An Jing

Chapter 1 An Jing

Clouds and mountains blended into a single hue; the wind and frost were equally biting. Across the vast Northern Frontier, heaven and earth were bleached white.

Ten thousand miles of swirling snow fell like the sky collapsing. Even century-old pines swayed precariously, their branches layered with thick white frost, as if trying to crush the spines of all living things.

A great river wound and surged, stretching boundlessly, yet it had been frozen solid by the frost. Like a silver dragon trapped in a cage, it could not stretch, forced to crawl beneath the rolling white mountains.

Whoosh—

A shrill wind howled from the extreme north, churning the clouds and lashing out at anyone in its path.

The long wind swept across the land.

It brushed past distant mountain ranges, desolate towns, crimson snow-covered battlefields, and corpses... finally, it enveloped a column of people hurrying across the ice plains.

Accompanied by thunderous hoofbeats, a team of riders escorted several large carts at high speed.

The snow and ice were like blades—always piercingly bright, yet chilling to the bone marrow. The trees on both sides of the river were encased in ice crystals, standing in grim silence.

The riders broke through the vast white snow, causing the ice crystals to tremble and fall, charging into the hushed, twilight hour.

Their destination was the great city nestled against the mountains ahead—Mingshan City in the Northern Frontier.

Outside Mingshan City, in the refugee camp.

A few gaunt refugees huddled around a campfire, staring longingly at a large pot roasting over the flames.

The water inside was nearing a boil, releasing waves of meaty aroma that made passersby sniff the air, their eyes gleaming with greed.

The refugees squatting by the fire chatted aimlessly about dull topics, barking at anyone who approached, and standing up if anyone dared to talk back.

Several of them gripped sharp wooden spears, their eyes like those of wolves, glowing with a faint, eerie green light. Most people steered clear of this spot.

The pot boiled, and the scent of meat grew richer. They swallowed their saliva, drooling at the corners of their mouths, their gazes and the way they poked at the fire becoming increasingly frantic.

But then, the earth trembled, and the black shadows galloping from afar drew closer.

By the time these starving people looked up, iron-clad hooves had already shattered the crude wooden fence, leaped over the dilapidated shacks, and arrived right before them.

The refugees screamed and scrambled away, but the pot was not so lucky. A hoof came down, extinguishing the fire, overturning the pot, and splashing water everywhere.

A perfectly good pot of meat soup tumbled to the side, spilling all over the ground.

A lump of meat fell out of the pot, already soft and mushy; one could only barely tell from the size of the bone that it was a piece of rice-fed meat.

Then, it was trampled into a pulp by the following hooves.

Rumble, rumble, rumble...

Not far away, near a shack, a youth with a lean build but sturdy bones, resembling a gaunt tiger, pricked up his ears.

He had been focused on an earthen jar over a simple stove, with some basic herbs scattered nearby. The medicinal broth boiling in the jar emitted a bitter scent.

Upon hearing the hoofbeats, he slowly stood up and looked toward the direction of the sound.

The youth's messy hair hung loose, a blade hung at his waist, and thin flesh clung to his sharp, angular bones. Even though he looked like a skeleton, he possessed a rugged, piercing sharpness.

His eyes were incredibly bright, his breathing long and steady, and his fists were tightly clenched, covered in tiny calluses and scars.

An Jing watched the team of riders that had intruded into the refugee camp without blinking.

The horses were all tall, handsome Northwest warhorses with long necks, powerful legs, and strong chest muscles; their iron hooves were enough to crush any obstacle that dared to stand in their way.

They entered the center of the refugee camp, and the riders dismounted, beginning to unload supplies from the carts to set up a simple camp.

"Jing'er, cough, cough, what are you looking at?"

A woman's voice came from behind An Jing.

"Mother."

An Jing turned back to look at his mother.

She was a tall woman with a dignified air. In this Northern Frontier ravaged by the Frost Calamity, it was hard to find anyone who wasn't gaunt and dispirited. Though she was thin, her eyes remained spirited.

