SS Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Drawn Blade

Xie Wuyi had always thought that a man like him, regardless of where he was or under what name and identity, would have left a blazing mark on the world.

Yet what Ye Fusheng described was a brief, peaceful stretch of time.

The borderlands were bitterly cold, and casualties among soldiers were nearly a daily occurrence. They didn’t even expect to have their bodies shrouded in horsehide, as having a shallow layer of soil to cover their remains was already a stroke of great fortune. Three years ago, around the transition from summer to autumn, a new batch of soldiers joined the border camp. Among them was a peculiar man. Although his face was dirty, his features were intact. Despite an injury to his right hand, he moved swiftly, outmatching even the most hardened veterans who had seen years of bloodshed on the battlefield.

He liked to joke, had a good temperament, and wasn’t anyone notable in the camp, but he was well-liked. He patrolled and fought alongside the rugged soldiers, and together they carried back the wounded and dead comrades, weeping as they returned.

At the year’s end, when the nomadic tribes outside the pass raised an invasion, some corrupt officials embezzled the soldiers’ pay. The troops, cold and starving, fought back in haste. Although they repelled the enemy, countless lives were lost on the battlefield. Broken blades were soaked in frozen blood, and the barren ground half-covered the stiff, mutilated corpses.

Most of the comrades who had fought and bled with him over the past year were now gone. He dug pit after pit with his own hands, sending them off to the underworld. Then he heard that the garrison officer was preparing to claim credit with a self-satisfied smile.

Over five hundred soldiers and nearly a hundred laborers—less than a third survived. Every survivor was standing atop the bones of those who had perished.

Being far from the central authority, the garrison officer falsified the casualty report, exaggerating the victory. What he called a “war report” was in fact a plea for recognition. Those who survived might get food, pay, and promotions, while the fallen would receive only meager silver for their families, their deaths covered up as the ranks were replenished with new blood.

It was likely his first time feeling such furious rage. He stormed into the main tent and directly voiced his disapproval. The garrison officer, blinded by greed, ordered him dragged out and punished with twenty lashes.

With each strike of the twenty military rods, his skin split open. Yet he bore it all without a sound. When the officer berated the soldiers, he snatched up a sword and chopped off that hateful head.

For defying orders and murdering a superior, he should have been beheaded and his corpse displayed, but someone stepped in to protect him.

The young emperor had just returned from a covert visit to the provinces, having heard about the brutal battle. To investigate the aftermath, he unexpectedly stumbled upon the incident and had his secret guards use the imperial token to take the man into custody.

On the way back to the capital, the emperor asked him if he was still willing to serve the country.

The bedraggled man, who hadn’t spoken in days, lifted his head and replied, “I am willing to give my life for my homeland, as long as there is justice.”

The emperor was pleased and said, “The court is a murky pool, and even I, as emperor, must make difficult choices. If you cannot bear these injustices, would you serve as my blade to cut through them?”

Being human it’s inevitable that there will be moments when strength does not follow the heart*, ultimately in life too there will always be such matters that will leave you helpless.

He did not respond until the towering walls of the capital came into view. Then he nodded, bowing deeply.

 

From then on, the world saw no trace of this man again. He erased himself entirely, becoming a sharp blade in the emperor’s hand. He, along with other shadows who abandoned their identities, vanished into the darkness, never to see the light.

One life, one promise, until death.

Until a month ago, when the Northern Barbarians breached the border, and Jinghan Pass faced a dire crisis…

“And then… he died.

Ye Fusheng still remembers that time clearly—the stench of blood filled the air. He should have been trampled into the mud, but that man saved him, risking half his life to break through the encirclement.

But with enemy forces surrounding them for ten miles, and both of them wounded, even if they had wings, escape seemed impossible.

At that moment, the man asked him if he had any last wishes.

Ye Fusheng, poisoned and unable to see, lay slumped against his back. After thinking for a moment, he said he had one promise left to fulfill.

The man laughed, saying, “We’re both unlucky souls, burdened by promises. Seems we’re both doomed to break them.”

Ye Fusheng, coughing and laughing, replied, “Not necessarily. You can leave me here, and I’ll buy you some time. At least one of us will keep their word.”

The man kept laughing but did not answer, running even faster.

At the third watch that night, they escaped into a mountain valley, the barbarian troops hot on their heels. They had only a brief moment to catch their breath.

During that brief pause, the man hid him in a cave, took his cloak, took his sword, and left a brocade pouch and jade pendant in his hand, saying only, “Don’t come out,” before turning to leave.

Ye Fusheng called out softly a few times, but there was no answer—only the approaching sound of horses’ hooves shaking the earth.

He fell silent. Soon, the clash of weapons filled the air, echoing without end.

Then, he heard the howling wind, as if thousands of arrows had been loosed.

