Chapter 57

The sun inched westward, and for the first time, Gu Wan truly understood what it meant for a day to feel like a year. At last, with a bang, the back door of the inn swung open, and Li Yi’s tall, slender figure, clad in light apricot, appeared on the threshold. Whether from the heat or some other reason, sweat had soaked through the collar and front of his robe.

Li Yi announced, “It’s done. Feng Kun has already entered the palace to seek imperial approval.”

Gu Wan leaped forward, elation written all over her face. “That’s wonderful!”

The tension that had strung her taut for so long loosened in an instant; her delicate features glowed with joy, her brows and eyes alight. Li Yi exhaled deeply, took the handkerchief from a guard, and wiped the sheen of sweat—half hot, half cold—from his face. He glanced at Gu Wan and smiled, “With you here, Xie Ci, our luck is extraordinary.”

Only then did Gu Wan realize how parched she was. She’d forgotten to drink water altogether. She pulled out her water flask, uncorked it, and gulped down half its contents. The thirst nearly killed her. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, but there was nothing coarse about the gesture—if anything, it seemed quite dashing. “You’re not doing too badly yourself,” she said.

To be fair, although Yu Manzhen had her own designs, she pinned all her hopes on Li Yi. Her support, though not wholly selfless, was more help than hindrance. Of course, whether a man like Li Yi truly needed such assistance was another question altogether.

In her previous life, Yu Manzhen had been rather pitiable; had she not incited the original protagonist’s suicide and subsequent events, Gu Wan might have felt only sympathy for her—perhaps even offered help if necessary. But life held no ‘ifs.’

Li Yi gave a small laugh and took a swig from the water flask as well. He understood her meaning but gave no comment. Their moods lightened, they exchanged a few jokes, then fell silent.

Today marked the third day; there were only nine left. The return journey and various arrangements would take time, and Feng Kun certainly couldn’t race eight hundred miles non-stop as they had. Gu Wan’s heart felt like fifteen buckets tumbling up and down—hope rising one moment, anxiety the next, as she waited and calculated time over and over.

Li Yi tidied himself and said, “You’ll have to bear with this a little longer.”

Gu Wan’s true identity could not be revealed. Li Yi had her pose as his female companion, and the party—seven or eight in all—mounted quickly and sped toward Feng Kun’s residence.

Once Li Yi departed, Feng Kun entered the palace and soon emerged bearing an imperial decree. He was appointed Supreme Commander and Special Inspector of the Northwest Campaign, with full authority over all affairs within and around the Qingshui Valley battlefield.

Li Yi waited outside the residence, pacing impatiently. At the sight of the imperial litter—eight bearers, crimson and gold, encircled by imperial guards—he immediately dismounted to greet it.

Feng Kun, clad in a vermilion robe embroidered with golden qilin, wore a golden cap with twin cords trailing down, his pale, refined features now sharp with authority. Pinched between two fingers was a golden command token. “Chen Ping, Li Wang, and you—ride with all haste to Yunbei Granary. Begin handling grain and military supplies transport immediately.”

With a flick of his hand, Feng Kun sent the golden token flying through the sedan curtain. Li Yi caught it at once. Two commanders of the Golden Guard had already arrived and stepped forward, answering the summons.

A throng from the palace, bearing ceremonial regalia, approached in the distance—Li Yi glimpsed what seemed to be the Grand Preceptor of Lin in the crowd, but had no time for more than that. Grasping the token, he turned and left without delay.

They spent most of the next day riding hard, exhausting more than a dozen horses. Along the way, they rendezvoused with Xie Yun and others, then immediately headed for Yunbei Granary.

Upon arrival, they found vast stores of grain already loaded onto carts, ready to depart. With the golden token, Gu Wan and Li Yi took control of Yunbei Granary from one of Lin’s trusted agents. The details of the conflict need not be recounted, but Feng Kun’s confidants swiftly handled the resistance, replacing all personnel. Drawing soldiers from the eight thousand Yunzhou troops already en route to Longshan Pass, they immediately pressed the first wave of grain and supplies toward the front.

They reached Longshan Pass without hindrance.

Meanwhile, Feng Kun’s procession finally crossed Yuanzhou and reached Qingshui Pass.

By then, the second wave of troops from the northern provinces—totaling one hundred and thirty thousand—had arrived. Feng Kun ordered the gates opened and split half the forces, combining them with seven thousand under Duke Lüguo He Xin and Zheng Shoufang, who had originally escorted the two princes. These troops were to guard the military supplies and reinforce the Qingshui battlefield.

