Fifty camels trudged in a single line across the Gobi Desert, each one struggling against the harsh terrain. The caravan members all wore silk veils over their faces, most leading their camels on foot. Only one slender figure rode atop a young adult camel, while an elderly but still robust man led the procession. His attire was simple and unadorned, clearly marking him as the caravan’s leader. A large waterskin made from lamb hide hung from his waist. The rider atop the double-humped camel, seated upon a luxurious silk saddle, constantly asked strange and fanciful questions—so much so that even the old man, seasoned in years of travel, often found himself at a loss for words.
Along their journey, they had encountered not one, but two mirages—rare phenomena that most people would never witness in a lifetime. Both times, the illusions depicted solitary islands in the sea, ethereal paradises that could rival the fabled floating mountains of the Daoist sects. The rider persistently questioned the nature and origins of these illusions, forcing the proud old man to stammer and deflect. Eventually, cornered and unable to answer, he changed the subject, recounting tales of fox spirits and other strange folk stories he had picked up along the way.
The rider’s voice was soft and gentle. “Grandfather Hong, once we cross this Gobi, will we finally reach the great city to the north?”
The old man chuckled. “Miss, we’ve still got quite a way to go. Remember the Flaming Mountains? It looked close, but it took us half a day to cross. As the ancients say, ‘The sight of mountains can kill a horse.’”
The rider, revealed to be a young woman, adjusted her silk veil to keep the sand from her mouth. Her eyes, clear and bright, sparkled with curiosity. “Grandfather Hong, we don’t have much water stored ourselves, so why did you give a waterskin to that traveling scholar? He even offered to pay you, but you refused.”
The stout old man named Hong spoke softly. “When you’re on the road, making a good connection—no matter how small—is always a blessing. I myself was once stranded in the desert and saved by your grandfather’s kindness. If it weren’t for him, I’d be nothing but bones buried beneath the sands today. Besides, even if we don’t carry many waterskins, we can always kill a camel for its water in a pinch. At worst, we lose some cargo. Money is lifeless, but people are alive.”
The young woman nodded and smiled.
The old man praised her sincerely. “Miss has always had a kind heart. Good people are sure to be rewarded. One day, you’ll find a fine family to marry into.”
The girl, who had secretly joined the caravan, asked again. “Grandfather Hong, but in the romance novels I’ve read from Jiangnan, the noble daughters always fall for poor scholars at first sight. I’ve never read of any woman seeking a match from a family of equal standing. Why is that?”
The old man scratched his head, struggling to answer. “Miss, you see, those scholars in the stories usually end up passing the imperial exams, returning home in glory, and living happily ever after with their beloveds. When you read these forbidden books, don’t just focus on the girls’ recklessness. Their eyes are sharp. Out of thousands of scholars heading to the capital, only a few manage to leap the dragon gate. And those are the ones the girls fall for. That proves the girls in the books have better judgment than us old merchants who’ve been in business for decades. If a girl makes a mistake and marries the wrong man, the writers won’t even bother to write about it.”
The young woman nodded in realization, a little embarrassed. “I used to sneak these books from my brothers, only caring about the romantic scenes under the moonlight. I’d blush and forget everything afterward. I never thought about it this deeply. Thank you, Grandfather Hong, for explaining it so clearly.”
The old man laughed. “If the scholars and beauties don’t end up together, what kind of romance story is that? Miss, when you marry, you must live well. If anyone dares mistreat you, I’ll chase him away, even if it means being cast out by your father.”
She shook her head. “I don’t even want to get married. My parents and brothers treat me so well, that’s enough. If my future husband has many wives and spends his days indulging in pleasures, I’d cry myself to death.”
Besides the well-known tea and horse trade routes between Liang and Mang, there were also several secret silk roads operating under various trade pretexts. These routes were mostly used by border merchants who bought silk from Jiangnan and old Shu, then sold it to the nobles of the Northern Wei court. The strict female emperor allowed some leniency, turning a blind eye to these routes. For those with the right connections, it was a highly profitable business. However, the journey was long and perilous, and many silk merchants perished along the way. It was only in recent years, with peace between the Southern and Northern states, that the Silk Road reached its golden age. Since camels were the main beasts of burden, many places in Jiangnan bore names like Camel Post and White Camel Bridge.
