Chapter 13

Xie Wuyi had always thought no matter where a man like that went, no matter what name or status he took on he was bound to live a life that blazed with brilliance.

But what Ye Fusheng recounted… was instead a brief and quiet chapter.

The borderlands were bitterly cold. Soldiers died nearly every day. To return wrapped in a horsehide shroud was a blessing; even three inches of earth over a mangled corpse was more than fortune could promise. Three years ago, during the turn of summer to fall, a new batch of conscripts arrived. Among them was a strange man dust-covered but proper in bearing, with an injury on his right hand but swift and agile. Even battle-hardened veterans couldn’t best him.

He liked to joke. His temper was easygoing. Not a man of rank, but well-liked. He fought patrols alongside rough, broad-shouldered comrades and carried their bodies home in tears when they fell.

At year’s end, a nomadic tribe invaded. Greedy officers had embezzled funds, and the soldiers half-starved and poorly clothed rushed to fight. Though they repelled the enemy, countless lives were lost. Shattered weapons bore the crusted blood of the fallen. The desolate plains hid countless stiff, broken corpses.

Most of the brothers who had lived and died together for a year were gone. He dug each grave by hand, sending them to the afterlife himself. Then he heard the fortress commander boasting, preparing to claim all the merit.

Five hundred soldiers. Nearly a hundred laborers. Now, fewer than a third survived. Every one of them had walked through death.

But the commander, far from the reach of the Emperor, falsified casualty reports and exaggerated victory. The so-called “battle report” was just a self-serving bid for promotion. The dead got paltry burial stipends then were forgotten.

That was likely the first time in his life he flew into true rage. He burst into the command tent and spoke bluntly. The commander, blinded by greed, ordered him dragged out and flogged with twenty military rods.

Twenty lashes. Flesh torn open. The man endured every stroke without a sound. And when the commander turned to berate the others

He snatched a blade and severed the man’s head.

Killing a superior, defying military rank he should have been executed.

But someone protected him.

The young emperor had just returned from a secret tour of the provinces. Hearing of the bloodshed, he came to oversee matters personally and stumbled into this case. He had his secret guards present the imperial token and take the man away.

On the road to the capital, the emperor asked him, “Will you serve the nation?”

The man, unwashed and silent for days, finally raised his head.

“I’ll give my life for country and kin but only if right and wrong are judged with fairness.”

The emperor smiled. “The court is a murky pond. Even I, as emperor, must often make bitter choices. If you can’t stomach it then be the blade I wield to cut through the knots. How about it?”

There are always moments in life when one is powerless. Always matters where no one gets their way.

He gave no reply. But when they reached the towering capital gate, he finally bowed deeply and said, “Yes.”

From that day on, the world never saw that man again.

He erased his identity. Became the emperor’s hidden sword. A shadow, alongside others who had cast aside name and self, moving unseen in darkness.

One life, one vow. Fulfilled only in death.

Until a month ago when the Northern Barbarians pressed the border, and the war at Jinghan Pass turned dire.

“Then… he died.”

Ye Fusheng still remembered the rain of blood and steel that day. He should’ve been trampled to paste by enemy horses but that man had pulled him out, carved a bloody path through encirclement with half his life.

But ten miles in every direction was enemy territory. Both were wounded barely clinging to life. Even with wings, they couldn’t have escaped.

Then, the man asked: “Any last wishes?”

Poisoned and blind, Ye Fusheng could only cling to his back and think carefully. “There’s one promise I haven’t kept.”

The man laughed. “Two drifters in the same fate. I’ve got a broken promise too. Looks like we’re both doomed to fail.”

Ye Fusheng coughed, then laughed. “Maybe not. Put me down I’ll delay them. You might still get out. At least one of us will keep a vow.”

The man didn’t reply only ran faster.

That night, under the third watch, they fled into a mountain ravine. The barbarians pursued close behind. Time was running out.

He hid Ye Fusheng in a cave, stripped off his outer robe, took Ye’s blade, left a brocade pouch and a jade pendant. “Don’t come out,” he said and ran off.

Ye Fusheng called after him, voice low. No answer only hoofbeats pounding closer and closer.

Then, the clash of weapons. A storm’s howl. It sounded like ten thousand arrows let loose at once.

“…He died too fast. Didn’t have time to say anything. Only enough to shove the jade pouch into my hands… and run toward death,” Ye Fusheng said, eyes lowered. “I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t follow. Don’t even know if he looked back.”

He crawled out of that cave the next night. Limping, blind, he overheard border refugees whispering and pieced together the truth.

The man had found a corpse of similar build, strapped it to his back, donned Ye’s robe, and fled with the Jinghong Blade drawing the enemy away. He died at a cliff’s end, pierced by a rain of arrows.

The candle in the room had gone out at some point. Only faint moonlight crept in through the window, outlining Xie Wuyi’s silent form. He sat unmoving, not even breathing audibly as if he too had become a corpse.

After a long time, he murmured, “So that’s how it was.”

Ye Fusheng continued, “I once tried to investigate his identity. But the Jianghu isn’t the court what I could learn was limited. Based on his face and swordplay, I suspected he was Duanshui’s master, gone missing after Lingyun Peak. But with no confirmation, I assumed he’d withdrawn from the martial world and joined the court. I was ordered to end the search.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“But when he gave me this jade pendant, I finally knew. So I followed a merchant caravan here, hoping to confirm the truth before deciding what to do. I never expected…”

“That there would be another Xie Wuyi in Duanshui Manor?”

Ye Fusheng gave a wry smile. “Exactly. The moment I saw you, I knew I’d stepped into another mess.”

“Do you regret it?”

Ye Fusheng smiled lightly. “Now that the truth’s clear what is there to regret?”

He had come all this way through illness and injury because that man had fought beside him, saved his life. If his conscience wasn’t completely eaten by dogs, he owed it to the dead to fulfill the final wish.

Only now did Ye Fusheng understand the jade pendant was meant to be returned. Though the three-year promise had been broken, this at least was closure.

“If by living, I serve my country’s fate then let life or death be as it will.” Xie Wuyi’s voice turned cold. “So righteous, so heroic! Well then do as you like.”

Such rapid shifts in tone didn’t irritate Ye Fusheng. He calmly poured himself a cup of water, drank it all, then stood and cupped his hands in parting.

“Then I’ll go rest. You should too.”

After he left, Xie Wuyi sat alone in the dim room for who knows how long. A cold wind burst through the open window, rain spraying in. Startled, he stood.

Three years of sickness and now the seal broken, the needle pulled his inner force had returned, but his body was hollowed. The sudden movement made his vision spin. He barely steadied himself against the table.

His fingers touched the Duanshui Blade’s sheath. They trembled. Then clenched.

He seized the long blade and strode out.

In the kitchen, he didn’t disturb the sleeping servants. He grabbed a jug of strong wine, then used qinggong to fly to Wanghaichao.

The cliff winds howled, rain and leaves dancing madly. His robe flapped like a defiant flag.

He tore the seal, drank deep, and flung the jug into the abyss.

Then he leapt.

At the last moment, he used his right foot to kick off his left and soared over the waves, landing like a swan on a lone boulder.

The river surged. Spray drenched his robes ice-cold.

The blade was unsheathed. Three feet of steel gleamed in the stormlight.

He swung. As he had every day these past three years. Inner force flowed through his veins, slicing the waves, calming the tide.

Only when the final strike fell, breath ragged and body cold to the bone, did he lift his eyes.

Dawn was near. In late autumn rain, the sky remained dark.

Only far off… a faint line of white.

“…Dawn is coming.”