“Who?”
The leader of that group stood at the entrance of the Song Mansion, a torch in his hand, still cursing and swearing.
She heard wind behind her and whipped around.
A gleam of cold steel descended.
The next second, her neck went cold. She looked down and saw a line of blood spray from her chest, arcing in the moonlight.
Her body went limp and fell, the torch slipping from her hand and bouncing twice on the ground.
Her head and body were separated.
Xia Shuang didn’t stop. Her sword was too fast. Before the mutineers could even react, two of them had already fallen.
Her swordsmanship had no flashy moves—quick, precise, ruthless, aiming straight for the vitals: throat, heart, temple.
The mutineers finally snapped out of it and raised their blades to strike at her.
Xia Shuang sidestepped, and her sword tip slashed across the man’s throat.
He clutched his neck, staggered two steps, and collapsed to his knees.
The remaining few lost their composure. One turned and ran, only to be pierced from behind by Xia Shuang’s sword.
Another knelt and begged for mercy, but the blade silenced him before he could finish his plea.
In the blink of an eye, from her leap to her landing, only a dozen or so breaths had passed.
The mutineers didn’t even have time to let out a proper scream before they fell one by one on the blue stone slabs in front of the Song Mansion.
Blood gushed from beneath them, spreading across the stones, pooling into a small dark red puddle that glistened in the moonlight.
Xia Shuang sheathed her sword and stood still.
The blood splattered on her green clothes quickly dried in the night wind, turning into dark red spots like little flowers blooming on the green fabric.
Xia Shuang’s expression remained the same—cool and indifferent.
She looked down at the sword in her hand.
The blade was covered with fine nicks, packed tightly together like saw teeth, uneven and rough.
Some nicks were deep, almost reaching the spine of the blade. The tip was also dull, as if worn down by something.
Xia Shuang’s face shifted from calm to sullen, the corners of her mouth turning downward.
“How is it?” Song Ning’s voice carried a note of urgency.
He couldn’t see. All he could hear were those screams and the sound of the blade cutting through the air, but he didn’t know the result.
Song Youyi was still in shock, her eyes wide and mouth open.
Her gaze fell on the row of corpses lying at the entrance of the Song Mansion, on that green figure standing in the moonlight.
“She won. Killed them all.”
She knew Xia Shuang was formidable. She knew she practiced swordsmanship every day. But Song Youyi never imagined she could be this good.
A dozen armed mutineers, with swords and guns, couldn’t last even a dozen breaths against her. It was like cutting melons and vegetables.
Song Ning was quite astonished. He widened his unseeing eyes, tilted his head, and muttered to himself:
“That girl is actually this strong?”
Since he couldn’t see, he really had no way to imagine this world’s martial arts, and he had never been exposed to such a scene.
He had no concept of martial arts—he just knew it was powerful.
His only point of reference was having personally experienced a martial artist’s physical strength, which was indeed astonishing.
Xia Shuang stared at the blade in her hand for a long moment.
Then she turned around, leaped up, pushed off the wall, returned to Song Ning, crouched down, and held the sword up in front of him, even though she knew he couldn’t see it.
“Young Master, the sword… it’s broken.” She said with a hint of grievance.
“What? Are you hurt?” Song Ning asked with concern, not understanding at all.
His other hand groped in the air, touched Xia Shuang’s shoulder, then her arm, then her hand.
Only after confirming she had no injuries did he let out a sigh of relief.
Song Youyi immediately picked up the thread and said with a smile:
“The sword is broken? After this is over, I’ll personally buy you an excellent blade!”
Such a formidable maidservant—it would be a pity not to win her over.
But Xia Shuang wasn’t interested. She didn’t even glance at Song Youyi. With her pretty face serious, she spoke to Song Ning again:
“The sword… broken.”
Song Ning finally understood. He felt a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
He hadn’t expected that the first thing Xia Shuang would say to him upon returning would be this.
Not to claim credit, not to ask for a reward—she was heartbroken over her sword.
“Alright, after this is over, I’ll get you a good blade. Don’t worry.” Song Ning said with a smile, reaching out his hand to feel for Xia Shuang’s head in the air, gently patting her hair.
A rare smile spread across Xia Shuang’s face. Satisfied and smug, she slid the sword into its scabbard with a click.
“I’m very strong,” she added.
“I know. You’re very strong.” Song Ning patted her shoulder again and said with a smile.
The night wind blew in from the alley, carrying a chill and the faint smell of blood.
For now, the crisis on this side had been resolved.
“I wonder how long the fighting will last over there. Why hasn’t anyone come to report the battle situation?” Song Ning muttered to himself.
“Has it turned into a complete mess? Is Prince Xin done or not?”
This kind of unprepared street fighting was the easiest to turn into chaos, eventually leading to the troops scattering.
“Little sister, why don’t you retreat first? I’ve arranged an escape route for you. Go find Big Sister.”
Now that Wu Ruozhao was serving in the border army, if Song Youyi could escape, she should be able to receive protection.
Song Youyi immediately grabbed Song Ning’s arm and said softly, “I’m not leaving. If I’m going, Brother, you’re coming with me.”
“How can I leave? I need to hold the rear.” Song Ning replied quietly.
Strange as it sounded—a blind man holding the rear—but Mother Qi and Qin Junyue trusted him that much.
