Heading west of Yang Pass, the northern wind cut like blades, and swirling snow danced wildly in the air.
As soon as the city gate opened, a group of riders charged through like lightning. The men were as fierce as tigers, the horses as mighty as dragons. The clattering iron hooves kicked up a storm of snow as they galloped westward, slicing through the snowfield.
“Ah, they only arrived at Suoyang Pass in the middle of the night, and they’re already on the move before dawn,” mumbled an old soldier standing guard. “They’re in a real hurry.”
“Must be martial artists,” a younger guard said dreamily, gazing at the backs of the seven riders. “They’re all carrying swords!”
In just three days, they had ridden day and night from the Central Plains’ Dingjian Pavilion to the northwestern fortress. Despite riding some of the finest horses, each one meticulously chosen, the steeds were now exhausted, foaming at the mouth and unable to continue. The leader had no choice but to order a temporary rest and contacted the Northwest Martial Alliance for fresh horses at Suoyang Pass. Before dawn, they set out again, galloping toward Kunlun.
As the cold wind howled across the empty official road, Huo Zhan Bai looked back at Suoyang Pass from afar and exhaled lightly.
Beyond this pass lay the territory of the Grand Light Palace in the Western Regions.
Dingjian Pavilion had sent all eight of their top swordsmen, using the internal chaos of the Demon Palace as an opportunity to launch a powerful assault. As the strongest martial artist of the new generation, Huo Zhan Bai had been entrusted with the responsibility of leading the six other swordsmen on this thousand-mile raid.
However, his heart trembled at the thought of who they might face on this journey.
“Seventh Brother! Something’s up!” Suddenly, a low cry from Xia Qian Yu snapped him out of his thoughts, and the group pulled their horses to a halt.
“What is it?” Huo Zhan Bai dismounted and saw Xia Qian Yu, who had been scouting ahead, riding back, holding something in his hand.
“The Broken Gold Slash?!” The seven swordsmen exclaimed in unison, startled.
That massive sword, the Broken Gold Slash, was the signature weapon of Tong, a top assassin from the Demon Palace’s Asura Field. It had once wreaked havoc in the Western Regions, earning Tong a place among the palace’s elite, the "Eight Riders." But now, here it was on this desolate plain?
“There are signs of battle ahead,” Xia Qian Yu said, throwing the sword onto the snow and catching his breath. “All of the Eight Riders were wiped out here!”
“What?” The group exchanged shocked glances, dismounted, and hurried forward.
The complete annihilation of the Eight Riders was a newsworthy shock to the entire martial world!
After advancing about thirty zhang (roughly 100 meters), they found the remnants of a battlefield buried under the snow.
Zhu Dian's right arm had been severed, his chest pierced; Tong had died quickly, his throat marked by a thin red line; Chasing Wind, White Rabbit, Shadow Step, Morning Dove, and Rouge had all fallen within a radius of thirty zhang. With the exception of Morning Dove, who showed signs of poisoning, the rest had their throats cut by a single sword.
Huo Zhan Bai inhaled sharply—these sword wounds had all been inflicted by a single person!
“Incredible,” muttered Wei Feng Xing beside him. “Someone actually managed to kill all eight of the Eight Riders on their own!”
“Perhaps it was a successful ambush?” guessed Yang Ting, the third in their group.
“No, definitely not,” Huo Zhan Bai replied, picking up Chasing Wind’s sword from the ground. “Look at this—the positions where Chasing Wind, Shadow Step, Morning Dove, and Rouge fell form the pattern of the Demon Palace’s Tian Luo Formation. It’s clear that the Eight Riders were lying in wait to ambush someone.”
The swordsmen from Dingjian Pavilion exchanged uneasy glances—if the Eight Riders had joined forces for an ambush and still ended up dead, the strength of their opponent was simply unimaginable!
“Who could they have been trying to ambush?” Huo Zhan Bai muttered, unable to figure it out.
Someone who could wipe out the Eight Riders in one go was a rarity in the martial world. Aside from a few legendary elders, there were only a handful of people left. But none of the renowned martial artists from the Central Plains had traveled to the frontier recently, let alone engaged in such a deadly struggle with the Demon Palace’s assassins on this remote snowy plain. So, who could have done this?
“Found it!” Wei Feng Xing’s voice called from ahead, breaking Huo Zhan Bai’s reverie.
He rushed over and saw Wei Feng Xing pulling a broken sword from beneath the snow—a plain blue steel sword, broken in the middle. Nearby, one more of the Eight Riders’ corpses lay half-buried in the snow.
“Look at this mark,” Wei Feng Xing said, turning the sword’s hilt over and handing it to him. “The opponent should be one of the Five Mingzi.”
Huo Zhan Bai’s eyes fell on the flame-shaped engraving on the hilt: five flames, with the first being the longest. The Five Mingzi of the Demon Palace were “Wind, Fire, Water, Void, and Power,” and the leader was Miao Feng. He silently nodded.
