An army flying no banners was marching along an unnamed river in Youzhou.
When it reached a mountain hollow, the army slowly halted and began making camp.
It had been utterly quiet throughout the march. The soldiers knew nothing, and the general leading them wore a grave expression. He was Qu Yi.
Luo Yan stepped down from his carriage. Qu Yi rode over and asked, "Young Master, we're heading farther and farther into the wilderness. Now we don't even know where we are. How are we going to reach the designated location on time?"
Losing one's bearings was among the greatest dangers on a march, so an army either needed a guide or had to follow the roads recorded on a Geomancy Map.
Those minor trails generally went unused, because marching an army was different from traveling alone.
Qu Yi sounded somewhat anxious. Youzhou was no flat, unbroken plain, especially north of Ji City, where countless branches of the Yan Mountain range extended outward.
Getting lost there would have unthinkable consequences.
Luo Yan chuckled softly. "Don't worry, General Qu. Our way is coming."
With that, Luo Yan took out an emerald-green whistle before Qu Yi's eyes.
The whistle looked quite ordinary, like one made by hollowing out a fresh green twig found anywhere beside the road and drilling a few holes in its bark.
Qu Yi came from a thoroughly ordinary humble family in Liangzhou and naturally had never studied history, but he did know a little about the legends of the Luo Clan. Suspicion and surprise immediately stirred within him.
Could those absurd legends, which sounded like myths, actually be true?
Luo Yan blew hard into the whistle. An extraordinarily loud sound rang out, carrying a faint, sobbing whimper beneath its piercing volume.
The sound drifted on and on,