The scene that had previously resembled a carpet spread over the vast yellow desert now seemed to have been stretched into a ribbon of silk, though it was still splattered with fresh blood.
Fortunes had turned. Now, it was the White Horse Rangers chasing the Northern Wilderness scouts.
A scout from Long Pass, his lips cracked from thirst, could clearly feel the exhaustion of his mount. Around him, his disheveled comrades were retreating with their backs to the Tiger Head City of Northern Liang. Ahead, the elite cavalry units of the “Ravens” and “Black Foxes” had already pulled away, led by Lin Fu—a trusted general of Grand Marshal Liu Gui—and Yelü Chucai, the brother-in-law of the infamous Dong Zhuo. Lin Fu’s face bore a gruesome gash from a skirmish, flesh torn open, while Yelü Chucai fared no better, his armor pierced by four or five crossbow bolts, leaving him bloodied and likely with broken bones.
This scout, a sturdy warrior raised by the elite Long Pass noble house, couldn’t understand how a hunt that had initially been in their favor had turned into a chase where they were now the prey of the Northern Liang Rangers. As a top-tier border scout, he could tell that the Ravens and Black Foxes weren’t weak—had they chosen to fight to the death, they might have taken down the two Northern Liang Ranger units with them. But the influential commander and the imperial relative Yelü had opted to retreat. As a crossbow bolt pierced his throat and sent him tumbling from his horse, it dawned on him—perhaps their lives were simply too valuable.
Unlike the Northern Wilderness scouts, who had earlier mutilated Sun Ji’s rangers—beheading corpses, trampling headless bodies, or using fallen soldiers as target practice—Li Hanlin and Wei Musheng’s rangers pursued with ruthless efficiency. If any Northern Wilderness scout dismounted, regardless of rank, the nearest ranger would swiftly raise their crossbow and fire a single, precise shot to ensure death.
The formidable warrior Lu Dou, with his piercing double pupils, led a hundred rangers to patrol the left flank of the retreating Northern Wilderness forces, preventing their scouts from scattering and hindering the Northern Liang’s ability to capitalize on their victory. The right flank was watched by only two riders, yet their presence was no less intimidating than a hundred Liangzhou horsemen—the young swordswoman Wang Sheng and the scout squad leader Yu Dilong, who had previously accompanied the Ghost Cavalry commander Yu Luandao to the border.
Wang Sheng carried not only six swords in her scabbard but also four legendary blades her master had retrieved from the Emperor’s City wall—the slender *Duyu Sword*, the three-inch dagger *Zhuyu* forged by the Northern Han sage Cao Ye, the *Yehe Daoist Talisman Sword* once used by the wandering immortal Huang Cishan to slay demons, and the *Xianzhu Sword* that had once pierced the belly of an Eastern Yue emperor. At her waist hung two more famed swords from the Listening Tide Pavilion’s armory: *Feizhu* and *Jifou*. With twelve swords in her possession, Wang Sheng’s reputation was unparalleled. In later years, she would be revered as the “Sword Saintess,” a woman who devoted her life to the blade, never marrying, wandering the land alone with her twelve swords. She had one peculiar quirk—she refused to duel those who did not wield swords, such as her fellow disciples Yu Dilong and Lü Yunchang, or the peerless warrior Gou Youfang. She defeated countless renowned swordsmen, but her only true rival was Shan Eryi of the Eastern Yue Sword Pool, who carried only one sword, *Lüshuiting*. Their lifelong rivalry became a celebrated tale in the martial world.
Wang Sheng’s master was never famed for his swordsmanship.
Yet, in later years, people would remember Xu Fengnian because of the Sword Saintess Wang Sheng.
Now, Yu Dilong stole a glance at the young woman. He had thought she might struggle with the brutality of the battlefield, knowing only that she had once traveled the Northern Wilderness with the enigmatic White Fox and that her swordsmanship had advanced by leaps and bounds.
Her clothes were stained with blood as she galloped forward, hands gripping the hilts of her swords, her face smeared with gore. The strands of hair at her temples fluttered in the wind, her eyes alight with fierce determination.
Her master had once told Yu Dilong in private that no woman disliked rouge and powder. Yu Dilong had once asked his master for reward money—partly to send to Aunt Pei for repairs to her small courtyard, but also to secretly save up for something else. Yet, young as he was, he doubted he’d ever have the courage to give such gifts.
*”Devoted to the sword”? No, I merely entrusted my life to it.*
In the future, Yu Dilong would be revered as the “Dragon of the Land,” the world’s greatest warrior, who needed no weapon to defeat all challengers save Gou Youfang. Though he was said to have never loved a woman, he would, year after year, buy boxes of rouge, until they piled high in a single room.
Many, many years later, the white-haired old man would open that door and sit alone on the threshold, gazing back as if he could still see a dark-skinned girl with her hands behind her back, picking through that mountain of rouge.
—
Wei Musheng, drenched in blood, rode up beside Li Hanlin, his voice hoarse. “Captain Li, these barbarians aren’t fighting to the death—something’s off. The Ravens have always been our mortal enemies, never ones to back down. They must have something up their sleeves, just like us. Be wary of an ambush.”
Li Hanlin spat out a mouthful of blood and glanced at the sky before nodding grimly. “Captain Wei, your unit has suffered heavy losses. Leave the pursuit to us for now. If you can switch horses, do so—don’t worry about the delay. If we encounter a large Northern Wilderness cavalry force, we’ll need you to buy time until Yuan Nanting’s White Feather Light Cavalry arrives. Based on prior intelligence, Dong Zhuo and Murong Baoding shouldn’t be able to spare many horsemen for this battle. And we still have Qi Dangguo’s Iron Pagodas. Whether we fight or retreat, we’ll have options.”
