HCAW 75

Chapter 75: The Urgency of Joining Blades

Blades danced wildly, claws howled like thunder. Amid the clanging clash of metal, the Yu Ji Guard gazed at the young man before him—and in a sudden daze, saw an old acquaintance.

The old man remembered the Silver-Masked Man. Though his memories had long faded, he still recalled how, decades ago, they were both young and full of spirit. The Silver-Masked Man’s martial skills were always a cut above. Every time they sparred, he would end up flat on his back.

Each time he fell, the Silver-Masked Man would smile and reach out a hand to help him up, saying, “Again.”

And he would stubbornly grasp that hand and reply, “Again!”

Yet in all the decades that followed, he never won a single bout—until that rainy night five years ago. Old and frail, he struck down the man eroded by Immortal Elixir and finally claimed the upper hand. Now, staring at Chu Kuang, the old man felt that same strange familiarity. He chuckled coldly and bellowed:

“Again!”

In a flash, the Yu Ji Guard activated the mechanism in his Heavenly Mountain gold claws—the tips extended by a full inch. Chu Kuang failed to dodge and took a slash across his body. The claws twitched again, and venom oozed to the tips. Once it touched skin, it would cause wounds that never healed, burning like fire, intolerably painful.

Chu Kuang took several such strikes, pain racking his body. He cursed, “Despicable bastard!”

The Yu Ji Guard laughed. “To make me resort to tricks—you should consider it an honor. If you weren’t such a pain, I wouldn’t need these mechanisms at all.”

“Well then,” Chu Kuang sneered through clenched teeth, cold sweat and blood streaming down, “you’d better believe I’m more trouble than you could ever imagine, you filthy pig dog!”

Of all his fights with this old man, this was the one where he’d suffered the least. Likely due to the meat slices—his strength had grown, his reflexes sharpened. He was beginning to see through the Yu Ji Guard’s moves. And for some reason, the Yu Ji Guard seemed a little sluggish today. Chu Kuang wouldn’t let such a golden chance pass—he launched a fierce assault.

Suddenly, the Yu Ji Guard slammed a claw down onto the floating bridge. Chu Kuang dodged, but the plank cracked open beneath. After several more blows, the usable surface grew scarce. With nowhere left to stand, Chu Kuang’s footing grew unstable, his body a tapestry of wounds. In moments, he was soaked in blood.

“You’re no King Yama,” the Yu Ji Guard sneered, “just a clinging ghost! ‘The great king is easy to see; the little demons are hard to deal with,’ as they say. So crawl back to the dark where you belong.”

He laughed loudly, flashing white teeth, and lunged at Chu Kuang with both claws.

“Back to the underworld with you, you yammering insect!”

____

Wind howled above, rain sloshed below. A figure dashed through the storm, gasping for breath—it was Fang Jingyu.

He’d run several li from the pleasure boat to the floating bridge. But the battlefield changed in an instant—on foot, how could he hope to make it in time? His chest heaved. Wiping away sweat, he spotted a junk boat nearby and leapt aboard, kicking aside the curtain.

“I’m commandeering this boat!”

The people inside were stunned. Fang Jingyu’s eyes swept over them and he froze. Coarse hemp robes, curved blades at their waists—he cursed inwardly:

“Pirates.”

After a beat, the bandits burst into laughter.

“Well now! What a pup! Of all people to rob—you pick us?”

Fang Jingyu had only wanted to save himself the sprint. Now he was in a bind. Thinking quickly, he drew the Vipashiyin Blade and barked,

“I’m not afraid of the Yu Ji Guard—do you think I’ll fear a few thugs like you? Move!”

The mention of the Yu Ji Guard startled them. Faces turned wary. Sensing the shift, Fang Jingyu continued, expression stony:

“I need to get to Qingyu Gao Palace immediately. I’ve sworn to kill the Yu Ji Guard. If I don’t take this boat, I won’t make it.”

The bandits exchanged looks. No one had ever dared rob them before—let alone with such righteous flair. One asked, “Why us? Couldn’t you steal someone else’s boat?”

Fang Jingyu replied coldly,

“You misunderstood. I said borrow. I’m politely asking you—please, sail now.”

This strange, stubborn young man left them speechless. But what truly made their jaws drop was what he’d said—kill the Yu Ji Guard?

At first they burst out laughing—but gradually, their laughter stuck in their throats. That young man’s eyes were too serious to be bluffing.

