The corpse of Li Chao Yang, encased in ice, was delivered to Changgeng Pass by Li Min in the dead of night.
At that time, Xin Mei was fast asleep, completely unaware of the subtle disturbances around her. The senses between War Ghosts were extraordinarily sharp, so when footsteps that didn’t belong to the soldiers within the pass crunched through the snow outside the tent, Lu Qianqiao, who had yet to fall asleep, opened his eyes.
Gently lifting the tent flap, a cold wind carrying fine snowflakes rushed in. Lu Qianqiao narrowed his eyes slightly and immediately spotted Li Min standing not far away. In his arms, he held a massive, deep-blue block of ice, his expression blank as he stared back.
"Young Master..." His voice was hoarse, even filled with despair. "Why did you abandon Madam?"
A sudden unease rose in Lu Qianqiao’s heart as he fixed his gaze on the ice in Li Min’s arms—was there someone inside? He thought he caught sight of a familiar halberd and the edge of a snow-white robe.
"...I secretly followed. I heard your conversation with Madam. You had already agreed to return to the clan! Why did things turn out like this?!"
The enormous block of ice was hurled toward him. Lu Qianqiao caught it and found himself face-to-face with the figure encased within.
Li Chao Yang... Her time seemed frozen at the moment she was sealed, her eyes still wide with fury, lips slightly parted as if she were about to let out a roar of pain.
He stiffened.
"Young Master, between your wife and the survival of our clan, which is more important to you?"
After the initial shock, Lu Qianqiao gradually regained his composure. He glanced at Li Min, ignoring his provocative expression and words.
"...She isn’t dead yet." Holding the ice, Lu Qianqiao turned toward another nearby tent. "A Perfect War Devil wouldn’t die so easily. This ice is strange... We’ll talk after breaking it."
What encased Li Chao Yang’s body wasn’t ordinary ice but rather an extremely vicious and lethal curse. Even under the scorching sun of midsummer, it wouldn’t melt in the slightest. Had this curse not instantly sealed her senses, no ice in the world—no matter how unyielding—could have held Li Chao Yang for long. She would have broken free long ago.
There were many immortals skilled in curses, but when it came to such sinister and ruthless techniques, none surpassed the Youhu Clan.
The significance of a Perfect War Devil’s existence to the War Ghost Clan was self-evident. For a figure as revered as a deity and leader to be reduced to such a state was undoubtedly a devastating blow.
Was this the Youhu Clan’s goal from the very beginning?
The ice was placed in the center of the tent. Lu Qianqiao unwound his long whip and tossed it lightly. As if alive, the whip coiled around the ice in layers. With several sharp cracks, the massive block split apart. Li Chao Yang collapsed limply, caught by Li Min, who gently laid her on the bed.
"...Why isn’t Madam waking up?" The night’s shocks had left him on edge. Her eyes were closed, her lips sealed, her body limp—yet there was no breath, and her skin was cold as ice.
"The ice was just an illusion. She’s under a curse."
Lu Qianqiao lit a fire in the tent, calmly adding charcoal to the flames.
Li Min couldn’t stand his calmness and snapped, "Young Master! No matter what, Madam is your mother!"
He said nothing.He had never felt much emotion toward this woman... unlike ordinary people in the mortal world. She hadn't raised him, cooked his meals, washed his clothes, or comforted him with laughter and words. In fact... they had met only a handful of times, and the words exchanged between them could be counted on one hand.
Now that he was nearing the state of a Perfect War Devil, any semblance of emotion toward her had become even more irrelevant.
He felt somewhat lost—she really shouldn't have been like this... Li Chao Yang should have been like an unshakable mountain, indestructible, imperishable, devoid of any fragile emotions—she was the most perfect existence among the War Ghosts.
Li Chao Yang had always been a powerhouse. He never needed to explain or justify anything to her because she neither had emotions nor the capacity to understand. That was how they had always interacted—if words failed, they resorted to blows, which somehow felt simpler. Neither wished to break this routine, lest they both end up in awkwardness.
His original plan had been to personally escort Xin Mei back to the Imperial Mausoleum before returning to the clan with Li Chao Yang.
But the enemy had seized this precise moment of vulnerability to strike her down.
He remembered that day atop Mount Li, facing the endless snow and the blood-like sunset, when her face had shown the faintest hint of expression for the first time. It wasn’t happiness or contentment, but a hollow emptiness dredged up from memories of the past. Could she not even recognize her own regret?
If... if she hadn’t worn that expression, he wouldn’t have agreed to return to the clan to deal with the Youhu Clan together.
It was the first time they had met without coming to blows. But if she didn’t wake up, it would also be the last.
Lu Qianqiao closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Take her back to the clan," he ordered. "Leave immediately."
Li Min still couldn’t accept it. "Young Master, surely you don’t intend to stay here and fight for that pig-headed emperor? All for the sake of your wife?!"
The whip struck his chest without a sound, sending Li Min flying backward, tearing through the tent flap. He scrambled up in terror, blood trickling from his lips, not daring to utter another word.
"Li Min, first, you have no right to question me like that." Lu Qianqiao retracted the whip, looking down at him impassively. "Second, if you ever refer to Xin Mei with hostility again, I will kill you."
