Consultor de vida de la dinastía Song del Sur

Capítulo 25

Yin Guang didn't notice any of this and asked hesitantly, "Young Master, do you mean..."

Qiu Ye Yi Jian's gaze surpassed even the icy eaves. He stared directly at the mansion gate that Fang Fang had just stepped out of, and said, word by word, "Why didn't you take the many roads you had, but instead knocked on the gate and entered the house? Chu Yi?"

"Tap...tap..." The sound of horses' hooves echoed clearly on the quiet mountain road of Three Ape Gorge.

The valley was littered with corpses, spears and halberds, black cavalrymen in gleaming armor, their horses overturned, and abandoned banners piled high, filling the valley floor. After the battle, thick, dark smoke lingered above the gorge, refusing to dissipate for a long time.

Numbly gripping the reins, Chu Yi carefully avoided the corpses of soldiers on the ground and slowly walked out of the Three Ape Gorge.

At the beginning of the month, I thought that the devastation and starvation I saw on the official road two months ago was the ultimate tragedy of humanity. Now, looking at the bottom of the ditch, I realize how superficial I was.

Looking up, beyond the Three Apes Pass, a thousand miles of gravel and ten thousand miles of sandstorm stretched out. Dusk descended, and the world grew dark. The red was blood, flowing from bodies that were still burning hot an hour ago, gurgling with a sound. The wind was fierce, whipping up swirling yellow sand, colliding with the sudden outbreak of battle, its mournful cries tearing at the heart. And there were corpses piled up like mountains, nameless and indistinguishable, slumbering deep within the earth's veins, along with the somber landscape.

Chu Yi looked down at his feet; his boots were stained a deep blackish-red.

The man on horseback uttered a soft, murmured murmur, which made Chu Yi feel a pang of sadness: Only when a soldier falls can he rest peacefully, as if entering a dream.

Amidst the billowing smoke and ruins of the battlefield, Chu Yi rode alone, his right hand lightly holding the reins. The old horse behind him seemed more worldly-wise than Chu Yi, silently walking with its head down.

When Wei Chong opened his eyes, he felt pain all over his body, grimaced and gasped for breath, startling Chu Yi awake.

Wei Chong turned his head and saw a pair of eyes as vast as the sea, filled with a calm, boundless blue. "Did you save me?"

He nodded slightly at first.

He leaned silently against a wooden stake in the camp, watching Wei Chong through the faint glow of the fire.

Where is this place?

"Young Master Zhao's camp. I've brought you, sir, and those infantrymen here."

Wei Chong lay silently on the hard, dry sand. A cold chill ran through him, and he trembled, unable to utter a sound.

“Wei Ying…” Chu Yi said these two words softly.

"I know." Wei Chong closed his eyes.

Suddenly, only a cold wind blew across the training ground, and neither of them spoke again.

The first day of the lunar month appeared and disappeared in the firelight, but his wooden expression remained unchanged, just like the passing years that leave no trace, no matter what had happened.

"It's ridiculous that Acheng is so confident in ensuring your safety, sir... Please take care, sir, Acheng is about to leave this place."

Wei Chong remained motionless, his chest heaving like a mountain, emitting a deep, muffled sound: "Thank you, young brother, for saving my life."

Looking at the firelight, Chu Yi gave a bitter smile: "My lord, A-Cheng doesn't understand any grand principles, but I still want to advise you that if all other lives are lost, and you are still alive, that is God's choice. A-Cheng also prays to see you again, my lord."

After listening, Wei Chong remained silent for a long time. After two heavy coughs, he finally spoke, his voice carrying a sense of disillusionment with the world: "Don't worry, if we don't die in battle, we will surely meet again."

Chu Yi pulled up her cloak, slowly walked to Wei Chong's side, squatted down and covered him with another layer: "My lord is an upright and passionate man, with an unyielding spirit that will last for eternity. My elder brother Wu Youji is very much like a general. I have news of him now, and I am worried about him, so I waited for you to wake up to say goodbye."

Chu Yi's eyes were clear as a mirror. He gazed at Wei Chong's furrowed brows and said firmly, "But I believe that you, sir, are as benevolent as the wise and as brave as the fearless. On this battlefield, no one can stop you!"

Wei Chong's eyes twitched violently, and his face trembled wildly, like a gust of wind sweeping through the forest.