Someone recognized the blade in his hand and whispered,

“That’s Emperor’s Bai blade!”

“You sure? Couldn’t be a fake?”

“The dragon sigil’s real. If I’m wrong, I’ll never trust my eyes on another antique again.”

Most of the bandits were displaced commoners—ruined by the Yu Ji Guard. Hearing this, they felt a measure of admiration. Seeing the imperial blade, they figured this man had serious backing and thought of currying favor.

One slapped his leg and said,

“Let’s give him a ride! Worst case, we keep his saber as fare.”

Another called out to Fang Jingyu,

“You really going to kill the Yu Ji Guard?”

Fang Jingyu nodded. So the bandits set oars to water and paddled out. Fang Jingyu sat in a corner, gripping his blade, brow furrowed. From time to time, he muttered softly.

Worried sick, he had awoken to find Chu Kuang missing. Now, even on this boat, he couldn’t help but whisper the man’s name.

A sharp-eared bandit turned and asked, “Chu Kuang? You know someone named Chu Kuang?”

Fang Jingyu looked up, wary and silent.

The bandit grinned. “You know Ah Chu! He’s a great guy—once saved our lives here in Yingzhou. We were about to be beaten to death in a slave camp, and he got us out.”

That Chu Kuang had earned favor here didn’t surprise Fang Jingyu. He replied,

“He saved you, and you repay him by becoming bandits? That’s gratitude?”

The bandits scratched their heads sheepishly.

“We’re new to the game—we’ve only stolen fish, never people. We live like fishermen.”

“Have you seen Chu Kuang today?”

“Not today. But he visited us some days ago, boat to boat, left us instructions.”

“What kind of instructions?”

“He said the sunlight these days is bad—like night even in day. And if he’s held up in Yingzhou, then when he reaches the floating bridge and gives the signal, we’re to extinguish all the lanterns.”

Fang Jingyu was puzzled. This must’ve happened before they moved on Qingyu Gao Palace—before Chu Kuang was injured. Had he foreseen they’d be trapped in Yingzhou? But what was the point of extinguishing the lanterns?

Chu Kuang’s mind had always been erratic—no one could guess what he was planning. Even in bed, he’d acted like he was desperate to seize the moment, as if tomorrow would never come. Remembering last night, Fang Jingyu flushed with shame.

For a criminal, Chu Kuang had acted like a lunatic. But maybe Fang Jingyu was the bigger fool.

His thoughts scattered as the boat stirred with commotion. A bandit ran over, shouting,

“Brother Chu’s brother—there’s no way forward! The sea’s full of warships!”

Fang Jingyu rushed out to see oil ships and war vessels packed tightly, not an inch of open water.

He made a snap decision. “Head for the Fenglin ship!”

Once there, Fang Jingyu thanked the bandits and left a payment. They scratched their heads, having no clue who this fearsome young man truly was.

Entering the Fenglin ship, Fang Jingyu was met by a girl in a tiger-head hood who jumped up from her chair, waving angrily:

“You again? I told you—I’m not getting involved with your Yu Ji Guard feud!”

Fang Jingyu remained calm.

“You misunderstand, madam. I’m not here to ask you to fight him.”

She crossed her arms, half-skeptical.

Fang Jingyu said,

“I’m only asking you to take this ship to Qingyu Gao Palace.”

The Ruyi Guard scowled.

“And why would I do that? What good could come of sailing into a war zone?”

Fang Jingyu’s tone remained respectful, hands clasped in a polite bow.

“Please.”

Her face darkened.

“The cannons are roaring out there. If I take this ship in, we’ll be caught in the crossfire. What’s in it for me?”

Fang Jingyu’s face was expressionless.

“If you won’t do it as a favor—then I must command you.”

“You little bastard! Who do you think you are—does your word count as an imperial edict now?” the Ruyi Guard stamped her feet in fury. “The only reason I was polite to you earlier was because you’re Emperor Bai’s son! Strip that title away, and you’re nothing!”

Fang Jingyu simply folded his arms. “I’m still nothing now—but when I reach Guixu, won’t I be greater than Emperor Bai’s himself? When that day comes, if I order you into retirement, it won’t be a hard thing to enforce.”

“You little turtle spawn!” she shouted. But after a pause, her face softened slightly and, with a grudging bow to the old maidservant nearby, she said, “Tell the boatmen to set course for Qingyu Gao Palace.”