Indeed, in the Western Regions, there were few people who could achieve such a feat. Other than the recently rebellious Tong, only Miao Feng of the Five Mingzi was capable of this. Known as the “charm of the sect leader,” he had lived on the snow-capped mountains for years and rarely showed his face in the Central Plains, so no one knew the true extent of his power.
But why would the Demon Palace send the Eight Riders to deal with Miao Feng?
“Mount up, let’s keep moving.” Huo Zhan Bai suddenly realized something. He slapped his saddle, mounted his horse, and shouted, “We can’t wait any longer! Move out now!”
* * *
That night, at the summit of Kunlun, the snow, which had been falling for years, continued to blanket everything.
Beneath the snow, who knows how many people lay awake.
In the howling wind and snow, a faint, ethereal sound seemed to drift through the air, mournful and mysterious, gradually spreading like water, merging into the deathly still night. Deep in thought, Miao Feng suddenly awoke, threw on his cloak, and stood by the window, gazing out. But in the vast sky above the Grand Light Palace, only the endless snow fell in the dark night.
It was the Song of Willows from Loulan, widely known in the Western Regions. Such a familiar tune... how long had it been buried in his memory? Twenty years?
Could it be that there were others of his kin in this Grand Light Palace?
Tonight, the song echoes of the willows; who could help but yearn for their homeland?
Amid the snowdrifts of the mountainside, Miao Shui set down her short flute, gently brushed the snow off a newly built grave, sighed, and turned away—
The last mastiff she had raised had also died.
These mastiffs, known as the kings of the snowlands, had always been ferocious and violent, killing any stranger who dared come near. But if they recognized you as their master, they would trust you completely, living their entire lives in your service.
Such a life was simple.
But humans... how could humans live such a simple life?
* * *
The next day, the clouds parted, and the snow cleared—it was one of those rare sunny days at the peak of Kunlun.
“What wonderful weather!”
“Yes, it's rare for the sky to clear—finally, we can take a walk in the garden.”
Xue Zi Ye had just woken up when she heard the maids outside joyfully whispering. She sat there, somewhat dazed, as if still not fully awake, wrapping herself in her fox-fur coat as she sat on the bed. She should get up. She should get up. There was a voice in her head urging her, cold and stern.
Yet, she didn't want to rise, lingering in the warmth of the bed like a child reluctant to leave.
—After today, I probably won’t feel this warmth again, will I?
The poison inside her was slowly corroding her body, and she didn’t know where her corpse would lie in the freezing snow by the end of the night.
At that moment, hiding in the soft bedding, she hugged her shoulders, feeling her body tremble slightly—so, even though she had been so calm and resolute in front of Ming Jie and Miao Shui, deep down, she wasn’t completely fearless…
The golden Western clock on the wall struck six. A maid entered, carrying a gold basin, as was customary, to assist her in washing and dressing.
It was time to get up. No matter how dangerous or fierce the path ahead, she had to force herself to face it bravely—there was no turning back.
Biting her lip, she forced herself up, dressed, and began to wash. The maid drew up the beaded curtain, and the sunlight, along with the snow’s reflection, burst into the room, making her eyes hurt. Xue Zi Ye gasped involuntarily, covering her eyes with a towel.
“Lower the curtain!” came a low, stern voice from outside.
“Miao Feng!” the maid exclaimed, startled, and quickly let down the curtain, softening the light in the room.
Though it wasn’t yet time, Miao Feng, dressed in white, was already standing outside, waiting. He quietly watched her preparing, his expression unreadable, as he lowered his gaze. “Master Xue, the sect leader has instructed me to escort you to the grand hall.”
“Very well, I have everything ready,” she replied calmly. “Let’s go.”
Yet he remained still. “I must ask Master Xue to present all her medicinal herbs and tools for inspection.”
Xue Zi Ye glanced at him, suppressing her anger. “You want to inspect my medical kit?”
“I’m afraid you may have something like the Rain of Pear Blossom Needles with you,” Miao Feng answered coldly, without hiding anything, as if he had entirely forgotten the way he had lost control in front of her the previous night. “Before you reach the sect leader’s sickbed, I must ensure everything is secure.”
“You think I plan to assassinate the sect leader?” Xue Zi Ye scoffed bitterly. “Ming Jie is still in your hands—how could I dare, Miao Feng?”
“We must account for every possibility,” Miao Feng responded without emotion.
“And what if I refuse?” Xue Zi Ye's eyes flashed with anger.
“That would be... unfortunate.” Miao Feng's words remained calm, devoid of threat, yet each one cut deep. “Tong will die a horrible death, the sect leader’s illness will worsen—and as for you, Master Xue, you may not make it down Kunlun Mountain alive. Even the disciples of Medicine Valley may not remain unharmed.”
“You!” Xue Zi Ye sprang to her feet.
Miao Feng stood quietly, meeting her gaze, his expression calm, without the slightest hint of retreat.
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