The morning wind howled.
At some point, a faint layer of dark clouds had gathered on the horizon. Moments ago, the sky had been radiant with sunlight, but now even heaven and earth seemed to have dimmed.
The wind carried a hint of rain, like an unseen sorceress playing a tune that disrupted hearts. It chilled the hearts of those parting, scattered the souls of passing travelers, and stirred the blood of a youth.
The departed were far away, the travelers had gone. Where was the young man now?
The entourage of the Matriarch of Han Shui had long vanished without a trace. Chang Hong Bi's silhouette had already dissolved into the distant horizon. Yet, Huo Xiao Di could not stop himself from looking back, gazing at the unreturnable road stretching far behind him.
From now on, the ends of the earth would separate them, the vastness of the human world lying in between. Who knew when they might meet again? And if they did meet, would the young man still remember him? Would he remember the traveler in the yellow robes who had once held a bamboo umbrella in the rain and helped him rise?
The road ahead had turned flat and straight, seemingly endless, leading directly to the horizon. Towering cliffs flanked both sides, steep as iron walls reaching into the clouds.
The black steeds of the Flying Cloud Riders snorted, their nostrils flaring with white mist from exhaustion after a long gallop.
The pain in Huo’s left leg returned, faint but insistent. Tears suddenly welled up in his eyes.
Yet, when he turned his head, he was met with Zhan Ri Fei’s silent gaze.
This black-clad young man, though pale as a ghost, sat astride his horse, his pain preventing him from even straightening his back. Yet his dark eyes, as deep as the night, seemed to see through everything, understand everything, and carried a warmth that softened the harshness of the world.
Huo Xiao Di quickly turned away, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, and said softly, “After taking the Ling Long Honey, are you feeling better?”
Zhan Ri Fei replied, “Don’t worry. I’m not so easy to kill. Haven’t you heard that even cats have nine lives? If I died now, how could I face the miraculous medicines of Ling Long Manor?”
Huo Xiao Di finally laughed, though his smile carried an inescapable melancholy. “I’ve only ever heard that the good die young, while the wicked linger to cause trouble for a thousand years.”
Zhan Ri Fei sighed with a wry smile, “This is the first time anyone has ever called me wicked.”
Huo Xiao Di retorted, “Are you claiming to be good? Don’t forget, just yesterday you nearly became a ghost under my sword—”
He didn’t finish his sentence, for his expression had already changed.
In the distance, a sound arose. It was the urgent clatter of hooves—more than one rider, more than one horse.
—Who was coming? And why?
Huo Xiao Di sighed softly. The farther they went from Xiang Yang, the more troubles seemed to pile up.
On this stretch of road, there was nowhere to hide. The open and straight path would allow the approaching riders to spot them and Zhan Ri Fei long before they could evade. Even if they wanted to lead their horses off the road, it was already too late.
Sure enough, a dozen riders appeared in the distance. The horses were excellent, and the men atop them were undoubtedly skilled.
The riders on horseback were robust and fierce, exuding an aura of invincibility in their every move.
Clearly, these were men seasoned by countless battles—calm, composed, and utterly formidable.
Huo Xiao Di let out a breath of relief. These men were certainly not ordinary Song soldiers. Judging by their attire, they didn’t belong to the Xiang Yang Prince’s royal guards either.
He knew that the bloodstains on his body would inevitably raise suspicion, but there was no way to avoid a confrontation now. He could only trust to luck and brace himself for the encounter.
From a distance, the soldiers eyed Huo Xiao Di and Zhan Ri Fei with evident doubt. One of them, who appeared to be the leader, retrieved a scroll from within his robes and scrutinized it, glancing repeatedly in Huo Xiao Di’s direction.
“It’s him! He’s the one from the portrait sent by the prince!”
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