Chapter 374: He Really Did It (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 374 He Really Did It (Please Vote for the Monthly Ticket)

The Mengshui Pass, weathered by two centuries of wind and frost, bore the scars of countless battles across its outer walls, yet within its confines, the structures stood pristine and orderly. A closer look would reveal that these buildings and fortifications did not align with the ancient ones; most had been newly erected. Since the founding of the Wei Dynasty, barbarian tribes had persistently pressed northward, seeking to subdue the borderlands. Though the Qingduan Army had repeatedly repelled them, several incursions had breached the pass, reducing its interior structures to ruin. Most striking of all were the dwellings near the southern wall, which differed starkly from those on the northern side—sturdier in construction, narrower in their alleys.

It was said that five years prior, following the great battle, Duke Xiao’s strategy had taken shape. Whenever barbarian forces infiltrated the pass, street fighting proved the most perilous challenge. When their warriors surged forward in unison, the defenders struggled to hold their ground without being overwhelmed. Thus, the alleys were narrowed to restrict their advance, and the buildings fortified to withstand their assault.

By midnight, the shift soldiers had already retired, their replacements having bathed, eaten, and donned their armor and weapons in orderly fashion before ascending the city gate. Xiao Jinghong collided with them head-on, lingered until they vanished around the bend, then descended from the gate and hurried to his temporary quarters.

Su Zhimeng and Ma Kui stood at the doorway, bowing respectfully. “General.”

Xiao Jinghong’s half-armored eyes swept over Ma Kui, nodding for the two to enter. He stepped ahead, sheathing his sword at his waist, still clad in his silver-white armor, and took his seat at the head of the hall. Once Su Zhimeng and Ma Kui entered and closed the door behind them, they silently moved to a smaller table and began organizing the scrolls before them.

Ma Kui removed his helmet, placing it at his side, and knelt on one knee. “Reporting, General—the Xuanjia Army has suffered heavy casualties. It is a matter of my failure in duty; I beg you to punish me accordingly.”

Though kneeling, his towering frame loomed above Su Zhimeng’s seated height. Yet his face was etched with remorse.

Xiao Jinghong raised his hand, his spiritual energy coaxing the very essence of the earth and sky to lift Ma Kui. “Having entered the Qingduan Army, how could they avoid bloodshed?”

“At least they were fortunate.”

“To fall in battle against the barbarians is their just reward. They have not dishonored the spirit of Wei’s soldiers.”

Seeing Ma Kui’s downcast expression, Xiao Jinghong continued, “For leading the charge, the fallen—Lü Dagu and Wang Chunhou—have been granted posthumous titles. Their families receive land grants and rewards, and their sons and apprentices may study or serve in the army.”

“The rest shall each receive double the standard compensation.”

Ma Kui’s face eased slightly, bowing gratefully. “Many thanks, General!”

Xiao Jinghong gestured for him to sit. “This encounter with barbarian scouts, though costly, has its merits. One thousand Xuanjia soldiers were lost or wounded, yet they felled three hundred enemy combatants and wounded two hundred. Their dedication in training is evident.”

Ma Kui bowed his head, his voice a whisper. “I am unworthy.”

“The Xuanjia Army still lags behind their strength five years ago.”

Xiao Jinghong shook his head, his tone grave. “At this moment, perhaps not. In my father’s time, the Qingduan Army’s soldiers had spent a decade refining their skills, half of them veteran fighters who had marched with my grandfather through the wars of Poxiu Guo. Their strength was undeniably superior to the new recruits.”

“Yet I value the new army’s fierceness, their resolve, and that bold spirit to charge directly at the barbarians.”

He paused, gazing southward through the window. “This is why I sent them southward.”

“Soldiers untested in battle are like fledglings. How could they ever achieve the freedom of flight?”

Ma Kui understood. He bowed his head in shame. “Your teachings are clear. I shall return and urge them to continue their training.”

Xiao Jinghong waved him off. “Training need not rush. When I informed Su Zhimeng of your message, did you take note?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“I shall lead them out at dawn to patrol the pass. If we encounter those bandits, we will capture them.”

“Proceed with caution, prioritizing safety.”

“Yes…”

Ma Kui bowed deeply and departed. The door clicked shut behind him.

Su Zhimeng moved to the window, watching him disappear into the distance, then presented a letter to Xiao Jinghong. “A dispatch from the Hou family.”

Xiao Jinghong accepted it, glanced at its contents, and set it aside thoughtfully. “The newly appointed Left Protector of the Border Affairs Office has arrived. A official from the Ministry of Rites.”

“The Ministry of Rites?”

Su Zhimeng pondered. “My lady, officials from the Ministry of Rites typically hail from the Hanlin Academy. Their abilities should not be doubted.”

Xiao Jinghong nodded. “The Hanlin—those closest to the Emperor. They should be capable of safeguarding Shuzhou’s stability.”