"My lord, you should rest a bit more. There are still two hours until dawn. By then, Ah Cheng will be gone."

Wei Chong remained silent. At first glance, his rugged face, mixed with the blood-stained and disheveled beard, trembled slightly.

Chu Yi struck Wei Chong's pressure point, laid him down, covered his clothes, and silently guarded this last bit of opportunity, waiting for dawn to break.

All around was silent, without wind or light, except for the faint flames that flickered and crackled once or twice.

On the first day of the lunar month, I looked up and surveyed the hastily constructed camp built during the march.

Located at the foot of Phoenix Mountain, this secluded spot, nestled in the embrace of the mountains, resembles Zhuge Liang, the strategist, calmly seated in his military camp. The vegetation on the mountain has withered, revealing jagged, uneven rocks that gleam with a faint white light in the darkness. It possesses a stark, stark beauty, carrying the unyielding pride of the frontier, a vastness ingrained in its very essence.

Even without wind, even in the shady conditions of Chu Yi, he still felt the desolation and coldness between heaven and earth.

In the depths of winter, the land is covered in ice and snow, the unmelted snow bending all things to their knees. Black banners hang high in the air, glistening with frost. The northern wind carries the sound of watchmen's clappers, and the cold light shines on iron armor. On the first day of the lunar month, the sounds of rustling and clanging can be heard—the groans of pain from the sleeping infantrymen around him; the slightest movement, and the crisp sound of ice shards rolling off their armor.

Barn-like tents stood sparsely at the foot of the mountain, thick, silent, and dimly lit. The soldiers endured the bone-chilling cold and drifted into a deep sleep.

Silence reigned over the land, and everyone lay in wait in the darkness, awaiting the end of the night and the dawn, after which their endless fate would unfold.

Chu Yi silently rose and began to inspect the bodies of the infantrymen one by one, carefully examining their wounds and covering them with the inadequate felt turbans. Reaching a soldier whose forehead was wrapped in gauze, Chu Yi gazed down at him for a long time, feeling only desolation. He knelt down and tucked a corner of the soldier's cloak under his arm; his fingertips were icy cold. He instinctively rolled up his sleeve and checked the soldier's nose, finding no breath, only a stiff, lifeless body—the young man's face was as hard as stone, and he had been dead for some time.

Chu Yi squatted for a long time, then tremblingly reached out and pulled up his cloak, slowly covering his face.

26. Double image

A few candlelight flickered faintly in the camp. The night was endless and utterly dark. Only the soldiers on watch, changing shifts, moved about, their voices occasionally punctuated by whispers.

"Password?"

"Broken halberd".

Chu Yi turned back to Wei Chong's side, seemingly still a little worried, and leaned over to check his breathing.

A low, faint melody, near and far, arose from the ground, like the rich sound of an ocarina and the mournful tone of a xiao. It gathered together, starting softly and gradually growing louder, like a lament, a yearning, a sob, a complaint, the sound lingering and echoing around the camp, shrouded in a faint sadness.

Chu Yi's heart stirred. He grabbed the dragon-patterned sword wrapped in the cloth beside the campfire, tied it tightly behind his back, took a deep look at Wei Chong, and then turned around and sneaked towards the direction from which the sound came.

Deep within the military camp was a large, towering tent, lit by candlelight, which cast indistinct shadows of several human figures.

The sound of the xiao flute gradually approached from afar, slowly moving towards the heart of the region; the music was steady, ancient, and lingering.

The soldiers on watch had already noticed, and from behind the tent on the right side of the first day of the lunar month, they shouted loudly, "Who goes there? Halt!"

With a dull thud as the person collapsed, they continued playing their instrument calmly and walking steadily forward. Chu Yi looked in the direction of the sound and, through the tall tent, could only see a thin, wiry figure.

Several figures emerged from the tent, launching a swift attack and surrounding the newcomers. Fierce sword energy and powerful palm strikes sent sand and gravel flying everywhere. The deafening noise startled the sleeping soldiers, who rushed out of the camp, spears in hand and armor at the ready. However, the overwhelming aura kept them at bay, preventing them from getting closer. Chu Yi quietly blended into the crowd, only revealing his face to observe what was happening.

—The person who came was Yang Wan.

