SS CH14

Xie Wuyi had originally thought that a man like him would make a grand, magnificent splash wherever he went, under whatever name or identity he chose.

Yet the story Ye Fusheng recounted was one of a brief and quiet stretch of time.

The border was bitter and cold, with casualties among the soldiers almost every single day—to say nothing of being returned wrapped in horsehides, even having three inches of shallow dirt cover one’s broken corpse was a immense stroke of fortune. Three years ago, at the turn of summer and autumn, a batch of new recruits entered the border garrison. Among them was a strange man. Though covered in grime, he possessed neat features; though his right hand was injured, his movements were nimble, to the point where veteran rogues who had survived years on the battlefield were no match for him.

He liked to joke and possessed a good nature. While not a figure of great importance in the camp, he proved exceptionally popular, patrolling and sallying forth to battle alongside the burly soldiers, then returning tearfully as they carried back their fallen comrades.

At the end of that year, the nomadic tribes beyond the pass launched an invasion. Corrupt commanding officers lining their own pockets embezzled military rations, forcing the troops into a hasty battle while suffering from cold and hunger. Though they repelled the enemy, no one knew how many lives were left forever on the battlefield. Cold, congealed warm blood coated broken weapons, while stiff, mutilated corpses lay half-buried across the desolate land.

More than half of the brothers-in-arms who had shared life and death over the past year were gone. He personally dug pit after pit to send them into the Netherworld, only to hear that the commanding garrison officer was gleefully preparing to request rewards for their merit.

Out of over five hundred soldiers and nearly a hundred laborers, less than three out of ten remained alive. Every single survivor was stepping on the bones of the fallen.

Taking advantage of the Emperor being far away, the garrison officer falsely reported casualties and greatly exaggerated his achievements—a report in name, but a request for merit in truth. In doing so, the living might collect rations, draw pay, and earn promotions, while the dead received nothing more than a paltry sum of pension money, before new recruits replaced the old, covering up all traces.

That was likely the first time in his life he had flown into a rage. He stormed into the main tent to directly dissuade the officer, only for the greed-blinded garrison commander to order him dragged out to be punished with twenty army beatings.

Twenty strikes fell, tearing his skin and flesh open. The man endured it fully without uttering a single word. Finally, as the commander scolded the other soldiers, he seized a blade and severed that loathsome head.

Rebelling against superiors and slaughtering a commanding officer—such a heinous crime should have resulted in his public execution, yet someone stepped in to protect him.

The young Emperor, having just returned from an incognito inspection of a feudal prince’s fiefdom, heard of the tragic battle and came personally to oversee the follow-up arrangements. Unprepared to encounter such an incident, he instructed his personal shadow guards to use an imperial token to take the man away.

On the way back to the capital, the Emperor asked him if he was still willing to serve the country.

The unkempt, disheveled man had gone days without speaking, only lifting his head at this moment to say: “I am willing to dedicate my life and death to the nation, asking only for justice and clarity between right and wrong.”

Pleased, the Emperor said: “The imperial court is a muddy pool. Even as the Emperor, I am forced to make many helpless choices right now. Since you cannot bear to watch this, how about serving as the blade that cuts through this tangled mess for me?”

Every man has moments when his strength falls short; the world is full of helpless affairs.

He gave no answer until the majestic city walls appeared before them, only then agreeing with a deep kowtow.

From that moment on, the world never saw a trace of this man again. He finally erased his own existence, transforming into a sharp blade in the Emperor’s hand, hidden in the dark without seeing the light of day alongside shadows who had likewise abandoned their identities.

One promise for a lifetime, ending only in death.

Until a month ago, when the Northern Barbarians breached the pass and the war at Jinghan Pass turned dire…

“And then, he died.”

Even now, Ye Fusheng remembered how the foul wind and rain of blood showered down on them. He should have been trampled into the mud by wild horses, yet that man saved him, risking half his life to carve a path through the heavy siege.

However, the surrounding ten miles were occupied by the Northern Barbarian army. Even if the two wounded, disabled men grew wings, it was hard to fly out of this land.

At that moment, the man asked him if he had any last wishes.

Ye Fusheng, poisoned and unable to see a thing, could only lie on his back and think carefully, saying he still had one promise left unfulfilled.

The man laughed out loud: “We truly share the same wretched fate—I owe a promise too. It seems the two of us are destined to break our word.”

Ye Fusheng laughed while coughing: “Not necessarily. Put me down; I can still stall them for a moment to let you struggle out with your life, so that at least one person can keep his promise.”

The man continued to laugh without answering him, only running faster.

At the third watch that night, they fled into a valley. The Barbarians behind were pursuing relentlessly, leaving them only a brief moment to catch their breath.

In that fleeting moment, the man hid him inside a cave, removed Ye Fusheng’s outer robe, took the blade from his hand, left behind the brocade pouch and the jade pendant, and only said a hurried “Don’t come out” before turning to leave.

Ye Fusheng called out a few times in a lowered voice, but no one answered, only the tremors of horse hooves shaking the earth coming closer.

He silenced himself, and soon, the endless clashing of weapons echoed continuously.

Then, he heard the howling gale, as if ten thousand arrows were being fired at once.

