At dawn, the bells and drums of Dunhuang tolled, and the grand southern gate of the city slowly creaked open. Crowds gathered at the gates surged in and out like a swarm of bees. Though Dunhuang stood alone amidst the desolate yellow sands, it had become the unrivaled oasis city within a hundred miles, bustling with merchants and travelers. Each day, no fewer than five to six thousand people passed through its gates. With the Buddhist holy site of Caiji Caves nearby, on the first and fifteenth of every lunar month, the streets would overflow with devotees leaving the city to burn incense and pray. Today was the final fifteenth day of late spring. Normally, the southern avenue would be packed shoulder to shoulder, yet today was oddly quiet, with only a few hundred devout pilgrims—none of them bringing their families along. Along the streets, early-rising vendors called out their wares—pancakes, snacks, and coarse yellow paper for incense.
Only one shop had opened, run by a middle-aged man known for his poor business sense. Given his prime location, selling incense items would have been a goldmine, but instead, he only sold wine—expensive wine at that. His business was pitifully slow, so he made a few pots of thin rice porridge in the morning for passing travelers. Inside the cramped shop sat a familiar face, a regular so well-known that the man no longer charged him for his meals. Though the shopkeeper lived in poverty, with no wife to help manage the household, he kept himself clean and neat, exuding a quiet scholarly air. Everyone in Dunhuang knew him for his elegant calligraphy and moving poetry. Years ago, a noblewoman of the Yuwen clan, blind to reason, had eloped with him. Though the Yuwen family was among the wealthiest in Dunhuang, they had surprisingly let the matter slide. The refined, headstrong girl had truly married this penniless outsider. Her father, heartbroken and worried for her well-being, had even secretly given her a generous dowry. But the man proved to be a disappointment—talented, yes, but unable to achieve anything meaningful. He was too proud to take lesser opportunities and too impractical to seize greater ones. A grand tavern became a modest eatery, then a tiny wine stall. Eventually, the woman, heartbroken and disillusioned, left him for the well-matched Duanmu family, where the couple lived in harmony and happiness. The Duanmu heir had even visited the wine shop once, arriving alone without servants, his demeanor gentle and refined. He had spoken only a few polite words, saying he had heard of the shopkeeper’s poetry and deeply admired it. Later, when the woman occasionally came to Dunhuang to burn incense, she arrived in a magnificent carriage drawn by four noble steeds. Curious onlookers had never seen her lift the curtain to glance at her former husband, the destitute man she had left behind. It was clear she had been truly broken-hearted.
The man now sitting in the shop, idly helping himself to free meals, had one foot on the chair and handed his bowl for another round after finishing one. “They say you get soft when you eat someone else’s food,” he teased, “but you, my friend, are the one giving lectures. Xu Pu, if you sold incense, you’d be raking in the coins by now. Hey, I’d even come to your shop to burn a few sticks. The Buddha would see how sincere I am and grant all my wishes. And once I strike it rich, I’d be sure to help you out.”
The calm middle-aged man took the white bowl and poured another bowl of porridge. He shook his head. “Three sticks of incense are enough—offering respect to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. It’s not about how many you burn.”
The scruffy man took the bowl and glared. “You and your stubborn logic! That’s exactly why your wife left you. You had a woman who didn’t care for luxury, who was willing to suffer alongside you, and you didn’t cherish her. You didn’t strive, didn’t improve. No wonder people laugh at you behind your back!”
The man carried a wooden stool to the doorway and gazed at the unusually quiet street, frowning slightly. Behind him, the burly man kept rambling. “If my father hadn’t owed you a life-debt for that medicinal formula you gave him, I wouldn’t even bother sitting here with you, enduring others’ scorn. You know, if you used your medical skills and posed as a wandering healer, you could make a decent living. Dunhuang is short on doctors, and plenty of people are eager to be fooled—as long as you don’t kill anyone. Hey, I’m talking to you, Xu Pu! Say something, will you? Ugh, forget it. Talking to you is like talking to a mute gourd. I’m out of here. Those wild ducks I hunted—do whatever you want with them.”
Fair-weather friends usually avoid bringing up painful topics or embarrassing truths. Either this man was heartless, or he truly considered the destitute wine shop owner his friend. Suddenly, the middle-aged man asked, “Why are there so few people going out to burn incense today?”