This particular caravan belonged to a minor branch of the prestigious Tan family of the Southern Court. Though the Tan family was one of the great houses, the main branch considered themselves refined scholars, avoiding the vulgar matters of trade. The burden of commerce fell upon the lesser branches. The family was vast, with many descendants, and the old patriarch could barely remember half their names and faces. Hong Bo’s branch was a small twig, which is why the young lady could sneak into the caravan. In a noble house, strict rules would never allow a young lady to travel openly. This spoiled girl was named Tan Changle, who longed for the family’s ancestral home in Shu. Coincidentally, the caravan had a thousand acres of mulberry fields in old Shu. When she arrived, it was springtime, with green hills and lush mulberry groves, and she almost didn’t want to leave. After crossing the border between Liang and Mang, the road north became increasingly desolate, but she endured the hardships with cheerfulness, greatly easing Hong Bo’s worries.
Raised in luxury, Tan Changle often asked strange questions. On this journey from old Shu to the Northern Wei court, Hong Bo had exhausted his knowledge, and in a few days, they would cross the Gobi and reach the edge of the imperial territory. Then, she would likely stop asking questions. At the moment, Hong Bo was explaining the origins of the Silk Road, moving on to Beiliang, and then to the embroidered rank badges of the Southern Court officials. He eventually reached the topic of the noble ladies’ rank badges, and the old man, having seen much hardship, spoke with feeling. “Our Southern Court’s official robes evolved from the Central Plains of the Spring and Autumn period. For example, the four-grade rank badge worn by a lady at court reflects the saying, ‘A woman gains honor through her husband.’ Of course, many women gain status through their sons, especially the consorts of the Spring and Autumn palaces.”
She tilted her head. “But my father is a military officer. Why does my mother wear a bird-patterned rank badge?”
Hong Bo smiled. “Miss, there’s a reason. A woman’s beauty lies in her grace and refinement, favoring culture over martial prowess. However, there is indeed one woman in history who wore a martial rank badge, perhaps the only one ever.”
Her eyes widened. “Whose?”
Hong Bo, leading the camel across the scorching salt flats, replied, “The Princess of Beiliang. Her rank badge bears the image of a first-grade lion. It’s said to be exquisitely beautiful, unmatched even when hung beside the Dragon Robe of the Beiliang King.”
Tan Changle, raised in seclusion, had little interest in the rise and fall of dynasties. She only knew of the Beiliang Princess through stories of her early death and short-lived fortune. Hong Bo, however, was a man of the streets, a wanderer who had seen many wonders. In his youth, he had earned a reputation in the martial world of the Central Plains. As to why he joined the exodus of scholars to the north, or why he ended up in a minor branch of the Tan family, that was another story of hardship he could not easily share. In his sixties, he no longer practiced martial arts as much, but he had taken up reading again, cultivating his mind and spirit. When he spoke of the Princess, his voice carried genuine reverence. “She was the only female sword immortal in three hundred years.”
She asked naturally, “What’s a sword immortal? Can they fly on swords?”
Hong Bo, not yet a second-tier cultivator, had no idea of the true depths of the martial sages. His honest nature prevented him from making things up, so he chuckled awkwardly. “Probably.”
She turned her head, hiding a smile, kindly not exposing his ignorance. Hong Bo, a man of great experience, blushed slightly.
Tan Changle’s smile faded. “Do we have any sword immortals in our Southern Court?”
Hong Bo shook his head. “There are more in the Southern Court. In the art of the sword, we must admit that the Central Plains have always been superior. In the past, there was Li Chungan of my generation, and now there’s Deng Ta’ao, the Sword God of Peach Blossom. I think the next one will also be from the South. The North will never lead the sword world.”
Tan Changle’s eyes sparkled with longing. “A sword immortal… I wish I could see one.”
Hong Bo did not openly disagree, only smiling softly. “A single sword can sever a river or shake a mountain. We ordinary folk are better off not seeing such things.”
Suddenly, the sky and earth changed. It was as if the unpredictable heavens had become enraged, stirring with fury. For those who made their living from the land—farmers tilling fields or shepherds tending flocks—this was the most feared omen. Tan Changle did not understand the danger, but Hong Bo’s face turned pale, and the other seasoned merchants in the caravan shared his dread. Tan Changle looked ahead. The horizon was filled with black smoke, blotting out the sun. At noon, the sky darkened like dusk.
