down the fifth formation. We'll clear the path for the Qilin Camp. Alternate volleys of three arrows each. No one stops until I give the order," the young commander said in a low, steady voice. Twenty-one six-stone bows were drawn to their full arcs in silence.
"Loose!" The twang of bowstrings cut through the air like a sudden downpour. Trapped on the mountain path with no means of escape, the Qiku soldiers in the southernmost third, fourth, and fifth formations—over a hundred men—were severed from their northern main force. They endured the relentless onslaught of arrows while facing the Qilin Camp's silver-tide assault, their ranks thinning rapidly as the arrowstorm showed no sign of ceasing.
By the time Haishi shouted, "Halt!" only the last row of Qiku soldiers remained standing, soon cut down like autumn crops beneath the Qilin Camp's vanguard.
A sudden chill brushed past Haishi's ear. Beside her, an archer clutched his shoulder, a Qiku-style sea-eagle feathered arrow lying on the ground—a clear sign of a grazing wound.
The road below the hanging tower was already littered with scattered arrows and corpses. Further north, beyond the tower's limited line of sight, the situation remained unseen. Risking exposure, Haishi leaned out from the tower's opening to peer northward. She spotted several Qiku archers in the main formation shooting indiscriminately toward the hanging tower, while a dozen more had formed a line, drawing their bows against the advancing Qilin Camp. The Qilin Camp, equipped for close combat and lacking shields, faced devastating losses.
"You two, hold my legs," Haishi gritted her teeth, pulling back and sitting with her back to the opening as she instructed the two nearby archers. She clenched three arrows between her teeth and gathered three more in her hand. Gripping her bow with her left hand, she leaned backward, suspending her upper body outside the stone wall of the opening, and fired three rapid shots upside down at the Qiku archers in the main formation—each arrow finding its mark. Among them, she noticed a tall, burly archer with particularly conspicuous armor, likely their leader. She took the three arrows from her teeth and shot them in quick succession, like meteors, aimed directly at him. Haishi’s arrows were specialized: the first two were armor-piercing, followed by a bloodletting arrow designed to penetrate weak points in the armor and inflict severe damage with its grooved tip. As soon as she straightened up, she heard several thuds—Qiku arrows striking the stone wall in rapid succession. Turning to look, she saw the tall archer gripping the three arrows clustered in his throat, let out a roar, and yanked them out. Though unclear in the distant snowy light, those around him stumbled back, wiping their faces—likely splattered with blood.
Seizing the chaos, Haishi leaned out once more, ignoring the hail of arrows, and fired swiftly and continuously. One by one, the Qiku archers in the formation fell.
"Commander Fang!" The soldiers in the hanging tower cried out, their voices strained with urgency and alarm.Her gaze shifted, and an arrow was cutting through the air, arriving before her eyes in an instant—unavoidable. Even the blood groove embedded in the triangular arrowhead was clearly visible.
She widened her bright, piercing eyes fiercely.
From the suspended tower, the archers looking down could only see the sharp tip of Haishi’s chin tilted upward, while the arrow remained firmly lodged in her inverted face, its shaft humming and trembling incessantly.
By then, the vanguard of the Qilin Battalion had already crashed into the main formation of the Hoku forces. Infantry swarmed out afterward, and the narrow passage, barely ten feet wide, was instantly swarming with entangled combatants. Amid the chaos, the young man who had fired the arrow remained standing tall in his saddle, his feet planted firmly in the stirrups. He glanced up at the suspended tower before leaping off his horse. Immediately, someone brought over the body of the previously slain archer captain. The young man reached out, removed the dead man’s helmet, grasped a handful of his golden hair, and with his saber, severed the head. Holding it up to his eyes, he kissed it repeatedly. But then, hearing the shouts of his attendants, he glanced up and saw a long arrow speeding toward him. His expression changed abruptly. In that split second, a man in white robes rushed to shield the youth, desperately raising his arm to block the arrow. The hawk-feathered arrowhead scraped across his palm with a metallic clang before clattering to the ground. A slight commotion stirred within the Hoku ranks, but the white-robed man remained unharmed, stepping back indifferently to stand by the young man’s horse. The youth looked up into the distance. On the cliff, the arrow that had been embedded in the face of the inverted Dazheng archer was gone. Upon closer inspection, the arrow he had just deflected was the very one he had shot earlier. It seemed the Dazheng archer had clenched the incoming arrow between her teeth and, seizing the moment of his distraction, shot it back at him.
A faint smile touched the Hoku youth’s bloodstained lips. He curled a finger mockingly toward the cliff, then hung the severed head behind his saddle. Ordering his soldiers to cover his retreat, he turned his horse and led his troops away, disappearing around a bend in the northern mountain path.
Haishi licked her front teeth and spat out a mouthful of blood. "That man is strange, as if he used some secret art. We must pursue them quickly."
"F-Fang... Fang-daren..." A young archer, about Haishi’s age, stammered, his lips trembling.
"What?" Haishi replied, slinging her horn bow over her shoulder.
"The Hoku have raised the black flag... the black flag for a fallen king... I’ve heard they don’t bury their dead—they leave the bodies for hyenas and vultures. Only when a tribal king dies on the battlefield do they send the head back to be joined with a golden body for burial..." The young archer couldn’t suppress a grin, his pale, cracked lips splitting into bloody fissures.
"Fang-daren, you shot a king! A king!"
