A white bird flew over the Forbidden City, letting out a sharp cry as it soared through the wind, a purple handkerchief tied to its leg.
“The valley master has gone to Kunlun’s Grand Light Palace.”
Shuang Hong’s elegant handwriting adorned the old handkerchief once used by Xue Zi Ye, fluttering in the early spring breeze.
The bird flew southward toward the city of willow trees and water.
In Lin’an, early spring had just arrived. Beneath Mount Jiu Yao, the winter plum blossoms were still blooming, as cold and pure as snow. Liao Qingran had just given Qiu Shui Yin her medicine, and the woman, who had cried hysterically all night, had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.
The room was filled with the scent of butter tea, and Huo Zhan Bai sat by the window, his hands covered in bloody scratches, his face showing unmistakable fatigue.
“You need to bandage your hands as well,” Liao Qingran said softly after watching him in silence for a while, a trace of sympathy in her voice.
The wounds had been inflicted by Qiu Shui Yin during her fits of madness. Ever since she had fallen into her half-crazed state, she would lose control whenever she became agitated, screaming and lashing out at anyone who tried to calm her. After several days of this, the maidservants in the household had all been struck or scolded, terrified of approaching her.
In the end, it was Huo Zhan Bai who took up the responsibility of caring for her.
Besides Wei Feng Xing, Liao Qingran had never seen a man with such patience and tolerance. No matter how the mad woman raged, Huo Zhan Bai always spoke gently, never once showing the slightest irritation.
“You’re a good man,” she murmured as she finished bandaging his hands, unable to suppress a sigh.
She swallowed the rest of her words—If only my disciple had been so lucky.
Huo Zhan Bai only smiled faintly, as though too tired to even exchange pleasantries. He merely stared out the window at the white plum blossoms, lost in thought.
“The plum blossoms in the Apothecary Valley must be fading by now.” He suddenly spoke softly, his voice flat and emotionless. “Why hasn’t the snow hawk returned yet? I had hoped to make it back to the valley before the blossoms withered, so we could drink together again—but it seems that won’t be possible now.”
Liao Qingran sighed quietly and lowered her head, unable to bear looking into his empty eyes.
She still remembered that night in Jinling when this man’s eyes had been filled with warmth and hope. That night, he had finally decided to let go of the heavy burden he had carried for so long, to abandon the years of fruitless waiting and embrace a new life. When he had said, “I miss her very much,” his eyes had sparkled with the excitement and shyness of a young man in love for the first time, as if, after so many years of desolation, he had finally found a reason to hope again.
But fate had not given him even the slightest chance. Just when he had begun to catch his breath, it had struck him down once more.
She had lost her son, and it had driven her mad.
“You’re always too late… We’ve missed a lifetime.” In her half-mad state, she had looked at him with despair and resentment, finally speaking the words she had never said aloud. Those words had shattered what remained of his reason.
And after saying them, she had descended fully into madness, leaving him no choice but to stay by her side.
He could no longer return to that snow-covered valley, nor could he keep the promise of drinking together under the blooming flowers. He stayed in the small courtyard at the foot of Jiu Yao Mountain, whether willingly or not. Such unwavering, steadfast devotion would likely become a tale told throughout the martial world in years to come.
But what a ridiculous and desolate life that would be.
How laughable it was, that he had already passed the age of dreaming, and yet he had dared to hope for happiness again. To awaken from this dream, only to find regret and bitterness, seemed inevitable.
“Madam Qiu’s illness is no longer a major concern. As long as she takes the prescribed medicine daily, we’ll see if her condition improves. But whether she recovers depends on her own fate.” Liao Qingran put away her medical instruments, her tone calm and measured. “Young Master Huo, I’ve done my best. It’s time for me to take my leave.”
“This…” Huo Zhan Bai stood up, taken aback, suddenly feeling a bit lost.
He had known that this healer would eventually leave—yet, once she was gone, the last remaining connection to that woman in the purple robes would be completely severed.
“Could Master Liao stay a few more days?” he murmured, uncertain of himself.
“No,” Liao Qingran shook her head, showing her own impatience. “I’ve already packed. I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I received a letter yesterday from Feng Xing, saying that the Dīng Jiàn Pavilion is calling together the Eight Swords. He is heading to the Grand Light Palace at Kunlun, and my child is left without anyone to look after him. I need to return as soon as possible.”
“The Eight Swords are being summoned?” Huo Zhan Bai was surprised, realizing it must be something serious. “In that case, Master Liao, you should hurry back.”
Liao Qingran nodded. “Take care of yourself, Young Master Huo.”
