“But if we fail to bring you back, we’ll be punished when we return,” the maid Beiju said anxiously, her voice full of grievance.
Pei Nai patted her shoulder. “Alright, alright—let’s compromise. The Ju residence is so dull. Why don’t you two relax outside with me for a while? We’ll go back together later. If they ask, just say you found me and dragged me back immediately. Doesn’t that work? It’ll even make it seem like you’ve been diligently searching for me all afternoon.”
Beiju and Qingzhu looked at each other, unable to refute her.
“I’ve arranged to meet Yixi at the east entrance of Bagua Street. Besides, with your small builds, you couldn’t carry me back anyway—so why not just come along?” Pei Nai coaxed them, half persuading, half tempting.
After hesitating for a long while, the two maids finally nodded reluctantly.
Pei Nai walked ahead while they followed behind. After turning a corner, she saw Yixi already waiting, waving at her excitedly.
As they approached, Yixi eagerly pulled her over. “Look!”
Pei Nai followed her gaze. The main street outside Bagua Street was packed with people, shoulder to shoulder, completely blocking the road.
“Why is it so lively?” Pei Nai asked curiously.
“Today is the registration day for the annual Ascending Cloud Heroes Tournament. The deadline is about to close. Once it does, both spectators and participants can enter,” Yixi pointed at a three-story-high wall nearby. “It’s right next door, in the Li sector of Bagua Commercial Street—the Sacred Flame Arena.”
Pei Nai had long heard of the Li sector. Because the Li trigram symbolized emptiness at its center, the buildings there were constructed with a gap in the middle, forming an open space. Later, after renovations, all the surrounding structures were turned into tiered viewing platforms, while the central area became a martial arena.
Yixi smiled. “The tickets were given by my father. We’ve got the best VIP seats. I knew you’d like it, so I brought you here. Shall we go in now?”
Pei Nai was delighted. She loved watching martial contests and was already eager.
They headed toward the crowded entrance.
A candied hawthorn vendor caught Pei Nai’s eye. “Wait for me,” she said, then quickly walked over and bought three skewers.
Holding them carefully, she weaved through the crowd and returned, handing them to the two maids. “One each. No more long faces—smile!”
Beiju and Qingzhu accepted them, their expressions softening into smiles. “Thank you, Miss.”
“That’s better—smiling suits you,” Pei Nai said, then offered the remaining skewer to Yixi.
Yixi shook her head and refused. Pei Nai felt a bit regretful, wondering what to do with the extra one.
Nearby, in the dense crowd waiting to enter, a conversation drifted clearly into her ears.
“Did you hear? The ultimate prize of this year’s tournament is the legendary ancient weapon—the Hunxi Whip, missing for eleven years.”
Pei Nai froze. The candied hawthorn nearly slipped from her hand.
Her companion exclaimed, “You mean the Blood Whip of Wanyue—the foremost of the Five Peaks?! How dare they?!”
“It’s just a gimmick,” the first man said. “The tournament already has great prestige in Tianyao. But if they want heroes from other nations to come all the way here, they need something enticing. Look around—so many foreigners. This year’s competition will definitely be more exciting than ever.”
His companion frowned, indignant. “Does the government allow this? The Han family has rendered great service for generations, producing countless generals. They were once half the backbone of the Pei Army! The Northern Spear represents Tianyao’s strength, and the Blood Whip is the faith of countless people. How can they let it be tainted in a mere competition?”
Another bystander joined in, “You don’t know? The Han family’s last surviving heir—General Han Ruizhe—once offended the Duke of Duanding. This prize has the tacit approval of the authorities.”
Han Ruizhe…
Fragments of memory flashed through Pei Nai’s mind.
A young man sat upon a barren shore, starlight reflected in his eyes, smiling with youthful brilliance that outshone the galaxy.
How could she forget?
They had grown up together in the army camp, training side by side. Childhood companions without suspicion, sharing the vigor of youth. But time had passed them by—she became another man’s wife, while he rose through the ranks.
When they met again, they were the last heirs of their respective families, bearing the burdens of their ancestors, with the nation’s borders stretching before them. Pei Nai had taken up the Northern Spear and donned the same battle armor, becoming his commander.
Her throat tightened.
She knew that the Blood Whip of Wanyue had helped forge the Pei Army—and the Pei Army had, in turn, elevated the Northern Spear.
Now, the Northern Spear stood displayed in Tianyao’s central plaza, guarded day and night. But the Blood Whip had disappeared eleven years ago, when Han Ruizhe’s elder brother fell in battle.
It had never even reached Han Ruizhe’s hands.
The conversation continued.
“After the Battle of Yagu ten years ago, Han Ruizhe retired into seclusion. Do you think he’ll come this time? They can’t let the whip fall into outsiders’ hands.”
“Alas, neither the emperor nor the people wish to see it come to this. The Duke of Duanding must be using the whip to force Han Ruizhe’s hand. After all, it’s been years, and Lady Yingwu is still buried somewhere in the wilderness—no one knows where.”
Just as Pei Nai was about to ask more, a commotion broke out behind her.
She turned and saw the old candied hawthorn vendor lying on the ground, his sticks and sweets scattered everywhere in a mess.
Passersby stopped, watching in confusion.
A burly man with a hammer strapped to his back stood nearby, cursing angrily, “Blind old fool! Didn’t you see where you were going? You ran right into me!”
A companion in black stopped him. “Xiaoren, there are too many people watching. It’s getting late—the competition matters more.”
The man glared at the old vendor before leaving with his entourage.
Pei Nai had intended to help the old man, but someone else had already assisted him up.
“What kind of person bullies an old man like that?” Qingzhu said angrily, watching them leave.
Yixi also frowned. “They look unfamiliar—probably foreigners.”
Pei Nai narrowed her eyes, staring at the pair of twin hammers on the man’s back. Her voice turned low.
“If I’m not mistaken… that’s Xing Xiaoren, eldest son of Xing Taizhao—the Wind-Thunder Eight-Spoked Hammer.”