At the upper heights of the Everlasting City, standing upon the air, Song Zining gazed down upon the entire city.
At this moment, the Everlasting City burned with lights, its alarms shrieked without cease. The metropolis raged like a boiling lake, waves of turmoil washing across every district. Upon every cresting wave, warriors gathered—one squadron after another, private soldiers sent by noble clans.
These tides of conflict rolled toward the heart of the city. Yet, at the storm’s eye surged a lone blade, cleaving through the roaring waves. Cutting through with unstoppable force, it sliced toward the outskirts of the city.
Song Zining’s figure flickered like a candle suddenly snuffed out—gone from his place. The next moment, he appeared before Zhao Yuying, at a crossroads, saying, “Hold this intersection. No one is allowed to pass!”
Zhao Yuying blinked, surprised, yet seeing Song Zining’s grim countenance, and with panic still gripping her heart, she nodded instinctively, asking no questions.
A second flicker—Song Zining vanished again. This time he moved through domains, his rapid teleportation a crude parallel to Qian Ye’s Void Flash: lesser in range, yet far greater in the toll it exacted. Yet Song could not now concern himself with such things. From one end of the Everlasting City to the other, he dashed again and again, finally arriving at the edge of town, where he silently took position at a crossroads and waited.
From a street’s bend, a faction of clan warriors rushed forth, coming at once upon the lone Zoning at the corner of the block. They paused in shock.
Song Zining revealed his military insignia and said with calm composure, “This is strategic ground. The叛乱 criminal may very well take this path. Obey my command here and stand prepared—let there be no escape.”
Though not a formidable group, their clan was still of rankless standing. The sight of Song’s major-general insignia already astounded them. Some even recognized him, blurting out in alarm: “It is the Seventh Master—Strategist Boyan’s confidant!”
With that, all doubt regarding Song Zining was cast immediately aside; for though they had joined this uprising with reluctance, hearing only of distant screams had driven them into this quiet retreat—they knew very well how perilous it is, not to seek glory, but simply to survive to speak of it.
Before long, two more private regiments of clansmen came down the same street, yet they too found themselves brought to a halt by Song Zining, now posted alongside crossroad watches.
As small bands mingled with others from different units and spoke quietly in pairs, understanding and mutual relief followed swiftly; all thought much the same. They grew all the more impressed with Song Zining—such was the tact of Boyan’s strategist! A man who could make inaction sound so virtuous! Especially since rumors abounded saying Qian Ye now raged unopposed with blood fury, leaving behind entire battalions butchered and devastated.
While they whispered amongst themselves in alarm, a sound echoed suddenly on the wide road ahead—boots striking stone like thunderous heartbeats, matching in synchrony with their own. With only a few steps forward, hundreds of fighters, warlords included, began trembling helplessly, hands grasping at their chest, as though the very breath had been stolen from their lungs by this rhythmic approach.
Qing Ye strode toward them down the farthest stretch of road, one hand clasped through that of Lady Ye Tong, East Peak sword resting easily by his side. Not moving especially fast, Qian Ye arrived before them swiftly despite the distance. Cold eyes swept over the warriors behind Song Zining.
Their sight met as though bolts of light struck bone—trembling overwhelmed the gathered warriors. Any who dared look only dropped their gaze hastily, trembling in fear with no will or courage to meet those terrible eyes. Of those front-ranked, only their lowering of sight allowed them to witness what dripped from East Peak with every passing step—blood from bladepoint. This soft, ceaseless滴答 of crimson falling broke all remaining resolve they may have found to resist, let alone flee altogether.
Just then, Song Zining stepped forward suddenly, stretching out one arm to block both possible avenues behind him, his icy tone clear: “No entry.”
Qian Ye gazed into the strategist deeply, gave no reply, turned sharply, and made his way through a different avenue. Moments later, he vanished without even glancing backwards.
Minutes passed in deathlike silence after Qian Ye departed before finally drawing breath—they could only speak through relief to have evaded death by a stroke of luck. In the presence of pure dread such as he, they could only truly realize his terrifying prowess in person—it was as though an intangible force suppressed even the soul, ready to snap their very sanity.
In this awe-drenched silence of breath held and fear shared, Song Zining stood amidst the clustered guards, surrounded as voices rose in praise.
