A Man in the Snow: Starting with a Sword Challenge to the Northern Liang Prince's Palace

Ye Yun didn't know how he climbed up the city wall.

He dragged one leg along, and with each breath, it felt like someone was twisting a knife into his bones. People offered to help him, but he pushed them away. People offered to carry him, but he shoved them aside. He shuffled along, one step at a time, falling down and getting up, or using his elbows to support himself as he shuffled forward.

His nail broke, and his fingers were rubbed raw and bloody, but he felt no pain.

The fighting is still going on on the city walls.

The demon race's offensive continued, and the sword cultivators remained steadfast in their defense. But Ye Yun could see and hear nothing. Only one light flashed in his mind—a snow-white sword light—which flickered briefly and then vanished.

He searched through the pile of corpses.

Corpses littered the city walls—sword cultivators, demons—piled together, indistinguishable from one another. Blood flowed everywhere, making the ground slippery underfoot. Someone called to him, but he didn't answer. Someone tried to pull him away, but he shook them off.

He found Dong Bude at the crenellations of the city wall.

The old man sat leaning against the edge of the stack, in a posture that looked like he was asleep. His head was slightly tilted to one side, his eyes were closed, and the blood on his face had dried, forming a layer of dark red crust.

But his expression remained calm.

There was no pain, no ferocity, and even a slight smile on his lips. It was as if he was drunk, dozing off against the counter, ready to wake up at any moment and mutter, "This wine is so weak."

His chest was pierced.

A fist-sized hole ran from his chest to his back. The blood had drained away, and the skin and flesh around the wound were black and purple, rolled up to reveal the broken bone inside.

He was still holding a sword in his hand.

The hilt of the sword "Winter Plum". The blade is broken in the middle, leaving only a half-foot-long section, with an uneven break, as if it had been forcibly broken off.

Ye Yun knelt before him.

His knee struck the pool of blood, splattering blood onto his face. He didn't wipe it away.

He reached out and checked Dong Bude's breath.

No.

The skin his fingertips touched was icy cold, so cold that he recoiled.

He grasped Dong Bude's hand. The hand was cold and stiff, with blood under its nails and a deep, bone-revealing wound on the back of its hand, the flesh torn open, no longer bleeding.

Ye Yun didn't let go.

He knelt there, holding Dong Bude's hand, head bowed, motionless.

The shouts of battle from the city walls gradually subsided. It wasn't that the demons had retreated; rather, the people around Ye Yun had spontaneously formed a circle, blocking the surging demons and creating a small, quiet space for him.

No one spoke.

Some recognized Dong Bude, opened their mouths, then closed them again. Some people's eyes reddened, and they turned their heads away. Some people's hands trembled as they gripped their sword hilts, gritted their teeth, and silently cut down the charging monsters.

Ye Yun knelt for a long time.

So long that the swordsmen around him changed several times, so long that the battle on the city wall moved from one side to the other, so long that someone brought him a bowl of water and placed it beside him, only to have it get cold and be replaced, only to have it get cold again.

He finally moved.

He gently lowered Dong Bude's hand and placed it on the old man's knee. Then he pushed himself up, his legs buckled, and he almost knelt down again, only managing to steady himself by holding onto the city wall.

He looked down at Dong Bude.

The old man's white hair was stuck together in clumps with blood, and there was a fresh wound on his face, running from his forehead across the bridge of his nose to his chin. His clothes were tattered, revealing numerous scars of varying sizes all over his body—some new, some old. The most conspicuous was the old wound on his chest, a sword scar right at his heart.

That was a wound from six hundred years ago.

On the day Mei Ruoxue died, Dong Bude stabbed himself with his sword. He didn't die, but was saved by a passing sword cultivator, and never went up to the city wall again.

He came up today.

Ye Yun bent down and took the broken sword from Dong Bude's hand. The old man's fingers were clenched too tightly, and it took him a while to pry them open. The broken sword was covered in blood, and the hilt was soaked in blood, making it slippery.

