Xiao Chiye felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him, waking him completely and raising every hair on his body. He sat up, staring at Xiao Fangxu for a long moment; his mind went blank, as if a punch had shattered him from the inside out. He abruptly shoved Xiao Fangxu away, leapt off the bed to put on his boots, only to bang into the table and almost lose his balance, the boots nowhere in sight.
Chen Yang and Gu Jin, who had been standing watch outside the tent, saw the curtain snap open. Xiao Chiye, like a restless spirit, stomped one boot on and one on the ground, still without his outer robe, and went straight to untie Lang Taoxue’s reins.
Gu Jin reacted first, stepping forward to grab the reins, shouting urgently, “Master!”
Chen Yang followed quickly, moving to find clothing and boots.
Xiao Fangxu bent down and came out, puzzled: “You didn’t know? This happened back when he went to Chazhou.”
Chen Yang, catching Xiao Fangxu’s expression, suddenly understood. He slapped his forehead and turned to shout, “Chazhou! Master, it’s Chazhou! Young Master is fine!”
The shout startled Xiao Chiye out of his terror. He spun around and ran toward Xiao Fangxu, his eyes watering. Reaching him, he circled once, wiped his face, and finally said, “Father!”
Shen Zhechuan’s palm scar had healed, leaving only a faint mark.
After August, the rains in Cizhou ceased, frost grew heavier, and the weather turned colder. Yao Wenyu had caught a chill in recent days and stayed mostly indoors with a soup attendant. Shen Zhechuan still had Fei Sheng by his side, while Li Xiong seldom mentioned Lei Jingzhe.
“Is Han Jin still in prison?” Shen Zhechuan asked, holding a porcelain bowl and looking at the patterns on it.
Fei Sheng replied, “Yes, Master. You were merciful and spared him, yet he continues shouting and shows no sign of remorse.”
Shen Zhechuan noted, “He’s Han Cheng’s younger brother.”
Fei Sheng lowered his eyes, shivering for no reason. Han Cheng had executed Qi Huilian in the street. By Fei Sheng’s reckoning, Shen Zhechuan’s leniency toward Han Jin was not to intimidate Qudu but for some larger purpose. Fei Sheng dared not speculate; he was Shen Zhechuan’s dagger—whatever he was told to do, he did without question.
Shen Zhechuan glanced out the window at the sunlight, coldly illuminating the ground, making the frost appear streaked with tears. He smiled faintly and said, “Release him.”
Fei Sheng responded immediately.
Shen Zhechuan continued, “Give him a bath, fresh clothes, and soft food. From today onward, he need not perform any duties—let him enjoy himself freely.”
Fei Sheng dared not hesitate and obeyed, stepping out. Immediately, Qiao Tianya entered, lifting the curtain.
“Message from Li Bei,” he said, placing a letter on Shen Zhechuan’s desk. “Sent with urgency—it must be important.”
“Is Yuan Zhuo feeling better?” Shen Zhechuan asked while opening the letter.
Before Qiao Tianya could respond, Shen Zhechuan’s expression changed; he read the letter repeatedly.
“It concerns winter trade,” Shen Zhechuan said after a pause, “I must go in person to the contested territory and meet with the Li Bei King.”
The weather in Li Bei changed quickly; the last traces of autumn sunlight were rare, but when it appeared, it burned so fiercely that one longed to shed clothes.
By the end of August, Xiao Chiye returned to the contested territory, staying for a while. Ever since that lost battle, he had no rest—whether transporting supplies north or liaising west with the Grand Border, he led his men relentlessly. Xiao Chiye seemed completely worn down by Xiao Fangxu, now willingly accepting the life of a supply runner.
When Chen Yang went to fetch water, he saw Xiao Chiye on the withered grassland, training a horse. Though called “training,” he was far gentler with it—the white horse, with some black on its chest, had been reserved by Lu Yizhi for his future wife. Xiao Chiye had taken it out last month and insisted on handling it himself.
Xiao Fangxu charged in from another side, the wind whipping past him as he flew by Xiao Chiye with a swift motion. He circled, then raced away again.
Xiao Fangxu dismounted, tossed the reins to an attendant, removed his helmet, spat out dust, and squinted at Xiao Chiye. After a moment, he shed his heavy armor, removed his saddle, and remounted, waving to Xiao Chiye from a distance.
Zuo Qianqiu leaned on the railing, white hair fluttering in the wind, watching father and son ride side by side. Wu Ziyu ran forward, hopping onto the railing. The Li Bei cavalry and the Imperial Guards crowded around, forming an impenetrable barrier.
Dan Taihu, squeezed in, craned his neck, shouting, “What are they doing?”