Yet, this spirited woman could only lie on a blanket, gasping and coughing with every word she spoke.

She had not always been this weak. Five days ago, while fleeing the wilderness toward Mingshan City, their refugee group encountered rampaging horse bandits. An Shen Shi had killed seven thugs, but in the final exchange with the bandit leader, she was slightly outmatched and suffered a palm strike to her lung meridians.

Fortunately, after An Jing finished off his own opponent, he threw himself at the leader in a desperate struggle, managed to choke the man unconscious, and then seized his blade to decapitate him, scaring off the rest of the bandits.

But An Shen Shi had suffered severe internal injuries. Now, her inner energy was in chaos, her breathing was labored, and in this refugee camp with neither medicine nor food, no one knew how many days she had left.

"I'm going to see if I can beg for some food."

An Jing turned his head to look at the caravan. He subconsciously licked his lips; his cold, dry lips were not moistened by saliva, but instead cracked from the movement, drawing blood.

He licked away the blood and said in a slow, but firm tone: "There is food in that caravan. It is rice."

"Perhaps there is medicine, too."

"Mother is beyond saving..." An Shen Shi's eyes dimmed. She knew this was her son trying to find a way to save her.

But she knew her own condition best; she was well aware that without powerful medicine to heal her internal organs and smooth out her energy flow, she could last at most three days.

In this Northern Frontier, plagued by the Frost Calamity and endless war, even if there were kind-hearted people providing disaster relief, they would not have such precious medicine.

She did not want her child to labor in vain and waste time; she hoped he would stay with her for a while longer during these final moments.

An Jing, however, had always had a mind of his own since he was a child. Seeing what his mother was about to say, he interrupted her first, picking up a bowl: "Mother, drink this medicine first."

"It's just White-Spot Grass chopped up and boiled with old Qi-Roots. Although it's simple, it should at least replenish some of your blood and help regulate your breath."

An Shen Shi took the bowl from An Jing's hand and drank it in one gulp. Though it was bitter, the hot liquid settling in her stomach did indeed make her feel a bit more spirited.

But by the time she set the bowl down, An Jing had already started walking toward the direction of the caravan.

An Jing was no ordinary youth from the Northern Frontier.

Since he was small, he had often had strange dreams.

He dreamed of many high-rise buildings, standing like a forest, built of steel and concrete, each one taller than all the houses in the county combined.

He also dreamed of iron birds called airplanes, soaring straight into the clouds and crossing the skies in every direction, faster than all the birds in the mountains combined.

Or perhaps some terrifying bombs that, upon exploding, were like the sun itself.

Thousands of such suns shone upon the earth, nearly burning the entire world to ash.

Da Chen believed in destiny and often spoke of stars descending to the mortal realm. Having awakened a portion of his past wisdom, An Jing had shown exceptional talent since childhood and was naturally regarded by his family as a star descended from the heavens. They provided him with the best education, both in literature and martial arts.

Yet, no matter how strong the wisdom and power of a mortal might be, it could not stop the sweeping Frost Calamity that engulfed the entire Northern Frontier, nor the massive army of Northern Barbarians gathering and heading south.

As a child and youth, there were still many things An Jing could not do, and his mother's injury was the result of his own helplessness.

But human effort can change things.

Even if there was only the slightest possibility, An Jing would strive to heal his mother.

At this moment, as he approached the riders' camp, he heard a voice full of vigor making an announcement.

"Listen up!"

Among a group of riders mounted on tall horses, a one-eyed leader dressed in bright, flashy clothing was shouting.

Beside him, the other riders were all armed with blades and clad in armor, their expressions murderous as they cast indifferent gazes at all the refugees who dared not approach.

The one-eyed rider shouted loudly: "My master is merciful and cannot bear to watch you disaster victims wait for death outside the city. We are now offering grain to buy lives, to serve as servants for my master's household!"

"We only want children and young boys and girls, fourteen years old or younger is best; if the aptitude is suitable, sixteen or younger is also acceptable!"

"If you meet the requirements, one person is worth a peck of rice!"