Chapter 22

Both of them were gasping for breath. Gu Wan had hurried as much as she could, tying the cloth strips while jostling on horseback, afraid she wouldn’t make it in time.

Xie Ci had risked everything, striking first with a desperate gamble. He had pushed himself to the very limits in that short, explosive burst—by the time half a cup of tea had passed, he was already stretched to the breaking point.

His eyes now burned, shot through with red, and his face was spattered with fresh blood. As the last spurt of blood burst from that man’s neck, it was as though Xie Ci’s own blood was boiling over with it. Taking the reins, he yanked them tight, and his well-fed steed reared up with a long neigh, spinning sharply to dash madly down the rugged slope.

The howling northern wind grew fierce, whipping past their ears. As Gu Wan tore a strip from her garment to bind the bleeding cut on his arm, his sleeve was quickly stained crimson. She cried urgently, “Hurry! They found the letter from Zhang County yesterday! They may have already sent people to Huangzhou—”

In that instant, Xie Ci felt as if his blood was running backwards.

Their hearts raced with anxiety; there was no time to care for the winding, treacherous mountain road. They rode at a breakneck gallop, soon shaking off their pursuers, veering off the yellow dirt path through the fields, and thundering down the main post road.

From dawn to dusk they rode. By nightfall, under the descending darkness, they finally reached Longshan Pass—the only route from the northwest back into the heartland. The mountains loomed steep and majestic on either side, while a dried river valley had carved out a flat military road that twisted eastward through the blackness.

But they had arrived a step too late!

After tossing a hefty silver ingot at a roadside teahouse, they learned that just after nightfall, a party of a dozen or so fast riders had passed eastward along the post road.

A matched string of strong, well-fed horses from the river bend, with robust, able-bodied young men in sturdy attire, all armed with swords and knives—no matter how plain their dress, it was obvious at a glance: these were the trusted men of some powerful family, sent on an important errand.

Gu Wan and Xie Ci raced at their utmost speed, charging across Longshan Pass and chasing to its end—yet they were still a step behind.

Their quarry had already passed!

All day, the bitter, biting wind had blown. Now, beneath the pitch-black sky, the leaden clouds grew ever thicker, and the first great snow of the year began to fall.

At first, it came down in drifting flurries, light as willow catkins, mixed with a hint of rain. Bit by bit, the snowflakes fluttered down.

In the dark of night, the white flecks fell, landing on their faces and hands, stinging with cold.

Their breath steamed in the air. Abruptly, they reined in their horses and looked at the two forking, black entrances ahead.

Both roads led to Huangzhou. The distance was nearly the same; even the terrain offered its own advantages and drawbacks.

The whistling wind howled. In the silent darkness, the thorny brambles and yellow earth lining the roads took on menacing shapes, clawing out from the night.

Longshan Pass was the only flat road through these towering mountains: a post road in peacetime, a military road in war. To the east lay the northern stronghold of Guzhou City; to the west, Watting and Longcheng. If conflict broke out, these two sides would answer each other, and the pass would be sealed for troop movement if needed.

Suddenly, the thunder of hooves arrived at the fork. It was a group of armored officers and soldiers, coming from Guzhou and heading toward Watting. Surrounded by several officers, chatting as they rode, was a familiar face—Li Yi, Prince of Xiaoshan.

The two parties met unexpectedly. Li Yi was surprised for a moment, but after one look at the breathless, horse-reined Gu Wan and Xie Ci—especially the latter, whose figure was spattered with blood even in the dark—he grasped the situation almost instantly.

“You’re chasing that group, aren’t you?”

Li Yi smiled—a handsome, calm, and elegant expression. He glanced back in the direction he’d come from. “They’re five li ahead, and just turned onto the southern dirt road.”

That group, it seemed, had no wish to meet a prominent military contingent like Li Yi’s. Long before reaching them, they had slipped into the side road. When Li Yi rounded the bend, he saw the last two riders and horses vanish behind the thorns.

In the dark night, with snow and rain freezing on their faces, Xie Ci’s breathing was heavy as a wild beast’s. He stared at Li Yi, jaw clenched tight.

But Gu Wan trusted him almost at once.

Li Yi had no reason to harm Xie Ci at this stage, nor to seek enmity. Even in their past lives, the two only came into conflict much later.

Gu Wan glanced at Li Yi, then, without hesitation, yanked her horse’s reins. “Hyah!” She pulled Xie Ci along, and the two of them spurred their horses into the leftward path.

They rode at top speed for five li. After a quick scan, they found, as expected, a small, trampled dirt track through the southern brambles, winding into the haunted blackness of the hills.

Without hesitation, they rode in.

The north wind howled; the snow fell heavier, pelting their faces and bodies. In the pitch-dark night, following the rough trail, they finally caught up with the group just over a li ahead—who had stopped to shelter and were about to double back to the main road.

The sound of wind and snow masked the hoofbeats and voices. Behind the earthen slope, the two sides suddenly came face to face.

Xie Ci drew his long blade; its slender edge glinted with the cold light of the snow.

A cry broke out—

One, two, three, four… fifteen, sixteen, seventeen! Not one more, not one less.

Xie Ci pressed his stirrups and soared into the fray, slashing down!

Gu Wan, too, drew her sword and charged after him.

Every sudden growth in strength and power was accompanied by heart-rending pressure and peril. Gu Wan could feel it clearly: Xie Ci’s killing power had greatly increased. Under the bloody weight, he had broken through his limits; his combat prowess had climbed more than a single level.

He was like a god of slaughter, his chain-blade striking first—before he even landed, five or six foes were already dead, their blood spraying across the snowy, mottled earth. The enemy formation was thrown into chaos, and soon corpses lay in pools of blood on the yellow soil.