Wei Musheng pondered for a moment before growling, “Dong Zhuo’s always been more focused on pitting his infantry against our Youzhou foot soldiers. That fat bastard’s cavalry has never been large. With Yuan Nanting and Qi Dangguo backing us up, even if things go south, we’re still in a strong position. This battle—we can afford to go all out!”
Li Hanlin smiled bitterly.
Wei Musheng hesitated. “About luring them out… the Northern Wilderness isn’t full of fools. When Sun Ji suggested the three of us draw lots to decide who’d be the bait, I’ll admit—when he drew the short straw first, I was relieved. Not because I’m a coward, but because I didn’t want my five or six hundred brothers to die with me. Captain Li, don’t blame yourself. I know this plan was your idea, and you were the one who most wanted to be the bait. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Sun Ji—for his bad luck, and for being blind enough to call me his brother…”
Li Hanlin shook his head, wiping blood from his lips. “Sun Ji was the one who suggested drawing lots. He prepared the lots himself, and he insisted on drawing first. Captain Wei… did you really not realize?”
Wei Musheng froze, then laughed bitterly. “Sun Ji, the so-called ‘lucky star’ even the Grand Marshal praised… ‘Sun the Fortunate.’ He fought countless brutal battles yet barely got a scratch. Turns out he was just saving up all his luck to pay it back to the heavens in one go.”
Li Hanlin opened his mouth but held back his words. Some things were better left unsaid.
Sun Ji and Wei Musheng had both been from Youzhou’s Rouge County, young and brash, disdainful of the local Youzhou infantry, so they’d joined the Liangzhou border army together. They’d started as lowly soldiers in the Torch Battalion, the precursor to the Northern Liang Rangers, earning the favor of Hu Kui. Over time, both rose through the ranks, eventually becoming ranger captains, the most prestigious of the Northern Liang’s dozens of captains. But when it came to who would be promoted first, their friendship fractured—especially since the ranger captaincy was a position many would trade a generalship for. Sun Ji, backed by the old warlord Zhong Hongwu, got the promotion first, leaving Wei Musheng stuck as a lieutenant for two more years. Their rivalry grew so bitter that they stopped visiting each other’s hometowns during the New Year, as if they’d become sworn enemies.
After the drawing of lots in Fuling Garrison, Li Hanlin had walked with Sun Ji through the streets. The two, previously unacquainted, spoke little. Sun Ji had always been a rogue in the Northern Liang army, well-liked, daring to pester even Grand Marshal Xu Xiao for horses and money, joking with veterans like Yan Wenluan and He Zhonghu, even calling the Tiger Head City’s Liu Jinu “brother.” In contrast, the taciturn Wei Musheng had faded into the background, especially after his patron Chen Zhibao defected from Northern Liang. Many assumed Li Hanlin’s rapid rise to ranger captain was due to the new Liang King’s distrust of the White Horse Rangers.
During that walk, Li Hanlin had openly shared why he’d joined the rangers, and Sun Ji hadn’t taken it as an empty gesture. Sun Ji spoke of his patrons Hu Kui and Zhong Hongwu, of his estranged brother Wei Musheng, of the old and new Liang Kings, of Liu Jinu—who had died at Tiger Head City, his body later retrieved by Xu Fengnian in exchange for Yang Yuanzan’s head. Finally, Sun Ji had joked about Li Hanlin’s privileged past, saying that the wealthy of Lingzhou had summer retreats and luxuries to beat the heat. He’d confessed that his dream, once he retired, was to move his family to Lingzhou and make Li Hanlin play host. Li Hanlin, unsure how to respond, had simply mentioned *xianrencao*, a southern delicacy served chilled in summer, said to make one feel “cool as an immortal.”
Under the scorching sun, Sun Ji—a stout, middle-aged man drenched in sweat—had closed his eyes, smacked his lips, and grinned. “My little girl… she’ll get to eat that every year.”
Before parting with Wei Musheng, Li Hanlin suddenly asked, “Captain Wei, I’ve heard you and Sun Ji competed in everything—military achievements, promotions, even wives and children. Is it true?”
Wei Musheng flushed with embarrassment and frustration. “Damn Sun Ji got lucky—three sons, and last year, a little daughter too. My wife? Nothing but girls. Not a single boy. The one thing I couldn’t beat him at.”
Li Hanlin chuckled. “If you don’t mind me meddling… if your wife ever gives you a son, why not arrange a betrothal with Sun Ji’s daughter? ‘A wife three years older brings gold’—don’t fuss over the age gap. A woman who knows how to care for others is priceless.”
The burly man, whom Li Hanlin had just called “Brother Wei” for the first time, fell silent, lost in thought.
Finally, Wei Musheng laughed loudly. “You know what? I’ll do it. If I survive this battle, I’ll go ask Sun Ji myself… and if that old bastard doesn’t say no, it’s settled!”
But the dead cannot speak.
So the hastily conceived betrothal was as good as sealed.
In the second year of the Xiangfu era, on the day of Great Heat, Northern Liang White Horse Ranger captains Sun Ji and Wei Musheng fell in battle beyond the pass, on the Dragon’s Eye Plains.
That same day, Yelü Hongcai of the Northern Wilderness also died.
As did Qi Dangguo, the adopted son of the old Liang King Xu Xiao.
And that seemingly insignificant betrothal, born amidst the thunder of hooves on the borderlands, would never come to pass.
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