At the same moment, over a dozen figures leaped from the crowd and charged toward the prisoner cart, their speed rivaling that of arrows.
The common folk, terrified of being caught in the crossfire, immediately began to flee.
The scene descended into chaos.
The presiding execution official on the high seat paled in shock and abruptly stood up. "Keep a close watch on the prisoner!"
Ling Ziyue was a major criminal. If he died a miserable death on the spot, so be it—but if he were rescued, the official’s head would likely not remain on his shoulders! Even worse, if political enemies accused him of colluding with a traitor, his entire family might…
A cold sweat trickled down his temple at the thought. He summoned his trusted guard and whispered, "Take men to resist. If the situation turns dire, execute Ling Ziyue on the spot! Go now!"
"Yes!" The guard obeyed, leading a dozen men into the fray.
An Jiu, gripping the Dragon Subduing Bow, stood up. As she turned, she suddenly sensed a familiar presence and instinctively looked up toward the roof beams.
A tall figure, wrapped in a black mantle, revealed only a chin covered in stubble.
"Come up," he said in a low voice, tossing down a rope.
Without hesitation, An Jiu grabbed it and felt herself lifted effortlessly upward.
"What's happening?" she asked in a hushed tone.
Chu Dingjiang knew she was asking about the chaos at the execution ground but didn’t answer directly. Instead, he pulled her close and, like a ghost, silently traversed the beams before exiting the building and heading straight for the southern outskirts.
Outside, heavy snow swirled, nearly obscuring the path.
An Jiu faintly heard an uproar erupting from the crowd behind them, mingled with shouts demanding justice for Ling Ziyue.
Only when the two landed steadily in the desolate outskirts did Chu Dingjiang speak. "It's just a struggle between princes."
"A struggle between princes?" An Jiu couldn’t think of any other princes involved. The Third Prince was too young to be part of this. The Crown Prince… Could someone of his temperament actually accomplish anything substantial?
"The Second Prince secretly plotted to rescue Ling Ziyue, but somehow the Crown Prince found out. So the Crown Prince used an arrow to provoke the Second Prince’s men into panicking and exposing themselves prematurely," Chu Dingjiang explained.
An Jiu clicked her tongue in surprise. She never would have guessed the Crown Prince had such cunning. "Was that really Ling Jiangjun in the prisoner cart?"
"It was supposed to be." Seeing her interest, Chu Dingjiang decided to explain fully. "When the Crown Prince suggested covering Ling Jiangjun with a straw mat in court to preserve his last shred of dignity, I sensed something was off. So I arranged for someone to replace Ling Jiangjun beforehand. Then I sent extra men to assist the execution officials, just in case the execution ground was attacked."
In short, the great Song Dynasty’s loyal and patriotic God of War had to be executed in full public view. As for the rest, Chu Dingjiang wouldn’t let Ling Ziyue die so easily—not until he had squeezed every last bit of usefulness from him.
"The substitution of Ling Ziyue will be exposed sooner or later, so you and the others must flee south with him and hide near Jiaozhi. Wait for me there until I finish matters here and come for you." Chu Dingjiang pulled a bundle from under his mantle and shoved it into An Jiu’s arms. "Go. Ling Jiangjun is near the Long Pavilion. I’ve already sent word to Sui Yunzhu and the others. Once you regroup, leave immediately."
"Got it." An Jiu clutched the bundle and ran several dozen paces before suddenly stopping.
She could no longer sense Chu Dingjiang’s presence, but she still glanced back one last time.Amidst the vast expanse of snow, he stood alone, draped in a black mantle from head to toe. His silent presence merged seamlessly with the snowfall, like a monument that had stood for millennia. Just as it had been when they first met. The swirling snowflakes seemed to be blocked by an invisible force, unable to land on him.
An Jiu dashed back through the snow, colliding straight into his chest. She didn’t see it—the moment before impact, he abruptly withdrew his Protective Qi Aura. The snow, no longer obstructed, cascaded onto his broad shoulders.
The faint crunch of snow underfoot accompanied Chu Dingjiang as he reached up and pulled off his hood.
An Jiu rubbed her sore cheek and frowned when she could only see his chin after tilting her head back.
She was about to step back when Chu Dingjiang wrapped his arms around her.
“I came back because I have something to say,” An Jiu mumbled into his chest, her voice muffled.
“I already understand,” Chu Dingjiang replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “No need to say it out loud.”
He didn’t actually know what she wanted to say, but he guessed that whatever tender words she might have would likely sound awkward coming from her. It was better left to his imagination.
“I want to say it because I think it’s profound and heartfelt,” An Jiu insisted.
Chu Dingjiang sighed and nodded helplessly.
“A few days ago, I saw what Mo Sigui wrote to Lou Mingyue,” An Jiu said.
Hearing it was Mo Sigui’s words, Chu Dingjiang braced himself for something worse.
“If I live, I shall return; if I die, my longing shall endure.” An Jiu felt a small surge of pride. “Well? Doesn’t it suit this moment perfectly?”
“...” Chu Dingjiang ruffled the back of her head. “Don’t worry, I don’t die easily.”
He understood the sentiment behind the words and what An Jiu was trying to convey, but the phrasing was truly unfortunate! This only confirmed that silent understanding was indeed the best way to communicate with her.
“Then I’ll go,” An Jiu said, flashing him a bright smile before darting away in a blur.
An Jiu didn’t know qinggong—her movements, while swift, lacked the effortless grace of treading without a trace. At a glance, she resembled a fox sprinting through the snow.