The hunter, already halfway to his feet, rolled his eyes. “You scholars really do live in your own world, huh? Not even reading books, and not even listening to what’s happening outside. Let me tell you—something’s brewing over at the Juxian Palace. Everyone knows the old city lord passed away after his duel with the great devil Luo Yang. Now it’s plain rebellion. Only that little girl doesn’t know yet. Word has it that the five hundred Jinwu Guards under the Mao family outside the city are about to storm in, straight to the Zijin Palace, dragging that little girl off her throne. I’d say this coup has a ninety-nine percent chance of success. A girl in her twenties ruling Dunhuang? That’s shameful!”
The man asked, “But aren’t there five hundred Jinwu Guards stationed inside the city?”
The hunter scoffed at the question but couldn’t help answering. “You think the Mao, Duanmu, and Yuwen families are made of wood? Use your head—they’ve probably been bribing the officers and giving them women. A lot of those five hundred riders inside the city must’ve already switched sides. Add to that the five hundred coming from outside, and even a commoner like me knows we can’t stop them. But this is the bigwigs’ game. If people die, it’ll be those born into privilege. We just need to keep our heads down and watch the show. When the dust settles, we’ll still eat what we eat and drink what we drink. Just wait and see—those Jinwu Guards will be storming in soon enough.”
The man fell into thought and began closing up the shop. The hunter, stepping out the door, smiled with satisfaction. “Xu Pu, for once you’ve got some sense, closing up to watch the chaos.”
The man smiled but said nothing. Only after the hunter had gone a ways did he whisper, “Time to join the fray.”
He watched as the hunter, soon joined by many fleeing pilgrims, came running back in panic. He closed the last wooden shutter. The hunter, panting heavily, rushed in. “Why are you still out here? Hurry, come inside! Let me hide here. Some young fool with a brain kicked by a donkey is blocking the city gate, trying to fight off five hundred cavalry. He’s mad!”
The man asked, “How many?”
The hunter, already slipping into the wine shop, shouted, “Just one! That kid’s asking for death! Earlier, someone said he was a scholar with a book chest, and he does carry a sword. But I bet he’s just another clueless bookworm. Xu Pu, are you coming in or what?!”
Some of the slower pilgrims, whose homes were farther from the gate, saw the wine shop hadn’t fully closed and rushed in to hide. The braver ones urged the shopkeeper not to shut the door, only to be scolded by the more cautious ones, fearing they’d be implicated if the powerful families came after them later.
Three hundred paces outside the city, the Mao family’s leading woman halted the five hundred Jinwu cavalry.
A woman in her thirties, clad in silver armor and wielding a white-tipped spear, rode a pitch-black warhorse. The Mao family was one of Dunhuang’s oldest and most powerful clans, having stood firm since the city’s founding. Their power stemmed largely from their control of these five hundred elite riders. Though the Mao family was known for producing fierce warriors, this generation’s standout was a woman—Mao Rou. Dunhuang had three extraordinary women: the first was the city’s young ruler, known as the “Second King”; the second was the Yuwen woman who had forsaken wealth for poetry and followed a wine-seller into poverty; and the third was the current warrior, Mao Rou, who commanded five hundred ironclad riders.
The city’s internal Jinwu Guards were light cavalry, but in recent years, the five hundred riders outside the city had been upgraded to heavy cavalry. On Dunhuang’s wide main roads, they could easily crush the lighter riders inside the city, as long as they didn’t enter the Juxian Palace.
Mao Rou had always despised the young city ruler, who owed her position to family ties. “What’s so great about having big breasts and a small waist? Can that feed the people?” she had long conspired with other noble heirs. Once the coup succeeded, she planned to hand the young ruler over to them for their amusement. Even if they broke her body in their lust, Mao Rou would laugh and watch, perhaps even cut off those annoying breasts herself for satisfaction.
Now, she halted her horse and glared at the young scholar standing at the city gate. He was handsome, exactly her type, but duty called. She waved to a burly cavalry commander behind her. “Go kill him. Let it be our opening offering.”
The Jinwu cavalry officer grinned and charged forward with his spear.
Iron cavalry—armored riders on armored horses—relied on sheer momentum to break through any defense. The officer loved the thrill of a charge, much like the thrill of overpowering a virgin. Mao Rou was a woman every soldier under her command respected. She led with strength and killed with precision. The officer’s greatest wish was to one day ride atop her, to thrust into her like he did into battle. Mao Rou had once said a line that all the military men in Dunhuang revered: “The men I train have a spear between their legs and a spear in their hands, a hundred times better than those soft, weak Jinwu Guards inside the city!”
