The Di People horseman froze for a moment when he saw Qin Tiexin rise.
The big fellow who had stood motionless as a block of wood still had his companion's blood spattered across his face, but his eyes had changed-no longer hollow and bewildered, but almost coldly calm.
The Di People man licked his lips, a little excited. He had seen that look before, in fools so frightened out of their wits that they no longer knew fear. He urged his horse forward, preparing to charge again.
Smelling blood, the horse grew restless too, pawing the dirt and snorting white vapor.
"Hyah!"
The Di People man squeezed the horse's flanks, and it accelerated.
In his experience, faced with charging cavalry, the people of Great Xuan either scrambled out of the way or swung their weapons wildly. Though this tall young man held a blade, his stance was strange-both hands gripping a saber meant for one-handed use, its tip angled toward the ground.
"Courting death." The Di People man grinned savagely.
He adjusted the angle of his blade, ready to use his horse's speed to shear off his opponent's head the instant they passed.
Thirty paces.
Twenty paces.
Qin Tiexin stood where he was, utterly still.
He held the Di People's long saber in both hands. It was light indeed, less than half the weight of Edgeless, with a deeply curved blade and a long cutting edge-a typical cavalry saber, capable of severing an infantryman's neck in one stroke with a horse's speed behind it.
But his grip was steady.
The mounted-combat instructor's words from training camp echoed clearly in his mind:
"Ordinary men facing a cavalry charge either shoot from a distance with bows or form ranks with long spears to hold off the horses. But you're the Formation-Breaking Camp. In the future, your work will be taking heads-often, you'll have to deal with mounted enemies when you have no horses yourselves."
Shi Meng had interjected then, "Qin Tiexin, you don't have to follow the usual rules. With your strength, as long as you plant your feet, wear armor, and wield a heavy weapon, even if the Iron Pagoda charges you, you won't necessarily lose a head-on clash."
Then came the specific techniques:
"When a horse charges, don't stand directly in front of its head. Dodge sideways; the horse won't have time to turn. As you dodge, strike its neck with your weapon-the neck is a weak point. Knock it off line, and the horse will lose its footing. Its rider will lose his balance too."
"Remember, a horse weighs ten times as much as a man, but if you apply a sideways force the instant it charges past, you can change its direction. Just like forging iron-one hammer blow can knock the billet askew, but you have to find the right angle."
The angle.
Qin Tiexin watched the charging horse.
It was fast, raising dust, its hooves thundering. Yet in his eyes, everything suddenly slowed-so much that he could see the muscles rippling along its neck, the veins bulging on the back of the Di People's sword hand, the cold gleam reflected from the blade in the sunlight.
Ten paces.
Qin Tiexin moved.
He drew his right foot half a step back and to the right, leaning slightly rightward. It was no sweeping dodge, only a perfectly measured turn of his body.
At the same time, the saber in his hands shifted from pointing diagonally at the ground to angling upward, its edge facing out.
Five paces.
The horse's head was almost upon him.
The Di People man had already swung-by his reckoning, Qin Tiexin should dodge left, and his blade would sweep from left to right, severing his neck.
But Qin Tiexin did not move left.
His right foot planted firmly, he pivoted on his left, his whole body like an iron tower as he twisted violently in place-
Not to dodge.
To slam.
He turned sideways and drove his left shoulder and arm hard into the horse's neck!
Thud-!
A dull impact.
The Di People man felt his horse suddenly lurch, as though it had struck a moving wall. It whinnied, its forelegs rising, its whole body losing balance and staggering to the right.
With the horse tilted, his swinging blade grazed Qin Tiexin's back, slicing only his clothes without touching flesh.
"What?!" The Di People man was horrified.
He was a capable rider and immediately tightened the reins, trying to steady his mount.
But in that very instant-
Using the recoil of the collision, Qin Tiexin turned back, sweeping the saber in his two hands diagonally upward!
The blade flashed like the moon.
Shhk-!
The blade pierced the horse's neck with precision.
It was neither a slice nor a chop. After piercing in, it used the horse's forward momentum to rip downward!
Qin Tiexin's feet seemed rooted in the earth. His waist and back exerted force, his arm muscles bulging as the blade traveled down the horse's neck, through its chest, across its belly-
Splaaash-!!