Wu Ziyu raised a steamed bun, shouting hoarsely, “If Second Young Master wins, the transport team is boss this month! We get extra servings!”
Zuo Qianqiu laughed, “Aye, Ye wants to beat his father—he’ll need a few years.”
“Second Young Master, make us proud!” Dan Taihu wiped sweat from his sunburned face and yelled indignantly.
Zuo Qianqiu seized the chance: “Aye, listen, if you lose to your father today, the whole team has to bark like dogs!”
Xiao Chiye blew a whistle. Lang Taoxue’s reins leapt forward, he mounted, and asked Xiao Fangxu, “Where to?”
Xiao Fangxu hesitated: “Where to—”
Before he finished, he spurred his horse ahead.
The Imperial Guards hissed, Dan Taihu exposed his mouth in struggle, shouting, “The prince is cheating!”
Lang Taoxue shot like a black arrow from a bow, wind howling past. The sun glared overhead, and the two riders’ silhouettes were almost identical. They burst through the clouds, relentlessly pursuing, one arrow after another, grass and dirt flying, wind whipping the endless grass. They were immersed in it, like stars falling into a river, leaving long streaks in the fields.
Xiao Chiye listened to the wind, eyes fixed on Xiao Fangxu’s back.
Xiao Fangxu had not aged—how could he? He was still robust and strong, like two decades ago. Raising his arms, he could lift two sons, laughing across the grass, tossing them one by one.
Xiao Chiye gradually caught up. Lang Taoxue was stronger and younger than Xiao Fangxu’s mount, charged energetically, eyes forward, unstoppable.
The two ran neck and neck, sweat pouring. The sun blazed overhead, scorching their backs—a possible last fierce sun of the year in Li Bei.
At the finish was a stone stele, engraved with names of Li Bei cavalry who fell that year, along with their eagles and horses. Father and son reached it, and a faster horse passed them, circled, and landed atop the stele, taking first place.
“This is my eagle,” Xiao Chiye slowed, “I win.”
“This is my land,” Xiao Fangxu said, pointing to the ground, “I arrived here eight hundred years before you.”
Xiao Chiye ignored him.
They dismounted; the sun was already low. Xiao Fangxu climbed the stone steps, brushed the dust from the stele, wind tangling his hair and revealing streaks of white. “Here lie my brothers,” he said.
Xiao Chiye joined him.
“Ten years ago, I brought your eldest brother here,” Xiao Fangxu said, pointing, “There was a boy, Suining, same age as him.”
The stele’s names were cleared annually for new ones, marking generations of Li Bei cavalry—existing and gone. The stele rested against Hongyan Mountain, their eternal slumber. They were both the wind and the stars of the mountain.
“I’ll take the center,” Xiao Chiye said, pointing. “It’s large and clear, a good view.”
“This is my spot,” Xiao Fangxu grumbled, “I take it all.”
“What about our mother?” Xiao Chiye tilted his head, eyeing Xiao Fangxu. “You leave her alone in the Grand Border.”
Xiao Fangxu said nothing, turned past the stele to gaze at Hongyan Mountain, then toward the Grand Border. The wind blinded him. He said, “We can watch each other, always meeting eyes.”
Xiao Chiye followed his gaze.
“We are born in this land, we die as we must. Li Bei people rest on mountains and rivers, face the sun—men and women alike, forged into iron bones,” Xiao Fangxu spread his palms, the wind soft as a wife’s hair, a rare indulgence over decades. “One day, I will return to her embrace.”
Xiao Chiye looked at the endless grass, rolling like a river; all human joys and sorrows were but moments, instantly swept away, leaving nothing.
Meeting someone is precious.
Xiao Fangxu turned, punched Xiao Chiye lightly, then embraced him heavily, releasing quickly: “To surpass me, you’ll need years!”
“Who knows,” Xiao Chiye tapped his chest, signaling his growth.
Xiao Fangxu stooped to pick something up. Xiao Chiye, haunted by horse dung, ran immediately. Xiao Fangxu laughed heartily.
The wind blew, father and son returning through the sunset.
Twilight lingered. Xiao Chiye, sweaty, stripped his upper clothes to bathe in the river. Sunlight danced on the water, illuminating his back muscles with golden light.
He leaned over, washing the straps on his arms. The iron had been broken, yet he hadn’t changed it, removing worn leather cords for repair. He turned and said, “Again—”
Dusty Shen Zhechuan stood on the riverbank slope, sunset spilling across his robes, scattered with bits of grass.
Xiao Chiye longed for him.
At the last gleam of dusk, Shen Zhechuan appeared before Xiao Chiye.