At last, the crucial moment arrived. Dou Wu and the other local commanders from Lingyun and nearby provinces, along with their garrisons, joined the fray. After fierce clashes with the gate guards over the last two days, the gates were finally flung open. Gu Wan and her companions wasted no time, grabbing portable supplies and arms, and dashed straight toward the raging battle.

But when they arrived at the Qingshui battlefield, it was already the thirteenth day since Gu Wan’s departure.

The fighting was unimaginably savage. On Xie Ci’s side, the only thing sustaining the soldiers’ morale was the trickle of news Gu Wan risked her life to deliver. But just a day earlier, their provisions had run out entirely. Even their horses had nothing left to eat.

Spearheads had dulled and broken; blades were chipped and bent; medicines and fire oil were long exhausted.

Xie Ci tore off his helmet, wiped blood-caked hair back, and, astride his black warhorse at the very front, shouted fiercely, “The grain and supplies are almost here! Reinforcements have already broken through! We must hold on—”

“If any of you should die today, I will care for your families. As long as I, Xie Ci, draw breath, I will protect your parents and children with all my strength!”

The sky was thick with the smoke of battle, dark as storm clouds. The slaughter with the Northern Rong army had reached its final, desperate pitch—either their army would fall, or their enemies would be destroyed.

At such a moment of utter exhaustion and deprivation, morale could either collapse completely or blaze up, daring all for victory.

“I, Xie Ci, will fight to the death! If we cannot win, we would rather die!”

The hot wind howled. The young commander, crimson cloak flying on his black steed, was stained with layers of dried and fresh blood. His features were sharp as a blade, and at this instant, there was no time for splendor—only fierce, unyielding resolve in every eye.

Su Zhen, Qin Guan, He Yuan, Liang Fen, and the others—Xie Ci had just managed to reunite the shattered Wei forces after another breakthrough by the Northern Rong and led them out to face their foes on the grasslands.

Both Xie Ci and Huyan De were covered in blood—friend and foe locked so tightly in battle it was truly a matter of life and death.

This battle would end only one way: either total annihilation for them, or the Northern Rong cavalry driven south of Yinshan in defeat.

The young general’s voice cut through the carnage. All around him, the ground was stained with blood; the air throbbed with smoke and fury. There was no choice but to charge—any hesitation meant certain death. A surge of wrath and courage rose from Liang Fen, He Yuan, Qin Guan, and the rest, down to the humblest soldier. No one was unscathed, not even the medics, who now wielded tent stakes as weapons, shouting, “If we cannot win, we would rather die!”

“We will fight to the very last!”

Their voices shook the land, echoing across the plain. Even the central camp of the Northern Rong heard them clearly. Huyan De’s eyes burned with rage and hatred. “That Xie Ci—how is he still not dead?”

Suddenly, a roar went up, and the two armies clashed once more. Despite their hunger, the Wei soldiers fought with desperate strength, throwing everything they had into the attack.

It was a gruesome battle—willpower and morale at their peak, pain and fatigue forgotten. Blades flashed in and out, felling men where they stood.

Xun Xiao had waited for this moment. In the face of unprecedented unity, even the troops of Suzhou, led by Xun Xun, were beyond command—eyes red with fury, they killed and killed and killed.

Xun Xun, eyes like a hawk, moved through the melee, bringing his blade down on a Northern Rong rider’s neck—blood splattering his face and hair. The bloodlust within him nearly broke free.

At last, he spotted Xun Xun and was about to surge forward when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar, slender figure—Qin Wenxuan.

Qin Wenxuan, too, had gone hungry all day. She gripped her long blade tightly, locked in combat with the Northern Rong. But her martial skill was limited; enemies pressed her from all sides. As Qin Ying was beset by seven or eight foes, Qin Wenxuan was in grave peril—knocked to the ground, a bloodied scimitar arcing toward her neck.

In a split second, Xun Xiao flashed back to the disappointment in her eyes that night in the tent. His jaw clenched. One side was Xun Xun, the other was the endangered Qin Wenxuan.

With a roar, Xun Xiao flung himself like lightning, his sword knocking aside the scimitar. He scooped her up, eyes bloodshot, body trembling, tears streaming down his face.

Without a pause, he turned to give chase, but Xun Xun, sensing danger, had already changed garb and vanished in an instant.

Xun Xiao ran with wild abandon, breathing like a beast, but no matter how he searched, he could not find him.

