The night wind was icy cold, with campfires dotting the landscape. The imperial tent of Daxia occupied a vast area, crafted from the hides of northwestern snow deer, brushed with black sea gold powder, and adorned with dragon pearls. Embroidered coiling dragons were painted on it, with Eastern pearls for eyes, vermilion-painted mouths, and ferocious claws. Two large oil vats stood at the entrance of the grand tent, torches flickering, dazzling and glaring. High banners fluttered boldly, with imperial guards stationed around, encircling it tightly, their armor gleaming brightly. From a distance, the bright yellow imperial camp resembled an East Sea divine dragon lurking in the darkness, exuding immense momentum and unparalleled majesty. The imperial sharpness rushed forth, isolating all unrestrained revelry far away.
"Crown Prince," A Jing quietly approached, leaning close to Yan Xun's ear and whispering, "Someone is sneaking toward the camp. Should we take action?"
In the darkness, the man's brow twitched slightly, his forehead furrowing in confusion as he asked in a deep voice, "Who is it?"
A Jing replied respectfully, "I don't know, but it doesn't seem to be someone from the Muhe Clan."
"I'll go take a look," Chu Qiao stepped forward and said softly.
Yan Xun nodded, his tone low, "Be careful. Avoid fighting if possible. The banquet is about to start, and I'll wait for you."
"Don't worry, it might be someone sent by Zha Lu to cause trouble. I'll be back soon."
With that, she took A Jing and headed toward the camp.
"A Chu?" Seeing Chu Qiao leave, Zhao Song was taken aback and immediately called out loudly, making as if to chase after her.
"Thirteenth Prince," Yan Xun grabbed Zhao Song's arm and said with a faint smile, "A Chu has something to attend to. She'll be back soon. Let's go first."
Zhao Song was dragged away reluctantly by Yan Xun, constantly looking back as they walked.
The cold wind, mixed with snow, whipped against their faces. The sound of hoofbeats echoed as the torches and lanterns on either side grew sparse. Under the pitch-black sky, the cold moon hung like a blade, stars sparse and scattered, the firmament appearing high and distant, deep and obscure. From time to time, the wings of eagles sliced through, emitting elusive, long cries.
In the blink of an eye, eight years had passed since she arrived in this unknown dynasty. Life had never granted her the opportunity or right to lament the seasons or play around in the world. Harsh environments, endless slaughter, and brutal bloodshed had constantly forced her to fight and flee. Too many unknown variables lay before her, too many uncontrollable traps and conspiracies hidden who knew where, too many layers of desperate situations spurring her forward, leaving her no chance to pause. She was not a born killer, nor was she a natural bandit. She merely sought to uphold her simple sense of right and wrong under the premise of survival.
Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat all things as straw dogs. The edge of destruction hangs inverted, but if grasped, it might become the blade that saves the world.
"Hyah!" Chu Qiao shouted sharply, urging her horse into a gallop, racing swiftly across the open, snow-covered plains.
The clatter of hoofbeats approached from the distance—a man clad entirely in black, riding alone across the vast snowy expanse. Chu Qiao and the others reined in their horses with a soft command. A Jing frowned and said gravely, "Miss, this man seems off. He's coming from the direction of our camp."
One of the Yan guards stepped forward and shouted at the approaching figure, "Hey! Who are you?"No sooner had the words been spoken than a gleaming throwing knife sliced through the cold, silent night sky, swift as lightning and startlingly fierce, carrying the sharpness and killing intent of a thunderclap as it whistled toward the shouting Yan guards.
With a sharp clang of metal, blade met blade, sending a shower of blinding sparks into the darkness. A Jing drew his sword in a backhanded motion, deflecting the flying dagger, then swiftly nocked an arrow and shouted harshly, "Who goes there? Such viciousness!"
The assailant seemed to notice the large number of people ahead and cunningly turned his horse westward to flee. Chu Qiao raised an eyebrow and commanded in a low voice, "After him!" The group responded in unison, spurring their horses into a frantic pursuit.
The distant mountains were pitch black, the dense forests like spilled ink, and the vast snowfield resembled a ferocious white beast. Countless hooves pounded across it, sending snowflakes flying and swirling in the roaring wind.
