The wilderness was white as snow, the mountain passes firm as iron. The northern wind swept thick, goose-feather-like snowflakes, scattering them before everyone's eyes and brows. The eight-year-old child wore an iron-gray cloak, its large hood concealing her clear, bright eyes. Her pale little hands gripped a cold, gleaming dagger as she stood tall amidst ten thousand troops, showing not a trace of fear or fragility.
That night, it seemed as though the heavens had gone mad, unleashing the heaviest snowfall Zhenhuang City had seen in a decade. The howling north wind tore at people's frostbitten, blue-tinged faces, yet their eyes could no longer return to their normal composure.
Zhuge Yue let out a cold laugh, turning his head to speak in a low, deliberate voice, "Would you truly kill me?"
The wind and snow blew between them, and suddenly, a night owl screeched menacingly overhead, like the unwilling howls of wronged spirits in the deep of night. Chu Qiao's gaze instantly turned icy. The image of that dilapidated woodshed, the innocent smiles of children, and a fragrant piece of braised pork exploding in her heart like a bomb—she slowly lowered her head, her cold eyes fixed on the young man as she said grimly, "You're welcome to test that theory."
"Is that so?" Zhuge Yue's lips curled, his eyes narrowing slightly as he chuckled softly, "Very well."
With that, the young man's body suddenly seemed to lose control, his head plunging forward as he threw himself toward the sharp blade in a suicidal lunge.
"Young master!" "My lord!" "Ah!"
All the panicked cries erupted at once, time seeming to freeze in that very second. The chaotic noise converged into a turbulent river, roaring with ferocity. Chu Qiao was utterly shocked, never imagining the young man's temperament to be so resolute and fierce—preferring death to being threatened. In that fleeting moment, countless thoughts raced through her mind. Without time to ponder their meaning, she swiftly withdrew the blade almost simultaneously. Yet the sharp edge still left a long gash on the young man's neck, stretching all the way to his ear.
Just as Chu Qiao retracted the dagger, Zhuge Yue's body suddenly twisted like a nimble loach. Seizing the moment of her distraction, he straightened, stepped forward, lunged, and withdrew his own blade!
All of this happened in the blink of an eye, the echoes of the startled cries not yet faded. The once-captive young man had already broken free. Though his method had been extreme, he now stood tall opposite the child, drawing the long sword from his waist and pointing it squarely at the frowning girl. His voice was cold as he declared, "You cannot kill me."
Blood trickled down from his neck. Though the wound was not deep, a copious amount of blood gushed forth, spreading over his pale skin and seeping into his heavy fur robe. Zhu Cheng rushed forward in alarm, shouting frantically, "Fourth Young Master, you're injured! Quick! Back to the manor, back to the manor!"
Zhuge Yue's eyes remained fixed coldly on Chu Qiao, as if he hadn't heard Zhu Cheng's words. He reached into his robe, pulling out a pure white silk handkerchief. The blood from his neck dripped onto the pristine cloth, dotting it with crimson—one drop, then two, like winter plums blooming defiantly in the snow.
"Hurry! Medicine! Young ancestor, please sit down first and let this servant bandage you up!"A pale-faced youth stood on the vast snowy ground, an unfathomable sharpness flickering between his eyes. He raised his right hand levelly, veins bulging at his wrist as he clenched it tightly. Yet after a long while, he suddenly resolutely opened his hand. The crumpled brocade handkerchief drifted away with the howling north wind, tumbling twice in the night before being buried by the swirling snow, gradually disappearing from sight.
Who still remembered whose tears that pure white handkerchief had once wiped away? In the youth's inscrutable heart, there had once been someone he wished to protect. But as the gale roared, everything ultimately scattered and vanished. When the play reaches its finale, whoever immersed themselves deepest would be the one utterly defeated.
"Seize her!" Zhuge Yue turned away indifferently, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.