He realized that below Qin Wenxuan’s wrist, her hand was missing. She clung to him, sobbing, “We’ll keep searching—together. One day, we’ll avenge Aunt Pei.”

When Xun Xiao finally accepted he could not find him, rage surged through his veins and he threw his head back, screaming to the sky.

The battle raged through the day, shaking the heavens and earth. As the soldiers’ willpower was about to break, they heard, at last, the distant thunder of war drums. The sound grew closer, advancing at full speed.

Someone shouted, “Reinforcements!”

They had come—truly come! The long-awaited reinforcements had finally arrived.

Like a tide in the night, the first wave numbered only thirty-four thousand, but the rest followed, dragging fresh-cut branches, raising clouds of dust that rolled across the plain. The Northern Rong faltered, and the Wei armies surged forward, fighting through the night. At last, the tide turned—some units of the Northern Rong broke, their horses refusing to charge, and eventually, in panic, they retreated.

The enemy forces splintered, the reinforcements pursuing two of the groups, until the sounds of battle faded into the distance and, at last, the battlefield by the Qingshui River quieted.

The first teams bearing grain and supplies finally arrived. The desperate, half-month struggle at the water’s edge ended at last, in victory.

It had been a brutal affair—banners listing, horses running wild. At this point, Gu Wan finally found Qin Ying, Su Zhen, Kou Wenshao, and the others.

Everyone was haggard and wounded. As Gu Wan dismounted and hurried over, she heard Qin Wenxuan cry urgently, “Hurry, go find—”

Behind Qin Wenxuan stood Xun Xiao, clearly in poor shape, leaning on a flagpole, struggling to keep upright. But Qin Wenxuan, frantic as an ant on a hot pan, had no time for him. Chen Luo, Su Zhen, and the rest, not bothering to bind their wounds, grabbed their weapons and rushed out.

Gu Wan burst in, “What’s happened?!”

She glanced around and instantly realized Xie Ci was missing. Qin Ying, propped up, said, “Si, with the vanguard death squad, at the very front—they haven’t returned yet.”

“What did you say?!”

Gu Wan’s mind went blank, her blood suddenly ice-cold.

What was the vanguard death squad?

They were the officers and soldiers who charged first into the thickest fighting—casualty rates often exceeded seventy percent, and that was in ordinary battles. In a desperate fight like today’s, survival was all but impossible.

Gu Wan knew, of course, that with the whole army starving and out of ammunition, leading from the front was a duty—an obligation. Qin Guan, Qin Yong, Chen Lang, Chen Huan, He Yuan—they had all gone as well.

Understanding did not lessen the pain.

Gu Wan gripped Qin Ying’s shoulder. “How long since you stopped? Why isn’t he back?”

Tears and blood streamed down Qin Ying’s face as she replied, “Almost half an hour. Still no sign of them.”

It was as if a lead weight dropped into Gu Wan’s chest, dragging her down, her limbs numb. She turned abruptly and rushed out of the half-collapsed tent.

She told herself, firmly, that Xie Ci could not die. He was so capable—he was the protagonist, after all. How could he die so easily? She mounted her horse and galloped toward the front.

Along the way, wounded soldiers moaned everywhere, some barely able to stand. Gu Wan reassured them over and over that food and medicine had arrived, just behind.

She pressed forward, over the hills, to the very front of the battlefield. Here, carnage reigned—shattered banners, broken blades and severed limbs, horses from both sides collapsed in grotesque heaps, the ground blackened and slick with blood.

Dawn was just breaking; the darkness lingered, and she could barely make out the shapes on the ground. She ran, bending low to turn over each body, recognizing some familiar faces. Relief and anxiety warred within her, but none were him. She gasped for breath and gently laid them back.

“Si!”

“A Ci—”

“Xie Ci! Are you there? Please answer me!”

Only the wind responded, and the distant sound of the Qingshui River winding through the mountains.

She ran, calling, her urgency growing, until at last, as she crested a hill, she heard a voice ahead—someone tore off a bandage and ran toward her.

Even in the dim dawn, from so far away, she recognized that sturdy, armored figure at once—it was Xie Ci!

Her anxious heart stopped in an instant. She turned, overwhelmed with joy. Her heart and limbs seemed to freeze and burn all at once, trembling as if struck by lightning. Tears sprang to her eyes as she shouted his name and ran toward him.

Between them lay a small river; Xie Ci, exhausted, could not leap across. From afar, he saw someone searching, climbing, overturning bodies—he recognized her immediately. It was Gu Wan.