Suddenly, shadowy figures appeared ahead, suggesting a large contingent approaching. The warhorses moved silently, the scene eerily quiet, yet the orderly footsteps carried an indescribable chill and killing intent. Chu Qiao was startled and immediately raised a hand, signaling a halt as she reined in her horse. But before she could speak, the black-clad fugitive, cornered by the Yan guards, raised a crossbow and fired a volley at the approaching figures!
"Who are you?" a furious roar erupted. The night was deep, the distance great—there was no way to discern the identity of the newcomers in that moment. Under sudden attack, the opposing force mistakenly assumed the Yan guards were accomplices of the black-clad fugitive. The rasp of drawn blades echoed sharply, swords gleaming coldly as a hail of arrows filled the air. Their counterattack and reaction speed were astonishingly swift!
"Hold your fire!" A Jing shouted, "We are not—"
Before he could finish, a sharp arrow shot toward him. Chu Qiao, quick as lightning, pressed one hand against her saddle and leaped into the air, kicking A Jing in the abdomen. The man grunted in pain, doubling over as a dull thud sounded—the arrow buried itself in his shoulder, narrowly missing his heart but striking deep.
Chu Qiao’s brow furrowed instantly. The opponents were despicable, attacking without verifying the situation or distinguishing friend from foe. The young woman, clad in a snow-white fur cloak, urged her horse forward, dismounted, and knelt on one knee. Holding a heavy crossbow, her expression was stern, her eyes cold and piercing like a leopard’s as she stared into the dark snowfield ahead. Her ears twitched slightly, her brow tightly knit. The cold wind brushed through the hair on her forehead, revealing eyes sharp as lightning, gleaming with a razor’s edge.
"Whoosh!"
A powerful arrow left Chu Qiao’s fully drawn bow, swift as lightning and intimidating, leaving a bright trail as if about to spark in the air, shooting into the funeral-like darkness.
Almost simultaneously, from the opposing darkness came the vibrating twang of a bowstring, and another sharp arrow shot forth, heading straight for Chu Qiao.
Two streaks of lightning raced along the same trajectory, astonishingly fast and unyielding. The onlookers watched, stunned, as a crisp crack echoed—the two arrows collided mid-air, shattering simultaneously and scattering across the vast snowfield.
In an instant, Chu Qiao, with incredible skill, continuously shifted her position and posture, altering the trajectory and force of her arrows, firing seven shots in rapid succession. Her opponent responded with equally unfathomable prowess, countering each one.
The air was filled only with the whistling of released arrows and the shattering sounds of their collisions—a direct confrontation, evenly matched!The violent sounds abruptly ceased. Chu Qiao’s eyes sharpened, narrowing slightly as her fingers brushed against the last three arrows in her quiver, quietly awaiting the perfect moment.
A fierce wind suddenly rose, whipping up snow across the ground. Everyone instinctively shielded their eyes against the wind and sand. Yet in the darkness, only two figures simultaneously sprang into action, dashing forward with explosive force. Three arrows were released in rapid succession, one after another, streaking through the night like meteors chasing the moon, their cold glints piercing and dazzling. Sharp cracks echoed as four arrowheads collided and shattered into dust, carried away by the gale. The final arrow, however, seemed to have a life of its own. Under the witness of the swirling snow, arrows from east and west brushed past each other, sparking a trail of blinding sparks as they sped toward each other’s hiding places.
In an instant, Chu Qiao erupted like a wild beast, her entire body surging with explosive power. She discarded her bow, braced her right hand against the ground, and sprang up, using the momentum from her waist to rise to her feet. But with a sharp whistle, an arrow blazing with fierce energy grazed past her neck, leaving a dark red trail of blood.
“Miss!” The Yan guards cried out in alarm, rushing forward. Chu Qiao stood up, pressing a hand to her bleeding neck, silent and still, her gaze cold and distant as she stared into the darkness ahead.
She knew that the person on the other side had also evaded her lethal arrow, yet, like her, had sustained a minor injury.
All around, silence reigned, deep and unbroken. The night was pitch black, heavy with falling snow, yet through the thick darkness, she could still sense that icy, piercing gaze directed toward her from afar.
A piercing cry of an eagle suddenly cut through the sky. In the darkness between the two sides, a nimble figure scrambled up from the ground—the black-clad man who had been lying low and stirring up trouble earlier. He bolted like a fired pellet, desperate to flee the scene.
