Both of them were gasping for breath. Gu Wan had rushed desperately, tying the cloth rope while jolting on horseback, terrified she might not make it in time.
Xie Ci had taken the most dangerous gamble, striking first to seize the initiative. But he had already exhausted himself. That half‑cup of tea’s worth of explosive fury had pushed him to the very limit.
Now his eyes burned red, his face spattered with blood. His whole body’s blood surged, boiling after that final spray from his uncle’s throat. He seized the reins, pulled hard — the stallion reared with a long neigh, then spun and charged down the rugged cliff slope.
The north wind roared louder, whistling past their ears. Gu Wan tore off part of her hem to bind the gash on his arm, trying to staunch the bleeding. His arm was rigid, the cloth quickly soaked crimson. She cried urgently: “Hurry! The letter in Zhang County was seized yesterday! They may have already sent men toward Huangzhou—”
In that instant, Xie Ci felt his blood run cold, as if flowing backward through his veins.
Both were frantic. They had no time to worry about the winding mountain paths, spurring their horses at full speed. Soon they shook off the pursuers, veering onto the dirt road through the fields, then galloping at full tilt along the courier route.
From morning until nightfall, they rode without pause. At last, as darkness fell, they reached Longshan Road — the only way back into the interior from the northwest. Two mountains pressed close, towering and steep; a dry river valley carved out a flat military road, winding eastward in the black night. But they had arrived a step too late!
Throwing down a heavy ingot of silver at a roadside tea stall, they learned that just at dusk, a group of more than ten fast riders had passed eastward along the courier road.
All mounted on powerful Hequ stallions, every one of them a strong young man in tight gear, swords and blades at their sides, galloping swiftly. Even with their attire kept plain and low‑key, it was obvious at a glance: these were men sent by some powerful household on urgent business.
Xie Ci and Gu Wan rushed at full speed, galloping through Longshan Road, chasing all the way to its end — only to find they were a step too late. The others had already passed!
The bitter, violent north wind had blown all day. The leaden clouds in the black sky grew heavier and heavier, until at last the largest snowfall of the year began.
At first, it was just a few drifting flakes, like flying cotton, mixed with a trace of rain. Gradually, more and more fell, scattering down in flurries.
In the pitch‑black night, the white flecks landed on their hands and faces, freezing as they touched. Both exhaled steaming breath as they abruptly reined in their horses, staring at the two dark forked roads ahead.
Both paths led to Huangzhou. The distances were nearly the same, and even the road conditions had their own advantages and drawbacks.
The wind howled; the night was silent. On either side, thorny branches and yellow earth twisted into grotesque shapes, clawing in the darkness.
Longshan Road was the only flat passage through the towering mountains. In peacetime it was an official courier road; in wartime, a military road. To the east lay Guzhou, a major northern frontier stronghold; to the west, Wating and Longcheng Pass. If war broke out, the two sides could support each other, and the road could be sealed off for troop movements.
The thunder of hooves approached the crossroads. A group of armored officers and soldiers rode from Guzhou, passing through Longshan Road toward Wating. At their head, surrounded by several generals, was a familiar figure — Prince Xiaoshan, Li Yi!
The two sides met suddenly, without warning. Li Yi was surprised, but one glance at the breathless Gu Wan and Xie Ci, especially the latter, whose body bore faint traces of blood even in the night, and he immediately understood.
“You’re chasing that group ahead, aren’t you?” Li Yi gave a slight smile, his handsome face calm and elegant. He glanced back toward the direction he had come from: “That group is about five li ahead. They just turned onto a dirt road branching south.”
Clearly, those men did not wish to encounter Li Yi’s openly marching military company. From afar, they had slipped into the side road. When Li Yi himself rounded the bend, he caught sight of the last two riders disappearing behind the thorns.
In the night, snow and rain struck their faces with an icy sting. Xie Ci panted heavily, like a beast, glaring at Li Yi, teeth clenched tight.
Gu Wan, however, believed him almost immediately.
Li Yi had no reason to harm Xie Ci earlier, nor now. Even in their past life, the two had only come into conflict much later.
