Narrowly Crossing Paths

Only a moment ago, the sun had still been shining brightly here.

In less than a quarter of an hour, blood splattered outside the gorge and corpses littered the ground. The sky had turned gloomy once more.

Wang Duoyu sat in a carriage in the middle of the gorge. Stunned by the bizarre scene, he climbed down.

Following his gaze, everyone looked toward the entrance to the gorge.

The sky grew steadily gloomier, but no snow fell. Instead, winter mist poured out from the gorge, spreading in every direction like nightfall.

Then, in the wind, came the sound of hoofbeats.

Along with the horses' hooves crushing the ice and snow came a faint hum, singing a ballad passed down through the desert.

"Laugh not, though drunk, when I lie upon the battlefield. Since ancient times, how many have returned from war?"

The song echoed in the wind, reaching the ears of every black-clad figure.

That single humming voice carried a desolate sorrow, like a lone wisp of smoke rising straight from the desert and the setting sun sinking round over a long river.

Even Wang Duoyu, who had climbed down from the carriage, shuddered. He heard a thick killing intent in the ballad.

As all the black-clad figures watched, a snow-white horse slowly approached.

Before they could get a clear look, the youth on its back leaped down and flicked his sleeves. Sensing danger, the horse turned and disappeared into the cold wind.

A youth dressed in white as bright as snow strode across the ice.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he looked like a great general from the imperial city, facing an army of a hundred thousand without a care. Yet his eyes were fixed on a middle-aged merchant in brocade robes, barely five feet tall and