The Valley of Sinking Jade
The wind in the Valley of Sinking Jade always carried a damp chill. Even as the late-summer sunlight slanted over the jagged rocks at the valley mouth, it could scarce dispel the bone-piercing gloom. Xingqiu closed his folding fan, rapping its ribs lightly against his palm, his gaze sweeping over Chongyun and Xinyan beside him — the former had already tightened his grip on the greatsword on his back, the light armor over his black combat attire glinting coldly through the tree shadows; the latter was checking the gunpowder pouches at her waist, her fingers moving with her usual crisp efficiency as they brushed the fuses.
"According to earlier reconnaissance, Yuan Shao's camp here holds three hundred elite soldiers, with grain stockpiled in the stone kilns to the west." Xingqiu's voice was barely a whisper, his fan pointing toward the canvas-shrouded encampment within the valley. "Xinyan, you'll ignite the supplies and disrupt their formation. Brother Chongyun, take twenty men to strike from the eastern mountain path and hold back the left flank. I'll lead the rest in a frontal breakthrough, straight for the central command tent. Remember: swift victory, no unnecessary engagements."
Chongyun nodded, strands of hair fluttering at his ear. "Rest assured. I'll keep my men in line; we won't hold you back." His eyes were sharp as a blade, fixing on the camp's palisade as he mentally mapped out his angle of breach.
Xinyan daubed some moisture-proof grease onto a fuse, lifting her head with eager sparkles in her eyes. "I'll make sure they taste a fire that sweeps the plains. Then again… it's too quiet here. Not even a sparrow in sight."
Xingqiu, too, sensed something amiss. Even the most disciplined military camp should echo with patrol steps and the clink of armor, yet this one lay silent as a tomb, nothing but the canvas flapping loudly in the wind. He frowned, about to send scouts ahead for another check — but Xinyan could hold back no longer. She pulled out a tinder fold, breathed life into its glow. "Who cares? Maybe Yuan Shao's men are slacking off. Perfect gift for us."
The faint glimmer of the tinder flared in the dusk before she snuffed it out. Crouching low, she darted out of the woods first, agile as a civet cat vaulting the palisade, landing with barely a sound. Chongyun was hot on her heels, his greatsword ringing as it cleared its sheath, cold light slicing the air. Xingqiu took a deep breath, waved his fan to signal his followers forward, his steps crunching on the valley's gravel — yet a growing unease gnawed at his chest.
"Strange. Not a single sentry?" Chongyun's voice came from the east, laced with confusion.
Xinyan had reached the stone kilns. Sacks bulged beneath the canvas, but when she reached out to touch one, she froze. "This isn't grain…" She tore the canvas open roughly, revealing only neatly bound dry hay wrapped in coarse cloth, made to look like grain from afar.
"Retreat!" Xingqiu's heart jolted. He snapped his fan toward the central tent. "Retreat — !"
Before the words died away, deafening war drums erupted all around the camp. Torches blazed into light, turning the Valley of Sinking Jade as bright as day. Figures poured from the mountain paths beyond the palisade and the cliffs on both sides, blades and spears standing like a forest, the 'Yuan' banner on their flags twisting ferociously in the firelight.
"Hahaha, just as expected!" A general under Yuan Shao laughed wildly from the cliff. "Lord Yuan Shao foresaw your ambush. This camp is nothing but bait to lure you into the trap!"
Only then did Xingqiu see it: the 'soldiers' standing inside the tents were nothing but scarecrows clad in armor, their necks tied with straw ropes, swaying in the wind like hanging corpses. A chill shot up from his soles — they had walked straight into an elaborate snare, a cage reeking of death with every breath.
"Attack!" Chongyun was already locked in melee with the onrushing enemy. His greatsword whirled into an impenetrable barrier; enemy soldiers screamed and fell where his sword qi swept, yet more flooded in from all directions, submerging him like a tide. He glimpsed Xinyan surrounded by the kilns, hurling her last gunpowder pouch into the crowd. As flames erupted, a stray arrow sliced her sleeve, blood instantly staining her arm.