Almost simultaneously, Chu Qiao and the archer across from her drew the swords at their waists and hurled them like thunderbolts. The fleeing man shuddered, his eyes widening in disbelief as he looked down to see two sword tips protruding from his chest. With a heavy thud, he collapsed onto the snow.
Time passed slowly, with neither side making a sound. One of the Yan guards cautiously stepped forward and, seeing no reaction from the other side, called out loudly, “Friends across the way, we are apprehending a criminal. What just happened was a misunderstanding.”
Silence greeted them from the opposite side, no response came. Zuo Tang rode forward on his horse, and soon, the sound of hoofbeats echoed from the other party’s ranks.
“Miss,” Zuo Tang returned after a short while, dismounting and handing Chu Qiao’s sword back to her, his voice low. “Your sword.”
The young woman raised an eyebrow. “Who are they?”
“It’s unclear,” Zuo Tang reported truthfully. “Their personal guards are dressed in plain black fur coats, nothing distinctive. Their faces are unfamiliar—we’ve never seen them before.”
Chu Qiao remained silent, nodding faintly as she took back her sword, but her brow furrowed deeply.This was an exceptionally rare sword, its style ancient and unadorned, the blade thin and light with faint traces of bloodstains the color of dried dates. The edge was sharp and gleaming brightly, shimmering with a dazzling brilliance under the pale moonlight, like flowing quicksilver. The hilt was wrapped in golden silk thread, and two small ancient seal script characters were inscribed upon it: Moon Breaker.
Chu Qiao frowned, her fingers tracing the hilt as she said in a low voice, "This isn't my sword."
Zuo Tang was startled and quickly replied, "This subordinate will go find them to exchange it back immediately."
As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of galloping hooves came from the opposite direction, churning up the snowy mist before swiftly fading away.
"You won't catch up," the young woman said slowly. With a swift motion, she sheathed the sword, only to find that it fit her scabbard perfectly.
"Take that man's body back. A Jing, return to camp to treat your injuries. The rest of you, follow me to the imperial tent square." Her voice was firm and resonant as she turned her horse around and led the group away at a gallop.
Arriving at the square before the imperial tent felt like stepping into another world. The air was filled with the aroma of roasting meat and the sounds of laughter and merriment. Chu Qiao removed her weapons and handed them to the guards, then followed an imperial soldier into the grand tent.
The imperial tent was exceptionally vast, with thirty-six banquet tables arranged in a winding formation along both sides of the tent. By the time Chu Qiao entered, most people had already arrived. Since the emperor had not yet appeared, the tent was bustling with noise and activity, with crowds gathered everywhere.
As a mere personal attendant, Chu Qiao naturally couldn't wander freely. She scanned the area and headed straight for a quieter, less crowded spot. Sure enough, she saw Yan Xun dressed in a moon-white robe, his features handsome and his expression calm as he quietly sipped tea and wine. Zhao Song stood beside him, fidgeting restlessly with an impatient demeanor.
"Young Master," Chu Qiao walked directly over, but before she could say anything, Zhao Song exclaimed in alarm, "Ah! A Chu, what happened to you? Are you injured?"
Although it was only a graze, her neck was now bleeding. Chu Qiao shook her head and said indifferently, "It's nothing, just a minor scratch."
"How could you be so careless?" Zhao Song frowned with concern. "I'll go find a physician right away to properly treat it."
"No need," Chu Qiao stopped him. "It's just a minor injury, no need to make a fuss."
"How can that be?" Zhao Song frowned unhappily, though he knew his words carried little weight. He turned to Yan Xun and asked, "Young Master Yan, what do you think?"
Yan Xun's brow furrowed slightly as he looked up at the girl's somewhat pale face. Years of tacit understanding allowed him to understand something without pressing further. He merely asked in a low voice, "Are you really alright?"
Chu Qiao shook her head firmly. "I'm fine."
Seeing their interaction, Zhao Song felt somewhat excluded and pouted in dissatisfaction. Trying to make conversation, he said, "Then I'll go get some Trauma Medicine." With that, he turned and left.
Chu Qiao took a seat in the back row of Yan Xun's table, leaning closer to whisper, "It was Zha Lu's men. They stole the secret box from your camp, but I've already killed them."
Yan Xun frowned and said, "That thing is useless—it's just a decoy. Why risk your life for it?"
