Prologue

In the seventh month, the heat begins to wane, and fallen leaves dance in the wind.

The southern lands abound in waterways, yet the season has passed; the once glorious vista of lotus leaves stretching endlessly to the sky has faded into desolation. The usually desolate wild ferry saw an unprecedented visitor today.

The guest wore a black cloak with a hood that concealed most of his face. Beneath his feet was a small boat of unknown origin, lacking even the simplest canopy.

He had been standing there for nearly three hours, from sunset to moonrise, as though rooted to the spot, unmoving.

After a while, a cool breeze passed through. Accompanied by the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, a figure dressed in night attire approached from a path overgrown with wild grass.

Before drawing near, the figure bowed deeply. “Forgive me for arriving late, my lord. I’ve kept you waiting.”

“The battle at Jinghan Pass has only just ended, and the journey is long. It is not your fault.”

The cloaked man waved him closer, his voice hoarse.

“However, bringing a tail here… that is a grave mistake.”

The man in night clothes was alarmed. Exhausted after days on the run, he had unwittingly been followed. Gathering his internal energy, he sharpened his senses and sure enough, detected over ten figures lurking stealthily in the nearby thicket.

“This subordinate is guilty. My lord, please-”

“If they make a move, I’ll have to send people into the bellies of dogs to find your bones,”

The cloaked man sneered, turning to look out across the water.

Ripples broke the surface as a small boat approached, carrying two figures one in gray robes, hair loose, standing respectfully behind the other; the second clad in white, crowned with jade, standing at the bow.

The man in white held a long brocade box in both hands. His features were flawless, his smile gentle like a spring breeze.

“Xiwei, it’s been ten years. You’ve grown taller… and more temperamental.”

“A long-suffering wife finally becomes the matriarch who doesn’t throw their weight around a little?”

The cloaked man flicked his sleeve, and his boat slid silently over the water. Before even a ripple had formed, he was already behind the man in white. He reached out and pressed a hand on the hilt at the gray-robed man’s waist, mocking:

“Trying to brandish a blade before Guan Yu himself? Careful you don’t chop off your own foot.”

The gray-robed man’s pupils shrank. Catching the displeased glance from the man in white, he reluctantly released the hilt, though his body remained tense.

“Your foundation’s decent, but your reflexes are lacking. After all these years, this is all he managed to teach you…?”

The cloaked man paused, then chose a more polite term.

“…they’re all decorative pillows, it look good but nothing inside.”

The man in white cleared his throat lightly. “The Shadow Guard mostly recruit based on their skills. Their commander only oversees missions and discipline. You’re being a little unfair.”

“Ziyu, you’re always buried in state affairs. Why waste breath?”

A breeze swept by, bone-chilling cold riding on its tail. The cloaked man’s voice also carried a hidden sharpness.

“You came to find me what for?”

“The Shadow Guard discovered one of your men at Jinghan Pass. We originally thought he was a remnant spy of the enemy.”

The man in white, unfazed by the threatening air, calmly explained.

“But after some tracking, we found he was seeking the Shadow Guard’s commander. The Shadow Guard may be famous, but every member’s identity is secret let alone the commander’s. The only one who could know him, who would care this much… is you.”

The corner of the cloaked man’s mouth twitched under the hood. “Knowing that I’m still alive disappoint you huh?”

The man in white shook his head, running his fingers over the carved egret on the brocade box.

“Perhaps I once felt that way. But now… Xiwei, knowing you’re alive makes me glad. At least I won’t dream of him being angry with me anymore.”

The cloaked man stiffened. His eyes fell on the box, voice raspier.

“…What do you mean?”

“You must’ve heard about the northern tribes’ attack on Jinghan Pass, or you wouldn’t have sent someone to investigate.”

The man in white glanced at the agent now surrounded on the dock, his tone darkening.

“Jinghan Pass guards the northern frontier. If it falls, the borders are wide open. The tribes have plotted this for years…”

“Chu Ziyu, answer my question!”

With a sweep of his sleeve, a gust blew back the hood, revealing his face under the moonlight no more than twenty-something, with fine brows, almond-shaped eyes, and ink-black hair. His good looks were unmistakable. Yet his tightly pressed lips and narrowed eyes radiated a threatening intensity, sharp as a drawn blade.

The imperial family of Great Chu bore the royal surname. The current emperor, young when he ascended the throne, had pushed reforms, revamped the military and government. The new laws drew both praise and scorn, but even children knew the name of the emperor who dared defy ancestral tradition Chu Xun, addressed as Ziyu.