Horse blood sprayed like a waterfall.
Entrails spilled from the opened belly amid steaming heat, scattering over the ground. Before the horse could even whinny, its forelegs buckled, and its whole body toppled toward Qin Tiexin.
The Di People man on its back was scared out of his soul.
Knowing he was finished, he pressed his left hand against the saddle, about to leap off in the opposite direction and flee for his life.
But he was too late.
Qin Tiexin pulled his saber free-a spray of bloody rain followed it out of the horse's corpse. Without stopping, he pivoted on his left foot and turned halfway around, the saber tracing a complete arc with the force of his rotation-
The second stroke.
The blade's gleam began at the lower right and ended at the upper left.
The Di People man was only halfway through his leap, his neck delivered straight before the blade.
"Pfft."
It was not the sound of bone being chopped through, but the dull sound of a blade cutting into flesh, severing the windpipe, and slicing halfway through the cervical spine.
The Di People's eyes bulged wide, his mouth opening to shout, but only bloody foam welled from the opening in his throat. His hands instinctively clutched his neck, but blood gushed between his fingers.
He crashed heavily to the ground beside the horse's corpse.
He convulsed. Then lay still.
Qin Tiexin stood there, breathing slightly hard.
Two strokes.
One to kill the horse, one to kill the man.
From the Di People man's charge to his fall, only three breaths had passed.
He looked down at the saber in his hands. Its blade was covered in blood, horse blood mingled with human blood, dripping down the fuller.
His hands held the saber as steadily as cast iron.
In the distance, the boy huddled in the corner stared wide-eyed, his mouth open, forgetting to cry.
Qin Tiexin had no time to stand dazed.
He listened-apart from the wind and the sobbing in the distant village, there were no other hoofbeats. These two Di People men were probably "night scouts" operating alone, with no more accomplices.
He turned and strode to Zhou Cang.
Zhou Cang lay on the ground, blood still seeping from his severed leg, though more slowly than before. His face was white as paper, his forehead covered in cold sweat, but his eyes remained open, watching Qin Tiexin.
There was no pain or fear in those eyes, only admiration and gratification he could not conceal.
"Teacher..." Qin Tiexin crouched, his voice trembling a little.
Zhou Cang tugged at the corners of his mouth, trying to smile, but failed. He only uttered two words: "...I'm fine."
Then his eyes closed, and he passed out.
"Teacher!!"
Qin Tiexin checked beneath Zhou Cang's nose-he was still breathing, but very faintly. He glanced at the severed leg. Though the bleeding had slowed, without prompt treatment, blood loss alone could kill his master.
The training camp had taught battlefield first aid.
He swiftly tore off the hem of his clothes and ripped it into several broad strips. First, he located the top of Zhou Cang's thigh and tied one strip tightly around it-it had to be above the wound, but not too tight, and loosened briefly every quarter hour, or the leg would turn necrotic.
Then he took out the wound medicine he carried in his robe-a wound powder issued to every Formation-Breaking Camp soldier. Though crude, it could stop bleeding and reduce inflammation. He carefully sprinkled it onto the stump, wrapped another clean piece of cloth tightly around it, and secured it with cloth strips.
Once finished, he glanced at the severed leg lying several paces away.
It had been cut off at mid-thigh, the cut clean, the flesh curling back. Qin Tiexin gritted his teeth and went to pick it up. It was already ice-cold, but perhaps... perhaps it could still be reattached? He did not know, but he could not leave it behind.
He took off his outer robe, carefully wrapped the severed leg, tied the bundle, and slung it onto his back.
Then he bent down, slid his arms beneath Zhou Cang's back and knees, and gently exerted his strength, lifting his master into his arms.
Zhou Cang was light-or rather, in Qin Tiexin's arms, he was as light as a bundle of firewood.
Qin Tiexin adjusted his hold, resting Zhou Cang's head against his shoulder and keeping the side with the severed leg outward to avoid jostling it.
He glanced toward the village.
The surviving villagers were emerging from their homes one after another, some beginning to weep, others standing stunned. The boy of about ten still sat in the corner, staring blankly their way.