Gu Wan dashed after the few who tried to flee in terror. Behind her, the bloodbath quickly ended. Xie Ci, his face half-drenched in blood, strode toward the last two survivors and growled, “How many groups did you send out?”

“Are there others who took another route?”

His voice was cold as ice. “If you lie, I’ll cut you.”

The army had no shortage of methods for extracting information from enemy spies, and Xie Ci was well acquainted with them. Gu Wan had already caught up and dispatched the last two runners, checking to make sure they were dead, when she heard a terrible scream from behind.

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk! There’s no one else! All the good fighters under the Second Young Master were sent to Yinglie Slope—only Min and his two men were left here!” Xie Ci’s chain-blade had struck without warning, wounding the two others badly before killing them. “It’s the truth—just us. Kill me, please, just kill me—ah—”

At that moment, Xie Ci was seized by a savage fury, desperate to slaughter and tear them all to pieces. With a single stroke, he finished the last men. But then the brambles rustled, and in the pale snowlight, Gu Wan emerged, sword in hand, stepping over the rocks. When he saw her, the raging storm within him suddenly quieted.

His mind cleared, his blood cooled.

He took several deep breaths, finding calm. Hurrying to meet her, he first noticed her hands—stained with blood.

A sudden ache welled in his chest, and his eyes grew hot. He took her hands—those slender, fair hands, now sticky with blood. “…I’m sorry.”

He remembered, during their escape, how Gu Wan had hesitated when her dagger pressed against an enemy’s throat.

Now her hands were drenched in blood, though his own were worse—blood from others, more than hers. In taking her hands, he had stained them further.

He felt a powerful guilt. Her hands should have been gathering flowers on horseback, or moving chess pieces—she’d always loved those things.

He could hardly express his remorse.

But Gu Wan, after asking her questions, suddenly laughed aloud. “Who says I have to like playing chess forever? Can’t people grow up?”

Having run and fought, now that the threat was dealt with, she was in high spirits. “I like this, or I wouldn’t have come! As for killing—once I broke through that mental block during our prison break, it’s nothing now. Back in school, I even took special psychological preparation classes for this—if you’re a detective, sometimes you have to shoot a criminal. Isn’t that normal?”

“These were all bad people, helping the wicked; not a single one worth pity. My conscience is clear.”

She pulled Xie Ci over, expertly rolling up his sleeve to rebind his bleeding wound. “Take care of yourself. Once we clear our names and take our revenge, we have a long road ahead.”

The wind carried her laughter. After a quick patch-up, they led their horses and mounted again.

One horse had bolted and couldn’t be found; this was no place to linger, so they rode together on one steed.

Back on the post road, they galloped away. Looking back at the towering Longshan and the post road vanishing into darkness, Xie Ci was swept with emotion. At last, he had time to process the day’s events.

“I killed Xun Rongbi,” he said.

He sounded uneasy. Between Xun Xun and Xun Rongbi, his blade had gone to the latter without hesitation.

But in truth, Xun Rongbi had been nearly finished—already stripped of power by Xun Xun. If he’d killed Xun Xun, that might have been the better choice. The thought had flashed through his mind, but his surging hatred had driven him to kill Xun Rongbi instead.

Now, facing Gu Wan, he felt remorse and doubt.

But she replied, “Good for you! You did exactly right.”

She understood at once what he meant—he was blaming himself again.

Yet, thinking of him as a child now felt wrong. She glanced back: in the wind and darkness, Xie Ci rode into the night, his young face sharp and resolute, the wind tossing his hair. He was like a silver spear, just drawn, its first glint of edge revealed.

He had gone through his first true transformation.

He was a different man now.

His resolve and choices at Yinglie Slope, his decisive action under immense pressure—all showed extraordinary growth. He seemed to have matured overnight; the last trace of youthful innocence was gone from his eyes and brows.

Gu Wan was truly glad. A hero meant to stand against the world’s ills should never have met a lesser fate.

“You did just right. In your place, I’d have killed him too!”

We are not machines. Why else make a journey like this, if not to act from the heart?

Xun Rongbi was hateful beyond all else—she would have stabbed him herself. As for Xun Xun, there would be chances yet. “You did absolutely right,” she said, giving a thumbs-up. “That’s just what I hoped for.”

Don’t overthink it—you did great!

They had exposed the plot in Suzhou, escaped intact, and slain their first enemy. She hadn’t expected it to go so well—surely a victorious first battle.

Gu Wan pinched her chin, her laughter carried far by the wind. A good beginning is half the battle won! The snow fell thicker, covering blood and tracks as they rode on through the night.

By the middle of the night, they finally found a suitable earthen temple for shelter. Dismounting, Gu Wan climbed the steps while Xie Ci tied the horse behind the sheltered wall.

Turning back, he saw her tall, lithe figure against the wind, and for some reason, Second Sister-in-law Xie’s words came to him: In this life, it’s rare to find a companion who will weather the storms with you, heart to heart.

White flakes drifted down from the black sky. Standing on the steps, Gu Wan suddenly looked back, smiling earnestly. “Xie Ci, after a year, shall we swear brotherhood?”

He paused, surprised—he should have been happy, since he’d once thought the same. But now, for some reason, he felt a surge of reluctance.

“No way—why should you be the elder sibling? We’re the same age!”

He refused.

Gu Wan laughed softly. Men, young or old, always wanted to be the elder, never the little brother. She chuckled, “Then… call me A’Wan. Or Wan-niang, if you like.”

Her friends always called her Wanwan, but that sounded a bit much—A’Wan would do.

Xie Ci’s reluctance melted away like snow in the sun. Suddenly, he was happy. “All right! Yuan-niang. Wan-niang.”

Gu Wan laughed heartily. “Mmm!”