"The wind howls like a beast, and blades thirst for blood."
Zhao Xunan's voice cut through the chill as he adjusted the fur-lined cloak around Zhao Ping'er. "Even if we needed more tempering, Far North isn't the place. That's a graveyard for the reckless. Better to stay within the passes."
"Practice sharpens the sword," Zhao Ping'er retorted, though her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the edge of the carriage. "And you've always said martial paths demand survival against death itself—like a carp leaping the Dragon Gate. Fail, and you shatter."
Zhao Xunan smiled faintly. "Exactly. This isn't just about strength. It's about proving… what we are."
Their companion, a fellow scholar from the exams, frowned. "You're mad. Far North's a wasteland—barbarians, demons, endless snow. No one returns!"
Zhao Xunan tilted his head, the scar on his cheek tightening. "We're not returning. Not yet."
The next dawn, Zhao Xunan left the Qingliang Prefecture yamen with the juren (举人) certificate—proof of his scholarly rank—clutched in his hand. With it, he could travel freely across the Great Qin Empire, no longer bound by the tedious checkpoints.
First stop: a carriage yard. He bought a sturdy, five-year-old mule-drawn cart, then spent hours stockpiling supplies—dried meat, medicinal herbs, warm blankets—until Zhao Ping'er stared at the pile, bewildered.
"Why so much? The post stations are every hundred li!"
"Far North's different," Zhao Xunan said, hoisting a crate of dried ginseng. "The roads are treacherous, and… we're not heading to Yujing."
"Then where?!"
"Somewhere the maps don't mark."
Twelve days later, the carriage rumbled past the last of the southern outposts. Ahead loomed the Xuanwu Pass, a black stone fortress rising ten zhang (30 meters) from the valley floor, its walls scarred by centuries of wind and sword.
"Pass through here, and you're in Far North," the guard at the gate warned, eyeing Zhao Xunan's Tiangui, a sleek black blade hanging at his waist. "Turn back now, scholar. The north doesn't forgive fools."
Zhao Xunan nodded, but his eyes burned with a fever. "I've come to see a ghost."
The pass opened into a blizzard. Snowflakes the size of goose feathers lashed the carriage, and the wind howled like a chorus of damned spirits. Zhao Ping'er huddled under a fur blanket, her face pale. "This… this isn't what I imagined."
"Good," Zhao Xunan said, gripping the reins. "Fear keeps you sharp."
Beneath his cloak, his palm pressed against the hilt of Tiangui. The blade hummed, as if sensing the storm—and the prey ahead.
Three hours into the pass, the trees thinned. The ground turned rocky, and the air smelled of iron and rot. Zhao Xunan reined in the mule.
"Stay here," he said, drawing Tiangui.
"Master—"
"Do as I say."
He stepped into the blizzard, the blade singing in his hand.
The attack came from above. A boulder the size of a cart crashed toward Zhao Ping'er, but before it could strike, Tiangui flickered upward. The blade met the rock with a clang, and the boulder shattered, its shards buried in the snow.
From the ridge above, a dozen figures emerged—barbarians, their bodies wrapped in fur, their eyes glowing with a feral light. They laughed, their voices rough as gravel.
"Southland woman!" one bellowed, leering at Zhao Ping'er. "Pretty as a flower. Too bad she'll make a fine meal for the wolves!"
Zhao Xunan's face hardened. "Leave her. Now."
The barbarians froze, then roared. They charged, axes and clubs raised—but Tiangui was faster.
The blade danced.
A barbarian's arm flew off, blood spraying. Another's skull split like rotten wood. A third, screaming, tried to flee, but Tiangui pierced his spine, and his body crumpled, life draining into the blade.
"Stop!" Zhao Xunan yelled, but the last barbarian lunged, a club swinging for Zhao Ping'er's head.
Tiangui met the club with a crack. The barbarian's eyes widened as his weapon disintegrated, the blade boring into his chest.
"Who… are you?" he gasped, blood bubbling from his lips.
"Death," Zhao Xunan said, yanking the blade free.
The storm raged on, but the ridge fell silent. Zhao Ping'er stumbled from the carriage, her legs shaking. "You… you killed them. All of them."
"They would've killed you," Zhao Xunan said, wiping Tiangui on the snow. "Barbarians don't take prisoners. They take lives."
"But… they were people!"
"Monsters," Zhao Xunan corrected. "They raid caravans, eat captives, and laugh while they do it. I've seen their villages—corpses hanging from trees, children playing with bones. You think I'd let them near you?"
Zhao Ping'er looked away, her throat tight. She'd heard the stories, but seeing…
Zhao Xunan softened. "Come on. There's more to see."
Half an hour later, they reached a hidden valley. Dozens of snow huts clustered there, smoke curling from chimneys. Inside, children ran naked, their faces bruised, chasing each other with bone clubs. Women hung bloody strips of meat to dry; men butchered a carcass, tossing scraps to the dogs.
And in the center, a woman—half-naked, her hair matted—was dragged by her hair, her arms bound. A boy, no older than ten, fondled her breast, laughing as she screamed.
"Father's new wife," a barbarian explained, noticing Zhao Xunan's glare. "She'll bear us strong sons… or become dog food."
Zhao Xunan's hands clenched. He thought of the scars on his own body—the ones Zhao Ping'er had tended to, the ones that still ached when the weather turned cold.
"Tiangui," he whispered.
The blade sang.
By dusk, the valley was silent. The huts burned, the bodies lay scattered, and Zhao Ping'er knelt in the snow, vomiting. Zhao Xunan stood over her, cleaning Tiangui with a cloth.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why do they hate us so much?"
"Because we're alive," Zhao Xunan said. "And they'll do anything to keep us from taking what's theirs."
He pointed to the smoking ruins. "This is why we fight. Not for glory, not for power—for the right to live without fear."
Zhao Ping'er looked up, her eyes red. "And you… you're a monster too."
Zhao Xunan froze. Then he laughed, a low, bitter sound. "Yes. But I'm your monster."
He extended a hand. She took it, and together, they walked back to the carriage, leaving the ashes of the valley behind.
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
And Tiangui hummed, as if in answer.