Qin Tiexin thought for a moment, then called to the boy, "You can go to Xinyang Pass!"
The boy nodded blankly.
Without further delay, Qin Tiexin held Zhou Cang and broke into a headlong run toward Xinyang Pass.
He ran very fast.
His feet struck the dirt road, each step heavy and forceful, kicking up dust. Zhou Cang bounced slightly in his arms as he ran, but Qin Tiexin kept his movements as smooth as he could. The severed leg swung inside the cloth bundle on his back, but he could spare it no attention.
The wind howled past his ears.
Only one thought remained in his mind: Faster. Faster.
Back in the village, the boy watched Qin Tiexin's receding figure, then looked at the two Di People corpses and the disemboweled horse on the ground.
He slowly stood. His legs were still a little weak, but he could walk.
He remembered what that old grandpa had said: leather armor and sabers were worth a lot of money.
He went to the first Di People man killed. A short bolt protruded from its forehead and another from its throat, its eyes still open, a little frightening. The boy gritted his teeth and reached out to undo the leather armor's straps.
The leather armor was sturdy and slippery with blood. It took some effort to remove it, and then he picked up the saber on the ground. It was so heavy he could barely lift it with both hands.
He went to the second corpse-the Di People man who had died from a cut to his neck, his head tilted aside, the wound hideous. Closing his eyes, the boy fumbled with the armor's fastenings. This suit was soaked in horse blood, heavier and ranker.
He stacked the two suits of leather armor, wrapped the two sabers in cloth, then went to fetch the surviving horse-the first Di People's mount. After its master died, it had wandered off, but remained in the village, where the boy found it.
The horse was tall. Unable to reach the saddle, the boy could only lead it by the reins.
He looked back at his home.
The earthen house's door had been hacked apart. His father's corpse lay at the entrance, his mother's in the courtyard, his younger sister's in a corner of the house. They were all dead.
The boy stood there, looking for a long time.
Then he released the reins, went to his father, knelt, and kowtowed three times. He went to his mother and kowtowed. Then to his sister, and kowtowed.
He rose, found a shovel inside, and began digging a pit in the empty ground behind the house.
He dug slowly, with great effort. The soil was hard, and the shovel awkward to use. But he kept digging until he had made a shallow pit large enough for three people to lie in.
He dragged his father's, mother's, and sister's bodies into the pit one by one, laid them straight, and pushed earth down with his hands to bury them.
There was no coffin, no gravestone, only a small mound of earth.
The boy knelt before the mound and kowtowed three more times.
Then he stood and wiped his face, which was streaked with tears, dirt, and blood.
He returned to the horse, laboriously tied the armor and sabers onto its back, then gripped the saddle and tried several times, but could not climb up.
He did not know how to ride, so he could only gently pat the horse's neck to calm it.
The boy took one last look at the little mound, then another toward the village entrance, where Qin Tiexin had disappeared.
Then he led the horse, and it began walking slowly toward Xinyang Pass.
Qin Tiexin ran headlong the whole way.
The ten-li journey normally took over an hour on foot. He covered it in less than a quarter hour.
Xinyang Pass's west gate stood before him. Seeing a big man drenched in blood charging toward them with someone in his arms, the gate guards immediately raised their spears in alarm. "Halt! Who goes there!"
Qin Tiexin panted heavily without slowing. "Craftsmen's Camp! Qin Tiexin! My teacher's injured! Get a military physician!"
With that, he hurled his token up.
The soldiers recognized him-Qin Tiexin's size was so conspicuous that many knew him. Then they saw the man in his arms, missing a leg and covered in blood, and their expressions changed. They checked the bloodstained token. Nothing was amiss.
"Open the gate! Quickly!"
The gate opened a crack. Qin Tiexin squeezed through sideways and kept running toward the medical camp.
People along the road saw him and hurried aside. An old craftsman from the Craftsmen's Camp who knew Zhou Cang cried out, "Master Zhou?!"
Qin Tiexin had no time to answer.
The medical camp was a row of adobe buildings on the eastern side of the pass. When Qin Tiexin rushed in, an old military physician preparing medicine jumped in fright.
"Physician! Save him!" Qin Tiexin gently laid Zhou Cang on a nearby wooden bed.
