The full moon hung in the sky, like a jade plate suspended above the mortal world, its light as clear as water.
A troop of over a hundred heavily armored cavalrymen turned from the main road onto a narrow path, their powerful hooves seemingly shattering the moonlight scattered across the muddy trail.
Each rider bore a sword and a crossbow, their bearing fierce and formidable. At their head rode a burly commander, who carried a long lance slanted across his back. Under the moonlight, the hideous scar that stretched diagonally across his face was clearly visible. The lance, a weapon rarely seen on battlefields since the Spring and Autumn era, had been the favored armament of border generals since the days of the Great Feng. Not only was it difficult to forge and exorbitantly expensive—as rare as a sweat-blood steed—but it was also unwieldy, requiring at least a decade of dedicated practice to master. Thus, only scions of borderland noble houses would dare wield it in battle. The fact that this commander possessed one spoke volumes—he was no ordinary cavalry captain, and his lineage was undoubtedly illustrious.
A scout galloped back from the path ahead and reported loudly, “General, the Xu family fugitives are down to a dozen or so ragtag escorts! Our brothers lying in wait up ahead will easily intercept them!”
The lance-wielding commander grinned savagely. “Good! These reckless fools of the martial world, daring to collude with the Xu remnants and costing us over thirty brothers—tonight, I’ll make sure they regret it!”
About a li away from this elite cavalry, a dozen or so escorts desperately urged their horses forward alongside a carriage on a path barely wide enough for three riders abreast. When they spotted the flickering torches ahead, their faces paled. Rows of riders, three abreast, stood in disciplined formation, their crossbows raised and ready.
These martial heroes, who had risked their lives to rescue the loyal Xu family of Guanhai, had already steeled themselves for death. Yet, the sight still sent chills down their spines. Their initial escape from the city had gone smoothly, but shortly after leaving, they had been ambushed by over a hundred riders. Seven or eight had fallen in the first volley of bolts. If not for the martial master who had stayed behind to hold off the cavalry, sacrificing himself to buy them time, none would have made it this far. The last glance back had shown the revered elder, after slaying over twenty riders, pierced by arrows before a lance-wielding horseman impaled him through the chest, hurling his body forty paces with the force of the charge. The commander had then casually flung the corpse aside—his raw strength and martial prowess were terrifying. Even an uninjured second-rank master would have struggled to match him.
One of the riders glanced at the vast rice fields beside the path, most already harvested, with bundles of straw scattered across the land. “Into the fields!” he roared.
The aged carriage driver gritted his teeth and yanked the reins, veering sharply onto the dry field. The carriage jolted violently, its wheels briefly airborne as it crashed over a low but hard ridge. Inside, youthful voices—male and female, some still tinged with childishness—cried out in pain.
Ahead, the blocking cavalry sneered. Did these fools think themselves the elite riders of Northern Liang or the barbarian hordes of the Northern Desert? On the battlefield, such abrupt turns were reckless at best. Forty light cavalry followed them into the field, but unlike the panicked fugitives, these seasoned riders moved with the ease of a hunting party.
Their arrogance was not unfounded. These men had once belonged to the Southern Army that crossed the Guangling River. Though their recent battles near the capital had been less brutal, their early days as Southern cavalry—even serving under the current emperor when he was still heir—marked them as elite. However, during the critical moment of rewards, their commander, Gao Bohai, had clashed with Che Ye, a loyalist of the late Shu King Chen Zhibao. What should have been a minor dispute escalated when the emperor, enraged, stripped Gao of his rank. His eight thousand riders were split into three, with two thousand remaining in Guangling under the temporary command of the Jianzhou garrison. The current commander, Gao Tinghou, was Gao Bohai’s only son. Now bypassing his superiors, he had privately allied with Deputy Jiedushi Song Li.
Guanhai County, nestled in the old Western Chu territory famed for its scholars, was unremarkable. Unlike other regions teeming with noble families, the Xu clan stood alone—a lineage of scholars tracing back to the Great Feng’s fall. Though spared during the Western Chu’s brief revival, the family had declined, its hopes pinned on a grandson who failed the imperial exams.
Then fate played a cruel joke. A fifteen-year-old Xu daughter, previously unknown, was ranked fourth on the Rouge List—her beauty said to make fish leap ashore. Suitors flooded in, but the Xu family, true to their scholarly pride, claimed she was betrothed. Yet the groom’s family, pressured by Song Li, renounced the engagement.
Tonight’s bloody hunt was Gao Tinghou’s offering to Song Li, who coveted the girl. But Gao hadn’t expected such resistance from mere scholars, losing thirty elite riders—a stark reminder of the hidden depths of noble houses.
As the carriage neared a distant haystack where two figures sat by a fire, the cavalry loosed another volley. Two more escorts fell.
With fifty paces to the forest, the riders targeted the horses. The carriage’s northern steed took three bolts, forcing the driver to halt. The remaining escorts formed a line, shielding the carriage.
A captain circled leisurely before pointing his blade. “Out!”
Silence.
Another volley felled four more.
Then Gao Tinghou arrived, his lance scattering sparks as he passed the fire—where two figures sat unmoved.
At the carriage, he smirked at the last four defenders. “Dismount, and live.”
Three did, only to be shot in the legs.
The last, a young swordsman, clasped his fists. “Liu Guanshan, of Hezhou’s Great Sword Hall!”
Gao’s grin widened. “Tell your master—when he reaches the first rank, I’ll come test whose weapon is greater.”
Then he roared, “Xu family! Show yourselves if you’ve any spine left!”
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