Volume One: The Emperor’s Command Chapter Four: Nothing Left but Myself

Tonight’s darkness was exactly the same as that of ten years ago. With her hand braced against the doorframe, Liu Xiaoyi’s expression was grave. She tried to move her body, only to find it refused to obey her will.

By the well in the middle of the courtyard stood Xialiang, sword in hand, its blade glinting coldly in the night. Dozens of visitors perched or stood on the surrounding beams, each gripping their weapon of choice.

It was as if, pressed against the door, she had become once again the terrified child of years past, watching Xialiang’s back. Suddenly, she sprang into action.

With a flick of his wrist, the sword danced, trailing a mist of icy vapor. Under the clear moonlight, each movement seemed a graceful dance, yet every partner in this deadly waltz fell at a single touch. Wounds inflicted by the sword’s frost were instantly sealed by ice crystals, freezing the inner energy within their veins.

When the longsword finally slid back into its sheath, not a soul remained standing in the courtyard. Liu Xiaoyi let out a long breath, about to speak when a chill crawled up her spine. Instinctively, she gripped the iron sword at her waist.

The famed Frostblade Sword, known throughout the martial world, was barely a third drawn when a gash was split down its length. Xialiang staggered back, and every attempt to unsheathe his weapon was checked by a perfectly timed flash of sword light pressed to a vital point, forcing him to divide his attention.

Unknowingly, his back pressed against the cold, unyielding wall of the side room. With nowhere left to retreat, Xialiang ducked and rolled forward as a blade came at him, abandoning his sword to seize his masked attacker in a bear hug and deliver a punch to the face.

But his body failed to respond as intended. The sensation that reached him was strange, and as he sprang back, he saw that a sword had already been driven through his back.

“Puppet technique! You’re from the Sanctuary of the Sacred Lord?” The blade withdrew from his chest in a flood of blood, and with a thud, he collapsed to the ground.

The man behind him removed his mask—a man in his early thirties, his left brow missing, with a round face and prominent nose. He spoke with an odd, nasal hum. “Hmph, so this is the renowned Frostblade Swordsman? Not so impressive. Where’s the King’s Order? Tell me, and I’ll leave your corpse intact.”

Liu Xiaoyi felt icy cold all over, and before she knew it, her hand was clutching the iron sword as she stepped into the courtyard.

The puppet lying on the ground, manipulated by the man’s fingers, stood up again. It was taller than most men, wielding a sharp sword, and staggered toward Liu Xiaoyi, raising its right arm for a straightforward, unadorned strike.

Clang! Liu Xiaoyi raised her sword to block, stepping back half a pace as a tingling numbness shot through her palm.

“Tsk tsk! Xialiang, this boy isn’t bad. Is he your apprentice?” the puppeteer jeered. The puppet struck again and was blocked, but this time Liu Xiaoyi did not retreat, gritting her teeth and holding firm.

Xialiang struggled to lift his hand, pinching a crystal-clear droplet of water between his fingers, which he flicked toward Liu Xiaoyi. The droplet burst in the wind, flooding the entire courtyard with a biting chill and shrouding everything in dense white mist.

In that final moment, Liu Xiaoyi glimpsed Xialiang’s colorless eyes, their depths swirling with complicated emotions. Tears finally fell.

Fighting the numbness in her legs, she rolled twice back into the house, grabbed a wooden box from atop the cupboard, and dove headfirst into a tunnel dug in advance.

This tunnel had been excavated by Xialiang, once a route for his smuggling. Its exit was beneath the slopes outside Lingshan Town, a place where shepherds often wandered. Liu Xiaoyi, seeking diversion, used to slip out of the town through this passage.

Never had she imagined it would serve her so well this night. Panting heavily, she rushed through the cramped tunnel until, upon seeing the bright moon high above, her strength failed her and she collapsed on her back on the hillside.

A sharp pain in her back marked the wound left by the puppeteer’s attack amid the white mist, though it wasn’t deep.

“I must escape. I cannot die here. I must not die!”

She ran through the night, blood from her wound drenching her thin shirt with every stride.

Back in the courtyard, the puppeteer was roaring with rage. He had not anticipated that the key to his plan would be a mere youth, nor that his intricate arrangements throughout Lingshan Town would be undone by a single tunnel.

Not far from Sanshan City, this place had become a heavily guarded government post ever since the King’s Order surfaced ten years ago. Even the Sanctuary of the Sacred Lord had to lie low in the area.

When sound returned to her ears, Liu Xiaoyi grabbed her sword and lashed out blindly, drawing a startled cry: “What are you doing? You frightened me!”

The voice was a pleasant, melodious girl’s. Turning toward it, Liu Xiaoyi saw a young woman of seventeen or eighteen, holding a steaming bowl of medicinal soup, looking at her with a hint of reproach.

A glance around revealed the unmistakable trappings of a young woman’s boudoir—bloody, discarded clothes by the bed, her own back wrapped in fine white gauze bandages, the wound carefully tended.

She recalled that at dawn, exhausted and unconscious, she had collapsed somewhere unknown. Judging by the scene, she had been rescued.

Seeing Liu Xiaoyi calm down, the girl approached and offered her the medicine. “My lady found you on the roadside yesterday morning. What business would drive someone your age to be hunted like that?”

Liu Xiaoyi did not reply. She took the earthenware bowl to her lips; the rich herbal aroma was soothing, and the fiery warmth as she swallowed roused her spirits.

“I’m talking to you, you know. Because of you, my lady’s travel plans were delayed. We should have been out enjoying East Embankment today.” The girl’s complaints revealed her as a maid from a wealthy household—the likes of which Lingshan Town did not possess.

This was not Lingshan Town, then. Could it be Sanshan City? The blue sky and white clouds outside seemed too tranquil—no great city was ever so peaceful.

“Are you daft? You look a clever enough boy; did you injure your head?”

“Where am I? And who are you?”

The girl let out a sigh of relief. Her lady had risen early to gather pigments for painting by the river, only to find an unconscious boy in the woods. She had feared they’d rescued a halfwit. “This is Banner City, and I am the young lady’s personal maid.”

“Xiaoling, don’t make so much noise. Don’t disturb his rest.” A clear, crisp voice called from outside, and a girl with snow-white hair entered, nibbling on a bright red strawberry.

The maid hurried to her feet and ushered her mistress forward. “This is my lady, the one who saved your life.”

Her hair was as white as snow, even her eyebrows pale. After finishing the strawberry, she gave Liu Xiaoyi a gentle smile. “My name is Xue Yiran. What’s yours?”

“Liu Xiaoyi.” He was at a loss for words, for he had never seen features so lovely—delicate willow-leaf brows, a perfectly placed beauty mark at the corner of her left eye, still a hint of childish roundness to her cheeks, and a voice as sweet as her lips were rosy.

He stared, momentarily entranced, until the maid gave him a push. “It’s very rude to stare at a girl like that, don’t you know?”

Flustered, Liu Xiaoyi quickly averted his gaze. His embarrassment only made the two young women smile all the more brightly.