Chu Dingjiang watched her go with a smile, his Protective Energy gradually enveloping him once more, shielding him from the falling snow.
The snow fell thickly, blanketing the outskirts in a thin layer of white.
By the time An Jiu reached the pavilion, she spotted several figures and horses in the distance. Sui Yunzhu and the others, with their exceptional qinggong, had arrived even before her.
Among them stood Ling Ziyue, whom she hadn’t seen in a long time. Bundled in thick clothing that concealed his lean frame, he lacked the razor-sharp intensity he once exuded at the border, like a sword unsheathed.
“Let’s go,” Sui Yunzhu said.
They mounted their horses and galloped down the official road through the snow.
After traveling over ten miles, the snow had long vanished. Though the sky remained overcast here, no flakes fell.
They rode hard for two days and a night before finally resting at a dilapidated temple.
Sui Yunzhu lit a fire and roasted their provisions over the flames, giving them at least a warm meal.
Li Qingzhi handed a piece of flatbread to Ling Ziyue, who held it listlessly, his expression somber. “General,” Li Qingzhi urged, “as long as the green hills remain, there will be no shortage of firewood. Don’t let your spirit break.”
Ling Ziyue nodded and took a bite, but his demeanor remained unchanged.
Just as Li Qingzhi was about to console him further, Sui Yunzhu pulled him aside.
For someone like Li Qingzhi, who had spent his life lurking in the shadows, the chance to fight openly on the battlefield was worth any sacrifice. Yet only when one reached that point did they realize things were never as simple as imagined.Ling Ziyue alone survived, but his wife and children were all granted poisoned wine by imperial decree, perishing in prison.
The Emperor's "mercy" allowed them to keep their bodies intact.
His flesh remained, but his heart was already dead.
Ling Ziyue no longer even had the strength to hate.
Sui Yunzhu gazed at Ling Ziyue's gaunt profile and sighed inwardly. Though his assault on Xijin Prefecture had been too hasty, no one could deny that he was the only one in the entire Song Dynasty capable of such a feat—perhaps no one would achieve it again in the next fifty years.
Back in Bianjing, the uproar over the failed execution rescue had long since settled. The execution platform at the market square was soaked in blood, a stark declaration to all that the once-revered War God, General Ling, was no more.
The hot blood that had splattered that day seemed to sear everyone's faces, burning with unbearable pain.
Rumors began to spread—no one knew from where—that Ling Ziyue had been framed, and the accounts were vivid and detailed. These whispers were like fire thrown into boiling oil, igniting a furious blaze.
In no time, public outrage surged, especially among scholars, who submitted joint petitions in droves.
They had done the same before Ling Ziyue's sentencing, but back then, their prejudice against military men had tempered their fervor. Now, their indignation burned far hotter.
In a Song Dynasty where civil officials reveled in leisure and military men in frivolity, Ling Ziyue had always been an anomaly. In his youth, he had studied under masters and even attempted the imperial examinations. Though he never earned a degree, he was, by all accounts, a scholar at heart. This past resurfaced, further stoking the literati's sympathy.
While this storm raged, the court found itself troubled by two other matters—the moment the Liao army received news of Ling Ziyue's execution, they launched a full-scale invasion! Moreover, apart from the snowfall on the day of Ling Ziyue's execution, the winter had been unusually dry, threatening the next year's harvest.
This year was destined to be anything but peaceful.
Winter passed in a blur of chaos. By the time the first green buds appeared on the branches, Mo Sigui had packed his bags and set off on his wandering physician's journey, accompanied by his two tigers.
Only Zhu Pianxian, Sheng Changying, and Lou Xiaowu remained on the island.
In mid-February, An Jiu and the others arrived in Jiaozhi. Around the same time, the court secretly issued an arrest warrant for Ling Ziyue.
Near the borders of Jiaozhi, the Song Dynasty had stationed heavy troops. However, the dense forests and swamps made hiding easy.
An Jiu had enough experience surviving in the wilderness to avoid perishing.
Yet, Ling Ziyue grew increasingly despondent in the sunless depths of the jungle.
After nearly a month of trekking through the dense woods, they finally stumbled upon a small clearing, where sunlight greeted them at last.
Without a care for modesty, An Jiu stripped off her outer robe and hung it on a withered tree. She wore a sleeveless vest-like garment, her pale arms exposed.
She was no longer as frail as she had once been—her movements were swift and decisive, her body lean but brimming with latent explosive power and an almost unnatural control over her limbs.
"General Ling." An Jiu walked toward Ling Ziyue, taking a long swig from her waterskin before handing him the rest.
Ling Ziyue accepted it and drank.
"Willpower is the most crucial thing for survival here," An Jiu said, squatting beside him. Her ink-black eyes fixed on him. "In your current state, you won't last three months."
Ling Ziyue pressed his lips together in silence.
An Jiu, never one to mince words, added bluntly, "Your life will be long—longer than the current emperor's, at least. There's still a chance for you to reclaim your command."
The others turned to look at her, each with their own thoughts.Mei Yanran stared at An Jiu's pale, bare arm with a complicated expression, wishing she could grab clothes to wrap her up. Yet after watching for a long time, she ultimately took no action.
"Yes, General must pull himself together!" Li Qingzhi chimed in.
Only Sui Yunzhu could somewhat grasp Ling Ziyue's thoughts. "The General has always understood the Emperor's temperament and known exactly what kind of court the Song Dynasty is. Yet he remained loyal—for the sake of the nation, not for any individual or regime. Now that he's been unjustly wronged and treated unfairly, has his heart to protect the country changed?" (To be continued...)
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