Chapter Forty-One: A Treacherous Attack

As the battle erupted, Kaiming and Gouzi instinctively pressed their backs together, tense and wary of the Nangong soldiers encircling them, dreading a careless death at the swing of an enemy blade. Gouzi, knowing Kaiming was ill at ease with violence and still haunted by the shadow of death, wielded his spear in wide arcs, protecting her and fending off the relentless waves of enemies.

“There are too many of them—run!” Kaiming shouted, waving her flag frantically as if to chase away a swarm of flies.

“We can’t! There are too many, we’ll never break through!” Gouzi yelled back, just as desperate.

Two more sabers came slashing toward them. Kaiming raised her flag to block, but the shaft splintered in two. Panic seized her. Gouzi was fully engaged with the foes before him and couldn’t spare a hand to help.

Suddenly, the ferocious blades of two Nangong soldiers were raised high, but before they could fall, the men grunted and collapsed in a heap. Behind them stood a young, dark-skinned boy—one who had joined the army solely to find his missing brother. Twin trails of blood slashed across his body from shoulder to hem, chilling to behold.

He snatched up one of the fallen soldiers’ blades and tossed it to her. “What are you staring at? Throw away that tattered flag and save your own skin!”

Kaiming did as he said without hesitation. Gouzi, seeing him, shouted, “Hei, get over here and help!”

Kaiming’s brow twitched. As dark as the boy was, the name Hei suited him perfectly.

Hei joined their ranks, and the three formed a tight triangle, backs together, facing outward. As Daiyin challenged General Quan, the battle reached its fever pitch. The Nangong soldiers’ assault was like poking a hornet’s nest—bodies fell all around, warriors full of life one moment, corpses the next. Kaiming felt death’s chill at point-blank range.

Her hands trembled violently. So this was a battlefield—a veritable hell on earth.

“Kaiming, are you all right?” Gouzi called, his concern evident even as he noticed her shaking.

“Watch the front—here they come!” Hei barked, raising his blade to shield his head as steel clashed with a deafening clang.

They’re here! Kaiming’s eyes darted wildly. The Nangong soldiers advancing looked like demons risen from the underworld: savage faces, gleaming weapons, and even the bared white teeth of their open mouths were painfully clear. Her hearing dulled; she saw a soldier leap high, his mouth open as his blade traced a perfect arc downward toward her, slow and graceful as if in a silent film. Even the fluttering of his coat, the wild glare of his eyes, radiated a shocking, terrible beauty. Kaiming stared, entranced, frozen in place.

“Have you lost your mind?” Hei yanked her back just in time—the soldier’s blade missed, slicing away a piece of her garment. Hei roared, “Why didn’t you dodge?!”

His shout snapped her back to herself. She looked at him blankly.

“The general is retreating! Follow her!” Hei grabbed her, half dragging, half carrying her as he ran forward, calling for Gouzi. Gouzi responded, covering their retreat and knocking aside the spears that jabbed at them.

Dazed, Kaiming saw Daiyin’s red horse twist its powerful hindquarters, leaping over the fallen and wounded. Its hooves struck the earth, and then the steed shot forward in a flash. Darkness clouded her vision—Daiyin was defeated, the Central Palace was defeated, and they, too, were defeated.

Somewhere, rain began to fall, gentle and unceasing, washing over the blood-soaked field and softly consoling the weeping souls of the dead.

In the lush forest, the red horse stood wet with rain, tossing its head and shaking out its damp mane. Atop it, the lady general’s face was pale as jade, her lips pressed tight, rainwater tracing her cheeks, dripping from her collar onto the trembling tip of her sword. Around her stood two silent lines of survivors, their dark faces lifted, gazing at her with hope.

Only Daiyin remained—she was their sole hope of escape.

Daiyin spoke at last, her voice quavering in the damp air, but unwavering in resolve. “Comrades, we have been defeated in this battle. We must find a way to survive—and return home alive!”

“General!” There was a rustling in the trees. A horse burst through the branches. The soldiers tensed, but a weary, filthy figure called out, “General, it’s me!” It was Chang Geng, haggard but alive.

“Chang Geng!” Daiyin exclaimed in joy. “You managed to escape! That’s a blessing. What of the other commanders?”

Chang Geng averted his eyes, his voice heavy. “The other commanders… fell in battle.”

A hush fell over the group, despair thick in the air.

Daiyin sighed softly, gazing up at the sky.

“General, the Nangong troops have surrounded the woods. They’ll find us soon—what should we do?” Chang Geng urged.

“It’s too dangerous for us all to stay together,” Daiyin decided swiftly. “We must split up. If any can escape, so much the better. Chang Geng, you take a group. We’ll break out quietly when we find an opening.”