The Fenglin ship had long been docked and unmoving. While it had its own crew, most of them lived nearby on other barge ships and weren’t usually aboard. The old maidservant stepped outside to summon them. Soon the rowers were in place, raising sails and oars, and the Fenglin ship began to glide forward, great patches of water moss peeling off its hull.

The Ruyi Guard took the helm, grumbling at Fang Jingyu, “You really know how to make people waste time and effort—just like Emperor Bai, down to the last hair!”

Fang Jingyu remained unbothered. “Like father, like son.”

As they neared Qingyu Gao Palace, the warships were packed too tight to press forward. Fortunately, the Fenglin ship was large, and had a high lookout perch known as the Bird Chamber. Fang Jingyu borrowed the Daqu Bow from the Ruyi Guard and climbed up. Worried, she followed him up the wooden ladder and saw him push open the porthole, setting up the bow toward the floating bridge.

“What are you doing?!” she cried, alarmed.

Fang Jingyu’s face was grave as he gazed into the distance. Though the sky was dim and the rain dense, through the chaos of war, he could just make out two figures locked in fierce combat on the floating bridge. “I’m going to save someone,” he said.

Realizing he meant to shoot, the Ruyi Guard cried out, “You’re mad! How’s your archery? Is your aim even accurate? With one bad shot, you’ll hit your dear sweetheart!”

Fang Jingyu thought: Sweetheart? The Ruyi Guard clearly hadn’t seen Chu Kuang and was just spouting nonsense. “Not very accurate,” he admitted. “That’s why I learned the sword instead. If you hadn’t refused to draw your bow, I’d have gladly let you take the shot.”

Choked silent, the Ruyi Guard could only stomp her feet in frustration.

Fang Jingyu turned his gaze back to the bridge. The sky was heavy like lead, rain falling like needles. He had sharp eyes—he could see Chu Kuang’s every move. That swordsmanship was stunning, enough to leave the soul trembling. Suddenly, a pang of confusion struck him:

Why does Chu Kuang wield a sword—and why do his moves echo the Fang family’s style?

_____

On the floating bridge, Chu Kuang was in dire straits.

The Yu Ji Guard’s assault was like a storm, pounding mercilessly against him. Chu Kuang resisted with all his strength, but his body—like a reef battered by tidal waves—was beginning to fracture, nearing collapse.

He knew the Yu Ji Guard aimed to cripple him completely and give him no time to recover with meat slices. The sky above churned with thunder, rain pouring down in sheets. Lightning struck the oil floating on the sea, igniting it in roaring flames. The fire licked the edges of the bridge, reducing viable footing. Chu Kuang bled heavily, his mind growing foggy.

Seeing him slow, the Yu Ji Guard sneered, “Tired already, arrogant brat?”

Chu Kuang panted, too breathless to reply.

Then the old man’s voice dipped venomous. “Have you shared a bed with Emperor Bai’s son?”

Chu Kuang flinched. His grip faltered, and a claw tore another bloody line across his side. The old man’s mouth moved with twisted malice, each word stabbing like a needle.

“If he knew how filthy you are, how many men you’ve slept with, what would he think?”

Though Chu Kuang knew it was psychological warfare, rage surged all the same. His defense slipped, and he took another hit. The Yu Ji Guard leaned in, voice low and cruel:

“He doesn’t know, does he? Doesn’t know how cheap you are? Do you think he knows whose bed you lost your virginity in?”

“Shut up! Shut up!!”

Eyes wild, Chu Kuang raised the Hanguang Sword, his strikes whirling like snowflakes in a blizzard as he lunged for the Yu Ji Guard. But this scar—buried deep in his heart for years—could not withstand such relentless prying.

His mind unsteady, his movements left countless openings. The Yu Ji Guard took his chance—a claw darted toward Chu Kuang’s eyes. He turned his head just in time, but one eye was slashed open, blood pouring out. Blinded.

Chu Kuang screamed in agony, clutching his face, stumbling back.

The Yu Ji Guard surged forward, his golden claw stabbing straight for Chu Kuang’s heart.

But just as the blow was about to land, a white streak cut through the air, smashing into the Yu Ji Guard. He flinched aside—too late. Blood dripped from his hand: a long-feathered arrow had pierced his golden armor and stabbed through his palm.