“What of the Deputy Prefect of the Pacification Supervision Office?”

“Arriving from Jizhou, already en route.”

“Jizhou…”

Su Zhimeng furrowed his brow. “Does this relate to the Jizhou merchants?”

The mastermind behind the recent grain price surge in Shuzhou had been the Jizhou merchant guild. Su Zhimeng knew this all too well.

Xiao Jinghong, equally aware, spoke calmly. “If he acts honorably, he may remain in Shuzhou.”

“Should he harbor the same schemes as Liu Hong and Zhu Ao, the outcome will be the same.”

Having witnessed the recent events, Xiao Jinghong harbored some resentment toward the three ministries in Shuzhou. Even if the capital’s authorities reduced the sentences for Liu Hong and others, it could not erase their crimes in Shuzhou. He feared the next appointee might repeat their mistakes.

He said no more, turning instead to ask, “Has Li, the Regional Commander, replied?”

Su Zhimeng shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Send another message.”

“Earlier, he promised me that Liu Hong, Zhu Ao, and their associated clans and canal boats must repay the grain and armor requisitioned by the Qingduan Army.”

“I shall draft a letter immediately.”

“Hmm…”

As Xiao Jinghong concluded his affairs, a slight twitch of his ear caught his attention. He turned toward the north, his brow furrowing.

She thought it over, rose, took up her sword, and gave a command to step out of the room, riding the wind toward the north.

Su Zhenyue followed her, watching her disappear into the distance, shook her head, and let out a sigh.

"Probably some short-sighted rogue from thejianghu."

Then she closed the door, returned to her writing desk, and continued penning a letter.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Xiao Jinghong had ridden her horse a hundred li, finally arriving at a mountain valley.

She scanned the area, found it silent, her eyes growing cold.

With a sharp click, her long sword slid from its sheath an inch.

The blade gleamed under the cold moon, its icy light flaring, a sharp, refined aura of the world’s spirit enveloping the entire valley.

Just then—

In another part of the valley, an equally sharp sword intent shot upward, clashing with hers in a display of noble defiance.

Then came a series of clear, ringing chimes, the swords singing.

Xiao Jinghong looked toward the source, her voice cold.

"As fellow swordsmen, you shouldn’t be so obvious in your actions."

No sooner had she spoken than a faint, ethereal voice echoed from the valley—indistinguishable in direction.

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord, I cannot appear in person at the moment. I hope you will understand my circumstances."

"I come only to deliver a message from my master to you."

"If you wish to rescue your mother from her plight, meet me at the Pool of Qu on the sixteenth of the tenth month."

Xiao Jinghong blinked, then, her long sword leapt from its scabbard in an instant, pointing directly at the spot where the other sword’s intent had erupted.

The swordlight blazed, and in an eye’s blink, it struck.

There, a hundred trees snapped in unison, the rocks slid down.

Yet no sword intent remained to oppose it.

Xiao Jinghong darted forward, arriving beneath a tree stump, her eyes dim with sorrow.

"A sword instrument."

At that moment, the voice spoke again: "I know you have questions, but please, do not rush."

"Your lord need only wait a day or two at Meng Water Pass, and you will know the truth of what I have said."

After a pause, the voice marveled: "Your lordship has fine sword technique, only a pity…" "A pity it is not a chance for a duel today. I hope there will be another time, another opportunity…"

The lingering echoes faded.

Xiao Jinghong paid them no mind, her gaze fixed on the long sword planted in the stump.

Such a sword instrument was a sword forged by a swordsman’s cultivation, a blade imbued with his sword intent.

Originally meant to counter sudden attacks, when inner energy and the world’s spirit couldn’t be summoned in time, it could "respond" with the sword instrument.

For this reason, a unique martial art had long circulated in thejianghu—the Concealed Sword Technique.

A swordsman of middle-third grade could nurture his sword intent for ten years, its power surpassing that of a high-third grade swordsman’s single strike.

Yet clearly, the one who had come was not of middle-third grade.

He must have been among the highest of the high-third.

Xiao Jinghong stared at it for a moment, flicked her finger, sending a sword intent that cleaved the long sword in two.

She turned, heading straight for Meng Water Pass.

"Mother… she’s still alive?"

"She’s been captured… by people?"

"By barbarians?"

Though shocked, Xiao Jinghong’s years of hardship had forged her resilience; she would not let herself falter.

Yet… her mother, Fu Weiqing, was her concern, and she could not ignore it.

"Who was that man?"

"His master… who is he?"

"What do they want?"

Xiao Jinghong had many questions, but within such a short time, she still had no answers.

After all, she had long accepted that Fu Weiqing had died at the hands of the barbarians.

How could she still be alive?

Xiao Jinghong returned to Meng Water Pass, her eyes instinctively scanning the towering mountains beyond the pass.

