North Wind

Mao hour, North Mountain Gate.

The sky had not yet fully brightened, and the stone lanterns on either side of the gate still held burning oil, their flames flickering in the morning breeze.

By the time Li Xuan arrived, Shi Yong was already there.

He was squatting on the stone steps with a bundle spread out before him, counting the items inside.

He picked up each item, took a look, set it down, and then picked it up to check a second time.

This was a habit of Shi Yong's when he was nervous. Li Xuan had seen veterans in Iron Wall City do the same; the more nervous they were, the more they needed to confirm what they had in their hands.

"You didn't sleep last night?" Li Xuan asked.

Shi Yong didn't even look up: "I slept, but I woke up a few times in the middle and never really got a good rest."

Ying walked out from the gate, carrying two water skins in his hands; he tossed one to Shi Yong and handed the other to Su Ying.

He had changed into a dark gray martial outfit today, with an extra dagger at his waist and another tucked into his boot.

He glanced at Li Xuan, his gaze lingering for a moment on the Python Scale Armor covering Li Xuan's chest.

"Where are the people from the Shadow Division?" Shi Yong asked.

"They're here." Ying gestured with his chin toward the inside of the gate.

A man walked out from the morning mist.

He was not tall, half a head shorter than Li Xuan, around forty years old, with a square face and rough skin that looked as if it had been weathered by the northern winds for many years.

Wearing a gray-black leather armor, he walked up to Li Xuan and stood still.

"Tie Han," he said, his voice sounding like sandpaper rubbing against an iron plate.

Shi Yong looked him up and down: "What weapon do you use?"

Tie Han raised his right hand. There was a scar on his palm, stretching from the web of his thumb to his wrist like a centipede.

He clenched his fist, relaxed it, and clenched it again.

Li Xuan noticed that when he made a fist, his knuckles turned white, and when he relaxed, the blood returned very slowly; it was an old injury, and his meridians had been damaged.

"Fists," Tie Han said.

Yun Qingxuan was the last to arrive. She had changed back into her cyan sect attire, with the Crimson Sword hanging at her waist and her hair tied up with a wooden hairpin. Unlike usual, she had an extra bundle on her back, bulging and stuffed with quite a few things.

"Let's go," she said, and without waiting for anyone to respond, she took the first step down the stone steps.

The six of them walked down the mountain path.

After walking for half an hour, the path widened, and the red pines on both sides gradually thinned out, replaced by low shrubs and withered yellow weeds. The wind came from the north, carrying the scent of sand and dust; it was dry and slightly cool.

Tie Han suddenly spoke: "How far can your internal energy extend from your body?"

"I can control it within ten zhang. Any further and it dissipates."

"Not enough," Tie Han said. "Gurqin's attack range is at least thirty zhang."

Ying interjected from the side: "The Shadow Division's assessment is twenty to twenty-five zhang. Thirty zhang is his limit; he can't maintain it for long."

Shi Yong muttered from behind: "Can you people speak like normal human beings? What ten zhang, thirty zhang—aren't we going to have to fight once we get there anyway?"

Su Ying said softly: "Knowing the enemy's range in advance helps us arrange our positions."

Shi Yong turned back to look at her, as if he didn't recognize her.

Su Ying felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze and lowered her head.

On the evening of the third day, they arrived at the Stone Rubble Beach where they had camped last time.

"We'll spend the night here," Li Xuan said.

Ying scouted the surrounding area, and his expression was not good when he returned.

"There are footprints," he said. "They aren't ours. They were made within the last three days."

Li Xuan followed him to take a look. On a patch of soft sandy ground on the north side of the Stone Rubble Beach, there were a few rows of shallow footprints.

They were not the boot prints of the barbarians, but cloth shoes—the same tread pattern as the cloth shoes worn by sect disciples.

"How many people?"