Gu Wan cast him a glance, then without hesitation pulled her reins. “Hyah—!” She tugged Xie Ci along, and the two horses charged into the left fork of the road.
At full speed, they raced five li, scanning carefully. Sure enough, in the southern thickets they found a trampled dirt path winding into the dark mountains. Without hesitation, they spurred their horses inside.
The north wind was fierce, the snow heavier, pelting their faces and bodies. In the pitch‑black night, they followed the narrow path, charging forward until, just over a li ahead, they found the group — halted for shelter, preparing to return to the courier road.
The sound of wind and snow masked hoofbeats and voices. Suddenly, from behind the slope, the two sides came face to face.
Xie Ci drew his long blade. The slender steel gleamed with the reflection of snow, flashing with a cold, deadly light.
“Ahhh—!”
One, two, three, four… fifteen, sixteen, seventeen! Not one more, not one less.
Xie Ci pressed his stirrup, leaped skyward, and swept down upon them!
Gu Wan also drew her sword, charging in right behind him.
Every surge of growth and explosive increase in strength comes with crushing pressure and crisis. Gu Wan could clearly feel it — Xie Ci’s killing power had risen dramatically. In the blood‑soaked weight of battle, he had broken through his limits, his combat ability climbing more than a single tier.
He was like a god of slaughter. The chain‑knife struck first, cutting down five or six enemies before he even landed. Blood sprayed across the snow‑stained yellow earth, throwing the enemy formation into chaos. Both sides clashed fiercely, corpses quickly piling in pools of blood on the ground.
Gu Wan chased after the few who tried to flee in panic. Behind her, the blood battle subsided. Xie Ci’s face was half drenched in blood. He raised his blade and walked to the last two survivors. “Speak. How many groups came out in total? Did any of your comrades take another road?”
His voice was cold: “If you lie even half a word, I’ll castrate you.”
The army had countless methods of torturing enemy spies, and Xie Ci had studied them well. As Gu Wan caught up to the fugitives, cutting them down and crouching to check if they were truly dead, she heard behind her a scream of unimaginable agony.
“I’ll talk, I’ll talk! There are no others. Second Young Master’s best men were all sent to Yinglie Slope. Only Min and his two were here.” When Xie Ci had unleashed the chain‑knife, those two had been caught off guard, badly wounded, and finally died under his blade. “Really, no one else — only our squad. Kill me, I beg you! Ahhh—”
Xie Ci’s violent emotions at that moment made him want to slaughter everyone, tear them to pieces. He finished the two with a single stroke. But then he heard the rustling of thorns, pale snowlight glinting, and Gu Wan emerged, sword in hand, stepping over the rubble. The instant he lifted his eyes to her, the raging storm inside him subsided. His mind cleared, his boiling blood cooled.
He took several deep breaths, his breathing steadier now. As he strode quickly toward Gu Wan, he first saw her hands — stained with blood.
A sudden ache struck his heart. His eyes burned hot. He took her hands, long and slender, once white and delicate, now sticky with human blood. “I’m sorry.”
Xie Ci remembered when, during his prison break, Gu Wan’s dagger had hesitated at an enemy’s throat. Now her hands were drenched in blood. His own were worse, covered with the blood of others. As he clasped her hands, he stained her pale, scallion‑like fingers with even more blood.
Xie Ci felt deeply guilty. Her hands — they should have been riding freely through blossoms, or holding chess pieces to play the game she loved.
At that moment, guilt overwhelmed him, indescribable.
But Gu Wan, after asking, suddenly laughed aloud: “Who says I must always love playing chess? Can’t people grow up?”
After galloping all the way and finally wiping out this group, removing the hidden danger, her mood was light and cheerful. “I like this. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come out!
As for killing — I already broke through that barrier during the prison break. Now it’s nothing. Back in school, we even had special psychological training courses for this. If you become a criminal police officer, isn’t it normal to shoot down criminals when necessary? These people were all villains, aiding the wicked. Not a single good one among them. My conscience is clear.”
