Chapter 31

That night, An Ping slept at the City God Temple, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

Far too many things had happened recently. His thoughts were a tangled mess, and he had actually begun to fear falling asleep. Once again, the sounds of war and clashing weapons would enter his dreams, followed by mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

During the day, he had wanted to ask Mu Geshen what had happened afterward, but he had swallowed the question before it could leave his mouth. Regardless of whether the other man still remembered, some memories were like old wounds. They might have healed on the surface, but underneath, they remained just as rotten as before.

Large red lanterns hung throughout the City God Temple, both inside and outside. Some were electrically powered, while others burned candles.

A lantern hung outside the side room where An Ping was staying. It swayed gently in the wind as he stared at it. The candlewick crackled, producing a tiny flower of flame.

The candle burns low, yet another night passes. Wind and rain leave only desolation.

Suddenly, someone picked up a pair of scissors and snipped off a section of the candlewick. The light grew slightly brighter.

An Ping blinked and discovered that the lantern had suddenly become exquisite and ornate. Silk gauze was fitted into its six-sided lacquered frame, while a faint, delicate fragrance drifted through the air.

The furnishings inside the room had also changed.

Red candles burned brightly. There was an embroidered mandarin-duck wedding quilt, brocade curtains, and gauze drapes. On a small redwood table sat a pair of wine cups made of cloisonné enamel with gold bodies.

An Ping saw the double-happiness character on the window and suddenly realized—

This was the bridal chamber he had once seen in his dreams!

Not far away, the vase he had knocked over the last time he came here was still there, with broken pieces of celadon scattered all over the floor.

An Ping suddenly realized something. He turned his head and saw that there was now another person in the room besides the bride.

The person had his back to An Ping. He was shielding the wedding candles with a lampshade, dressed in a magnificent red wedding robe. His figure was tall and straight, like a graceful jade tree standing in the wind.

He bent down, took the bride’s hand, and spoke softly through the dangling tassels of her veil.

“…Having finally met my gentleman…”

His voice was very soft, like an expectation so delicate that it might shatter at the slightest touch, yet also like a deep affection that had endured for years.

“…May he never cast me aside.”

An Ping couldn’t help holding his breath.

The two people faced each other in the room. The carved lampshade filtered the light into colorful patterns, casting golden ginkgo leaves across the walls.

At that instant, the lamps fell silent, the people were still, and moonlight filled the room.

Suddenly, the main door was blown open by the wind, making a loud clattering noise.

An Ping abruptly opened his eyes.

He had actually fallen asleep while leaning against the bed.

He was momentarily dazed. The scene in his dream had been somewhat similar to the first time he had stumbled into the bridal chamber, yet it had also been completely different. The entire room had been illuminated by red candles, and the atmosphere had been filled with deep affection, as though the two people were passionately in love.

But when he thought about it more carefully, something about the scene seemed faintly strange.

The lantern outside the window had gone out at some point. The door stood wide open, and an icy wind poured inside, chilling him to the bone.

An Ping shuddered and hurriedly got up to close the door. But then he noticed that the entire City God Temple had fallen into darkness. The ancient buildings were swallowed by the night, with only the faint outlines of their red roof beams visible.

The scene was indescribably eerie.

An Ping shivered and hurried to close the door, but then he heard a loud crash from nearby. Something had fallen over.

He had intended to shut his eyes and ignore it. But whether driven by curiosity or some vague premonition, he summoned his courage and walked over.

He discovered that the door of one of the rooms had been left open.

An Ping took out his phone and switched on the flashlight. After looking around, he found that the room was quite small. It had white walls and gray bricks, with practically no furnishings. It could even be described as rather simple.

There was only a table placed in front of one wall, along with an incense burner and offerings of fruit. A memorial tablet was enshrined there.

It seemed that the wind had blown the door open, causing the memorial tablet to fall to the ground. That must have been the source of the noise.

An Ping breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t unusual for the City God Temple to enshrine memorial tablets. There was no need to make a fuss over it.

He walked forward, placed the tablet back in its original position, and used his phone’s flashlight to read the inscription.

In the next instant, an icy chill rose from within him and washed over his entire body.

An Ping froze completely, standing rooted to the spot in shock.

A sudden clap of thunder exploded across the sky. White lightning flashed, and then torrential rain came pouring down. Outside, the wind howled, and the shadows of the trees swayed wildly.