In the courtyard, the plum blossoms lay scattered like snow, and the early spring breeze was still sharp with cold.
Huo Zhan Bai broke off a branch of plum blossoms, gazing at it for a while, his heart a tangled mess. Go to the Grand Light Palace? What could have happened now? Ever since Xu Zhonghua’s betrayal eight years ago, the Eight Swords had been reduced to seven, and the Dīng Jiàn Pavilion and the Grand Light Palace of the West had refrained from large-scale conflict. Could something significant have occurred to bring about such a sudden call?
Even Feng Xing, who had lived a peaceful life in retirement with his wife and child, had already been summoned to the Dīng Jiàn Pavilion. It was only a matter of time before Huo received his own summons.
He sighed deeply, turning to look back at the woman sleeping inside. Liao Qingran was giving her one last checkup before leaving—Amid the scent of medicinal incense, the pale and haggard face of Qiu Shui Yin finally showed a rare moment of peace, restoring her former delicate beauty.
Silently, he let out a long sigh and lowered his head.
“Qiu Shui… Qiu Shui… Are we truly destined never to escape one another?”
She had been the woman he once loved most in his life, but over the course of more than a decade, the winds and frost had worn away that passion, leaving only an endless weariness and emptiness.
As he wandered further into the courtyard, a shadow in green silently descended.
“Who is it?” Huo Zhan Bai’s brow raised as the Ink Soul Sword leapt from its scabbard.
“Old Seven,” a voice called out with a bright laugh. “It’s me.”
“Asanba?” Recognizing his youngest comrade from the Eight Swords, Huo Zhan Bai relaxed and lowered his sword. “What are you doing here?”
“The Pavilion Master sent me to summon you.” Summer Asanba, usually carefree, now looked serious as he raised his hand. In his palm lay the unmistakable order from the Dīng Jiàn Pavilion’s master. “We have reliable intelligence: The Demon Sect has been embroiled in internal strife recently. The Sun Saintess, Uma, has been executed, and the head of the Asura battlefield, Tong, has been captured after a failed rebellion. The Demon Sect is now weaker than ever—this is our best chance to eradicate them!”
“Tong’s rebellion?” Huo Zhan Bai exclaimed, understanding immediately. No wonder Tong had risked everything to steal the Dragon’s Blood Pearl—it had all been part of his plan to poison the Sect Leader!
“Is this information reliable?” He asked, his tone steady, wanting to confirm such crucial intelligence.
“It’s reliable.” Summer Asanba bowed his head, reversing the sword hilt and pressing it to his brow in the gesture used by the Eight Swords to recognize one another. “It comes from him.”
Huo Zhan Bai froze, the plum blossoms falling from his hand to the ground.
—Could it really be? That man… was still alive?
“The Pavilion Master orders that the seven of us meet at the Dīng Jiàn Pavilion within three days to head for Kunlun!” Summer Asanba repeated the command.
Huo Zhan Bai glanced back at the woman inside, still asleep, and felt a pang of worry. “What about her?”
“My family is also in Lin’an. Madam Qiu can stay at our house for the time being,” Summer Asanba smiled. “That way, you’ll have no worries holding you back.”
Huo Zhan Bai hesitated. Qiu Shui Yin’s condition had only just stabilized—how could he leave her behind?
“Old Seven, the whole martial world knows you’re a man of deep loyalty. But this mission to destroy the Demon Palace concerns the very survival of our martial order! And that man, Tong—honestly, other than you, who else could stand a chance against him?” Summer Asanba, uncharacteristically humble, looked Huo Zhan Bai straight in the eye and sneered, “If you don’t come, so be it—at worst, I and the others will go to the Demon Palace and lose our lives. After all, countless lives have already been lost for this cause, so what’s a few more?”
“No!” Huo Zhan Bai blurted out. If anything were to happen to Wei Feng Xing, what would become of his wife and child?
With a heavy sigh, he rested his hand on the hilt of the Ink Soul Sword. “Alright, I’ll go.”
“I knew you’d come around.” Summer Asanba smiled broadly, slapping Huo Zhan Bai on the shoulder. “Good man!”
That afternoon, the two swordsmen mounted their horses and departed Lin’an, riding swiftly to join the other Five Swords at the Dīng Jiàn Pavilion.
The small retreat at the foot of Jiu Yao Mountain was left empty, save for the plum blossoms scattered across the ground.
“Coo, coo.” A white bird landed on the window ledge, a cloth tied to its foot, calling out anxiously but receiving no response from its master. The bird had flown a thousand miles from the far north, bearing an important message, but its master was no longer there.
0 Comments