“…He died too hurriedly to say anything, only having enough time to stuff the pouch containing the jade pendant into my hand before rushing out to his death,” Ye Fusheng lowered his eyelids. “I couldn’t see him then and couldn’t catch up to him, not knowing if he ever turned his head.”

Not until the night of the second day, when all sound receded and heaven and earth fell quiet as death, did he grope his way out of that cave, limping out of the valley. Hearing border refugees discussing the matter in hushed voices, he finally reconstructed the truth from those broken, scattered words.

The man had found a corpse similar to his own build to tie to his back, draped Ye Fusheng’s outer robe over himself, wielded the Jinghong blade to flee for his life, and drew the pursuing Barbarians out of the valley. In the end, at his wit’s end before a sheer cliff, he was pierced by ten thousand arrows.

The candlelight in the room had gone out at some point, leaving only faint glimmers of light seeping in from outside the window, vaguely outlining Xie Wuyi’s posture. He remained seated before Ye Fusheng, silent, his breathing so imperceptible it was as though he too had become a corpse.

After a long while, Xie Wuyi finally spoke: “So that was it.”

“Due to my duties, I once investigated his origin, but the Jianghu is not the imperial court after all, and my knowledge was limited. I could only infer from his blade style and features that he might be Manor Lord Xie Wuyi of Duanshui Manor, who vanished shortly after the battle at Lingyun Peak. As for other details, they were unclear, so I assumed Manor Lord Xie had grown disheartened after the battle, deciding to withdraw from the Jianghu and enter the court, leading to orders to halt the investigation,” Ye Fusheng rubbed his brow. “Upon receiving this jade pendant, I finally confirmed his identity, so I followed a merchant caravan here to investigate the truth before making further plans, never expecting…”

“Never expecting that inside Duanshui Manor, there was yet another Xie Wuyi?”

Ye Fusheng gave a bitter smile: “Precisely. Thus, the instant I saw the Manor Lord with my own eyes, I felt I had stepped into a muddy pool once again.”

“Do you regret it?”

Ye Fusheng smiled faintly: “Now that the truth has come to light, why talk of regret?”

He had dragged his injured, ailing body thousands of miles precisely because that man had gone through life and death with him multiple times, ultimately giving his life to save him. Ye Fusheng felt that as long as his conscience hadn’t been eaten by dogs, he had a duty to fulfill that man’s last wish.

By now, Ye Fusheng finally understood that the man’s intention in handing him the jade pendant was simply hoping Ye Fusheng could return it to Xie Wuyi after escaping alive. Though the three-year promise was broken, it was at least an explanation.

“To give one’s life for the country, how could one avoid it out of fear of misfortune… He certainly possessed great righteousness and magnificent heroic spirit!” Xie Wuyi spoke coldly. “Since each has obtained what was needed, please suit yourself.”

Faced with such a moody, sudden change of temper, Ye Fusheng did not feel annoyed. He unhurriedly poured himself a cup of water, drank it empty, then stood up leisurely, cupping his fists: “Then I shall take a nap first; Manor Lord, please rest as well.”

After he left, Xie Wuyi sat alone in the dark room for an unknown duration. It was not until a gust of cold wind blew the window open, bringing a swirl of icy rain with it, that he stood up as if startled awake.

Having been plagued by deep-rooted ailments for three years, suddenly breaking the seal and pulling out the needles meant that even as his internal energy gradually recovered, Xie Wuyi’s physical foundation was already ruined. Standing up so abruptly made him dizzy, and he barely kept his balance by leaning a hand against the edge of the table.

After a moment, his fingers rested on the scabbard of the Duanshui blade, trembled, and then he grabbed the long blade and walked out the door.

Turning into the back kitchen, paying no mind to the dozing servant, Xie Wuyi took a jar of strong liquor himself, then deployed his qinggong to head for Wanghaichao.

The cliffs at Wanghaichao were steep, where the wind blew even more wildly, with shredded rain and wild leaves dancing relentlessly. Xie Wuyi’s clothes snapped loudly in the wind, resembling a proud, lonely flag.

Unsealing the mud cap, he took a deep, fierce gulp, then swung his arm to throw the liquor jar down.

Immediately after, he leaped down. As he neared the bottom of the cliff, his left foot pressed against his right to borrow momentum, stepping across the water until he landed like a flying swan onto a green stone protruding above the surface.

The great river’s waves surged violently, the kicked-up spray quickly soaking his thin robes, cold to the bone.

The long blade left its sheath, three feet of green steel reflecting a face as cold as snow.

He swung his blade, just like his daily practice without fail over the past three years, internal energy flowing through his meridians, drawing his blade to sever the water and calm the waves.

Not until his form reached its end and the cold chilled his marrow did he raise his head to look into the distance where water met sky.

It was nearly the hour of the Tu, yet late autumn brought late dawns, to say nothing of the storm. Xie Wuyi watched for a long time before finally seeing a faint line of white in the distance.

“…Dawn is breaking.”

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Note: “To give one’s life for the country, how could one avoid it out of fear of misfortune” comes from Lin Zexu’s “Stanzas Written on Leaving Home for My Post, Shown to My Family.”