"Zha Lu's men aren't capable of this," Chu Qiao gently touched the wound on her neck and snorted lightly. "Something unexpected happened. Have any new experts arrived in the capital recently?""Experts in the capital?" Yan Xun raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly becoming inscrutable. "There are indeed quite a few."
"Brother Xun!"
A coquettish voice suddenly rang out. From the crowd, a young woman in a purple mink dress, surrounded by a group of girls, giggled and ran forward. However, as soon as she approached, the smile on her face vanished instantly. She glared coldly at the girl sitting behind Yan Xun and said icily, "Why is she here?"
Chu Qiao stood up and bowed respectfully. "Eighth Princess."
Zhao Chun didn't even glance at Chu Qiao. She walked directly to Yan Xun's side and sat down, fuming with anger. "Is it because she's back that you haven't come to see me these past few days?"
Yan Xun stood up and positioned himself beside Chu Qiao, replying calmly, "Yan Xun is apprehensive and dares not disturb Your Highness's rest."
"Oh? Now that she's back, you're calling me 'Your Highness'?" With that, she abruptly pointed at Chu Qiao and said coldly, "Who allowed a lowly slave like you to enter?"
As soon as she finished speaking, Yan Xun's expression turned cold. The handsome man's brows slowly furrowed. "Your Highness, as a noble princess, how can you use such foul language? A Chu was brought here by me. Does Your Highness intend to drive me out as well?"
Zhao Chun pouted, her eyes instantly reddening. She stamped her foot angrily but did not respond to Yan Xun's words. Instead, she pointed at Chu Qiao and shouted, "Just you wait!" With that, she turned and ran off. The noble young ladies who had accompanied her glared at Chu Qiao in unison, sharing her indignation, and hurried after her.
Chu Qiao sighed and said gravely, "Why offend her at a time like this? I'll leave."
The man's deep voice was like the clear, cold spring water of a mountain stream, each word spoken slowly and deliberately. "When I was young, I had to endure because I had no other choice. If I still have to swallow such insults now, then all my efforts over the years would be meaningless."
Yan Xun sat in his seat, took a slow sip of wine, his expression calm. With his handsome features, white robes, and dark hair, he looked like a figure from a painting.
Just then, a sudden gust of wind blew in from the entrance, carrying a chilling cold. Everyone turned to look.
The tent flap moved, and a young man in a purple robe and white fur strode in. He was majestic and heroic, with sword-like eyebrows, cold star-like eyes, and a face as fair as jade. His entire being was as sharp and striking as an unsheathed sword, radiating an intimidating aura of cold brilliance and keen edge. However, incongruously, there was a fresh scratch on his slender neck, from which tiny beads of blood were seeping.
Chu Qiao's pupils constricted sharply, and her brow furrowed tightly.
"Fourth Young Master!" Prince Jing and a group of noble young men stepped forward to greet him, their faces beaming with warmth. "It's been seven years, and you are even more impressive than before!"
Zhuge Yue smiled faintly and returned their greetings one by one, his demeanor measured. Standing among the crowd, laughing and chatting, he was no longer the paranoid and suspicious solitary youth of the past. Seven years of experience had tempered him like a polished sword, allowing him to shine with his own brilliant light in any situation.
The lanterns flickered, and the tent was filled with jubilation. Having extricated himself from the crowd, Zhuge Yue scanned the room with his gaze, which finally settled on the last seat in the corner.Yan Xun quietly drank his wine, head lowered, his posture open and his movements graceful. Yet his broad back completely shielded the woman behind him, blocking the piercing, cold gaze from probing further.
"Young Master Yan, it's been a while."
A deep voice sounded slowly from above. Yan Xun lifted his head, smiled casually, and rose to his feet. "Brother Zhuge, long time no see."
Zhuge Yue's lips curved into a sinister, icy smile as he slightly tilted his head to look behind Yan Xun. His voice low and deliberate, he said slowly, "Xing'er, have you forgotten me?"
Time flowed, years churned, and the footsteps of passing time tore through the void of space. Seven years had passed in the blink of an eye, and those who once stood as adversaries now found themselves once again on the scales of fate.
Chu Qiao raised her head, her expression calm and her gaze indifferent. Looking at her former master who towered over her, she parted her crimson lips lightly and said, "The Fourth Young Master Zhuge is renowned throughout the land—who wouldn't know of him?"
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