King of Hundred Victories Saber

The night is like gauze, dyeing the small hills in a faint ash-blue shade.

Xue Qiuchun stands gracefully on the hillside, her white dress lightly lifted by the evening breeze, resembling a trembling white plum blossom in the cold wind.

From afar, she can see Guo Xiangyu inside the tent, standing on tiptoe, gently arranging Shi Feiyang’s disheveled crown.

Her eyes are filled with spring-like tenderness, her fingertips lightly touching Shi Feiyang’s brows and eyes, as delicate as touching a rare treasure.

Shi Feiyang nods slightly, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth—a tenderness Xue Qiuchun longs for day and night but never receives.

Tears instantly well up in Xue Qiuchun’s eyes, her chest feeling as if seized tightly by an invisible hand, each breath bringing sharp pain. She staggers back half a step, her back hitting the cold city wall, waking up as if from a dream.

Her steps move lightly as she walks towards Shi Xiong, her skirt sweeping across the ground covered in snow, and over her broken heart.

”Shi Xiong...” Xue Qiuchun’s voice is so light as if afraid to awaken something, looking up at Shi Xiong with tears hanging from her lashes, ”Who exactly is that Guo Xiangyu to Young Master Shi? Why can she be so... so close to him?”

Before the words fall, her voice starts to tremble uncontrollably, like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to extinguish.

Shi Xiong scratches his head, his honest face showing a troubled expression.

He looks at Xue Qiuchun’s tearful appearance, feeling pity but unable to conceal the truth: ”Miss Xue, to be honest, my young master has saved Miss Guo from danger many times. In Miss Guo’s heart, the young master is her life, someone she is willing to protect at all costs...”

These words pierce straight into Xue Qiuchun’s heart like a sharp dagger.

She feels the world in front of her begin to blur, a buzzing in her ears, unable to hear the rest of Shi Xiong’s words.

In the moment she turns away, a burning tear rolls down her cheek, falling onto the snow, instantly forming a small ice mark.

She gazes at the distant mountain range, the peaks in the night resemble silent giants swallowing the last glimmer of light.

The wind carries snowflakes against her face, yet she feels no coldness, her mind filled with images of Shi Feiyang and Guo Xiangyu together.

It turns out, in his life, there was always such a person, and she, just an unnecessary spectator.

Tears gush forth, yet she refuses to make a sound, only biting her lip tightly, letting sadness engulf her. ”Young Master Shi...” she murmurs softly, her voice dissipating in the wind, ”Turns out, I was always a step too late...”

In the daytime, the setting sun is like blood, dyeing the small hills in dark red.

The crowd hides in tents to rest, and the surroundings are painfully quiet, only occasionally broken by distant vultures, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

The Western Holy Sect and Zhong Renwang, Xie Zhichuan, and others, convinced they had won a great victory, never expected Shi Feiyang to dare return here.

After returning to their base, guided by sect disciples, they each found a place to rest, with snores and sleep talk mingling.

As dusk deepens, the evening glow in the sky seems soaked with blood, and the night falls like a giant black net, slowly covering the ground.

Inside the tent, Zhong Renwang, Xie Zhichuan, Dugu yan, and Ding Hong sleep heavily wrapped in blood-stained blankets, their snores and sleep talk intertwined.

In the Western Holy Sect’s base, beef tallow candles flicker in the wind, casting eerie shadows on the tent curtain.

Zhong Renwang wakes from a nightmare, sitting up suddenly, cold sweat flowing down his scarred forehead.

He rubs his bloodshot eyes, glancing at Xie Zhichuan wiping a bloodstained long sword against a bronze mirror, the twisted faces of both reflected on the blade, both grinning with snake-like malice.

”Master Zhong, this smell of blood really makes it hard to sleep.” Dugu yan’s voice, like a snake hissing, his pale fingers lightly brush the human skin mask on his neck, a sickly flush surging on his face, ”But thinking of Shi Feiyang, that dog thief’s beautiful concubines...”

He deliberately drags out his voice, causing Ding Hong to grip the Dog-Beating Stick tightly, joints cracking.

The Beggar Gang Elders Wu Gun, Wu Zhou, along with Blood Venerable and Li Wuduo, slowly awaken from sleep, rubbing their sleepy eyes, a sly glint flashing, akin to wolves smelling prey.

Zhong Renwang rises to tidy his disheveled clothes, a sinister smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

The smile is like a snake hissing, exuding endless ruthlessness.

He leads the group, striding swiftly towards Qi Yin’s tent.

They walk through blood-soaked mud, the sound of their boots and frozen earth grinding together, piercing the ear.

As they open Qi Yin’s tent, a sickly sweet smell hits them—bloody human skin rugs still seep blood, while skeletal lanterns hang around, their phosphorescent glow flickering.

Qi Yin reclines in a tiger-skin chair, blood beads on his black robe slowly dripping along gold-embroidered lines.

Zhong Renwang leads the group into the tent, all of them kneeling simultaneously, performing a grand salutation.

Zhong Renwang lifts his head, his face plastered with a flattering smile, bowing, he says: ”Sect Leader, with your insight! Now, the Naiman Tribe has fallen into the hands of Shi Feiyang’s dog thief’s wives and concubines. Yili, Lin Wanqing and the like, though skilled, are just flowery fists and embroidered legs, not capable of great deeds. In my opinion, while Shi Feiyang is recently defeated and unsettled by fear, we should launch a night attack on the Naiman Tribe’s capital, Wulang City, like tigers among sheep, leaving them utterly defeated!”

After speaking, he observes Qi Yin’s expression from the corner of his eye, afraid of missing any hint of joy or anger.