He tucked the broken sword into his waistband, then squatted down, put Dong Bude's arm on his shoulder, stood up with all his might, and carried the old man on his back.

Dong had no choice but to accept it.

The old man, who hadn't eaten a proper meal in six hundred years, was so thin he was just skin and bones. But when Ye Yun carried him on his back, the bones in his chest cracked, and the poison wound in his left leg flared up, causing his entire leg to tremble.

He gritted his teeth and walked down the city wall step by step.

When a sword cultivator offered to help, he shook his head.

Someone made way for him, and he walked past with his head down.

It took him a long time to walk from the top of the city wall to its base. Every step felt like walking on a knife's edge, but he didn't stop or ask for help.

Beneath the city wall, in front of Mei Ruoxue's cenotaph.

Ye Yun put Dong Bude down next to the stone tablet. He squatted down and smoothed the soil in front of the tablet with his hands, picking up the scattered stones. Then he straightened Dong Bude's body, making him lie on his side facing the stone tablet, as if he were looking at the words on the tablet.

He took the old handkerchief out of his pocket.

The handkerchief was still there, with the plum blossom embroidered by Mei Ruoxue, faded petals, and dried bloodstains. Dong Bude placed the handkerchief beside his pillow, asking him to help bury it with Mei Ruoxue.

Ye Yun folded the handkerchief and tucked it into Dong Bude's blouse, close to his heart.

Then he placed the broken sword beside Dong Bude, hilt facing upwards, like an incense stick stuck in front of a grave.

"Old Dong," Ye Yun said, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible, "go find her."

He paused, as if something was blocking his throat.

"I'll keep an eye on the tavern for you."

He knelt before the grave and kowtowed three times. His forehead struck the gravel, breaking the skin, and blood trickled down his nose. He didn't wipe it away.

Someone was crying behind me. It was Qian Shouxin, who had arrived at some point. He stood not far away, his eyes red-rimmed, his face streaked with snot and tears. Ning Yao was also there, her white clothes soaked in blood, her hand gripping her sword trembling. There were no tears on her face, but her lips were bleeding from being bitten.

Ye Yun stood up.

He didn't look at Dong Bude's grave again, and turned to walk towards the city wall.

Qian Shouxin stopped him: "Boss Ye, you're injured like this, how can you fight again?"

Ye Yun pushed his hand away and continued walking.

Ning Yao didn't stop him. She watched Ye Yun's back, watched him drag himself up the steps on one leg, watched the broken sword of Dong Bude at his waist, watched him covered in blood, like a ghost crawling out of a grave.

She whispered, "Don't stop him."

On the city wall, the demons were still attacking.

As Ye Yun stood atop the city wall, the sun was setting, turning the sky blood red. Outside the city, the demon army stretched as far as the eye could see, a vast, dark mass.

Those three great demons at the Immortal Realm are still there—the tiger demon, the snake demon, and the eagle demon—none of them have left.

Ye Yun stood on the battlement and drew the broken sword from his waist.

The sword was broken in half, riddled with nicks and chips. Yet, a faint, snow-white light lingered on its surface, like the last vestiges of Dong Bude's sword intent.

He raised the broken sword above his head, facing outwards from the city; his voice was not loud, but it carried far.

"Old Dong, you just wait and see."

"I will avenge you."

The surviving sword cultivators on the city wall silently watched the man covered in blood.

Someone recognized him as the owner of "Forget-Me-Not Tavern," the brewer, the smiling owner who always poured drinks for customers.

At this moment, he stood on the battlements, gripping his broken sword, like a god of war.

Outside the city, the tiger demon raised its head, its amber eyes fixed on Ye Yun, a grin revealing its gleaming white fangs. It recognized him; he had blocked the city gate earlier, holding off the horde of demons all by himself, and had almost been killed by the three demons working together.

Now he's back again.

The tiger demon licked its lips and let out a low growl.

Ye Yun leaped down from the battlements and landed in the demon army.

The broken sword slashed out, and the snow-white sword light swept across, snapping more than a dozen demonic beasts in half at the waist.

He charged deep into the heart of the demon army.