Chu Yi had seen Yang Wan in the Ruzhou government compound half a month ago, and this girl had left a deep impression on him: her ever-smiling, bright eyes, gazing intently at the dull-witted boy beside her with unwavering affection. Her gentle face blossomed like a flower before everyone, and when she spoke to each person, she spoke softly, a smile playing on her lips, as pure and graceful as a willow in the spring breeze. Even on the night of the assassination attempt on Zhao, when Chu Yi glanced at her by chance, her face was still smiling, her hands moved with the speed of wind, and the ethereal shadows of her sword were everywhere.

At this moment, however, Chu Yi was momentarily surprised; Yang Wan before him had undergone a drastic change:

Her round, oval face faded into a pointed chin, her eyes filled with a dull, decadent grayness, occasionally flashing with a sharp, cold light. Her face was as white as frost, coldly staring at the three reclusive figures of Cangshan she was locked in combat with. Her clothes were tattered, and with the rise and fall of her body, glittering light flashed across her feet and wrists.

Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a severed golden chain, digging into the flesh and causing streaks of blood to appear.

Yang Wan seemed oblivious, her hands gleaming with a cold white light as she intently fought the three elders. Her sword shadows rained down, her lithe body weaving between them. Rolling palm winds slashed at them, but she neither dodged nor evaded, instead drawing her cold sword at close range, each move a deadly strike, employing a style of fighting that would result in mutual destruction.

At first glance, he was secretly alarmed: Yang Wan seemed to be himself back then, with the determination to fight a desperate battle!

With a single sweeping move, Yang Wan cleared the three men away and demanded in a clear voice, "What have you done to Yang Chao?"

The hale and hearty man in the white robe was Lan Jun. He took a step back steadily and smiled slightly: "Little girl, since our young master is here safe and sound, what do you think of Yang Chao?"

Upon hearing this, Yang Wan's eyes flashed with murderous intent, and she gritted her teeth as she charged toward Lan Jun.

Lan Jun stepped back gracefully, standing still. Song Zhu and his companion pressed forward like doors from either side. The three of them surrounded Yang Wan, their densely woven sword energy and palm strikes forming a tight net, trapping their prey at the core.

Yang Wan seemed to hate Lan Jun intensely. The cold, sharp tip of her sword was aimed at Lan Jun's vital points with every move, closing in on him and following closely behind. Lan Jun looked at the two elders, who understood. Taking advantage of Lan Jun's spinning body, Song and Zhu struck with their palms together, slashing at Yang Wan.

Yang Wan was distracted by the sword shadows, and Lan Jun above her head spun like a falling leaf, striking her head hard.

Upon seeing the murderous aura emanating from the three blocking paths, Chu Yi didn't have time to think. He leaped forward, his palms whipping out a gust of wind as he slashed at Elder Zhu, who was wielding a sharp weapon. Elder Zhu glanced back and saw it was Chu Yi. He gave a cold smile and said, "We meet again." He then flicked his jade bamboo staff toward Chu Yi's Quchi acupoint.

Yang Wan's longsword swirled, its light shimmering. It sliced through the palm of the pine tree, then spun around and swept into the air.

Chu Yi had just intercepted Elder Zhu's movements and was about to draw his sword with his right hand when he heard Yang Wan's indifferent voice, causing him to stop abruptly. Elder Zhu seized the opportunity to extend his bamboo staff, forcing Chu Yi to flip backward and fly more than two zhang away before he could change his posture.

"Yang Chao, is that you?"

A cold, gleaming longsword pierced Yang Wan's heart.

Yang Wan's face was as calm as water, a smile playing on her lips. It was as if she had just met Chu Yi that night. Her clear and elegant voice looked at the two of them and said with a smile, "Yang Chao, you two are brothers."

Even with her heart pierced through the back, her face remained vivid, just as it had been. Chu Yi couldn't help but hold her breath, feeling a shiver run through her heart as the blood dripped from the sword tip.

A finely dressed young man emerged from behind Yang Wan, with long, arched eyebrows and indifferent eyes. He wore a royal blue brocade robe over a white mink coat, which accentuated his handsome, moon-like figure. However, there was not a trace of pity on his handsome face; he was staring intently at Yang Wan's smile.

All the guards beside him bowed and whispered: "Your Highness."