“… He died too quickly to say anything. He only managed to shove the pouch with the jade into my hand before heading off to die.” Ye Fusheng lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t see him, couldn’t catch up with him, didn’t know if he ever looked back.”

It wasn’t until the next night, when all sounds faded and the world was as quiet as death, that he finally groped his way out of that cave, limping out of the valley. He heard the whispers of border refugees and pieced together the truth.

The man had found a corpse similar in build to himself, tied it to his back, covered it with Ye Fusheng’s cloak, and, with the sword of Jinghong in hand, led the pursuers away from the valley. Finally, with nowhere left to run, he met his end at the edge of a cliff, pierced by countless arrows.

The candlelight inside had unknowingly gone out, and only faint light from outside seeped in, just enough to reveal Xie Wuyi’s outline. He remained seated across from Ye Fusheng, silent, with his breathing barely audible, as if he too had become a ghost.

After a long pause, Xie Wuyi finally spoke, “I see.”

“Due to my duties, I had investigated his background. But the martial world is not the imperial court; my knowledge was limited. I could only guess, based on his swordsmanship and face, that he might be Xie Wuyi, the fallen master of the Duanshui Manor who vanished after the Battle of Lingyun Peak. Beyond that, I knew little and assumed he had retired from the martial world in disappointment, so I was ordered to stop investigating.” Ye Fusheng rubbed his brow. “After obtaining this jade pendant, I confirmed his identity. I followed a caravan here to investigate further and decide my next move, but I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect that Duanshui Manor would have another Xie Wuyi?”

Ye Fusheng smiled bitterly. “Exactly. The moment I saw the manor master, I felt as though I had once again stepped into a murky pool.”

“Do you regret it?”

Ye Fusheng’s smile was faint. “Now that the truth is clear, what is there to regret?”

He had journeyed thousands of miles, despite his injuries, because the man had risked his life by his side countless times and ultimately sacrificed himself to save him. Ye Fusheng believed that as long as his conscience hadn’t been entirely eroded, he bore the responsibility to fulfill his fallen comrade’s last wish.

Only now did Ye Fusheng finally understand the true purpose behind the man giving him the jade pendant; it was a hope that, once he escaped from mortal peril, Ye Fusheng would return it to Xie Wuyi. Although the three-year promise had been broken, at least this was something of a resolution.

“To sacrifice for the country, life and death alike—how could one avoid it due to fortune or calamity*… Such righteousness, such noble spirit!” Xie Wuyi spoke coldly, “Since each has their need, then do as you please.”

This sudden change of mood didn’t anger Ye Fusheng. He leisurely poured himself a cup of water, drank it down, then slowly rose, clasped his hands in a respectful gesture, and said, “Then I’ll go take a nap; Master Zhuang, please rest as well.”

After he left, Xie Wuyi sat alone in the dim room, motionless for an unknown length of time. It wasn’t until a cold wind blew open the window and icy raindrops surged in that he seemed to be jolted awake and stood up.

For three years, his body had been frail and plagued by chronic illness. Now that the sealed needles had been removed and his internal energy was gradually recovering, Xie Wuyi’s health was already weakened. The sudden movement made him dizzy; he steadied himself by gripping the table edge.

After a while, his fingers touched the hilt of his Duanshui Blade, trembled slightly, then grabbed the long blade and stepped outside.

He headed to the back kitchen without regard for the dozing servant, took a jar of strong liquor, and then, utilizing his lightfoot technique, went to the Cliff of Wang Haichao.

The cliffs of Wang Haichao were steep, and the fierce wind here was even wilder, with leaves and rain splattering and dancing madly. Xie Wuyi’s clothes were whipped by the wind, flapping like a lone, proud banner.

He cracked open the seal on the jar, took a deep swig, and then hurled the jar down into the depths.

Immediately after, he leaped off the cliff. As he neared the base, he pushed off his right foot against his left, and he skimmed across the water’s surface, finally landing gracefully like a wild goose on a green stone protruding from the river.

The river surged with waves, and the spray quickly soaked his thin robes, cold as bone.

The long blade left its sheath, and the three-foot green steel illuminated his cold, snow-like face.

He swung the blade, practicing his martial arts as he had day after day for the past three years without fail. His internal energy flowed through his meridians, slicing through the water, calming the waves.

Only when he finished all the forms, chilled to the marrow, did he look up toward the distant horizon where water met sky.

It was nearly dawn, but in the deep autumn season, the daybreak was late, especially in this stormy weather. Xie Wuyi watched for a long time before he saw a faint line of white on the horizon.

“…The day is about to break.”

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Note: “To sacrifice for the country, life and death alike—how could one avoid it due to fortune or calamity” is from Lin Zexu’s *

Farewell Poem for Family Upon Leaving for the Border.

*力不從心: A Chinese idiom meaning “strength does not follow the heart.” It describes a situation where one’s abilities, energy, or circumstances are inadequate to fulfill their wishes, goals, or intentions.