The Man in the Painting

Hearing the other man's words, Wanyan Liang felt his lungs were about to explode with rage. In the Jin Dynasty, he stood above all but one; when had he ever suffered such humiliation? He swept his hand downward, and at his command, the surrounding guards unleashed a rain of arrows at their target.

There were not many guards, fewer than a hundred, but they were exceptionally skilled at coordinated archery. Rather than releasing their arrows all at once, they fired in several waves, each deliberately delayed by a breath. By the time the final wave had been loosed, the earlier groups had already finished nocking fresh arrows. The cycle continued seamlessly, without the slightest pause, making arrows from several dozen men seem like a barrage fired by an entire army.

"Ah~" Huang Rong covered her mouth and let out a soft cry at the whistling storm of arrows. Though she knew Song Qingshu's martial arts were formidable, neither of them would likely escape unscathed if they faced such a dense volley head-on.

Watching the arrow rain before him, Song Qingshu silently praised them. The Jurchen truly were as valiant and skilled in battle as the people of the Mongol Empire. Their mounted archery was simply astounding.

Hearing Huang Rong's cry, Wanyan Liang remembered that she was still standing behind that man. Once this volley fell, would that breathtaking beauty not be shot full of holes like a hedgehog?

Thinking that he had not even had the chance to taste her charms, Wanyan Liang was consumed with regret. But the arrows had already been fired; it was far too late for words now.

Wanyan Liang's eyes suddenly widened. The sight before him overturned everything he knew. The man held Huang Rong in his arms and casually stepped back once. Immediately afterward,