The old physician glanced at the wound, his expression grave. "Where's the leg?"
Qin Tiexin hurriedly untied the bundle on his back and opened it, revealing the severed leg.
The old physician inspected the cut on the severed leg, then Zhou Cang's wound, and shook his head. "It's been a little too long. It can't be reattached. We can only clean the wound and stop the bleeding."
Qin Tiexin's heart sank. "No chance at all?"
"Unless an immortal does it." The old physician began preparing his tools. "Hold him down. I need to treat the wound. It will hurt badly."
Qin Tiexin held Zhou Cang's shoulders down.
The old physician cut away the cloth wrapping the wound with scissors, exposing the stump. The flesh around the wound had turned somewhat pale, but much of the bleeding had stopped. He first rinsed it with liquor, and Zhou Cang convulsed once in his unconsciousness.
Then he cauterized it with a small red-hot blade to stop the bleeding-this hurt the most, but did the most to prevent infection and hemorrhage.
Sss-
The smell of scorched flesh spread.
Qin Tiexin turned his head, unable to bear watching, but his hands held steady.
After treating the wound, the old physician sprinkled on wound powder, rebandaged it with clean linen, then poured a bowl of anesthetic decoction down Zhou Cang's throat.
"His life is saved." The old physician wiped his hands. "But this leg... gone is gone. He'll need a crutch from now on."
Qin Tiexin let out a breath of relief. Only then did he feel the aches all over his body-he had run too hard and kept his nerves taut the entire time.
He looked down at his hands.
They were covered in blood-the Di People's, the horse's, Zhou Cang's. His clothes were soaked through too, clinging to him, cold and sticky.
But this time, he did not feel sick or tremble.
He walked over to the basin, scooped up water, and slowly washed his hands.
The water soon turned red.
He replaced it with a fresh basin of water and kept washing.
The bloodstains faded bit by bit, revealing his skin's original color-rough and covered in calluses, but steady and strong.
He washed his hands clean, then washed his face.
Then he returned to Zhou Cang's bedside, sat down, and looked at Zhou Cang's pale face.
The old army doctor finished packing up his things and glanced at him. "Were you hurt too?"
Qin Tiexin shook his head. "No. It's all other people's blood."
"Good." The old army doctor paused. "That boy outside-did you bring him here?"
Qin Tiexin froze for a moment, then rose and walked to the entrance.
The boy from the village stood outside the medical camp, holding the horse's reins. Two suits of leather armor and two curved sabers were loaded on its back. The boy's body and face were covered in dirt, and his eyes were red and swollen, but he stood ramrod straight.
When he saw Qin Tiexin, the boy opened his mouth but said nothing. He only pointed to the things on the horse's back.
Qin Tiexin walked over.
"For you," the boy said hoarsely. "Grandpa said... they're worth money."
Qin Tiexin looked at the two bloodstained suits of leather armor and the curved sabers, then at the boy.
"Where's your family?" he asked.
The boy lowered his head. After a long while, he said, "Buried them."
Qin Tiexin fell silent.
He reached out, took a curved saber from the horse's back, and pushed it into the boy's arms. "You earned this. Go register it at the military merit office. You can collect a reward."
The boy held the saber and stared blankly at him.
Qin Tiexin picked up the two suits of leather armor and the other curved saber. "I'll register these and give you the reward money too. After this... where do you want to go?"
The boy shook his head. "Nowhere to go."
Qin Tiexin thought for a moment. "Stay at the Craftsmen's Camp for now. My master needs someone to look after him. You can help with odd jobs. Food and lodging will be provided."
The boy's eyes brightened for a moment, and he nodded vigorously.
Qin Tiexin patted his shoulder, then turned and went back into the medical camp.
Zhou Cang was still unconscious, but his breathing had grown a little steadier.
Qin Tiexin sat down beside the bed and looked at his master, then lowered his head to look at his own hands.
His hands were clean. There was no blood left.
But he knew that some things could no longer be washed away.
Nor did they need to be.
He clenched his fists, his bones giving a faint crack.
Then he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
Tired.
But the gloom that had shrouded his heart all this time had lifted, though he did not know when.