The Hoku forces did not seem intent on prolonging the fight. They had attacked with great fanfare but retreated as swiftly as a receding tide. Haishi dashed down from the suspended tower, seized a horse, and galloped north in pursuit. Riding with the main force for over twenty li, she reached the end of the road. The only way forward was to wade upstream along a creek, skirt the foot of East Piluo Mountain, climb West Piluo Mountain, and traverse a thirty-two-li valley to reach the source of the Piluo River—the Unfrozen Spring. Beyond the spring to the north lay a narrow mountain path. By nearly noon the next day, Haishi finally caught up with Fu Yi’s unit, which was leading the pursuit. Though the Hoku retreated swiftly, they could not shake off Fu Yi’s forces, who followed them closely, maintaining a steady pace."Lord Fang, your discernment is sharp. The Hokh people never use ceremonial guards. That Left Pudu King was mingling among the crowd, and no one could distinguish him," Fu Yi said slowly. "This Left Pudu King was reckless and fond of fighting. The three thousand troops who attacked Shuijingtun were his subordinates. Originally, they were meant to lead the way and clear the path, with the main army following closely. Unexpectedly, he turned back to attack Huangquan Pass, leaving those three thousand soldiers, who were kept in the dark, at Shuijingtun as a feint. Now that he is dead, the new Left Pudu King is the half-brother of the old king. According to our scouts, they were never on good terms, so he immediately ordered a retreat." The Hokh formation no longer displayed the previous cyan banners; at the head of each unit, what fluttered now were full-length black ramie cloths.
"That is the new Left Pudu King," Fu Yi pointed to a young man heavily guarded at the rear of the Hokh ranks. The figure of the young man was obscured by the fluttering mourning banners, making it hard to see clearly. What stood out was a severed head, its golden hair twisted into a knot and hanging behind the saddle, swaying with the movements of the black-maned, snow-hoofed horse.
Haishi slightly furrowed her brows and urged her horse forward a few steps. By then, the Hokh people had reached the mouth of the mountain pass, and the vast snowfields of the far north were faintly visible below. As they rounded the wind gap, a fierce gust carrying snow and sand swept through, causing the mourning banners to flap loudly and rise straight toward the sky. In that instant, the young man turned his face slightly, revealing a tall and slender silhouette. Haishi felt as if a handful of snow had been thrust into her chest, startling her to the core. It was a face she had seen for ten years—there was no possibility of mistaking it.
"Zhuoying—!" she murmured involuntarily.
The young man seemed to have heard Haishi. He turned his head, wearing a provocative smile, and crooked his finger once more. His high nose, deep-set eyes, and thick eyebrows were identical to Zhuoying's, as was his stature. The only difference was a pair of eyes that glowed with a piercing blue. The blue-eyed youth removed his helmet, letting loose a cascade of lustrous golden hair, and issued a command in the barbarian tongue. The Hokh people responded in unison, and suddenly, all of them whipped their horses, swiftly descending the mountain. The first few units to rush out of the pass formed ranks on the left and right across the snowfield, securing the pass as cover, while the rest charged northward without hesitation. Once the entire force had exited the mountain pass, the units providing flank cover immediately reorganized and merged with the main body. Thousands of men and horses kicked up a rolling cloud of snow dust, rapidly disappearing into the northern horizon.
"That is the Red Medicine Plain," Fu Yi reined in his horse and drew a circle in the air with his whip handle, framing the snowfield north of the mountain pass.
In winter, the Red Medicine Plain was blanketed in snow; in summer, it lay barren. Not a single red medicine flower had ever bloomed there. Its name came from Princess Red Medicine. Originally a daughter of the imperial clan and the half-sister of the usurper Chu Fengyi, who had raised an army in rebellion, she was married off to the Hokh in her youth as part of a peace alliance. By the age of thirty-two, she had been married to three tribal kings in succession and had gained considerable influence. Fourteen years ago, when Chu Fengyi was defeated and fled north, passing through Huangquan Pass into Hokh territory, Princess Red Medicine dispatched troops to meet him. The then yet-to-ascend Emperor Xu also led his forces in pursuit, arriving at this very location. A fierce battle raged for four days and five nights, resulting in the annihilation of over fifty thousand enemy troops. The rebel army was completely wiped out, and the Hokh forces suffered heavy losses. Gu Dacheng, one of the Six Wing Generals, beheaded Chu Fengyi, while Princess Red Medicine was trampled to death in the chaos of battle, with only three fragmented limbs recovered. After the battle, the twenty-li plain was a gruesome mix of snow, mud, flesh, and blood, stained red and black. The following year, unseasonably warm weather caused a sparse, patchy growth of spring grass to sprout on the Red Medicine Plain. Livestock refused to eat it, and the elders called it corpse-rot grass.In those turbulent times, the relentless tide of history surged like a merciless, roaring torrent. A single, seemingly insignificant ripple in the annals of the official chronicles could signify the loss of thousands, even tens of thousands, of lives.
"Every Qingming Festival, the twenty-mile stretch of the Red Medicine Plains is filled with women and children offering sacrifices." Fu Yi paused, then continued, "Fourteen years have passed. The women have visibly aged, and the children have grown. Surely, this world should have found peace by now." By the time they returned to the camp, not a single Gaman child could be seen running about. That night, the Gaman people inside the camp, having waited in vain for their kin to cross the pass, grew restless upon discovering the army advancing up the mountain. In the end, they all met their doom. Yet, even without the unrest, they had no chance of survival.
"We couldn’t possibly let them go out and spread the word that we stood by and did nothing to save them." Fu Yi’s face, weathered and dark, remained as unreadable as ever.
OpenNovel