Chang Geng bowed from horseback, preparing to obey.

While the soldiers clustered around Daiyin, Kaiming sat alone beneath a sapling, staring blankly into the rain. The droplets soaked her hair and eyes, filling her with utter despair. There was no hope of escape. The Nangong soldiers’ net was cast wide—no prey within it would ever break free.

She shivered, hugging herself. So cold, so terribly cold—down to her heart. Ji had once called her clever, but what use was cleverness in the face of such relentless, brutal war? She could not rid her mind of the images—splattered blood, contorted faces, the wild cries of dying men. She blinked, and tears—perhaps only rain—slipped down her cheeks. For the first time in this world, she tasted absolute hopelessness.

“Kaiming!” Gouzi called, seeing her drenched face, stunned and unmoving.

“It’s just rain,” she forced a smile, wiping her face. “What is it?”

“We’ll go with Commander Chang Geng’s group,” Gouzi replied quietly.

It hardly mattered. Whichever group, there was only one road left—death.

Rain swept the treetops, its soft patter promising that soon, all the blood would be washed away. Perhaps next spring, the earth would burst into bloom. Thinking of that cheered her enough to stand up.

Suddenly, a piercing, metallic shriek rent the air—the sound of a blade slicing through wind, or old strings rasping together, so sharp it made her ears itch. A heavy thud followed, then a cry of pain—someone had been struck.

“General! General!” Panic erupted, sending a chill through Kaiming’s heart—had Daiyin been hit by a hidden weapon? Their only hope, struck down?

She froze for a moment, then saw soldiers crowding around someone. At their center lay Daiyin, collapsed on the ground. Rain caressed her elegant face and neck; her eyelashes fluttered, brow furrowed, and a feathered arrow was lodged deep in her shoulder.

“Who was it? Nangong soldiers?” Kaiming shouted in panic, too fearful to approach. Was Daiyin going to die?

“It wasn’t Nangong troops,” Chang Geng said, pushing through the crowd to examine the weapon. “Whoever it was, they’re gone now.”

“How do you know it wasn’t Nangong?” Kaiming glared at him. Was he just guessing?

Chang Geng didn’t even look up, his face grave. “If it were Nangong, would any of you still be standing here alive?”

The others realized at once—if it had been a Nangong purge, they wouldn’t have targeted only Daiyin and vanished with a single arrow.

Could it have been the Dai family, taking advantage of the chaos? Kaiming’s thoughts raced.

“Who has any hemostatic ointment and bandages?” Chang Geng asked coolly, surveying the anxious faces.

“I do,” Gouzi replied, hurriedly rummaging through his pouch for supplies.

Kaiming stared at Chang Geng’s calm, youthful face, betraying a maturity and composure beyond his years.

“Come here,” Chang Geng beckoned her. “Hold the general down. You there—hold her legs.”

Those called quickly moved to obey.

Chang Geng knelt on one knee, one hand pressing Daiyin’s wounded shoulder, the other drawing a sharp dagger. With steady hands, he probed the entry wound, cutting step by step into her flesh.

Daiyin awoke with a gasp of pain, struggling, but the soldiers held her fast.

“Gouzi! Gouzi, help me!” Kaiming cried, frightened by Daiyin’s strength—she could hardly hold her down.

Gouzi rushed to assist, and together they pinned Daiyin.

Chang Geng worked unflinching, peeling back the damaged flesh, gripping the arrow’s shaft, gathering his strength, and with a wet sound, pulled the bloodied, gleaming arrowhead free.

Daiyin screamed and fainted again. Kaiming’s hands were slick with cold sweat as she collapsed to the ground, utterly spent.

Chang Geng examined the arrowhead and his expression darkened. “It’s poisoned.”

A shock rippled through the group—who could be so ruthless, to coat the arrow with poison, clearly intent on killing General Daiyin?

“We can’t waste time here. If the poison reaches her heart, there’ll be no saving her.” He quickly sprinkled powder on a bandage, bound the wound, and turned to the pale-faced soldiers. “We have no antidote here, nor can we forage for herbs. Every moment counts.”

He stood, scanning the woods. “I’ll leave the horses with you. As we draw the enemy away, take General Daiyin and a few of you—head east along the small path. Be careful with her wound.”

“Draw them away?” Kaiming stammered. “Commander, are we to be bait?”

He nodded grimly and, before she could protest, signaled for silence. “They’re here.”

“Who?” she whispered.

“Nangong soldiers. Daiyin’s scream just now brought them down on us.”

Sure enough, muffled noises approached.

Chang Geng left five or six soldiers with Daiyin, then whispered to the others, “Follow me.”

With Daiyin unconscious, Chang Geng’s authority was absolute. The men, frightened yet obedient, followed him swiftly into the depths of the forest.