Thunderstorms in winter were extremely rare. Yet Mu Geshen had said it would rain that night, and sure enough, the heavens opened in the middle of the night.

The sound of a lighter being struck rang out through the rain. Then a lamp flickered to life.

An Ping abruptly snapped out of his daze. In a panic, he returned the memorial tablet in his hand to its original place and hurried outside.

At the far end of the corridor, the main gate of the City God Temple had been opened.

Amid the endless sound of rain, Wu Bi You was sitting on the threshold, smoking.

A lamp glowed beside the doorway. By its light, An Ping could clearly see what he was holding in his hand.

It was the Gu Wang smoking pipe.

The young man smoked slowly, with an air of composure about him. It was rare to see him so quiet. Through the smoke and mist of the rain, An Ping seemed to see that tall, gentle figure from back then once again.

That person had also smoked an entire pipe of tobacco like this before going to face life and death.

“All that elegance and splendor is swept away by wind and rain.”

Wu Zixu stood at the end of the long street. In the distance, dark clouds pressed down over the city, while artillery fire raged incessantly, its thunderous explosions deafening.

“We’re about to die, and you’re still standing there reciting poetry like some damn scholar.” Song Wentong sat on the roof’s eaves, drinking wine. “You’re practically overflowing with that musty, bookish air.”

“That’s not something I’d expect to hear from you, Second Brother.”

Wu Zixu held his smoking pipe, standing leisurely in the rain. He had once again become that noble young gentleman, as pristine as white jade. He was no longer the hysterical man who had fought with Song Wentong, nor the helpless man who had argued with Mu Geshen.

It was as though the version of him who had briefly become a young man a few days ago had never existed. Now, facing an army of thousands, he had once again regained the elegance and dignified grace of the Wuchang Zi.

Not far away was the entrance to the sealed Yin-Yang Ladder.

With the continuous artillery fire outside the city, the ground began to tremble repeatedly.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning tore across the night sky. A thunderous explosion followed, splitting the ground open. From deep beneath the earth came the sound of ten thousand horses neighing in unison.

The rain poured down in torrents.

Wu Zixu struck a match, lit his smoking pipe, and stared at the dark void at the end of the street.

“It’s beginning.”

Song Wentong jumped down from the eaves, drew his saber from its sheath, and positioned himself at the very front. In a deep voice, he said, “Do what you need to do.”

Wu Zixu patted his shoulder, then turned and walked toward the far end of the long street. Behind him, the thundering sound of galloping hooves grew closer and closer.

Song Wentong let out a furious roar. A massive blade of light suddenly rose from the ground, resembling a second moon hanging above the earth. A wine jar shattered against the ground, and the sounds of clashing weapons merged into a chaotic din. In an instant, the air was filled with a thick stench of blood.

Wu Zixu did not look back. He steadily walked toward the opposite end of the street and exhaled the first puff of smoke into the rainy night.

At the same time, the area above and below the city walls had already become a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.

Mu Geshen had shouted himself hoarse.

“Hold your positions! Carry the wounded down! Move the dead bodies out of the way! The vanguard, suppress their firepower! Under no circumstances can we let them seize the city walls!”

His throat was almost completely ruined. He tilted his head back and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of rainwater. Then he raised his hand and shot an enemy soldier who had climbed onto the city wall, blowing the man’s head apart.

Blood splattered all over his face, but he had no time to wipe it away. He bit the pin off a grenade and hurled it down.

The enemy army had launched a sudden attack. The defensive battle had already lasted a full day and night. Of the original three thousand soldiers, fewer than a thousand remained. They were hopelessly outmatched, running short of ammunition, and everyone was already at the end of their strength.

But he had to hold on.

The Yin-Yang Ladder had only opened tonight. He needed to hold out until at least daybreak so that he could buy Second Brother and the others a sliver of hope for survival.

If they were only concerned with victory or defeat, the Yin Soldier uprising would actually be an excellent advantage. They could lure the enemy into the city and, rather than surrender, choose to perish together in a blaze of glory.

But Mu Geshen also knew very well that neither the defending soldiers nor the tens of thousands of enemy troops beneath the city walls stood a chance against the Yin Soldiers.

Once the enemy army was allowed into the city, the only possible outcome would be the complete annihilation of both armies. The Yin Soldiers would absorb the even greater resentment generated by the massacre. And by then, there would be no one left capable of stopping them.

The Yin Soldiers would pour out in full force.

What awaited the lands in every direction then would be a genuine catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions.