Interrupted so rudely, the emperor neither flinched nor grew angry. He simply continued.

“The garrison commander died in battle. The situation grew dire. With conservative ministers obstructing me in court, I issued a secret order for the Shadow Guard to act independently at Jinghan Pass.”

The martial world and imperial court had long maintained a delicate balance officials tolerated the martial world’s existence, and righteous warriors respected the law.

But the Shadow Guard was an exception.

Founded over sixty years ago by the dynasty’s founding emperor, a former soldier who understood the ways of the people, the Shadow Guard was formed from top martial artists to act as imperial assassins and spies.

The previous emperor, soft-hearted by nature, disapproved of their ruthless methods and disbanded them.

But the current emperor’s first act was to restore them sharpening them into the deadliest of blades.

A blade held to the throats of his enemies, ready to fall at any moment.

No one knew how many there were. No one knew where they hid. No one knew who they were.

Chu Xun’s fingers slowed on the box’s carvings.

“I told them to defend Jinghan Pass at all costs. But I never imagined the cost would be…”

“The tribes were powerful, and traitors on the inside had colluded with them. Of 178 Shadow Guards, more than half fell within ten days. Three days ago, with enemy forces at the gate, he infiltrated the enemy’s rear camp and assassinated their leader, Hutar.”

To sneak into such a camp was already suicidal assassinating the commander, then facing an entire army?

A cold wind slithered like a viper down his back. Chu Xun’s voice grew faint.

“After the battle, our men survey the field. But most corpses were too mangled to identify…”

“Shut up…”

“In the end, they found him pinned to a cliff by a hundred arrows, body utterly destroyed. Only the Jinghong Blade still clutched in his hand.”

“I said shut up!”

A roar burst out.

The cloaked man struck at Chu Xun’s face. The gray-robed guard raised his blade to intercept, flesh met steel with a metallic clang, unscathed. Before shock could register, the cloaked man chopped down again. His bare hand split the four-finger-wide blade clean in two.

The broken tip had barely hit the ground when the rest of the blade followed. The cloaked man, as fluid as an egret dipping water, caught the broken edge and pressed it to Chu Xun’s throat.

The gray-robed man tensed, about to call reinforcements, but Chu Xun merely smiled.

“Impressive. Your mastery of ‘Plucking Flowers’ is nearly surpassed our master.”

The cloaked man sneered.
“I don’t believe a word you say.”

“Of course. He always kept his word… But man can’t outwit fate.”

Chu Xun gently pushed away the blade and tossed the brocade box into his arms.

“He once said he’d keep his head on his shoulders until you came to take it. But now, he’s been pierced by a hundred arrows, cremated on site. All that’s left is this blade entrusted to me, to give to you.”

“Chu Xiwei. All that once was grudges, debts let it end here.”

With that, he struck. Fingers like knives jabbed at Xiwei’s acupoint. Distracted and grief-stricken, Xiwei was caught off guard. A surge of inner force exploded in his shoulder, sending him stumbling back onto his unsteady boat.

Clutching the brocade box, his voice was frigid. “Jing Lei.”

Chu Xun stood calmly, hands behind his back, still the picture of refined nobility.

“We were taught by the same master. For ten years I lived and trained at his side. There’s no reason I should fall behind you. The long night is ending. It’s time to returned to the palace. Let us hope… our paths never cross again.”

Ripples shimmered. As silently as it came, the boat drifted away. The guards on shore vanished. The night-clad subordinate, ignoring his wounds, leapt aboard, kneeling on one knee.

“This subordinate failed. I await your punishment, my lord!”

Chu Xiwei said nothing. Left hand cradling the box, right hand fumbling at the brass clasp, his figure swayed. His hands trembled violently. Only after what felt like ages did the tiny latch finally open.

Inside lay a single sheathed blade jet-black, three feet long, two fingers wide. The scabbard, engraved with a flying wild goose, looked lifelike, ready to break free.

The blade, once drawn, gleamed like autumn water, clear as frost among reeds.

Reflected in the moonlight his own face, pale as paper.

tears silently streamed down.

“I’m weeping…” he murmured, belatedly brushing away the tears streaking his face. “So I can still… shed tears.”

He wiped them away roughly, tried to smile but the result looked more like sobbing.

Holding the blade, he laughed under his breath.

“How could you… die? You promised to save your life for me to take… I forbid it and You dare to die?”

After laughing for a while, he choked and coughed.

“…Master… how could you die?”

Behind him, his subordinate could not see his master’s expression.

But in that moment, Chu Xiwei looked utterly lost.

Like a child who no longer knew the way home.