King of Hundred Victories Saber

Xie Wen took the order, his figure flickering, instantly vanishing into the night.

The wind of late spring swept across the Bozhou wasteland with the smell of gunpowder, Shi Feiyang stood on the scorched earth, his dark attire stained with drying blood.

As he turned to look deep into the dense forest, a waning moon peeked out from the clouds, its cold light flowing over the dilapidated little house like frost or snow. A few strands of withered wisteria drooped from the slanted eaves, the battered window lattice moaning in the wind, like sighs drifting from the depths of time.

Memories surged like tidal waves over his heart’s dam, sweeping him into a whirlpool of the past. Once, this small house was a haven of warmth for him and Guo Xiangyu.

In the spring, she walked barefoot over the moist grass, her skirt hem covered in dandelion fluff, her smile more radiant than the azaleas blanketing the hills; on summer nights, they lay side by side on bamboo mats, counting stars within the Milky Way, the jasmine fragrance from her hair mingling with the glow of fireflies, lingering at his nose; in the autumn mornings, she danced with a bamboo blade, fallen leaves fluttering along with the sword momentum, the morning light draping her in a golden veil; on winter nights, they nestled by the crackling fire, she would tuck her cold feet into his embrace, playfully demanding warmth.

Shi Feiyang looked at the rickety wooden door, almost seeing Guo Xiangyu leaning by the door.

The deep engraving on the doorstep was the mark of love she left with a dagger; in the corner cobweb, her hand-sewn fragrance pouch still hung, the faded embroidery threads vaguely showing the pattern of a twin lotus; the wooden table once filled with tea sets now had only half a table leg left.

A sour ache grew like vines in his heart, Shi Feiyang felt his throat tighten, his eyes burning. He tilted his head back, gazing at the cold moon, trying to push back the tears welling up, but the memories only became clearer.

He seemingly heard again Guo Xiangyu’s words as she bid farewell, carrying the desert’s wind and deep affection: ”Husband, I love you more than my own life.”

But now, though the wind persists, the person is far away. She returned to the Wuyue Clan deep in the desert, leaving Shi Feiyang in this desolate world, guarding a room full of memories.

”Let’s go.” He reached out to support Yun Wuyue, ”First, let’s heal your wounds, then we can go together to find Lan Xiaodie.”

Everyone tread through the night, the insects’ calls of Miao Ling rising and falling, but unable to mask the tension in the air.

Shi Feiyang’s steps moved towards the little house, each one feeling like stepping on his own heart.

The late spring mountain breeze carried the sound of pine waves through the halls, Shi Feiyang supported Yun Wuyue into the depths of the dense forest’s small house.

He ran his hand over the mottled wooden door, the rough touch at his fingertips like touching that lost era.

The silence inside was suffocating, only the moonlight piercing through broken windows, casting shattered shadows on the ground, fragments of their broken vows and unfulfilled love.

The decaying wooden threshold groaned underfoot, mildew crawling up the dirt walls like ink stains, mingling scents of old rotten wood and damp moss filled the air.

”This smell...” Yun Wuyue’s pale face looked even worse, just as she was about to turn, her ankle injury flared, pain making her stagger to hold onto the mottled wood column.

”Ouch!” Cold sweat trickled down her temples, blooming dark stains on her white collar.

Shi Feiyang gazed at the corner’s dust-laden old carved bed, the past scenes of drinking with Guo Xiangyu surged like tides.

He suppressed the tumultuous emotions in his heart, a warm smile playing on his lips: ”Miss Yun, don’t worry, soon someone will bring new things.” With that, he turned and stepped into the twilight, his dark attire glinting under the waning sun.

Miao Menlong, Shan Zhi, and Shi Xiong were guarding outside, suddenly witnessing Shi Feiyang reach into his waist’s deerskin bag—this seemingly ordinary deerskin bag turned out to be like a bottomless pit, continuously producing new cowhide tents, thick wool blankets.

The most astonishing was the steady flow of crystal-clear combustible ice, ceramic oil jars, coarse grains, even marinated horse meat, donkey meat, ice-shrouded wolf and tiger meat, piled up in mounds in the clearing.

”Grand Squad Leader, your waist...” Shan Zhi’s eyes widened, the plum blossom dart forgotten in his hand, ”Isn’t it, is your waist belt the legendary ’Qiankun Bag’?”

He couldn’t see that mysterious deerskin bag, hence was very surprised.

Shi Feiyang placed down the last sack of coarse rice, clapping the dust from his hands: ”Just some Jianghu tricks.” He then instructed, ”Set the tents in the sunny spot, to avoid the miasma.” At this moment, Yun Wuyue supported herself on the door frame, gritting her teeth moving to the door.

The moonlight bestowed her with a hazy halo, upon seeing the neatly arranged tents in the clearing, she paused slightly.

The main tent at the front was three zhang square, with the logo of the Heroic Sakura Association embroidered in silver thread on its ox-hide surface, flanked by small storage tents, smoke spiraling up from the corner’s makeshift stove.

”I want to stay in that one.” She pointed to the elaborately decorated main tent, though her tone was weak, it carried unyielding determination.

Shi Feiyang smiled helplessly, supporting her trembling arm, and as they stepped into the tent, Yun Wuyue’s eyelashes gently fluttered. The tent was lined with soft bear-skin rugs, the four-cornered copper stove burning with combustible ice, its pale blue flames keeping the mountain chill at bay. On the sandalwood low table lay the green porcelain tea set, a neatly folded brocade quilt embroidered with twin lotuses, even a few freshly picked wild azaleas stood in the corner.

”Your Heroic Sakura Association has quite a lot of treasures!” Yun Wuyue reclined on the embroidered pillow, lightly brushing her fingers over the fine stitching on the quilt, ”This tent... is so spacious, so large, and truly fragrant.”