Perhaps this was precisely the outcome the Seven Schools of the Philosophers had been waiting for.

Use the power of the Yin Soldiers to purge the chaos from the fractured land. Fight poison with poison, completely overturn the world, and then, when both sides had suffered devastating losses, the Seven Schools would step forward to restore order to the human realm.

It was indeed a thoroughly calculated scheme.

For the Seven Schools, this might truly have been the optimal solution. Perhaps, to those in power, it was also the best possible outcome.

But Mu Geshen couldn’t do it.

He wiped the rain from his face and gave a self-mocking smile.

He really wasn’t suited to being the Heavenly Calculation Master. He was nothing more than an ordinary, thoroughly unremarkable soldier. He couldn’t stand by and watch an entire city fall, leaving the inland heartland without a single defensible pass from then on.

Nor could he watch the Yin Soldiers run rampant, bringing devastation to all living things, leaving thousands of miles of white bones exposed in the wilderness and the banks of the River of Forgetfulness filled with wronged souls.

He cared about the gains and losses of his homeland, down to every city and every inch of land. He cared about the lives of his fellow countrymen, from the elderly to the young.

He didn’t possess the courage to look down upon everything as insignificant, nor could he purify himself of all earthly attachments and look down upon the human world with detached indifference.

Gunfire and bullets filled the air above the city walls. Below, the defending soldiers were practically using their own bodies to block the city gates.

“Report!”

A soldier galloped over at full speed, barely able to catch his breath as he shouted to Mu Geshen.

“The Chief of Staff sent me to deliver a message! The southern part of the city is about to fall!”

Mu Geshen roared, “Send the last batch of explosives over there! Tell him to tighten his belt and hold that position no matter what!”

The ancient city originally had four gates. Last year, Commander Mu had demonstrated considerable foresight by sealing one of them. Of the three remaining gates, Mu Geshen had forced Song Wentong to work around the clock a few days ago to block another one.

That left only two gates: one in the east and one in the south.

Before the battle began, Mu Geshen had issued an absolute order: They could lose their heads, but they could not lose either gate.

Before he could finish speaking, a stray bullet came flying straight toward his head.

He had no time to dodge. But someone suddenly lunged at him from the side, pressing him firmly beneath their body.

When Mu Geshen pushed the person away, his hands came away covered in blood.

Dust and debris flew overhead. Everyone was covered in dirt and grime. He froze for a moment before suddenly recognizing the person in front of him.

“Xiao Fengzi?! Which bastard let you enlist?! You’re only fourteen this year, aren’t you?!”

“Y-Young Master Mu…”

Xiao Fengzi was covered in blood and struggling to catch his breath.

“N-No, I should be calling you Commander now.”

“Have you forgotten about your parents?!” Mu Geshen roared, completely losing control. “You rushed up here to get yourself killed! Who’s going to look after your younger sister?!”

“My family has always been indebted to you. You were the one who drove away the corrupt official who forcibly seized our house. When my father was seriously ill, the Chai family helped take him in and look after him…”

Xiao Fengzi struggled to speak.

“You and Young Master Chai aren’t leaving either. My father said that a person must always remember kindness and repay their debts…”

“I’ve followed you since I was little. Whenever hooligans and thugs from outside tried to bully our neighborhood and seize our streets, you’d lead us in driving them away.”

“Now an even bigger bunch of thugs has come to take our city. Of course I have to follow you… follow you and drive them away…”

Xiao Fengzi spat out a mouthful of blood. He grasped Mu Geshen’s hand and gave a broken, intermittent smile.

“The clothes you ordered from my family’s shop that day… I delivered them to Yeshui Zhuhua. It’s a pity everyone had such a good time that night, but you never made it to your own welcome banquet…”

“B-But that’s alright. Once you’ve won the battle, we’ll drink celebratory wine together again…”

“Put on the long robe I tailored for you. You’ll look so impressive in it…”

Mu Geshen wiped the blood from his face.

“Stop talking. I’ll send someone to take you for treatment.”

He handed Xiao Fengzi over to the messenger who had galloped over. The medical camp was not far away, just inside the city.

“You brat, you better hang in there.”

Mu Geshen pressed down hard on Xiao Fengzi’s wound and said fiercely, “When I get back, I’ll treat you to celebratory wine. We’ll eat at Yeshui Zhuhua until the place goes bankrupt!”

The battlefield was filled with smoke and gunfire. No one had even a moment to catch their breath.