The officer adjusted his breathing with the rhythm of the galloping horse, tightening his grip on the spear. He wasn’t taking this fool lightly. Anyone bold enough to stand alone at the city gate must have some skill.
After all, Dunhuang was a city of hidden dragons and tigers. Great glory awaited those who seized the moment. He wouldn’t let himself fall in this ditch.
Xu Fengnian removed his book chest and placed it at his feet.
He did not draw his sword, the Spring and Autumn Blade, but faced the charging cavalry with calm. He did not retreat—he advanced.
Mao Rou and the five hundred riders were surprised. Some laughed. Did this man truly believe he could stop a charging heavy cavalryman? Let alone this officer, a top five fighter among the Jinwu Guards!
At fifty paces, the officer’s focus was at its peak. At ten paces, he thrust his spear.
Xu Fengnian dodged sideways, caught the spear with his arm, and struck the horse’s neck with his palm, sending both horse and rider flying back five or six zhang, killing the horse and gravely injuring the rider.
He spun the spear in a circle, then surged forward. As he passed the fallen officer, he stabbed him through the head, pinning him to the ground.
Mao Rou frowned and raised her hand, signaling the cavalry to form six layers, like a fan spreading out swiftly.
Eighty archers took the front.
Their formation was seamless, obeying Mao Rou’s commands like an extension of her own limbs.
Whether in single combat or in mass charges, they were leagues beyond the city’s Jinwu Guards, who had grown complacent in peacetime.
At one hundred and twenty paces, Mao Rou coldly ordered, “Fire!”
Arrows rained down.
Xu Fengnian rolled, spun his spear in a circle, and deflected the arrows. Then he hurled the spear.
Though not truly the Thunder Spear (Thunder Spear), it carried the force of thunder.
Mao Rou’s expression changed. She leaned back, hugging the horse’s back tightly. The spear passed, piercing two riders behind her, sending them crashing to the ground.
Realizing the archers couldn’t stop him, Mao Rou charged first.
Though three riders had fallen, the six-layered formation remained unbroken—a testament to the Mao family’s strict discipline.
Hooves thundered.
Xu Fengnian narrowed his eyes at the fierce female general, smirked, slightly altered his path, and charged toward her.
Mao Rou did not strike immediately. She waited until the young swordsman neared, dodging two spear thrusts, before seizing the gap and lunging at his heart.
The spear seemed a simple thrust, but at the last moment, it vibrated violently—an infamous Mao family technique, the Falling Spear Method. Many enemies had lost their weapons to it in battle.
“Dismount!”
Xu Fengnian flicked his fingers, deflected the spear, and stepped forward. In one fluid motion, he flipped over and sat beside Mao Rou like a lover. As he prepared to strike her heart, she drew her sword and slashed. Xu Fengnian caught it between two fingers. The vibration cut his skin, drawing blood. Mao Rou took the chance to discard her sword, kicked off the horse, and snatched her spear mid-air, knocking down a rider and switching horses. She vanished into the formation, avoiding further one-on-one combat.
Dozens of spears thrust toward Xu Fengnian. He dropped low, snapped the horse’s spine, and rolled aside. With a sweep of his arm, he threw one rider off, and with a shoulder strike, sent another flying. He caught the incoming spears with perfect timing, his movements never faltering.
Fifty paces away, Mao Rou turned her horse, her face dark with fury. “Form the circle!”
Xu Fengnian leapt back, throwing off a rider who had tried to stab him from behind. He landed lightly, retreating just as the encirclement was about to close.
He exhaled deeply, drew the Spring and Autumn Blade.
Right hand on the sword, blade pointing at the five hundred riders. Left hand raised, two fingers together.
Open Shu.
Mao Rou roared, “Kill him!”
Before her were one man and one sword.
Before him, five hundred riders.
Behind him, the city gate.
Xu Fengnian stood still.
Even if Luo Yang, the greatest cultivator of the demonic path, had come, Dunhuang would still face him one-on-one.
Before he learned martial arts, he had dreamed of being a hero. But once he became a martial cultivator, he no longer cared for heroics. Yet now, behind him stood his woman. Not five hundred riders, not five thousand—no matter how many, he would stand here.
Before I die, I guard this gate.
Not a single step shall you take inside!
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