Qian Ye strode through another two blocks before coming upon the crossstreet—only to pause. Before him stood Zhao Yuying, heavy cannon resting in hand at her shoulder. Gathered at the junction stood dozens of elites from Zhao’s own faction. Waiting—poised in battle-readiness at her command.
Zhao Yuyings gazed upon Qian Ye, and without thinking spoke, an almost subconscious whisper: “Wu’Er…”
Without expression, Qian Ye corrected, “Zhao Commander—did you mean to confront me?”
Zhao Yuying hesitated in her uncertainty and slowly shook her head, replying plainly, “No… it’s only that Zining ordered me to stand watch here.”
Qian Ye’s brows slightly furrowed; this street-cross resembled the last. And Yuying too, like Zining before her, was guarding two potential exits from either angle. A forced only open single path lay before.
He walked forward without another word—through the only open exit. Yuying’s forces stirred uneasily behind her. At her glare, they hesitated yet fell out of formation. And as the vast majority kept still and silent—respectfully watching him leave—one truth revealed itself plain. To these soldiers from the House Zhao, whose hearts held high regard for Qian Ye, there remained no will left within their breast, even with a label for traitor now hung around his throat.
Just then, another force came surging down the street—close to one-hundred strong they emerged from alleyways. Warriors dressed with colors representing countless noble houses, even mixing some imperial legionnaires amongst the private soldiers: drawn solely by the prospect of fame. The sight of their target drove them into a wild, excited pursuit like the thrill found chasing battlefields and trophies of conquest, following closely behind.
Qian Ye’s posture chilled, halted his step, and faced the coming crowd anew. East Peak carved flawlessly through the heavens—a sweeping cut launched without actually meeting an enemy.
Though Qian Ye’s blade cut only the empty air from thirty meters away, the pursuing commander screamed aloud in panic and flung himself to the ground in utter disregard for dignity. A sharp invisible arc from Qian Ye’s sword skimmed overhead harmlessly—but the energy that followed struck deeply. Slashed from behind with a fresh gash, the war captain was thrown to the cobbled street by his own flowing blood which sprayed in the fountain of wounded flag-like splendour!
Fast as the commander’s reflexes had been however, no such gift remained in the remaining undisciplined rabble. With the cutting arc’s path clear and unmet, the frontmost warriors—thirteen to fifteen in number—all immediately collapsed, some bisected clean across.
All further advances halted—any dreams of wealth from glory now cut away, washed clean in horror. Cold realization came upon them of their folly in chasing such tales, which had once seemed so distant, tales about how Qian Ye’s legend once lay upon the corpses of a thousand warlocks from darkness beyond.
Following this deadly display of the Silent Annihilation strike—an attack that wounded the leader and ended lives so ruthlessly. Qian Ye did not look again behind him—only clasping Lady Night once more, walked forward once again along the distant edge of this street and was gone, swallowed by night shadows as he turned away.
Witnessing all, shaken and frightened soldiers from Zhao House that previously considered luck their protection could barely stop their hands trembling, drenched in unseen sweat upon their brow.
Back near one inner courtyard of the Wei family’s compound, Wei Patian paced about restlessly within the confined yard as if on white heated coals, raging against the walls surrounding him, unable to break through the combined defense of four expertly trained elders stationed strategically at the square’s corner. Four protectors, but four prisons in their unity.
“Release me now! As if I would even do him harm! What purpose does this imprisonment satisfy—what is this madness you impose?!” Wei Patians shouts and curses filled air thick and trapped with his helpless struggle.
By a door stood an old Taishi Chair placed neatly in sight with a figure solemnly rooted within it. Wei Bai Nien had assumed the sentinel post himself—without question. Wei Patian could no more escape those gates, not for one step—no moment too small for escape. His young cousins frustrated and fumbling words barely shifted his expression, merely drawing a tired sigh in reply:
“Qifui. Within your forged letter bearing our lord’s signet seal, and counterfeit clan elder’s talismans, countless of House Wei’s agents in the land of Duskfall have been destroyed—utterly dismantled in exposure. That matter alone has no true closure, yet still now you would chase more trouble? We have restrained from longer imprisonment merely; seven short days, but even this grace is more clement than any prior punishment for such crime!”
