Hassen panted heavily, ice shards from the snow cutting his cheeks, his neck reddened from exertion. The wind roared behind Xiao Chiye, and he was thrown off balance by the sudden swing of an iron hammer. Seizing the moment, Hassen scrambled to his feet, spitting out the ice fragments in his mouth.
The Scorpions had suffered heavy losses. Of the remaining dozen or so, only a few survived encounters with Xiao Chiye. A scout horned in the distance, and from the wind, Hassen could tell the wolf pack was charging this way.
He vaulted onto his horse but refused to yield. His hand grasped the hilt of his curved blade, but before he could act, a sea-eagle swooped down, its piercing cry shattering the night, and an arrow tore through the blizzard, aimed straight for his head.
Xiao Chiye, backing off the ground, his back drenched, could not tell if it was blood or sweat. His fingers sticky, he grabbed a handful of snow, shoved it into his mouth, swallowed the blood from his teeth, and lunged at Hassen as he rose.
Hassen was nearly dragged down by the force, striking back with an elbow, only for Xiao Chiye to seize it. Whirling violently, Hassen was thrown to the ground. Before he could retaliate, Xiao Chiye’s fist slammed into him, forcing him to taste sourness in his teeth. Hassen gritted his teeth, stomping on Xiao Chiye’s chest, then leveraged his elbow to spring upright.
But Xiao Chiye was relentless. Without dealing with him, escape was impossible.
Hassen felt the pressure, spurring his horse onward. Before Xiao Chiye could strike again, he used his arm to vault atop the horse. Whistling sharply, he tore a cloth bag from the saddle, lifting it high toward Xiao Chiye. His fingers gripped it tightly—a manifestation of his unwillingness to yield—but in the next instant, he hurled it, turning the horse as his voice cut through the blizzard with disdain: “From tonight onward, my name will overshadow the Libei Iron Cavalry. From the Eastern Mountains, your debts will be repaid double. Take your father and leave!”
His red hair flared like fire, a visible mark of his hatred.
Xiao Chiye immediately understood the gesture. The bitter wind howled as he staggered through the snow, straining to catch the bag mid-tumble.
Hassen cracked the whip, galloping into the vast white.
Xiao Chiye lay on the ground, clutching the bag, staring skyward. His chest heaved violently, teeth clenched, refusing to shed a single tear—but he could not stop the sobbing.
He could not bring himself to look at Xiao Fangxu in his arms.
The Iron Cavalry approached en masse. Zuo Qianqiu led the way, dismounting first. In the dead silence, countless helmets were removed.
The snow swallowed Xiao Chiye. He heard the cries of Hongyan Mountain but lacked the strength to rise. Limbs numb, he stared at the sky, feeling as though he had died.
The Libei Iron Cavalry had suffered a lethal blow unseen in the past twenty years. They had been pierced, stripped of dignity by Hassen. Indeed, Hassen’s words rang true: from this night onward, the Iron Cavalry would live in his shadow. By wielding only a few dozen Scorpions, he had shattered their honor.
That night seemed endless.
The northern iron wall collapsed. Countless soldiers were exposed. Armor no longer conferred advantage; they were like wandering spirits driven out, with no refuge.
Xiao Jiming received his father in Dajing. When the carriage arrived, the city was silent, punctuated by muffled wails.
Xiao Jiming did not cry. Neatly dressed, hair and crown in place, he descended the steps and stood before the carriage, a silence stretching endlessly. His body, weakened from prior injuries, seemed slightly diminished, face pale against the snowfall.
The sky was overcast. Days later, the news spread across Dazhou. The Eight Great Camp banners were taken down, but because Xiao Chiye still bore the stigma of regicide, no memorial proclamations were issued in Libei. Citizens spontaneously removed lanterns, replacing them with white flowers.
Qi Zhuyin removed her armor and hairpin, and, accompanied by a lone guard, braved the snow to reach Libei.
Xiao Fangxu was a legend. The small soldiers of Luoxia Pass had conquered the Hongyan Eastern Mountains. He was the latest to rise among the Four Generals of his generation, yet the only one to be titled king. By then, Lu Pingyan had succumbed to illness, Qi Shiyu had retired, Feng Yisheng and Xiao Fangxu had fallen in battle. Within thirty short years, the once-ambitious youths had all returned to the mountains and rivers.
After Xiao Fangxu’s burial, Xiao Chiye remained calm. His roars and cries seemed buried in the heavy snow, disappearing once he had reclaimed his father. He ate, dressed wounds, all as usual, but Shen Zechuan could not hear his breathing at night.
It was as though he had fallen into a deep sleep, numbly facing each day.