"Xinyan!" Xingqiu parried a descending longsword with his fan, the ribs clashing sharply against the blade. He tried to rush to her aid, only to be blocked by several spears, their tips grazing his shoulder and drawing beads of blood.
"Leave me!" Xinyan's voice was tearful but ringing clear. "Xingqiu! Chongyun! Get out of here — !" She snatched a torch nearby and hurled herself toward the hay-stuffed kilns. Fuses crackled and burned, and fire swallowed her form at once.
"Xinyan — !" Chongyun's eyes bloodshot, he hacked down the foes before him with all his might — only to take a cold arrow through his shoulder blade. He grunted, dropped to one knee, propping himself up with his greatsword planted in the ground. But more blades and spears closed in.
Xingqiu watched Chongyun fall beneath chaotic blades, watched Xinyan vanish into the roaring fire, as if his very organs were being crushed. He snapped his fan open, the hidden short blade within sliding out, slitting two enemies' throats. Yet more surrounded him; a spear pierced his lower abdomen, the searing pain blurring his vision.
In his last fading moment of consciousness, he saw the night sky above the Valley of Sinking Jade dyed red by fire — just like the Fireworks Festival in Liyue Harbor that year. Xinyan had laughed, saying she would let the whole world see her flames. Chongyun had blushed and said he would stay by her side…
Deep within a cave, water dripped from stalactites in a monotonous rhythm. Yun Jin huddled in the corner, knees hugged to her chest, clutching the opera script Xingqiu had given her before he left. The pages were crumpled with tears. He had forced her to stay here, saying it was the safest place, that they would come for her once the mission was done — and joked that he wanted to hear her sing the newly rehearsed Ballad of Heroic Women.
But she waited long, and no victorious footsteps came. Only earth-shattering fighting from the valley, and the glow painting half the sky red. She clapped her hands over her ears, yet heard it all the clearer: the clank of weapons, screams, and the final explosion that nearly tore the valley apart — each stabbed into her heart like a knife.
After an unknown time, the fighting faded, leaving only the wind whimpering through the valley. Yun Jin stumbled out of the cave. The moment she stepped onto the valley ground, she saw the devastation: burning tents, fallen scarecrows, and… the familiar figures.
Xingqiu's fan lay broken in two beside him, blood still oozing from his abdominal wound, yet a faint smile lingered on his face, as if recalling something sweet. Chongyun's greatsword was driven into the earth, holding his half-kneeling form; the arrow fletching in his shoulder was snapped, yet he still held a charging posture. By the ruins of the kilns, only a charred sleeve remained, still carrying the scent of the moisture-proof grease Xinyan always used.
Yun Jin's throat was blocked, no sound coming out, but tears poured down. She staggered forward, reaching to touch them, only to yank her hand back — as if fearing to disturb their slumber.
Hurried footsteps approached from behind. It was Aether, drawn by the news. At the sight before him, his pupils constricted, all color draining from his face.
"Aether…" Yun Jin finally found her voice, hoarse beyond recognition. "They… they said they'd hear me sing Ballad of Heroic Women…"
She could hold on no longer, turning to bury herself in his embrace, clutching his sleeve like a lifeline. All her suppressed fear, grief, and despair erupted at once. She trembled violently, soaking his robes with tears.
"They lied…" she sobbed, words tumbling incoherently. "They said they'd be back soon… Xingqiu even said my script lacked the boldness of the battlefield… Chongyun… he never told me the name of his new sword technique…"
Aether had no words. He could only lay a hand awkwardly on her back and pat it gently. The wind in the Valley of Sinking Jade remained cold, sweeping over the cooling bodies and ash, thick with the stench of blood. He stared at the wreckage ahead, at Yun Jin weeping nearly unconscious, and felt his heart hollowed out, an empty, aching void.
Night fell slowly, swallowing the Valley of Sinking Jade whole. Only the opera script, clutched tightly in Yun Jin's hands, glinted faintly in the moonlight. On it, one line stood out in Xingqiu's elegant handwriting:
Here shall sorrow be added, that heroes may truly shine.