Li Min stared in horror at his eyes—those pitch-black irises were slowly turning red, blood-red, filled with icy killing intent.
Instinctively, he lowered his body in submission.
"Take her back. I’ll be there soon."
By the time Lu Qianqiao returned to the main tent, Xin Mei was already awake, hugging the blankets with wide, dazed eyes. Hearing his footsteps, she whipped her head around and exclaimed, "Lu Qianqiao! Disappearing in the middle of the night—what’s wrong with you?!"
He brushed the snowflakes off his clothes before sitting on the edge of the bed, the chill still clinging to him, and stroked her hair. "Couldn’t sleep without me?"
Xin Mei rolled her eyes. "I woke up from hunger! You tore all my clothes, so I couldn’t even get up to heat food!"
He smiled. "I’ll heat it. Stay in bed."
This New Year’s feast had been nothing but trouble. By the time Lu Qianqiao took the dishes out of the scalding food box and set the bowls and spoons for them to finally eat, dawn was nearly breaking.
Xin Mei curled up under the blankets, eyes closed, muttering weakly, "Is it ready yet?"
She was so dizzy from hunger that she felt her long-deceased mother beckoning to her from the depths of the darkness.Lu Qianqiao placed the meal on the bedside table and scooped up a piece of chicken leg meat: "Open your mouth."
Her clothes had been torn to shreds, from the inside out. With nothing to wear, she had no choice but to stay in bed, enjoying the rare privilege of being personally served by the General.
A spoonful of cabbage, a spoonful of fish soup, a spoonful of chicken—Xin Mei chewed and asked indistinctly, "Where's the tofu?"
Lu Qianqiao looked troubled at the bowl of tofu that had crumbled beyond recognition. It had shattered spectacularly—after the long journey, falling off a cliff, and being reheated repeatedly, it had finally disintegrated into bits in his hands.
"Uh, how did it get so broken..." Xin Mei lamented deeply.
With a serious expression, he said, "It's fine. I'll eat all of it."
She sat up wrapped in the blanket, fiddled with the bowl using her chopsticks, and finally, with quick eyes and nimble hands, picked up a piece of tofu vaguely resembling a head. Beaming, she brought it to his lips: "The head's still intact—here, eat it!"
...Why did this scenario keep repeating itself? Lu Qianqiao numbly swallowed the "head." Her tofu was always like this.
"Lu Qianqiao, are you still going back to the War Ghost Clan?"
During the lighthearted mealtime, she suddenly asked casually.
His feeding hand paused. After a moment, he answered quietly, "Yes... Some things must be settled. It's too dangerous, so I can't take you."
"When are you leaving?"
"...Tomorrow."
"You mean at dawn? You're leaving at dawn?"
"Yes."
A warm, soft hand suddenly touched his cheek. Lu Qianqiao looked at her with a faint smile: "What's wrong? Full already?"
Xin Mei stared at him for a long time, then tightened her arms around his neck, causing the blanket to slip from her chest. That... was a sudden exposure. Lu Qianqiao instantly felt his arm holding the bowl stiffen.
"What's wrong? You seem a little unhappy," she leaned in and whispered.
Sometimes, she was unexpectedly perceptive.
He pulled the blanket up, wrapping her tightly. The exposure was a minor issue; catching a cold would be far worse.
"I just... don’t want to leave you," he said.
Xin Mei’s mouth fell open in surprise. She suddenly reached out to feel his forehead, then peeked outside at the sky, muttering, "No fever... The sun didn’t rise from the west either..."
"..."
Rarely baring his heart to say something sweet—why was this her reaction?
"Since it’s not dawn yet, you eat, and I’ll read the letters everyone wrote for you."
Xin Mei patted his shoulder, turned around, and rummaged through the messy bed for a long time before finally finding the crumpled letter resembling dried pickled vegetables. Wrapped in the blanket, she began reading: "Si Lan says, General, I’m sorry! I actually doubted you! I deserve to die ten thousand deaths! No! Even dying ten thousand times wouldn’t atone for the heinous crimes I’ve committed against the General..."
There was a long string after that. Among all the Demons, his words were the most, filling nearly half the page. Si Lan had recently taken after Zhao Guanren’s ways.
She continued reading: "Zhao Guanren says, General, come back soon. I can’t bear being alone in the Imperial Mausoleum."
He lazed around all day, indulging in romantic musings—what exactly did he have to bear?
"Ying Lian says, I live inside the Imperial Mausoleum, you live outside. Day after day, I long for you but cannot see you, only tears flow endlessly."
This poem doesn’t even rhyme...Tao Guoguo and his younger brother couldn't write, so they just pressed their fingerprints onto the paper. The younger brother's plump fingerprint faintly glowed in the darkness. When touched with a finger, a line of luminous words embedded with consciousness immediately appeared: ["Big Brother Qianqiao! Remember to bring back delicious food!"]
All they ever thought about was eating.
......
By the time the long letter was finally finished being read aloud, dawn had already broken. Xin Mei folded the letter neatly and turned around to see Lu Qianqiao's unusually gentle expression, as if lost in thought.
"Everyone is waiting for you to come back," she said, cupping his face in her hands and giving it two playful pinches with utmost seriousness. "Lu Qianqiao, you must remember to come home often."
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