The Zhuge family guards closed in uniformly. Chu Qiao stood at the center of the crowd, drawing her long blade. The polished steel reflected the child's iron-cold eyes - containing calmness, hatred, cautious assessment of the situation, and desperate determination, yet not a trace of weakness or regret.
She had always known how to survive, always understood the blood-soaked hatred she carried, always been aware of the debts of gratitude she owed. Therefore, Zhuge Yue, when you severed Xiao Jiu's arm, when you beat Lin Xi to death with clubs, we were destined to become sworn enemies. If I cannot kill you, then I can only be killed by you - there is no other path.
"Attack!" A low shout suddenly rose from the crowd. The Zhuge family servants no longer dared underestimate this seemingly frail, thin child. A group of agile burly men charged forward simultaneously. Blades swept downward, cold steel flashing as clashing sounds immediately filled the air. The child moved with nimble grace, like a wildcat - left leg in bow stance, right leg executing a side kick, spinning through the air with bloodstained long blade, her right hand forming tiger claws that fiercely clamped onto a large man's throat. Channeling force into her fingers, she snapped tendons and bones with a crisp crack. The man's eyes bulged instantly before he collapsed limply.
The crowd recoiled in terror, yet none retreated. A thick-backed broadsword immediately came hacking down. Chu Qiao's eyebrows lifted as she raised her arm to block, but being small and weak, despite her tricky angle, she was still forced back two steps. Blood seeped through her shoulder garment - clearly injured in the first exchange.
Seeing this, the Zhuge family guards rejoiced. Though this child displayed endless cunning, quick wits, and ruthless methods, she was after all not yet eight years old - how could her strength match their burly frames?
Recognizing this, they swarmed forward together. Zhuge Yue stood outside the fray, eyes icy, lips pale. Zhu Cheng worriedly pressed gauze against his wound as swirling snow fell everywhere, creating a desolate scene.
"Hyah!"
Just then, a clear, vigorous shout suddenly rang out as disorderly hoofbeats abruptly approached from the north. Everyone turned to see hundreds of robust horses charging from the distant north, hooves pounding white snow, swift as meteors. The leading youth in white fur with ink-black hair held a crossbow, firing arrow after arrow like shooting stars that instantly struck down several Zhuge family guards.
"Little girl!" Warhorses galloped forward, instantly bursting into the crowd. The youth on horseback swept Chu Qiao up by the waist onto his saddle, eyes bright as he laughed heartily: "I've saved you again! How will you repay me this time?""Swish!" With a single slash, Chu Qiao knocked aside a spear and turned to glare at Yan Xun, "Have you gone mad? Coming back at a time like this—do you have a death wish?"
"If I hadn't returned, what would you have done?" Yan Xun curled his lip, annoyed that his good intentions were met with ingratitude. "Hold on tight!" With that, he delivered a sharp crack of the whip to the horse's hindquarters. The warhorse let out a piercing whinny and, as if soaring through clouds, leaped right over the heads of the crowd!
"Yan Xun!" Zhuge Yue roared in fury, sweeping his robes aside. "How dare you interfere in my affairs!"
The warhorses of Yanbei were unmatched in the world—who could possibly stop them on open ground? With Chu Qiao in his arms, Yan Xun glanced back from afar and laughed heartily, calling out clearly, "My respects to the Fourth Young Master of the Zhuge family! Yan Xun returns north today—no need to see us off. The green hills remain, the blue waters flow on—we shall meet again someday!"
With that, he and the Yanbei warriors swept away like a gust of wind.
"Ah! Young Master!" Zhu Cheng cried out in alarm. He saw the severely wounded Zhuge Yue snort in rage, tear the bandage from his neck, and furrow his brow as he climbed onto his horse. With an angry crack of the whip, he galloped after them in hot pursuit.
"Hurry! Hurry, follow the Young Master!"
The night wind cut like iron, whipping up swirls of snow across the plain.
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