Gu Wan pulled Xie Ci over, skillfully rolling up his sleeve to re‑wrap the wound that had burst open and bled. “You must take care of yourself. After we clear your father and brothers’ names and avenge them, we still have a long life ahead.”
The wind carried her laughing voice. After the simple bandaging, the two led their horses and mounted again.
One horse had run off and could not be found. This place was unsafe to linger, so they rode together on a single mount.
Turning onto the courier road, they sped onward. Looking back at the towering Longshan and the courier road swallowed by darkness, Xie Ci’s heart surged. At last, he had a moment to sort through everything that had happened today.
He said: “I killed Xun Rongbi.”
Xie Ci felt uneasy. Between Xun Xun and Xun Rongbi, his blade had swung without hesitation toward Xun Rongbi.
But in truth, Xun Rongbi was already near death, nearly stripped of power and control by Xun Xun. Killing Xun Xun at that moment would have been the more correct choice. The thought had flashed through his mind, but the surge of hatred had driven him to strike Xun Rongbi instead. Now, afterward, facing Gu Wan, he began to feel unsettled and guilty.
Unexpectedly, Gu Wan said: “Good kill! You did exactly right.” She immediately understood what Xie Ci meant — the boy was blaming himself again.
But speaking of “boy,” Gu Wan felt the word no longer fit. She turned to look. In the vast night, Xie Ci sat astride his horse against the cutting wind, his young sword‑brows dark, his hair flying. He was like a silver spear newly drawn from its sheath, its edge just beginning to gleam. He had undergone his first true growth. It was as if he had been reborn.
At Yinglie Slope, the weighing of choices, the decisive response, the astonishing growth under crushing crisis — he had suddenly matured. The last trace of youthful innocence in his brows had vanished.
Gu Wan felt glad. A hero destined to stand against the world should never have ended otherwise. “You did absolutely right. If it were me, I would have killed him too! People aren’t machines. Why travel thousands of li to the northwest, if not to act beyond the ordinary?”
Xun Rongbi was utterly detestable, the foremost of enemies. Gu Wan asked herself — if she were Xie Ci, wouldn’t she have stabbed him first as well? After all, killing Xun Xun could still be done later. “You did exactly right.”
Gu Wan raised her thumb and laughed: “Perfectly to my liking.” This was the Xie Ci she admired — hot‑blooded, sincere, full of righteous passion.
“Don’t overthink it. You did well!”
They had torn apart the Suzhou deception, escaped intact, and slain their first enemy. It was a victory far beyond her expectations. Surely this counted as their first triumph?
Gu Wan pinched her chin, the wind carrying her cheerful laughter far away. “A good beginning is half the success!”
The wind was strong; snowflakes crackled, gradually turning into heavy goose‑feather snow, covering bloodstains and footprints. The two rode on for who knew how long, until at last, in the deep of night, they found a small earthen temple suitable for shelter.
As she dismounted and stepped onto the stairs, Xie Ci tied the horse behind the side wall out of the wind. He looked back at Gu Wan’s tall, flowing figure, and suddenly recalled what Second Sister‑in‑law had once said: in a lifetime, to meet a companion who shares storms and stands in harmony is no easy thing.
In the dark night sky, white flakes drifted down. Standing on the steps, Gu Wan turned back, smiling earnestly: “Xie Ci, after a year, shall we swear brother‑sisterhood?”
Xie Ci froze. He should have been glad — he had once thought the same. Yet strangely, a wave of reluctance rose within him.
“No way. Why should you be the elder sister? We’re the same age!” He refused.
Gu Wan chuckled softly. “Tsk. Men — no matter young or old, they all want to be the big brother, never the little one.” She laughed twice. “Then, call me Ah‑Wan. Or Wan‑niang, that works too.”
Her friends all called her Wanwan, but “Wanwan” felt a bit too much. So she compromised: Ah‑Wan.
Xie Ci’s faint reluctance melted away like spring sun on snow, vanishing without a trace. Suddenly, he felt happy. “Good! Yuan‑niang… Wan‑niang.”
Gu Wan burst out laughing: “Mm!”