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

Ye Yun woke up, but was practically still asleep. His eyelids opened a crack, his eyes were cloudy as if covered by a layer of gray, and everything he saw was double. He saw Chen Ping'an's face moving in front of him, and tried to speak, but only a muffled breath escaped his throat, like a leaky bellows. Chen Ping'an put his ear close to his mouth and heard a few words—"Tavern...house..."

"The tavern is still there," Chen Ping'an said. "Waiting for you to come back."

Ye Yun closed his eyes again. His breathing was weak, but still there. Chen Ping'an leaned him against him, tore off a piece of his sleeve, and haphazardly wrapped it around Ye Yun's still-bleeding wounds. The claw marks on his left arm, the poison wound on his right shoulder, the dent in his chest, the twisted abdomen—the cloth was soaked with blood as soon as it was wrapped around him, as if it had just been pulled out of a dye vat. Chen Ping'an took off his outer garment and wrapped it around Ye Yun, tying it in a tight knot. Ye Yun's body was trembling, not from the cold, but from the excessive blood loss; his body temperature was dropping.

The city walls fell silent. Not a tranquil silence, but a deathly silence. The surviving sword cultivators leaned against the walls, sat amidst piles of corpses, and lay sprawled on the battlements. No one spoke, no one moved, all gasped for breath. Some were bandaging their wounds, some were drinking water, and some were searching through the bodies of their fallen comrades, removing their waist tokens and tucking them into their robes.

In the distance, the demon army did not retreat. They stopped two miles outside the city, like a black ocean, waiting silently. The Demon Ancestor stood at the forefront of the army, clutching the wound on his chest, black blood seeping from between his fingers. His eyes were closed, the black light around him flickering rhythmically like his breathing. He was healing. The sword energy left by Chen Qingdu and the cracks inflicted by Ye Yun were both wreaking havoc within him; he needed time. When he opened his eyes, it would be the final blow.

Chen Ping'an knew. Everyone knew.

"Retreat," Chen Ping'an said. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard him. Some people looked up at him, their eyes filled with resentment. An old swordsman stood up, covered in blood, one arm gone, gripping his sword with his remaining hand, his voice hoarse: "Hidden Official, where to retreat to?"

Chen Ping'an gazed at the black ocean outside the city and remained silent for two seconds. "The Vast World."

No one spoke atop the city wall. The sword cultivators of the Sword Qi Great Wall had guarded this city for hundreds, even thousands of years. Some were born here, grew up here, and had never been anywhere else in their lives. Retreat? Where to retreat to? The Vast World? That was someone else's territory. But no one objected. Because staying meant certain death.

Chen Ping'an carried Ye Yun on his back, binding him tightly with strips of cloth. He could feel Ye Yun's heartbeat pressed against his back, slow and steady. Zuo You led the way, with A Liang and Ning Yao flanking them on either side, and the remaining sword cultivators in the middle. Several thousand people retreated from the city wall. Some walked slowly, limping; some were supported, some were carried, but all continued moving.

Chen Ping'an was the last to leave the city wall. He stood by the battlements and glanced back. The walls of the Sword Qi Great Wall were littered with corpses; the bodies of sword cultivators and demons were piled together, indistinguishable from one another. Chen Qingdu's body had already been carried off the wall, but the pool of blood on the wall remained, a large patch flowing from the highest point to the edge of the wall like a red river. The banner that read "Eternal Sword Qi" still fluttered on the flagpole, its surface mostly stained red with blood, but the words remained clear.

Chen Pingan turned around, put his back tightly to Ye Yun, and walked down from the city wall.

The streets of the Sword Qi Great Wall were deserted. Some of the houses on both sides had collapsed, some had burned, and some were still intact, but the doors were all open; the people inside had long since left. The streets were littered with discarded items—clothes, pots and pans, children's toys, women's combs. A wooden comb lay on the ground, several teeth broken, with a few strands of hair still tangled in it. Chen Ping'an stepped on the comb, his foot slipped, but he didn't stop.

As he crossed the street corner, a muffled thud came from behind him. The sound of a wooden plaque falling to the ground. The plaque for "Forget-Worries Tavern" had fallen from the lintel and crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. Most of the paint had long since chipped away; half of the character "忘" (forget) was missing, and only the heart radical remained of the character "忧" (worry). Chen Ping'an paused, but didn't turn back, continuing on his way. He dared not look back. If he did, he wouldn't be able to move forward.

Ye Yun stirred on his back. His eyelids opened a crack again, his cloudy eyes darting around, seeing the street, the houses with open doors, and the wooden plaque lying on the ground. He wanted to say "My Tavern," but only a muffled sound escaped his throat. His hand reached out from under the cloth strip and reached towards the tavern, but grasped nothing. Chen Ping'an felt the movement on his back, reached out and pressed Ye Yun's hand back down, tucking it back into the cloth strip.