Mu Geshen turned and walked away. The stairs were already covered with corpses. Stepping over the remains of his fallen comrades, he climbed once more toward the city walls, where mountains of corpses and seas of blood awaited him.

The messenger galloped at full speed, carrying Xiao Fengzi straight to the medical camp.

Chai Shuxin, his entire body covered in blood, hurried forward to meet them.

“Leave him to me.”

He lifted Xiao Fengzi down from the horse. The messenger immediately galloped away again.

Chai Shuxin carried the boy into a tent. The stench of blood rushed toward them, while cries of pain and anguished moans filled the surroundings.

“Brother!”

A girl helping with the medical work saw the person in Chai Shuxin’s arms. Her eyes immediately reddened.

She helped lay Xiao Fengzi down in an open space.

“Young Master Chai, is there still any hope for my brother’s injuries?”

Over the past two days, the girl had witnessed more deaths than most people would see in several lifetimes.

She didn’t beat around the bush by asking whether his injuries were serious. Instead, she chose to ask directly whether he could be saved.

If he could be saved, then save him. If not, a swift end would be far better than lingering on in agony.

She had been continuously dragging one dead body after another away. She still had strength left. She could at least carry her brother out properly.

Chai Shuxin glanced at her, picked up the medicine box, and said softly, “It’s all right.”

The girl immediately burst into tears. Afraid that she might disturb Chai Shuxin while he was performing the acupuncture, she could only run over to the side to tend to the wounded, quietly sobbing to herself.

The howling wind, the pounding rain, and the gunfire were piercingly loud. Huge raindrops hammered against the tents with a deafening clatter, while stray bullets exploded nearby.

The entire medical tent shook, but Chai Shuxin’s hand remained steady as he inserted the needles. Calmly, he cleaned the wound, removed the shrapnel, stopped the bleeding, and stitched it closed. Finally, he said to the girl, “I remember there’s still a little medicine left. Use the old prescription from before, add dried tangerine peel and rhubarb, and boil a bowl for him to drink.”

The girl hurriedly agreed and ran out of the tent.

Mu Geshen looked at Xiao Fengzi. “Your sister’s gone. If it hurts, you can cry out.”

Xiao Fengzi groaned as he spoke. “It’s raining outside. Please tell her to put on another layer of clothing…”

“All right.” Chai Shuxin checked his pulse. After a moment, he asked, “How is the battle on the city walls?”

“I don’t really know… But so many people died before they could even make it to the medical camp. Everyone is fighting with their lives on the line…”

“…What about Mu Geshen?”

“Officer Mu is all right. He’s been injured a little, but he can still hold on…”

“I see.” Chai Shuxin said softly, “You did very well.”

“…Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.” Chai Shuxin took off his own outer garment and covered Xiao Fengzi with it. “Get some rest. I’m here.”

Throughout their brief exchange, his hand had been trembling the entire time, its shaking even faster than the other man’s pulse.

Wine jars lined both sides of the long street. Yin soldiers surged wildly out of the Yin-Yang Ladder, yet they could never cross even a single step beyond the jars. The street was packed with troops. Song Wentong had gone berserk, hacking through heads as easily as chopping vegetables. The yin soldiers beheaded by the Licking-Red Blade instantly turned into wisps of blue smoke, their ashes scattering in the air. Song Wentong’s clothes were almost entirely stained white, only for the torrential rain to wash it all away in an instant.

More and more yin soldiers came surging forward. Although they had placed Mountain Ghost Coins inside the wine jars beforehand to set up the formation, a single street could never hold back an army for very long. The entrance to the street was too narrow, so the yin soldiers could not spread out. Instead, they stepped on their comrades’ heads and climbed into the air, layer upon layer, their helmets and armor piling together like an enormous bronze wall.

Someone sounded a horn, and the yin soldiers let out hoarse howls.

Song Wentong stared coldly at the scene of ghostly wails and wolfish howls before him. He bit down on a strand of wet hair, every muscle in his body tensing as his bones cracked with a piercing series of snaps. Finally, he twisted his neck, as though he had grown an inch taller out of nowhere. He flung off his outer garment, and sweat and heat poured continuously from his pores. The rain could not even come near him; it evaporated in midair.