"At least three." Ying squatted down and measured the length and depth of the footprints with his fingers. "One man and two women. The man has a long stride and a heavy step; the women are one in front of the other, and the one behind has shallower steps than the one in front, as if she is following along."

Yun Qingxuan walked over and looked down: "People from the sects? What are they doing in the Northern Territory?"

No one could answer.

Li Xuan stood up and looked toward the north.

The sky was darkening, and under the gray-blue canopy, the outlines of the Stone Rubble Beach were gradually blurring.

Li Xuan knew someone was ahead of them.

"Speed up tomorrow," he said. "We need to reach Black Stone Market before dark."

At night, the wind picked up.

The stove Shi Yong built was blown out twice, and it was only on the third attempt that it stayed lit. The flame swayed unsteadily in the wind, barely enough to heat their dry rations.

Li Xuan took the file on Qin Lie out of his pack; it was a thick stack, bound with hemp rope.

He untied the rope and flipped through a few pages by the firelight.

Most of the content he had seen before: Gurqin's background, his cultivation techniques, known weaknesses, and the course of that battle thirty years ago.

But the last few pages were new—they were handwritten notes by Qin Lie, the script scrawled and the ink varying in density, as if written at different times.

"There are three levels beneath the Black Abyss. The first level contains Walking Corpses and Wolf Souls, the second level contains Stone Wolves, and the third..." The handwriting cut off abruptly here, continuing on a new line with an even messier hand, "I went down to the third level, but I couldn't see clearly. There is something there. It is an existence even older than Gurqin."

Li Xuan's finger lingered on that line.

Older than Gurqin?

He recalled what Xiao Tieyi had said in the Discussion Hall—"There is more than just Gurqin beneath the Black Abyss."

"Did you find something?" Yun Qingxuan's voice came from across the fire.

Li Xuan handed the page to her.

Yun Qingxuan took it, lowered her head to read for a few moments, and her brows furrowed.

"Old Xiao said something similar." She handed the paper back, "But he said he would tell you only after you returned."

"So they all knew, they just didn't tell me." Li Xuan folded the paper and tucked it back into his pack.

"It's not that they didn't want to tell you," Yun Qingxuan said, "it's that knowing wouldn't help. You can't even defeat Gurqin right now; knowing what else is down there would only distract you."

Li Xuan didn't speak.

He was thinking about Qin Lie's words: "couldn't see clearly."

Someone capable of shattering Gurqin's physical body had entered the third level and retreated without even seeing what was there.

What kind of thing could make even Qin Lie afraid?

A piece of wood in the fire snapped, sending up a few sparks.

Yun Qingxuan stood up, walked over to Li Xuan, and sat down beside him.

"About General Wang Meng," she began, her voice lowered so only Li Xuan could hear, "I never asked you. Before he charged out that night, what did he say to you?"

Li Xuan was silent for a few moments.

"He said, 'Men of the Northern Territory may die in battle, but they must never flee.'"

Yun Qingxuan nodded. The wind blew over, scattering a few strands of hair at her temples, but she didn't tuck them back.

"I knew him for ten years," she said, "back when he was still a lieutenant. Every time the barbarians moved south, he was the first one on the city walls. Iron Wall City has been held for thirteen years, and his family wrote him twenty-three letters; he never replied to a single one."

She paused.

"It wasn't that he didn't want to. He didn't dare. If he replied, he would miss home. And if he missed home, he would fear death."

The firelight shone on her face, and Li Xuan saw a hint of a smile in the corners of her eyes.

"Did you come this time because of him?" Li Xuan asked.

Yun Qingxuan did not answer.

She stood up, brushed the dust from her robes, walked back to her spot, sat down, and closed her eyes.

Li Xuan took off his Python Scale Armor, folded it, and used it as a pillow.

The wind blew all night without stopping.

On the fourth day, they set out before dawn.

Black Stone Market was even quieter than last time.

