King of Hundred Victories Saber

She lifted her face to gaze at Shi Feiyang, her eyes filled with tenderness and worry. ”Promise me, you must protect yourself at all costs.”

Lin Wanqing’s lotus-like steps moved lightly, a veil of sorrow clouding her gentle features.

Her slender hand trembled slightly as she drew a plain white brocade handkerchief from her sleeve. The embroidered twin lotuses upon it were lifelike, each stitch as fine as her thoughts. ”I stayed up all night to embroider this. It’s been steeped in a tonic boiled from a thousand-year ginseng from Changbai Mountain to clear the mind.”

She gently tucked the handkerchief into Shi Feiyang’s palm, her voice catching with a faint choke. ”If you feel tired, exhausted, just take a whiff. My husband, do you know, day and night I am always hoping, always thinking, waiting for your safe return...”

As she spoke, crystal tears were already swirling in her eyes.

On Bai Zhi’s face—usually as cold and pure as frost and snow—concern was now written in full.

She held a small mutton-fat jade bottle in both hands, the faintly engraved Eight Trigrams Diagram on its surface glimmering with a subtle light. ”My husband, this golden sore medicine was refined from thirty-six rare herbs, and it took forty-nine days of effort.”

She solemnly placed the jade bottle into Shi Feiyang’s hand; her cool fingertips brushed his the moment they touched his hand’s back. ”If you are wounded, even if it’s only a tiny scratch, you must apply it at once. If anything should happen to you...”

She paused, her eyelashes trembling lightly. ”Then in this world, there will be nothing left worth my attachment.”

Gong Simeng had long lost her usual lively playfulness; her large eyes were full of worry as she clutched Shi Feiyang’s sleeve, refusing to let go. ”My husband, you said you’d take me back to Jiangnan, to see ten miles of peach blossoms and row a boat to gather lotus on the banks of West Lake!”

She shook Shi Feiyang’s arm, her voice tinged with sobs. ”You mustn’t go back on your word. I’ll stay here and wait, wait until my hair turns white and my teeth fall out, and still I’ll be waiting for you to come back!”

Liu Guihua strode forward with her usual bluntness and threw an arm around Shi Feiyang’s shoulder. ”Shi Lang! Just rest easy and go slaughter the enemy. With us guarding the rear, those bastards can forget about taking even half a step into Wulang City!”

She widened her eyes, her face filled with ferocity. ”Whoever dares hurt even a single hair on your head, I’ll chop him into mince and feed him to the wild wolves outside the city!”

Looking at the five women before him who loved him so deeply, Shi Feiyang felt as though a fire burned in his chest; his eyes grew moist in an instant.

He reversed his grip to clasp Yili’s hand tightly, then lightly patted Gong Simeng’s head. His gaze swept over them all as he spoke in a ringing voice: ”With you here, even if it were a mountain of blades or a sea of flames, I, Shi Feiyang, would dare to charge through! To protect you, and to protect the people of this world, I must let the Western Holy Sect know that those who offend me will be punished, no matter how far they flee!”

His voice was firm as iron, echoing in the night sky for a long time, stirring the blood of all who heard it.

The night was as dense as ink that would not dissolve, yet it could not hide the storm surging at the bottom of Guo Xiangyu’s eyes.

The sight of the five Madam Shi attending close at Shi Feiyang’s side stabbed at Guo Xiangyu’s heart until it ached.

Yili’s hand tightly clasped with Shi Feiyang’s; the handkerchief Lin Wanqing offered through tears; the jade bottle Bai Zhi presented with trembling hands; Gong Simeng’s playful tugging; Liu Guihua’s bold vows—each scene was like a fine silver needle, pricking densely into the very tip of her heart.

Guo Xiangyu’s nails dug deep into her palm; beneath her silken sleeve, her fingertips had already turned pale.

Gazing at Shi Feiyang’s profile, surrounded by love, a bitter sourness rose in her throat.

The night wind lifted the strands of hair at Guo Xiangyu’s temples. For a moment it seemed to her that she had turned into a wisp of smoke, drifting into that warm light. Yet reality was like a cold chain, binding her firmly where she stood.

”Miss Xiangyu, your hand...” Shi Xiong’s low murmur shattered her reverie.

Only then did she lower her head and see the crescent-shaped blood marks her nails had left in her palm. Guo Xiangyu hurriedly covered them with her sleeve, yet her gaze slipped uncontrollably back to Shi Feiyang. The tenderness flowing in his eyes was more brilliant than the stars in the sky, making her willing to drown in that depth of feeling.

”I’m fine.” Guo Xiangyu forced a smile uglier than a cry, her voice so light it seemed ready to be scattered by the wind.

Her eyes clung, dazed, to the hands joined between Shi Feiyang and his five wives, while scorching longing surged in her heart.

If only she could become the jade ring on his finger, to be caressed by him day after day; if only she could become the Fragrance Pouch at his waist, to accompany him at every moment; even if she could just be a single strand of Silver Thread on the tassel of Shi Feiyang’s sword, it would be enough to roam the Jianghu at his side...

The night wind, laden with snow grains, lashed against her face, yet Guo Xiangyu felt nothing.

Scene after scene of her encounters with Shi Feiyang replayed in her mind—the heroic figure he cut when he first saved her with drawn blade; the way his brows furrowed when she was wounded; the warmth of his features when he smiled, like sunlight in winter.

Those memories were like rich aged wine—the more she savored them, the more intoxicating they became, and the deeper the intoxication, the sharper the pain.

Guo Xiangyu bit down on her lower lip, tasting the salty tang of blood.

How she wished she could summon the courage right now, to clasp his hand fearlessly like Yili, to tenderly pour out her heart like Lin Wanqing; even if she were refused, it would be better than this torment. But cowardice twined around Guo Xiangyu like vines, binding her hands and feet, leaving her only able to stand in the shadows and turn all her deep feeling into a silent gaze.

”My lord...” Guo Xiangyu called out to him a thousand times in her heart, the sound echoing within her chest.

Snowflakes fell upon her eyelashes and quickly melted into droplets; she could not tell whether they were snowmelt or unshed tears.

The north wind swept up broken snow, flinging it forward like steel grit. Shi Feiyang stood in the shadow of the arrow tower atop the city wall, his dark cloak snapping in the wind, the silver-thread cloud patterns embroidered upon it glimmering faintly in the moonlight. The eagle-shaped jade ornament on his black-and-gold coronet quivered slightly, the dark tassels hanging from the brim half-veiling his eyes, yet unable to conceal the cold gleam surging within them.

His sword-like brows, black as ink and slanted sharply toward his temples, were tightly knit at this moment, as though a thousand years of frost had gathered between them.

His starry eyes were deep as a cold pool, the pupils dark as night, glinting with a ghostly chill. When they swept over the black banners of the Western Holy Sect, his gaze grew so sharp it seemed it could pierce the layers of night itself; yet when it fell upon his five wives, it instantly softened into silk, with an endless tenderness that could not be dispelled.