They both broke into a run, circling the river, meeting at the top of a low hill just as the first rays of dawn touched Xie Ci’s face.

He was stained with blood—whose, it was impossible to tell. His lips and skin were pale, but his eyes shone bright, like the morning star through retreating smoke.

Gu Wan herself could not have looked much better—dusty, disheveled, hair falling loose, her borrowed armor too large and askew.

Xie Ci had worried for her as well. In the brief lulls between battles, he thought of her. If the worst should happen… at least she was safe.

Qin Guan had just bandaged his wounds when he insisted on returning to find her.

They saw each other at almost the same moment.

In the pale dawn, dew on the grass, they ran to each other without hesitation. Gone were the distances, the awkwardness—they embraced tightly, overwhelmed.

“Are you alright?”

They held each other for a long time before parting. Xie Ci, still worried, reached out and gently touched her face. Gu Wan, for once, did not mind.

She barely noticed—during the embrace, she’d realized thick bandages lay beneath his armor, and his hands were ice-cold. Xie Ci’s hands had always been warm.

“What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”

Xie Ci turned, “It’s nothing serious—a deep cut on my shoulder blade, I didn’t get it bandaged quickly enough. Lost a bit too much blood.”

If it had been worse, he wouldn’t have been able to run.

As Gu Wan’s excitement faded, reason returned. Yet after surviving such an ordeal, all the extraneous worries seemed to fall away. It felt as if they’d returned to how things once were.

The damp wind blew from the east, dawn trailing its light over the hill. Xie Ci stood before her, only a fist’s distance away.

Gu Wan suddenly realized her feelings for him were a little more than familial.

In those frantic moments of searching, all she wanted was for Xie Ci to live; everything else could be negotiated. Of course, no one could live forever on a crest of emotion.

But this trial had made her understand: the reality of life and death together, the way their feelings shaped her world—Xie Ci meant more to her than any so-called family.

She had been so careful, only because she feared hurting him.

With friends, she’d never been so cautious—after all, they were young, resilient.

She pulled out what remained of her hair ribbon, tidying her messy hair, surprised by her own thoughts and feelings.

But before she had time to dwell, something even more startling happened. Suddenly, without warning, she felt her wrist seized—Xie Ci had grabbed her hand.

Startled, she looked up—then, in the misty light, his face drew close, and his lips pressed warmly to hers.

“I want you to know—I like you!”

He pulled back, looking into her wide, almond-shaped eyes. She was beautiful, her features soft as a painting or a poem, and her unrestrained spirit made her uniquely herself.

He, too, had realized something.

Life after death—such a moment broke all barriers. He said, “There was a moment I thought I would never see you again. I regret it—I’m sorry. I lied to you. I truly, deeply like you—enough to want to spend my whole life with you.”

In the melee, encircled and bleeding, he’d thought he might die. He’d regretted not saying those words aloud; it would have been the greatest regret of his brief life.

That embrace shattered all restraint. In a surge of passion, he kissed her, leaving a mark on her lips, and told her himself—he liked her.

He took a step back, “Even if you hate me, I won’t regret it!”

Xie Ci drew a deep breath and suddenly recalled that night outside Suzhou City. “I wish that night on Longshan Road, riding together until midnight, wind and snow swirling—could have lasted forever.”

Gu Wan, stunned beyond words, heard that gentle, piercing confession and froze, a thousand emotions rising within.

It was as if a hedgehog had rolled over, exposing its soft underbelly, enveloping her with something invisible yet warm, scattering her thoughts so completely she didn’t know how to respond.

Xie Ci glanced at her softly. “I should go back—I have a score to settle with Lu Xinyi.” He turned, not daring to look back. Qin Guan had already brought his horse and was waiting at the bottom of the slope. Xie Ci hurried down and mounted up.

Qin Guan greeted Gu Wan, but she was too dazed to reply. Only when they were nearly out of sight, rounding the riverbank, did she thump down to the ground.

She was exhausted—and stunned.

Her lips still tingled, dry and uncertain. She licked them unconsciously, then wiped them with her sleeve. She felt as if she were walking on clouds.

She’d truly been startled.

But after a while, she understood why Xie Ci had acted as he did. Looking at those battered figures at the river’s bend, she realized he had just returned from the edge of death, and all those pent-up emotions had burst like a pricked balloon.

A hundred feelings welled up, impossible to describe.

Ah.

But she was so tired her thoughts wouldn’t turn—after a moment of muddled thinking, she lay down on the ground and gave up trying to think at all.