The Art of Profound Breath and Dust

Qin Chuan sensed something was amiss, but didn’t dwell on it and continued busying himself with his current task—gathering firewood.

Though there had been no snow or rain for days and some of the wood was still damp, as long as he could find a bit of dry grass for kindling, it would suffice. The fire, while weak and smoky, was far better than none at all.

After gnawing down a hard, blackened biscuit, Qin Chuan leaned against Qin Jiangli and quickly fell into a deep sleep; the relentless journey had left him utterly exhausted.

Just before dawn, when darkness and light blurred together, a piercing camp whistle shattered the silence.

Both Qin siblings sprang awake.

“Form up quickly! Bandits are blocking the way ahead!” someone shouted, dashing toward them. But the runner had barely gone a few steps before collapsing—an arrow protruded from his back, and soon after hitting the ground, he breathed his last.

“Hurry! Form up! Quickly!” Deputy leader Niu Fei, breathless and flustered, nearly bit his own tongue in his panic.

“Where’s the leader? Has anyone seen the leader?” Deputy Niu’s gaze darted around, only to realize that Niu Nan was nowhere to be found!

Hearing this, Qin Chuan glanced at Qin Jiangli. But she seemed lost in thought, her eyes vacant, oblivious to the chaos around her.

Perhaps desperate, unsure why his usually reliable sister was suddenly so absent, Qin Chuan puffed out his cheeks and shouted, “If you don’t snap out of it, we’re all as good as dead!”

In a flash, Qin Jiangli’s clarity returned.

“Follow me!” she cried, grabbing Qin Chuan’s hand and darting straight into the forest.

“There are forest wolves that way—going there is nearly certain death!” Qin Chuan protested as he reluctantly followed, his mouth moving faster than his feet. “If we form a battle line, at least we stand a chance!”

He didn’t trust the battle formation much, but running blindly seemed even more reckless.

“Trust me!” Qin Jiangli paused, choosing her words with care.

“Niu Nan is actually a spy for the Ming army. These so-called bandits are Yuan soldiers in disguise!”

“From now on, do exactly as I say. That’s our only hope of survival.” Her tone brooked no argument.

Qin Chuan looked at his sister’s familiar yet strangely unfamiliar profile.

“Yes, there are wolves in these woods, but they’re all gathered in the western part. Occasionally, one or two stray east, but that’s nothing to worry about,” she explained, relaying the essential information.

“Niu Nan tipped them off to win the young general’s trust. The Yuan soldiers dressed as bandits want to capture and enslave us. We don’t have much time. The Yuan must have laid an ambush here as well. Our only chance is to reach Black Moon Stockade before their encirclement closes in.”

Qin Jiangli’s senses were sharp, her gaze intense, her breath steady and measured; even while running, her speech was clear and precise.

Something was deeply wrong—there was simply too much information to process. Questions crowded his mind.

Black Moon Stockade? How did his sister know so much about the terrain? Where had she learned all this? They had always been together.

Behind them, swords clashed, arrows whistled, and the shouting of men sent his heart racing, unable to calm. He glanced sideways—his sister’s expression was serene, undisturbed.

In less than half an hour, the trail behind would be strewn with corpses, but at least the two of them had survived. Whether to feel relief or sorrow, or perhaps both, he could not say.

Though they’d been on the run for over half a year, the sharp edges of his heart had not yet been dulled. He still secretly stashed the eggs he’d stolen from birds’ nests to give to hungry children.

After all, Qin Chuan was but a sapling forced to grow too soon. In his heart, he was still that naïve, cheerful boy, roughhousing with Zhang Huai by the village well. Still the lad who blushed at the mention of Little Fang next door.

But the world had changed too quickly. The memory of thick smoke rolling above Crooked Jujube Village, blotting out half the sky, remained vivid. Widow Tian no longer needed to guard her eggs; Old Xu wouldn’t scold Da Zhuang by the cellar anymore.

His parents had vanished, Zhang Huai too. In half a year, aside from Jiangli, he hadn’t seen another soul from the village.

Many a night, lying beneath the stars, dust swirling in the air, he’d think of those days—how even a simple, familiar greeting was now forever lost, and the urge to laugh and cry would well up uncontrollably.

Qin Jiangli knew this was a moment of utmost peril, her words carrying not a trace of hesitation. “Remember everything I’m about to say—the essentials of the Profound Breath Dust Technique.”

Bewildered, Qin Chuan wondered what that could be, but there was no time to ask. He listened intently, determined to commit it to memory.

Few words, but rich in meaning—the gist of the heart technique was condensed into a handful of sentences, yet Qin Chuan could not grasp its depth.

Jiangli understood that Qin Chuan, with no foundation, was utterly lost, so she explained once more, each word as precious as pearl.