This was Penglai’s secret art, Snow Ignition. He had spent a full three years at the Sword Pavilion before finally mastering it. By circulating energy through his meridians, one could adjust the bones and limbs, pushing the human body’s potential to its absolute limit. On the day he mastered it, snow had blanketed the mountains. He buried a seed in the ground, and after completing his breathing exercises and regulating his breath, a lotus flower bloomed in the snow.

He breathed slowly, bringing his entire body to its peak condition.

The secret art alone was not enough. The ultimate technique required equally extreme external power—the Mo School’s Licking-Red Blade technique, passed down through generations. This blade had originated with Pangu’s creation of heaven and earth. The instant it was swung, even yin and yang could be severed.

A familiar voice sounded beside his ear.

“When you have a blade in your hand, nothing can stop a member of the Mo School.”

“As expected, a lively scene like this wouldn’t be complete without you, Mom.”

Song Wentong smiled at the woman in his memories. He raised his head and exhaled deeply, then let out a thunderous shout and charged forward like an arrow released from its bow.

The wine jars along the street exploded one after another. The strong liquor mingled with the torrential rain, forming a raging tide that lifted Song Wentong into the air. He drove the strength of his entire body to its absolute limit, drew his blade from its sheath, and brought it down with an incomparably fierce slash.

It was a beautiful yet violent strike. The blade traced a perfect circle through the air. Its light collided with the bronze wall, like the setting sun sinking into a river, unleashing enormous waves. The mountain of yin soldiers instantly crumbled, collapsing into nothing as they wailed and disintegrated into dust.

Having exhausted all his strength in that single strike, Song Wentong crashed face-first onto the ground. In a sorry state, he used his blade to struggle back to his feet and roared, “Wu Nie!”

“Impudent brat! You should address me as Your Great Lord Tai Sui!”

A streak of red light burst out of the Yin-Yang Ladder, cutting through the layers of people. From behind, it sent the yin soldiers tumbling into chaos. Wu Nie fought as he moved, quickly breaking through the encirclement. He hurled the flower ball in his hand into the distance.

“Catch this, kid!”

The flower ball soared into the air. Song Wentong leaped up and kicked it, sending it flying straight to the far end of the long street.

The flower ball landed and exploded, transforming into an enormous vermilion drum. The torrential rain beat against its surface, the sound as chaotic as the thundering hooves of ten thousand horses.

Wu Zixu stood before the drum, raised his head, and slowly exhaled the last of his smoke.

He tossed aside his smoking pipe and leaped onto the drum.

An Ping watched Wu Bi You throw away his smoking pipe and rise to walk into the torrential rain. The deep, muffled beats of a drum could be heard faintly in the distance. He hurried out the door and discovered that, at some point, a large drum had been placed at the end of the street.

Wu Bi You leaped onto its surface. The young man stood with his waist bent in the rain, his hands turning and twisting into the opening pose of a dance.

Mu Geshen stood not far away, holding a pipa across his arms. He met the young man’s gaze from afar and slowly began to sing—

In that instant, the sound of the rain ceased. Heaven and earth fell utterly silent.

Wu Nie moved to stop the yin soldiers, while Song Wentong broke through the crowd and dashed into Guanshan Yue, the music house beside the long street. Tonight, every door and window of the building stood wide open. The rooftop terrace on the top floor was filled with instrument stands, with pipas, zithers, and other stringed instruments laid out in rows.

Song Wentong grabbed a pipa and urgently plucked its strings amid the torrential rain.

Like a silver vase suddenly shattering, water and liquid burst forth;

Like iron cavalry bursting out, blades and spears ring.

Mu Geshen looked at Wu Bi You.

Song Wentong looked at Wu Zixu.

The pipa rang out in a rapid, intricate flurry, its notes sharp as tearing silk. A song rose from the ground—

“Who says we have no clothes? Red robes and white mourning garments!

Who says we have no words? Burn a thousand poems!

Who says we have no songs? Let a long song serve as our weeping!

Who says we have no battles? Wage war to the bitter end!”

The dancer atop the drum moved with breathtaking grace, his movements both fierce and exquisite. He was like a sword breaking through enemy ranks, yet also like something soft enough to coil around a finger. His unstoppable killing intent merged with breathtaking beauty. There was the crushing weight of a man strong enough to lift a mountain, and the lightness of a white crane spreading its wings.

As the dancer leaped into the air like a sword being drawn, the surrounding air seemed to solidify. Above and below heaven and earth, nothing remained beyond his command.

This was no ordinary dance. It was the Yin-Yang School’s peerless secret art—the General’s Nuo Dance.