"The tavern is still there," Chen Ping'an said. "Waiting for you to come back."

Ye Yun's fingers clenched, gripping Chen Ping'an's clothes tightly, like a drowning person clinging to the last piece of wood. Then his hand loosened, and his head fell limp. He had fainted again.

As Chen Ping'an exited the city gate, he turned back. Not because he wanted to, but because the sound was so loud, so loud that he had no choice but to turn back. The Demon Ancestor stood atop the city wall, his hands pressed against the surface. Black light surged from his palms, like countless black snakes, spreading along the cracks in the bricks. The city wall trembled; the Great Wall of Sword Qi, which had stood for millennia, trembled. The bricks began to loosen, cracks extending from the top of the wall to its base, like a spiderweb. The Demon Ancestor's first palm strike.

boom--

A section of the city wall collapsed. Not from a collision, but from corrosion by the black light. The bricks and stones turned to dust, falling away in a flurry, revealing the array patterns inside. Those patterns were carved by Chen Qingdu himself ten thousand years ago, and now they were slowly dying out, like a wick that had burned out completely.

The second strike. The city wall cracked. From the top to the base, a massive fissure pierced the entire wall, within which black light writhed, like black worms gnawing at its foundation. Large swaths of the array patterns on the wall went out, like lamps being blown out.

The third strike. The city wall collapsed.

The Great Wall of Sword Qi, which had stood for ten thousand years, collapsed with a deafening roar behind Chen Ping'an. Smoke and dust billowed into the sky, obscuring the sun like a giant mushroom cloud. Debris flew everywhere, some landing near Chen Ping'an and creating craters in the ground. The tremors reached his feet, making his knees weak.

He didn't stop. Carrying Ye Yun on his back, he walked forward step by step. Behind him were collapsed city walls, burning banners, and taverns buried under the rubble. Before him stretched an endless wasteland and a road with no end in sight. Thousands of sword cultivators walked ahead of him, silently, none of them looking back. Not because they didn't want to look back, but because they dared not.

Chen Ping'an walked a long way, so far that the collapsed city walls became a blurry gray line on the horizon, so far that the dust behind him was blown away by the wind, so far that even the horns of the demon race could no longer be heard. He kept walking. Ye Yun was very heavy on his back, as heavy as carrying a mountain. His legs were trembling, his knees were weak, and every step felt like pulling himself out of a mud pit. But he didn't stop, nor did he put Ye Yun down to ask for help.

As he walked, he heard a soft voice behind him. "Peace."

Chen Ping'an paused, turning his head. Ye Yun's eyes were still closed, but his lips were moving, his voice barely audible, like a mosquito's buzz. "The tavern... the wooden plaque... help me retrieve it..."

Chen Ping'an was silent for a moment. "Okay."

Ye Yun's lips twitched, as if he wanted to laugh, but he didn't. He fainted again.

Chen Ping'an continued walking. Night was falling. There was no path on the wasteland, only pebbles and withered grass. Thousands of sword cultivators walked in the twilight, like a winding river flowing towards the vast world. In the distance, Zuo You led the way, his white robes stained dark red with blood, but his back remained ramrod straight. A Liang brought up the rear, a freshly plucked blade of grass dangling from his mouth, his eyes fixed on the rear, constantly on guard against pursuers. Ning Yao walked in the middle of the group, her left hand hanging limply, her right hand gripping her sword, the tip pointing to the ground.

Chen Ping'an walked in the middle to the back of the group, carrying Ye Yun on his back, step by step. His shoes were worn out, his toes were sticking out, two toenails were missing, and each step left a bloody footprint on the gravel. But he did not stop.

As he walked, he heard a voice behind him again. This time it wasn't speaking, but singing. The voice was very soft, as soft as the wind blowing through the treetops, intermittent and out of tune. Chen Ping'an listened carefully for a while and made out a few words—"Reincarnation cannot change my devoted love, a sword cleaves the path of life and death."

He didn't know the song, but he knew it was sung by Ye Yun to Nangong Pushe many years ago, in a place he didn't know.

Chen Ping'an didn't say anything and continued walking.

It was pitch black. There was no moon, no stars, only endless darkness. Someone lit torches, and their light stretched across the wasteland like a long, winding dragon, its end invisible. Chen Ping'an walked along the middle of that dragon, carrying Ye Yun on his back, step by step.

He glanced back. He couldn't see anything in the direction of the Sword Qi Great Wall. Only darkness.

He turned his head and continued walking.

"We will be back," he said. His voice was soft, as if he were talking to himself, or to Ye Yun, who was unconscious on his back, or to the collapsed city behind him.

No one answered. Only the sound of footsteps, the footsteps of thousands of people, pattering on the gravel, like rain.

Chen Pingan lifted Ye Yun up, tightened the strips of cloth binding his body, and quickened his pace.

Before dawn, they must go even further.