Nine Nights Owl Song

Chapter 113 Western Regions Sandstorms

October of the nineteenth year of Yong'an.

Western Regions.

Zhao Ying rode on a camel, wrapped in a coarse wool cloak, chewing on a piece of dry grass.

He was followed by a dozen or so men, all dressed in short gray tunics, with short knives concealed at their waists and their faces covered with cloths to protect them from the wind and sand.

From the outside, they looked like an ordinary caravan, but the way they walked, the way they stopped, and the direction they looked were all like those of the Dark Pavilion's scouts.

Lin Mo squatted in front of the ruins of an earthen city, drawing something on the ground with a twig.

Zhao Ying walked over and looked down. She saw that the ground was covered with dense lines and symbols, like a complex maze.

"What is this thing?" Zhao Ying asked.

Lin Mo said without looking up, "The Dark Pavilion's first stronghold in the Western Regions. It has good feng shui, is easy to defend and difficult to attack, is close to a water source, and can also observe the movements of three trade routes."

He dusted off his hands and stood up. "Give me three months, and I can build a fortress here that no one can breach."

Zhao Ying looked at the ruins before her—

The ruins, eroded by wind and sand for countless years, are now just a few sections of broken walls and half a collapsed tower.

He thought for a moment, then looked at Lin Mo's excited face and nodded: "Okay, you build it. I'll find people for you."

Lin Mo's eyes lit up.

This is the first major project that truly belongs to him since he joined the Dark Pavilion.

The Western Regions are a desolate wasteland, with sandstorms raging everywhere.

He wants to build a fort here, a stronghold at the westernmost end of the Dark Pavilion.

From now on, intelligence from the Thousand Machine Tower will be relayed through here, and members of the Dark Pavilion will enter various countries in the Western Regions from here.

This fortress will become the most formidable barrier in the western border of Daliang.

The wind blew from the west, carrying fine sand that stung my face.

Zhao Ying squinted and looked into the distance. The sand dunes stretched out in waves, like a frozen sea.

He recalled what Su Jiuge had told him before he left Luoyang:

"The Western Regions are not the Southern Border. There are no warlords to incorporate them, no powerful clans to negotiate with. There's nothing there but sand and enemies. If you go there, don't expect to come back easily."

He grinned.

He never wanted to live an easy life.

In the Western Regions, he wanted to plant a nail for the Dark Pavilion, the deeper the better.

One day, this nail will become a city.

He would drink the strongest liquor in that city and gaze at the farthest desert.

December of the nineteenth year of Yong'an.

Cangwu Mountain.

This is Su Jiuge's first Lunar New Year's Eve spent on Cangwu Mountain.

Red lanterns hung all over the main altar of the Dark Pavilion, and several large pots were set up in the open space in front of the main hall, with mutton soup simmering in the pots, steaming and emitting white smoke.

The people in the dark chamber sat or stood around the fire, holding bowls in their hands. Some laughed, some made noise, and some drank quietly.

Su Jiuge sat on the steps of the main hall, holding a bowl of mutton soup in her hand.

Xiao Yan sat beside her, wearing a thick black cotton robe, with no sword hanging at his waist.

Today he is not the crown prince, but a husband accompanying his wife back to Cangwu Mountain for the New Year.

Zhao Ying returned from the Western Regions, covered in dust and grime, her skin peeling from the wind and sand, but she was in good spirits.

He squeezed through the crowd, carrying a bowl of wine, squatted down in front of Su Jiuge, and grinned:

"Master, the fortress is finished."

Su Jiuge looked at him: "Really?"

"It's true. That madman Lin Mo worked day and night for three months and managed to build a three-story stone building on those ruins. He dug trenches around it, buried stakes, and set up two modified ballistae on the roof. Let alone a small group of bandits, even if hundreds of people came, they wouldn't be able to break through."

Su Jiuge nodded and simply said, "I'll assign someone to you next spring."

Zhao Ying laughed even harder and took a big gulp of wine from the bowl.

Qian Shaoqing's voice came from afar—

He was practicing his swordsmanship with Shen Qing in an open space.

The sound of the cold iron blade clashing with the longsword was particularly crisp in the night, and the members of the Dark Pavilion who were watching cheered.

Zhao Ying looked back for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Sect Leader, when you were in the mass grave, did you ever imagine you'd end up like this?"

Su Jiuge remained silent for a moment.

She remembered the snowy night the old drunkard had told her about, when he picked her up from the snow and dripped wine into her mouth from his gourd. But she was too young then and remembered nothing.

But she survived, and has lived to this day, becoming the head of the Dark Pavilion, the Marquis of Zhennan, and the Crown Princess.

Behind her were people standing, people sitting, people laughing, people joking...

They are all her people, all people she protects.

"I hadn't thought about it," Su Jiuge said.

She truly hadn't thought about it, nor dared to.

At that time, all she wanted was to live to see the next day; every extra day she could live was a bonus.

She is no longer just alive—

Her life is also a way for many others to live.

Zhao Ying nodded, picked up her wine bowl, turned around, and squeezed back into the crowd.

Xiao Yan reached out and grasped Su Jiuge's hand, which was resting on her knee.

Her hands were cold, but his palms were warm.

"Su Jiuge," he called her.