“I will now report on the snow-night ambush,” Jiang Sheng said, gauze covering part of his face, standing before the commanders. “On the eighth day of December, the prince confirmed the ambush at Sha One Camp and led one battalion north. I flanked from behind to intercept Hassen at the east of the Tudalong Banner. The snowstorm was severe; we only encountered Hassen’s elite forces at dusk. Our troops engaged immediately, suffering over fifty percent casualties during the counterattack.”
“Upon checking the remnants of Bian Sha, we found Hassen absent. By then it was late night. We planned a westward search line, dividing forces from the prince. Encountering Bian Sha cavalry east of Tudalong Banner, we lost the remainder of our troops. Suspecting foul play, I unilaterally changed course to reunite with the prince.”
“The prince himself had also lost troops. Bian Sha cavalry continued small-scale raids. We decided not to press further and returned to our station, encountering Scorpions disguised as Libei Iron Cavalry.”
“Each carried the Iron Cavalry’s waist token, spoke Dazhou fluently with a Libei accent. They claimed affiliation with the Liu Yang Third Camp of Chaohui, lost and disoriented by Hassen’s harassment, forced to remain at the relay station.”
“How many?” Chaohui asked, kneeling, face grave.
“Sixty,” Jiang Sheng placed a roster on the table, glancing at Xiao Chiye, pausing. “Compiled from the tokens the second young master returned. You may verify.”
Chaohui skimmed the list. “These are all brothers who fell in battle.”
Guo Weili had cried too many times, voice hoarse. “Damn it! They took both armor and tokens! This must be reported to all camps; from now on, we clean the battlefield ourselves.”
“It’s useless.”
Guo Weili started to protest, then saw Xiao Chiye and stopped.
Xiao Chiye had returned Xiao Fangxu. That fact silenced him. His expression faltered, but he could not resist: “…We must respond, cannot give them another chance.”
“Bian Sha now can even equip iron hammers; forging tokens is natural,” Zuo Qianqiu understood Xiao Chiye’s point. “The real challenge is identifying the Scorpions.”
Xiao Jiming, cloaked, pondered. “Reclaim all tokens. We will no longer use them. Continue.”
Jiang Sheng resumed. “We were deceived by the Scorpions, disarmed, and disaster followed.” He revealed half his face. “That hammer was designed specifically for the Iron Cavalry. A blow to the helmet could daze, make one faint, or in severe cases, cause instant death from blood from the mouth and nose. My troops had no time to react. I was knocked unconscious, the rest I do not know.”
No one spoke. They knew of the Scorpions’ existence, but none anticipated such lethal prowess.
Gu Jin Chong saluted and took over Jiang Sheng’s role. “After examining the battlefield, I deduce this: Hassen’s attempt to besiege the prince failed, so he changed strategy, encircling him from all sides in the snow, trapping him. All three battalions were wiped out.”
“Damn it, I don’t believe it! The prince is invincible in field battles!” Guo Weili stood, pacing furiously, eyes red. “Hassen is nothing! Even when he was nursing, the prince was the uncrowned king of the northern battlefield. We’ve fought Bian Sha in the field for nearly twenty years—the prince’s Iron Cavalry does not lose!”
Guo Weili, promoted by Xiao Jiming, had enlisted under Xiao Fangxu. He could not accept this. The field battles he learned from Xiao Jiming seemed aligned with Xiao Fangxu’s style, though Xiao Fangxu had never taught him directly.
Debate in the hall grew loud.
They were at the verge of collapse, each straining nerves to maintain the Iron Cavalry’s current stability, yet the atmosphere of disintegration lingered.
The king of Libei was dead.
The statement pressed like a nightmare on all hearts. Faced with Hassen, they realized only now that the Iron Cavalry had already been left far behind by Amur.
Xiao Chiye found the noise unbearable but said nothing beyond “useless.” Head splitting, his shoulders and arms aching from injuries, he heard “Hassen… Hassen…” echoing everywhere.
The name clung like a shadow.
That night, Shen Zechuan could not sleep, waking repeatedly to check if Xiao Chiye remained. Tonight, however, he found him absent from the room. Rushing to the door, he saw Xiao Chiye, wearing only a thin garment, standing in the yard.
Snow fell again.
A thin layer covered Xiao Chiye’s shoulders. He turned at the sound, faintly smiling at Shen Zechuan—an expression meant to soothe.
Shen Zechuan gazed at him.
Xiao Chiye’s eyes reddened, tears slowly streaming. Shen Zechuan understood everything: Xiao Chiye was still immersed in that blizzard, the wolf cub who had run tens of miles alone had not returned.
Shen Zechuan pushed open the door, shoes forgotten.
Xiao Chiye began sobbing. Watching Shen Zechuan approach, he finally seemed freed from his restraint, tears streaming as he called out, “Lanzhou…”
Shen Zechuan embraced him tightly, lifting him as a shield over his battered body, fully protecting the wounded Xiao Chiye within his arms.