The Daqu Bow had fired that shot. Only such a powerful weapon could send an arrow so forcefully. The Yu Ji Guard growled, scanning for the source—and spotted a crimson warship not far off, painted with dragons and phoenixes.

The Fenglin ship.

Aboard it, Fang Jingyu—his body battered and bleeding—lowered the bow, gasping for breath.

His hands shook uncontrollably. Just now, he had poured all his strength into that one shot. And against all odds, it had been the most accurate arrow of his life.

The Ruyi Guard gaped at him. “Medicine! He needs medicine!” she cried.

Fang Jingyu’s body was torn and bloody. But he grabbed the Vipashiyin Blade and turned to her. “No time. I’m jumping.”

“Wait!” she called.

Fang Jingyu said, “Really, I’m fine. Thank you—for everything.”

A dark shape flew toward him. He caught it: a black bamboo-forged sword. Drawing it, he saw the blade was matte, like solidified night. But the dragon sigil on the sheath marked it clearly—it was a sword bestowed by the emperor.

The Ruyi Guard crossed her arms, scowling. “It was your Chu Kuang’s master’s weapon. A good sword. Take it.”

Fang Jingyu accepted it. The blade was polished spotless, clearly oiled regularly to prevent rust. When he looked back at the Ruyi Guard, he found her sneaking glances at it, gaze glued to the sword, as if unable to let go.

Then Fang Jingyu said softly:

“Madam, I don’t know what you think of the Yu Ji Guard. But if you avert your eyes just because you once lost to him—I believe that’s wrong.”

She flinched, turning away. “You little brat. What do you know? Always running your mouth.”

“You’ve told us many stories of the Nine Provinces. I’ve heard one too—about the bird Jingwei who tried to fill the sea. The daughter of the Flame Emperor drowned in the East Sea. Her soul turned into a bird, and day after day, year after year, she dropped stones to fill it.”¹ Chinese myth from the Shan Hai Jing (Classic of Mountains and Seas)²

The Ruyi Guard knew where he was going. She muttered, “I’ve heard that one too. Foolish bird. A tiny gullet—how many pebbles can it carry? It’d take a thousand years to fill that vast ocean. Vowing vengeance against the sea? Doesn’t know her limits.”

Fang Jingyu looked to the horizon. “The Yu Ji Guard is that sea. And I… I’m willing to be that foolish bird. Even if it takes lifetimes, I’ll keep filling.”

The Ruyi Guard was momentarily stunned.

Then she heard him say, “The world has too many clever people. Everyone’s looking to protect themselves. So we need someone like me—stupid, fearless, even willing to be a moth flying into fire.”

Fang Jingyu grabbed the Vipashiyin Blade and the Chengying Sword. Covered in wounds, he still stood with unwavering resolve. He stepped out the porthole and gave the Ruyi Guard one last look—deep and wordless—before leaping from the Fenglin ship.

That look shook her to the core.

She had seen it once before—five years ago, when the Silver-Masked Man walked alone toward the Yu Ji Guard’s warship. That same look.

The gaze of a moth flying into flame. The gaze of Jingwei. The gaze of someone stepping into death… eyes still burning bright.

The Ruyi Guard bit her lip.

Too foolish. Far too foolish. Knowing it can’t be done—and doing it anyway. A bamboo basket drawing water… what could possibly come of it?

But some people, even in death, their soul and spirit never perish. Through Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang’s figures, the Ruyi Guard seemed to see the Silver-Masked Man again. His spirit still lingered, his flame still burned.

She looked again at the Daqu bow on the table.

Almost against her own will, she walked over and stared at it for a long while—then slowly picked it up.

_____

Pain like wolves and tigers tore viciously at the Yu Ji Guard’s chest. He glared at the arrowhead embedded in his palm, grinding his teeth.

This was no ordinary arrow—it was a Jin Pugu arrow. Its barbed head was intricately patterned, with tiny hooked teeth that made it easy to pierce flesh but nearly impossible to remove. The shaft couldn’t be snapped either, causing constant, searing pain.

Suddenly, the Yu Ji Guard threw back his head in wild laughter. With a vicious yank, he pulled the Jin Pugu arrow out. A sickening crunch followed, and his palm was left with a gaping, bloody hole. The old man howled in agony. Watching from a distance, Chu Kuang’s heart lurched—now he understood why his master had coveted those arrows. This was indeed a weapon capable of killing the Yu Ji Guard.