The three elders also stood with their heads bowed behind them. Only Yang Wan, who had been pierced by the sword, stood firmly, along with Chu Yi, who remained silent and had nowhere to hide.

Chu Yi saw it clearly: this young man was neither the young master Zhao in the bright yellow cloak from that day, nor the expressionless Yang Chao. But then he heard Yang Wan's trembling voice again:

"Young Master Zhao, please, please, let Ya Ya go..."

The voice carried a deep sorrow, like the faint strains of a flute, drifting through the night sky with endless grief.

Zhao Yingcheng gave a cold laugh, stood beside Yang Wan, and slowly drew his longsword. The blade turned from white to red, emitting a dazzling light in the cold night. Yang Wan's body trembled uncontrollably.

Chu Yi shouted, a flash of blue light appearing on his hand as he slashed towards Zhao Yingcheng. —In the instant Yang Wan collapsed, tears streamed down her face, disappearing into the dust, mingling with a bitterness and despair that no one could understand.

As if he knew who was coming, Zhao Yingcheng channeled all his strength into his wrist, grabbed Yang Wan's body with his left hand, and suddenly swept out a sword shadow with his right hand.

Chu Yi caught a glimpse of the three figures leaping out from behind Zhao Yingcheng out of the corner of his eye. He was startled and, after making a feint, took a few steps back and stood firmly in place.

Through the three elders, Chu Yi saw that Yang Wan seemed to have stopped breathing. Her hair was disheveled and hung down in Zhao Yingcheng's left hand. Her body was like a puppet whose soul had been removed, drifting aimlessly.

Chu Yi raised his eyes, focusing them on Zhao Yingcheng's face. His right hand slowly raised the dragon-patterned sword, brushing away the remaining cloth from its blade. He paused coldly, then lowered it to his side, its blade gleaming with a chilling light. The sword sliced through the night, emitting a low, mournful roar, like a tiger's howl or a dragon's cry.

"Changyou, this sword is three feet nine-tenths of an inch long and one and a half inches wide. It is a divine weapon forged by Wei Zifu and given to Li Tianxiao, the son of the Prince of Runan. Young Master, you are compassionate and merciful, and though you have a powerful weapon to protect you, you have never taken a life. Today, on the first day of the month, I, being unworthy, wish to test this sword with my own body..."

Chu Yi lowered his eyes, channeled his inner energy, and unleashed the chilling poison within his body. In an instant, a thin layer of frost enveloped the serene longsword. From the strands of hair that fell across his face to the hem of his blue and white patterned robe, Chu Yi's entire body was permeated with a chilling aura.

Those around him, seeing the boy with his head bowed and eyes lowered, felt a chill run through them and exclaimed in surprise.

Zhao Yingcheng and the three hermits of Cangshan remained calm and focused on Chu Yi's figure.

Chu Yi's expression remained as still as water, and a few cold words escaped from his lips: "Twins born, twins separated, like an illusion."

Before the words were even finished, the person had already soared into the air, shimmering with blue light, and slashed down with a long sword, using the same "Falling Flowers" technique as the Young Master of Bixie, aiming straight for Zhao Yingcheng's face.

The three elders had witnessed the power of Qiu Yeyi's sword strike and remembered it vividly. Seeing the sword energy descending from the sky, accompanied by Chu Yi's soaring figure, carrying a chilling aura, man and sword becoming one, arriving before them in an instant, the three elders hurriedly dodged.

Just like that day, no one dared to directly withstand this earth-shattering blow.

Suddenly, a storm arose around Zhao Yingcheng. A powerful aura rolled in like a tsunami, and a pair of chilling eyes gleamed in the night sky, even more ferocious and ruthless than a leopard.

Zhao Yingcheng was slightly startled. He used his toes to push off the ground and quickly retreated, still holding Yang Wan's corpse in his left hand as he swept backward. In that split second, a long, soft whip silently appeared, wrapped around Zhao Yingcheng's left hand, and pulled him away from Chu Yi's sword shadow.

With a "crack," the main tent in the camp was sliced in two by the sword energy, leaving a jagged crack in the middle.

Chu Yi landed his sword, then with a flick of his left hand, the longsword spun around, man and sword becoming one, like a weapon drawn from its sheath. Without even looking, he swept it to the side.