“Just remember the heart technique and its key points. Recite it every day, and its mysteries will reveal themselves over time…”

Before she could finish, a sudden hiss:

Swish—swish—

Two arrows sliced through the air, arriving in the blink of an eye.

“Watch out!” Though Qin Jiangli had been alert, she was still only human; she shoved Qin Chuan aside.

She rolled and dodged nimbly, landing lightly on her feet.

Qin Chuan, caught off guard, tumbled awkwardly to the ground, but at least the arrows missed him.

“They’re surrounding us—five in total!” Jiangli realized grimly.

“Stay behind me!”

She considered holding off the five herself to buy Qin Chuan time, but it was hopeless. The encirclement would have more than five soldiers; sending him off alone would be even more dangerous.

“Who told you to shoot? The young commander—the chieftain—ordered us to take them alive! Those two aren’t old or useless!” Captain Ma Yi shouted at his cohorts Ma Er, Ma San. Ma Si and Ma Wu, glad they hadn’t fired, lowered their drawn bows and drew their sabers instead.

Though disguised as bandits, these five were well-equipped; beneath their ragged outerwear, snug leather armor betrayed their true identity—Yuan soldiers.

Bright sabers glinted, and a bundle of thick hemp ropes hung at their waists. This would be a bitter struggle.

“You two, listen up! We want you alive. Resist and you’ll be killed!” Ma Yi raised his saber in warning.

At that, Jiangli collapsed to her knees, sobbing helplessly, arms limp at her sides—a picture of utter surrender.

“That’s better. Why suffer more than you have to?” Ma Yi sneered.

None of them were on guard; who would fear a defenseless girl, or a scrawny boy for that matter?

The five approached boldly, weapons lowered, confident in their strength.

Suddenly Ma Yi screamed.

Blood poured from a gaping hole in his skull. He twitched twice on the ground, then was still.

“Captain!” the others shouted.

Jiangli held a blood-spattered, sharp-edged stone, her face streaked with gore, yet her gaze was calm, as if killing was no different than slaughtering a pig.

The remaining four, shocked, wasted no time. They were Yuan soldiers, after all—hardened by countless battles, not afraid of two unarmed siblings.

Their first instinct was to swing their sabers—attack!

On the battlefield, there’s no time for fancy moves—just hack and block, again and again.

“Vengeance for the captain!”

Ma Er, Ma San, Ma Si, and Ma Wu struck in perfect coordination—their blades aiming for neck, chest, waist, and legs.

Jiangli’s brow furrowed slightly, but her feet moved with catlike agility, dodging every strike.

The four pressed their attack, their saber flashes blinding. But this girl was no ordinary opponent; she darted about like a black cat under a crescent moon, nimble and elusive.

At first, the four fought on anger alone, tangled up and hindering each other. When their rage faded and exhaustion set in, they began to take her seriously—but by then, it was too late.

…

With a shout, Qin Chuan raised a chunk of greenstone and brought it down with all his might.

A sickening crack, and the man’s skull burst like a melon.

Jiangli collapsed to the ground, while Qin Chuan, though still standing, looked pale and shaken.

He’d seen death before, but this was the first time he’d killed.

Jiangli, though battered and bloodied, remained unfazed. She gave her brother a gentle, reassuring smile.

They had survived, but at a cost. Jiangli’s wounds were not deep but impaired her movement, especially the gash on her leg. She’d staunched the bleeding, but conditions were poor.

After bandaging her wounds, the siblings set off once more, much slower than before.

They both knew that for them, time was life.

“They’re just ahead! After them!” calls rang out behind, but the siblings could no longer care. At last, Black Moon Stockade was in sight.

Swish—

“Look out!”

An arrow, silent and deadly, whistled past from behind. Exhausted to the bone, the pair realized the danger a moment too late.

—

“Sis was right—Black Moon Stockade truly was the path to survival.” Qin Chuan scooped a handful of earth, wrapped it in an old cloth, and tucked it against his chest.

“Once, you told me, ‘People’s joys and sorrows never truly connect.’ I didn’t believe it then.” Qin Chuan looked up at a cold crow perched on a withered branch. It cawed twice, then, finding him dull, flew away.

“I ran into Zhang Huai in Black Moon Stockade. That boy still hasn’t slimmed down—he probably never will,” Qin Chuan rambled, sometimes stopping mid-sentence.

“I’m leaving at dawn to join the Luo River Sect with Zhang Huai,” he finished, rising and walking away without a backward glance.

On that day, a young man thought he had seen through life and death, and with it, his own obsessions.

I am but a passing guest, as is the gentle breeze—who will keep me company beneath the western moon? Alone with my shadow, bound by life and death.