"Could she be among the barbarians?"

…

At the same time, in the Black Bear Tribe far beyond Meng Water Pass.

Though under the same stars, here and in the Great Wei dynasty were worlds apart.

Their dwellings were caves and wooden huts.

The barbarians were tall and sturdy, resembling the Wei people in appearance, yet their clothing was extremely crude.

Some wore animal hides, others wove leaves into garments, some were bare-chested.

Yet some barbarians dressed appropriately.

Like those in the tribe’s depths.

They wore iron armor, broad-shouldered like elephants, wielding iron weapons—simple in design: wolf-tooth clubs, staffs, hammers.

Some wore silk or linen tunics, with necklaces of wild animal teeth.

When they met, they bowed stiffly, speaking in halting Wei dialect.

Atsutai was among them.

Compared to his disheveled state in Shuzhou, he now wore cleaner, neater clothes.

A coarse linen shirt, stretched tight across his broad frame, making him look visibly stronger than before.

Yet the mark of the savage slave left by the bandits still marred his face, drawing the attention of some barbarian guards.

Atsutai was used to it.

After bidding farewell to his brothers, he returned to his wooden hut.

Then he shed his hemp robe, donning the same leather armor as other tribe members, fastening a bone dagger at his waist.

After checking himself in a copper mirror, Atsutai’s face brightened, muttering in the barbarian tongue.

In Wei speech, it was probably because the Wei clothes were too tight for him to use force.

Atsutai dressed properly, about to seek food in the tribe, when a commotion erupted outside.

There were barbarian tongues, there were Wei speech, and interspersed with them, some sly and cunning Suo Country dialects.

AShutai slightly furrowed his brow, pushed the door open and walked out, spotting in the distance several barbarian guards confronting two Wei men.

“Wei men?”

“How dare they come here?”

After carefully listening to their conversation, AShutai finally understood.

Those two people bore the tokens of the Black Bear Tribe, coming here to find his father—the left king of the barbarian tribe, Mu Hage.

AShutai had intended to ignore them and continue searching for food, but after a moment’s thought, he turned toward them, blocking the way of the leading barbarian guard with a request in the barbarian tongue:

“Let me speak with them.”

The guards exchanged glances and stepped aside, allowing the two Wei men to approach.

AShutai nodded, then asked the Wei men in a stiff voice, “Wei state people?”

“Yes.”

Those two men were none other than Meng Wen and Meng Wu.

When Meng Wen saw that AShutai could speak the Wei dialect, his expression eased slightly, and he gestured for the Black Bear Tribe token—a bear paw—clutched in his hand:

“This… this is—”

The barbarian guard beside him, fluent in Wei speech, coldly interjected: “This is the younger brother of the Black Bear Tribe.”

Meng Wen immediately smiled, bowed respectfully, and said, “Meng Wen has the honor of meeting the young lord of the Black Bear Tribe. I wonder if the young lord seeks something of me?”

Meng Wu nodded, staring directly at AShutai: “What do you want with us?”

After being kicked in the shin by Meng Wen, he lowered his head, as though he had done something terribly wrong.

AShutai glanced curiously at the two men and continued asking, “Two questions.”

“Has the imperial governor of Shuzhou, Liu Hong, died?”

Meng Wen paused. “Liu Hong?”

After a moment’s thought, he nodded slowly. “He’s dead—dead enough already.”

“He was discovered colluding with the barbarians and the sly people of Suo Country, and was executed by the Duke of Qinghou himself.”

“The Duke of Qinghou…”

In his mind, AShutai recalled that masked man with the iron mask, remembering he had indeed said Liu Hong would die a gruesome death.

He was dead.

That would allow him to console the clan members who had helped him escape the eastern market.

AShutai then asked, “Wei state, is there a certain… a person?”

He carefully thought, stumbling over his words: “His martial arts are peerless, his medical skills can save all the people of the land, his mastery of chess is unrivaled in the realm, his literary prowess can lead to immortality, his music and paintings…”

“Who is this person?”

After hearing this, Meng Wen froze.

Martial arts beyond compare, medical skills to save all, chess and literature… you speak of one person?

Meng Wu, however, suddenly straightened, his gaze fixed on AShutai with an odd expression—almost the same as when he looked at his elder brother.

Meng Wen thought it over, scratching his head: “Young lord, you truly pose a difficulty for us.”

“In the great Wei state, there is no such person.”

“If there were, I would surely know.”

AShutai sighed, slightly disappointed but no longer pressing the matter.

Stepping aside, he signaled that they could leave.

Meng Wen and Meng Wu quickly bowed and followed the barbarian guards toward the large building constructed of stone piles in the depths of the camp.

As AShutai watched their backs, he murmured softly to himself.

He had truly achieved it.

But who was he, really?

(End of chapter)