“Then I’ll stay with Brother too.”
…
“Sis Qi! Watch out!”
Qin Junyue suddenly threw herself sideways, like a wall blocking Qi Chuyao.
The arrow came streaking through the air and pierced solidly through Qin Junyue’s left shoulder.
The arrowhead pierced flesh and emerged half an inch from her back. Blood gushed along the shaft.
Qin Junyue staggered, gritted her teeth, and refused to step back even half a step.
Qi Chuyao was startled and stepped back, her face pale as paper.
She held a horizontal saber in her hand, the tip pointing down. Her fingers trembled, and the blade quivered along with them.
“Junyue…”
This wasn’t the first time Qin Junyue had saved her.
After they split their forces, the road narrowed, the walls on both sides closing in. War horses couldn’t gallop side by side, and the cavalry’s advantage was lost.
Qin Junyue made an immediate decision and ordered the men to dismount and fight on foot.
The cavalrymen got off their horses, drove the horses deep into the alley and tied them up, then held their blades and spears, formed two ranks, and advanced to meet the pursuers.
The clang of blades echoed in the narrow alley. Qi Chuyao gripped her saber and followed behind Qin Junyue, her steps panicked.
She had never experienced anything like this.
She had practiced martial arts, but only because her mother forced her.
As for studying—she never did that. She never did the homework the tutor assigned.
Every day, she would go drinking, listen to storytellers, or go hunting outside the city with a bunch of disreputable friends. However fun it was, that’s what she did.
She was the eldest young lady of the Qi Family, the daughter of the Minister of War.
Wherever she went, people fawned over her, coaxed her, and gave way to her.
She thought that was the greatest thing in the world.
The ambition to earn a noble title? She had it on the way here.
But when she saw the first person fall in front of her—that Brocade-Clad Guard agent, run through the chest by Qin Junyue’s spear, blood spraying out and splattering onto her boots—
Qi Chuyao’s mind went blank with a buzz.
Then the second person, the third, the fourth. She saw an Eastern Depot agent have his arm chopped off. The man screamed and rolled on the ground, blood gushing from the stump.
She saw a familiar domestic servant get his abdomen pierced by a spear. His intestines spilled out.
The man looked down at himself, then fell straight forward.
She saw one of their own men have his head sliced off by a blade.
The head rolled round and round, bounced twice on the ground, and came to rest at her feet.
That face still wore the expression of life, as if it hadn’t realized it was already dead.
She knew this person.
Qi Chuyao’s stomach churned.
She bent over and dry-heaved twice, but nothing came out.
Her legs trembled, her hands trembled, her whole body trembled.
Qi Chuyao looked down at the head at her feet, at that twisted face, at those eyes that refused to close in death.
A chill shot up from the soles of her feet straight to the crown of her head.
A noble title? Ambition? Her mind was a mess, all kinds of thoughts fighting each other.
She looked up at Qin Junyue’s back.
That figure seemed especially tall in the firelight.
The arrow was still lodged in Qin Junyue’s left shoulder. Blood seeped through the gaps in her armor.
But she acted as if she felt no pain at all. In her right hand she held a long spear; with her left, she drew a horizontal saber from her waist.
Wielding both weapons, she charged at the surging enemies.
Her spear was like a dragon. The shaft swept horizontally, knocking three Eastern Depot agents to the ground.
The sound of breaking bones came dully, like snapping dry branches.
Her left-hand saber was not idle either. The blade traced silvery arcs in the firelight, slicing off half a man’s face, then cleaving through another’s chest armor.
She kicked him away, pulled out the blade, and his blood sprayed all over her face.
The saber in her left dealt high damage; the spear in her right, high damage too.
Qin Junyue had sustained multiple injuries. The arrow wound in her left shoulder still bled. Her right arm had a gash.
Her calf had also taken a cut. Yet her movements did not slow. She still fought without retreating.
She was like a tireless, painless, fearless human killing machine, charging left and right through the enemy ranks, unstoppable.
“Sis Qi.”
Qin Junyue’s voice came from ahead, not turning around, her back to Qi Chuyao. Her shoulders rose and fell slightly.
The long spear was stabbed into the ground, its shaft quivering. The tassel was soaked with blood. The saber hung at her side.
“You… you go back. Take Young Master Song and leave.”
Her voice paused, as if gathering strength, and then came slightly choked:
“I’m afraid… I won’t make it back alive.”
“Take good care of Young Master Song, or you’ll regret it…”
“Apologize to him for me.”
Thinking of the happy life Song Ning and Qi Chuyao might have in the future, Qin Junyue forced back the confession of her true feelings that had risen to her lips, hiding it in her heart.
‘In the end, I still have to keep all my words locked inside me?’
Qi Chuyao’s mind went buzz again. Her eyes fixed on Qin Junyue’s back.
That back looked especially lonely in the firelight.
Qi Chuyao’s eyes reddened instantly.
She wanted to say “No,” wanted to say “You can’t die,” wanted to say “Let’s go together.”
But she opened her mouth, and nothing came out.
Her legs trembled, her hands trembled, her whole body trembled, like a withered leaf shivering in the autumn wind.
Qin Junyue slowly turned her head. Her handsome face was bloodless, covered in sweat.
“Sis Qi, go.”
At this point, even if reinforcements came, it would be hard for her to survive.