Traveling the Gobi, the two greatest dangers were the “Dragon Siphon” and sandstorms. The former was rare, while the latter usually occurred in spring. Now, as summer turned to autumn, why had such a disaster struck? Worse still, this sandstorm was particularly fierce. Hong Bo had never expected to encounter such a massive storm on this Gobi. With no way to retreat, he made a swift decision: the caravan would kill the camels, peel off their hides, remove the internal organs, and use the camel skeletons as shelters. Fifty camels were gathered together, their hides draped over the bones to seal the gaps. In smaller storms, they could shelter near kneeling camels, but this storm was too great to face recklessly. Fortunately, the Tan family’s camels were large, allowing two people to fit into one skeleton. Whether this desperate plan would work was now up to fate.
When she heard they would kill the camels to survive, Tan Changle clung to her white camel, tears streaming down her face. She refused to draw her knife. Hong Bo and the other camel drivers, ignoring the priceless cargo, quickly slaughtered the camels they had relied on for survival, removing their organs and stomachs. The sandstorm was already near, a towering wall of black sand approaching from the northwest, roaring like thunder. Seeing the girl still clinging to her camel, Hong Bo, desperate and fearing her resentment, raised his knife to kill the beast himself. The goods were valuable, but lives were more precious. The caravan members were elite traders of the Tan family, and their deaths would be irreplaceable losses. Worse still, Tan Changle was the beloved granddaughter of the old patriarch, even adored by the old man himself. If she perished in this storm, Hong Bo would have no face to return home.
He shouted, “Miss, there’s no more time!”
She looked up, eyes red and swollen, pitiful and helpless. Hong Bo sighed, raised his knife, and moved toward the beautiful white camel.
Tan Changle turned away, her heart aching, but she did not stop him.
As she turned, her eyes suddenly widened. A black-robed scholar, with white lining, appeared like a drifting wisp of cloud. She thought she was seeing things, blinking rapidly. In the blink of an eye, he had passed her and reached Hong Bo, placing a hand on the old man’s arm. Hong Bo looked up in confusion. The scholar who had once asked for water shook his head, as if telling him not to kill the camel. As Hong Bo hesitated, the scholar, dressed in the robes of a traveling student, leapt forward with grace, soaring five or six zhang in a single bound. Tan Changle watched in stunned silence. Wasn’t he just an ordinary scholar? She had once mocked him for buying water, thinking him foolish to travel alone in the desert.
At that time, a secret thought had stirred in her heart—a woman’s secret fancy. She imagined him studying by lamplight in a ruined temple in the wilderness, perhaps even visited by a fox spirit offering herself to him. Luckily, her veil had hidden the blush on her cheeks.
The scholar leapt forward, only three li from the black wall.
A sword slid from his book chest.
A red-robed figure appeared beside him.
It was Xu Fengnian. The sword Spring and Autumn floated half a li away in the air, and twelve flying swords encircled him and the red-robed shadow, spinning rapidly.
A vast circular sword formation appeared out of nowhere.
The formation was woven from sword qi, and half of the twelve swords were yin, while others like Morning Dew and Golden Thread were yang. To form a seamless circle, the assistance of the red-robed shadow’s Danying was needed.
The caravan heard the scholar speak a single word, like a Daoist immortal chanting truth, like a Buddhist monk reciting sutras.
“Rise!”
The storm surged forward, only to be blocked by the sword formation, splitting into two streams that flowed away. Only the front of the formation was forced upward, like a black rainbow suspended over their heads, curving in an arc, and falling several li behind them.
The entire caravan was sheltered within this miraculous phenomenon. Hong Bo was awestruck.
Could a swordsman truly defy the heavens with human strength?
After an incense stick’s time, the black rainbow and sandstorm receded behind them, and the sky and earth returned to peace.
The scholar had vanished.
The caravan, saved from disaster, looked at each other in stunned silence.
Tan Changle gazed ahead, lost in thought.
To Hong Bo, she looked just like the many women of fifty years ago, gazing at a certain Blue Robe swordsman.
A single sword drawn, and the world’s injustices were no more.
Hong Bo murmured, “He’s just like Li Chungan.”
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