But there was no time to catch a breath. Injured, the Yu Ji Guard only grew more furious. He strode toward the edge of the floating bridge, extended both arms, and—impossibly—lifted a huge boat many times his size, hurling it straight at Chu Kuang!

With a broken leg and blood loss clouding his vision, Chu Kuang was too slow. He could only watch as the massive vessel came crashing down—nowhere to run.

He thought he was about to die. But just then, the barge above him was split in two. Reed thatch rained down, catching fire in midair and turning into a blazing storm. Someone had drawn blade and sword and cleaved the barge in half with a single strike! The fallen debris hit the burning oil below, making the flames surge even higher.

The blaze separated Chu Kuang from the Yu Ji Guard. Suddenly, someone caught him and lifted him up into a warm embrace. When he looked up, amid flickering firelight, the one holding him—was none other than Fang Jingyu.

Chu Kuang, weakly: “Your Highness?”

Fang Jingyu looked just as battered, his flesh torn, blood soaking through his robes until his brocade turned crimson. Iron bones gleamed faintly beneath broken skin. Seeing Chu Kuang, he snorted coldly. “What Highness? Everyone knows Emperor Bai’s son came to challenge the Yu Ji Guard this morning. You’re the prince. I’m just the tardy little errand boy who arrived late.”

Chu Kuang knew he was angry for his disappearing act. He smiled faintly, breath weak: “Don’t be mad, Your Highness. I beg your forgiveness.” He was a mess of blood, one eye gouged out, his face a mass of crimson. Fang Jingyu, both anxious and aching with guilt, gritted his teeth and said, “I should punish you.”

“What punishment?”

“Confined on the Lei Ze ship in recovery for three months. No moving around.”

Chu Kuang laughed. “That’s too boring.”

“Then I’ll punish you to play pitch-pot with me. You’re not allowed to win.”

Chu Kuang laughed again. “Now that’s just childish.”

“Then what should I punish you with? Maybe… with letting me kiss you?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Fang Jingyu remembered the madness of last night—not just kissing, but everything else. The pleasure that scorched down to the bones. His face flushed bright red. He thought he’d be mocked, but Chu Kuang was just as tongue-tied, turning away, blushing furiously.

Still, now was not the time to tease. A sharp howl rang out behind the curtain of fire. The two hurried to their feet. Fang Jingyu gripped his blade; Chu Kuang fished out a meat slice and swallowed it. In moments, his injuries vanished, but his expression remained pale—his headache clearly worsening. Fang Jingyu hesitated. Chu Kuang smiled faintly. “No need to worry, Your Highness. I won’t die.”

“Then at least take it easy,” Fang Jingyu gritted. “Traveling with a lunatic is hard enough. If you go both mad and stupid, you’ll be impossible to deal with.”

“So long as Your Highness pays me monthly, I promise not to go mad.”

“You’re already insane on a regular basis.”

“That’s because the pay’s too low.”

They bantered for a moment, then steeled themselves, turning toward the front again. This battle concerned life and death. There was no time to worry about the price of meat slices or their effects. They would settle that later. Now, they leapt into the blaze like arrows loosed from a bow.

The Yu Ji Guard strode through the flames, imposing as ever, his beard alight, grinding his teeth. “Good, good! Two troublesome little brats!”

Both drew swords—Hanguang, dazzling like sunlight on the sea, and Chengying, silent and shadowy like night. Twin imperial blades, one bright, one dark, like sun and moon in tandem. The Yu Ji Guard opened his eyes wide, raising his claws to block.

In his view, Chu Kuang was an annoying little fly—weak but maddening. Now there was Fang Jingyu too, clinging like a leech, dodging every strike—he couldn’t even land a proper hit. Infuriating.

Worse, the two of them were both once-in-a-generation geniuses. Through repeated skirmishes, they’d begun to grasp how to evade the Yu Ji Guard’s attacks. He roared, unleashing punches like a torrential storm, but the two neutralized every blow with skill and finesse.

But it wasn’t long before Chu Kuang sensed something was wrong. Fang Jingyu had only just arrived and hadn’t noticed—the lacquered palm wood of the bridge, when burned, released toxic fumes. Chu Kuang had breathed in too much and his head throbbed violently. The Yu Ji Guard’s golden claws were growing hotter; just one swipe could burn flesh.

Chu Kuang gestured for Fang Jingyu to retreat slowly.