“Seven days! Everything will be long passed by then!”
“I feared you intended to join the chase for Qian Ye still.”
“You dare suggest he could betray his home?! Not of choice—I know who really bears that treachery in heart, the bastard pigs at war command!” Railing once more, spew filled with hate, Wei’s fury raged, realizing with a second the error in speech immediately, trying hastily to backtrack, “Wait, no—why say I would help that dog? No, no—I just meant to take air in my feet with things so lively… simply curious sightseeing, nothing more.” The lies barely disguised his passion.
Yet without shift of face, Wei Bai nien simply reiterated, coldly certain.
“Seven days. Not a moment less.”
Within the command tent of House Zhao’s encampments, Zhao Ruoxi dressed herself quietly, clad entirely in loose robes trailing down long and heavy across stone floor. She stroked her deep night-colored strands with slow, measured fingers. Around her hands worked two personal handmaids. They did nothing but stare with growing anxious concern—the only purpose of such close proximity at service.
Zhao Ruoxi spoke suddenly, with disinterest: “You two are bothersome. Do you know this?”
Shadows cast and memories flickering briefly—within each of their eyes simultaneously burst forth a crimson blossom of floating red flame—the dreaded sign of crossing into the River of Yore.
Terrified shrieks followed.
Within a sealed chamber some way off, a gorgeous pistol box resided at the central stage upon which stood a ritual. Encrusted at its cover with seals binding tightly across the edges. Encircling this weapon were three solemn old men sitting cross-legged in concentration with the ground beneath each glowing faintly under the influence of their respective arrays. Their formations connected—linking strength between each, collectively compressing power directed upon the mysterious box between them.
Suddenly—the scream, however distant, pierced through this isolation. Simultaneously in the very center of the chamber and across multiple walls bloomed crimson flowers once more—falling petal from flower in succession as each died instantly into nothing as if consumed.
The array’s brilliance flared up to critical thresholds instantly. The elderly circle reacted with alarm—too late. The formation erupted into flames in unison. Burning hot energy leapt onto them directly; even their own robes caught quickly, feeding to spread the fire.
In that moment the sealed wooden box itself burst outward with great explosive force. The pistol inside, “Sakura of the River’s End,” darted quickly free. Passing through multiple barriers instantly, appearing suddenly before Zhao Ruoxi.
Without hesitation, she reached eagerly—for Mande Shafa, determination and desperation mingling into fiery light in her small yet determined eyes. Vaulted into sky, her escape window neared.
At this instant a hand emerged seemingly out of nowhere—a hand elegant and soft with snowy white skin yet still perfectly shaped—placing a quiet touch delicately upon the surface barrel, bringing it back.
From the dozens of floating flowers of salvation that floated just below and sustained her rise—a brilliant display snuffed out like scattered stars. Mande Shafa’s radiant pulse dimming at once like fading ember—as that calm presence firmly and effortlessly guided the pistol inward, resting quietly once into its hand.
Unexpectedly losing control for movement midair, Ruoxi gasped and plummeted downward—yet she never crashed. A second arm reached smoothly—steady, gentle, like carved stone, guiding her landing softly upon marble flooring with elegance and care.
Zhao Ruoxi, eyes widened—turned swiftly in a start: “Mom!?”
The High邑 Princess was clad in simple robes, her appearance plain, wearing neither jewels nor cosmetics—yet she remained a picture of dignified nobility, radiating effortless majesty. With tender grace upon every motion in her careful grip of Mande Shafa and her words spoken solemn with gentle sorrow:
“This gun…it is not used so rashly with emotion.”
Bowing, Zhao Ruoxi gritted teeth clenched, whispering in bitter frustration, “Because, they seek—his death!”
“If you rushed forward like this, weapon drawn, and with so little restraint—” High邑 sighed, shaking lightly her head, voice firm in repressing any thought: “—then even Qian Ye—his life would surely be lost.”
Stunned silence gripped the younger Princess. Slowly raising her eyes in dawning horror. Then, in hush, she queried fearfully: “Why?”
High邑 Princess looked at her pityingly, her voice weighed with experience: “Child—must not have forgotten how those watching from the shadows, once such forces as this were disturbed…” She let words linger.
“No one… No one, would be content to turn away.”
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