There was no one on the streets, no dogs, and even the wind had died down. The door to the town office was open, the interior empty; the old man was gone. The teacup on the table remained, the tea dried up, leaving a layer of brown tea stains at the bottom.

"Where are the people?" Shi Yong stood at the entrance, peering inside.

Li Xuan walked to the backyard. On the ground, there were drag marks extending from the back gate all the way to the rear wall, where there was a hole at the base—not large, but big enough for a person to crawl through.

Shadow crouched by the hole and reached out to probe it: "Fresh. This happened last night."

Li Xuan looked at Tie Han.

Tie Han walked over, crouched down, and reached his hand into the hole. After a moment, he pulled it out, his palm coated in a layer of black, viscous slime.

"Gurqin has been here," Tie Han said, "or something of his has."

Li Xuan walked to the edge of the hole and looked inside.

It was pitch black, and he couldn't see anything, but a breeze was blowing out from within—faint, cold, and carrying a scent of rot.

"Should we go in?" Shi Yong asked.

Li Xuan shook his head.

Qin Lie's notes mentioned that these holes were dug by Gurqin's "tentacles" and led to underground rivers, but they were too narrow for a person to turn around in.

If Gurqin were waiting inside, entering would be suicide.

"Continue north," he said, "we reach the old riverbed before dark."

The six of them passed through Black Stone Market and headed north.

They had walked for less than half an hour when Shadow suddenly stopped, raising a hand to signal everyone to halt.

Ahead, on the dried-up riverbed, stood a person.

Black robes, bronze mask.

Ghost Face.

Shi Yong held his Heavy Saber horizontally, ready to charge forward. Li Xuan reached out and pressed down on his shoulder.

"Don't move," Li Xuan said.

Ghost Face stood in the center of the riverbed, his back to them. The wind whipped his black robes, revealing a short blade at his waist.

He turned around.

The bronze mask glinted coldly under the gray-white daylight. The eyes beneath the mask looked at Li Xuan.

"You arrived faster than I expected," Ghost Face spoke, his voice the same as before, raspy like metal grinding against metal, "but also weaker than I expected."

Shi Yong gripped his saber hilt, his knuckles turning white.

"Why are you here?"

"To lead the way," Ghost Face said. "Gurqin knows you are coming. He is waiting for you at the Black Abyss. But if you keep walking like this, you won't have the strength to fight by the time you reach the Black Abyss."

He pulled a piece of animal hide from his sleeve and tossed it over. The hide unfurled in the air and landed on the ground—it was a map, more detailed than the one from the Shadow Division, marking every path, the location of every barbarian camp, and every water source and hiding spot.

"Take this route," Ghost Face pointed to a winding line on the map. "You can reach the Black Abyss in three days. But the path passes by the altar of the White Wolf Tribe. There is something Gurqin keeps there; you must kill it to pass."

"Why help us?" Yun Qingxuan asked.

Ghost Face looked at her. The eyes beneath the bronze mask revealed no expression, but his head tilted slightly, as if he were sizing her up.

"Because I don't want Gurqin to win," he said.

Then he turned and walked north along the riverbed.

His black robes fluttered in the wind, gradually disappearing into the gray-white sky.

Shi Yong picked up the map, turning it over and over to examine it. "Can we trust this?"

Li Xuan took the map and compared it with the one from the Shadow Division. The route marked by Ghost Face was indeed shorter, but the places it passed through—the altar of the White Wolf Tribe, the Black Water Pool, the Broken Cliff—were all marked as "high-risk areas" by the Shadow Division.

"Trust half of it," Li Xuan folded the map and tucked it into his tunic. "We can take the path, but when we reach the altar, we scout first, then act."

He looked up at the sky. The gray-white clouds hung very low, like a massive stone slab pressing down overhead. The wind from the north carried the scent of sand and dust, thicker than it had been yesterday.

"Move."

Six figures walked north along the dried-up riverbed.

Behind them, the silhouette of the Black Stone Market gradually blurred and vanished into the wind and sand.