Huang Fuzhi's answer did not surprise Pan Long.
He fell silent. At first glance, he seemed to be hesitating, but in truth, he was choosing.
He had not immediately taken the way out Pan Long offered him. That meant he would not take it at all.
Often, whether to advance or retreat came down to the first instinct.
If he did not take that first step, he would not take another.
He had hesitated. That was his choice.
He had chosen to refuse.
Even though the price of that refusal might be all their lives.
But Pan Long understood.
Sometimes, some things looked like choices when, in truth, there was no choice at all.
He had lived two lives, one under peace beneath heaven, the other amid flashing blades and sword shadows. In both, he had faced times when there was no choice.
Looking into Huang Fuzhi's calm, resolute eyes, he sighed softly and descended before him.
"Will you think it over once more?" he urged gently. "Blades have no eyes."
"I died long ago," Huang Fuzhi replied, just as gently. "All two hundred and forty-two of us here are dead."
"The dead cannot deliberate; the dead have no choices."
"You're still alive." Pan Long shook his head. "If your family and friends were still here, they would never want you to do this."
"They're dead," Huang Fuzhi replied.
"The dead are gone."
"Nothing about them is gone." Huang Fuzhi's gaze turned cold for a moment, then warmed with something distant and insubstantial.
He pointed to his chest. "They're here. They always have been."
He turned and pointed to the riders behind him, who were reining in their horses one after another.
Every figure was clad in white as snow.
"Pan Guanfeng, I thank you for your kindness. But I