But then—a hail of arrows rained from all sides!

“Watch out!” Fang Jingyu roared.

He spun to shield Chu Kuang, taking several arrows himself with a grunt. When he looked up again, he saw Qingyu Gao Palace soldiers closing in, bows drawn, brandishing cymbals, chakrams, rope darts, firelances, and handheld guns.

Fang Jingyu coldly addressed the Yu Ji Guard: “So this is the pride of the Xian Mountain Guard? You really need to call in your subordinates to deal with just two boys?”

The Yu Ji Guard’s eyes blazed. “Emperor Bai’s brat! You challenged me to a duel—yet now you’ve brought backup. You break your word—why should I play fair?”

No sooner had he spoken than he lunged forward, fists aimed at their faces. The two struggled—defending against the Yu Ji Guard’s strikes while fending off hidden projectiles from all sides. Chu Kuang’s headache was splitting his skull—but thanks to Fang Jingyu’s cover, he avoided serious injury.

Still, in the throes of pain, Chu Kuang began to hear whispers.

Faint, chittering voices like insects in the grass, as though coming from another world. Each murmur struck like a needle of agony into his mind.

He knew what this was.

His master had warned him: don’t indulge too much in Immortal Elixirs. The more meat slices he consumed, the closer he came to madness.

But so what?

To kill the Yu Ji Guard, he would use everything. Madness be damned!

He grabbed Hanguang again—no longer defending, just attacking wildly.

Fang Jingyu was stunned. Chu Kuang’s face twisted with ferocity. Swordlight exploded toward the heavens as he charged into a bloody frenzy with the Yu Ji Guard.

One claw strike nearly tore open his chest. But Chu Kuang didn’t dodge—he crashed forward, Hanguang slicing for the Yu Ji Guard’s neck. Fang Jingyu’s heart clenched. If this continues, Chu Kuang will die!

He tried to reach him—but Qingyu Gao Palace soldiers dragged him back. Just as the Yu Ji Guard’s claw was about to pierce Chu Kuang’s heart—

An arrow flew.

A thunderous, earth-splitting shot.

This wasn’t like Fang Jingyu’s earlier arrow. This one had the power to move mountains and split the sea. The Jin Pugu arrow pierced through the Yu Ji Guard’s arm, ripped through bone, and embedded deep in his knee. Blood sprayed in all directions. Roaring in pain, the Yu Ji Guard bellowed at the Fenglin ship:

“Ruyi Guard—Ruyi Guard!”

It needed no explanation. This arrow could only have come from her.

But atop the Fenglin ship, by the wide-open porthole, the figure holding the bow wasn’t the Ruyi Guard—but an elderly maid in flowing robes and feathered sleeves.

Hands trembling, she muttered, “My lady, this old body is really not fit to hold this monstrous bow…”

The Ruyi Guard snorted. “Ha! You old hag trying to act your age again? Just hold the bow steady and stop whining!”

She had the old woman stabilize the bow while she nocked another Jin Pugu arrow, drew it to the corner of her mouth, took careful aim—and fired.

The arrow roared like a comet, piercing the Yu Ji Guard’s arm again. Blood gushed. He howled like a beast.

The Ruyi Guard let go, then told the boatmen, “Let’s circle a bit. I’ve shot that old rooster three times—he’ll be too embarrassed to hold back much longer. Might start aiming cannons at us.”

The boatmen obeyed, and the Fenglin ship slowly pulled away, navigating through fire and chaos. The old woman’s arms were jelly; though she hadn’t drawn the bowstring herself, she still felt its monstrous power.

Turning to the Ruyi Guard, she asked, “Didn’t you swear you’d never draw a bow again?”

The girl scowled, stomped, and cackled coldly: “What bow? I didn’t shoot anything! You did! I just twanged the string a bit. That arrow landing on the Yu Ji Guard—pure coincidence!”

After her tantrum, she came over again, hesitated, then pulled out another Jin Pugu arrow. “Fine. One more arrow.”

The maid looked up and smiled mischievously. The girl snapped, “If anyone asks, say every arrow came from you. Got it?”

The old woman chuckled. “Yes, yes. All from me. I was born with divine aim. Definitely not your handiwork, my lady.”

The girl gave her a look, then snorted and finally took the Daqu Bow.

At last, at that window, she once again drew her bow toward the rain—just like she did five years ago.

But this time, there was no more doubt, no more hesitation.

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