Chapter 10: A Blade More Beautiful Than Moonlight

These dozen or so riders were clearly well-trained, and when they regrouped their formation, the guards were unable to withstand them. Although Dao Xuan possessed exceptional martial skills, he was not adept at fighting on horseback. Seeing the cavalry so proficient in the art of battlefield charges, he knew he could not stop them. With a forceful slap on the hindquarters of Zhang Chi’s mount, he shouted, “Run!” Then, Dao Xuan charged at the riders.

He knew he would not be able to halt them, but if he could delay them even for a moment, it might give Zhang Chi a chance to escape. Dao Xuan was unskilled at mounted combat; as the horses passed each other, the scar-faced man swung his blade. Dao Xuan, empty-handed, had to duck to evade the blow. The blade missed him but struck his horse’s neck, killing it instantly and throwing Dao Xuan to the ground.

San Tong, known for his loyalty, would never stand idly by. Before the riders arrived, he hurriedly dismounted, grabbed a broadsword from the ground, and mounted again, dragging the blade. But before he could lift the weapon, the scar-faced man had already cut Dao Xuan’s horse and then swept the hilt sideways, hitting San Tong squarely in the chest and knocking him off his mount.

San Tong felt a burning in his throat; blood gushed from his mouth as he lay on the ground, unable to move.

The scar-faced man toppled San Tong, but showed no interest in delivering a finishing blow. Without pause, he continued chasing after Zhang Chi.

Though only a brief exchange had taken place between Dao Xuan and San Tong, Zhang Chi had already ridden more than two hundred paces away.

The scar-faced man let go of his reins, took a longbow from his back with his left hand, and an arrow with his right. With a loud shout, the arrow flew; the two hundred paces vanished in an instant. The bow must have had the power of at least five stone.

However, the distance caused his aim to falter; the arrow missed Zhang Chi but struck the hindquarters of his horse.

Zhang Chi was inexperienced at riding, and now, with his horse wounded and terrified, he could no longer control it. He nearly fell from the saddle, hurriedly ducking low and clinging to the horse’s back.

He rode on for more than an hour, not knowing how far he had gone. The mount, bleeding heavily, could run no further and collapsed, throwing Zhang Chi to the ground.

Zhang Chi got a mouthful of dirt and hadn’t even spat it out before turning to see the pursuers closing in, with the scar-faced man leading the charge, his blade raised.

Zhang Chi desperately wanted to ask why they were pursuing only him. After all, a single crossing of worlds shouldn’t end in death, should it? He couldn’t help but look up at the moon with a deep sigh, wishing for a celestial maiden to descend and save him.

But this glance upwards startled him. People say wishing upon a shooting star is effective, but he never expected a wish to the moon to be so potent.

From his angle, he saw the silhouette of a celestial figure descend from the moon—white robes, long hair, floating gracefully, just like the goddess of the moon herself.

Of course, Zhang Chi knew no one could truly fall from the moon, but in his eyes, the figure descended swiftly, yet her movements were like slow motion, as if dancing in the air. She drew her blade with unhurried grace.

The blade’s light shimmered like moonlight, instantly raining down upon the cavalry’s heads.

All was silent and still, until the dozen warhorses thundered past Zhang Chi and he finally heard the sounds of bodies falling behind him. Turning, he saw only a dozen riderless warhorses galloping into the night, leaving behind a field of corpses.

Zhang Chi was stunned. He had seen only a flash of blade in the air, a brilliance flowing like moonlight, and somehow, someone had killed all those elite cavalrymen. Not even Dao Xuan could have accomplished such a feat.

He had encountered a master. Zhang Chi couldn’t help but marvel inwardly.

The maiden’s white robes were brighter than snow, her bearing ethereal and refined, untouched by mortal concerns. She drifted to Zhang Chi’s side, stopped, and smiled gently without speaking.

“Thank you, celestial maiden, for saving me,” Zhang Chi said, patting the dust from himself and bowing, unsure how to address her. Seeing her so divine, he could only call her “maiden.”

“I came here specifically to save you,” she replied with a gentle smile.

Zhang Chi was taken aback. He certainly didn’t think himself so handsome that someone would go out of their way to rescue him, and was deeply puzzled. “How did you know I was in danger, and why did you come to save me?” he asked.

“Why did they want to kill you?” the maiden pointed at the corpses, countering his question.

“I don’t know,” Zhang Chi admitted.

“When you learn why they want you dead, you will know why I had to save you.” Zhang Chi felt that the maiden’s words were all empty.

“So you don’t intend to tell me, then?” Zhang Chi said. He was confused for a moment, but thinking it over, he became quite calm. When the time came, the truth would reveal itself. He was not one to force matters. What was meant to be could not be stopped, and what was not meant to be could not be seized.

The maiden saw Zhang Chi’s bewildered expression and smiled again. She drew a flute from her waist and played a long note, its sound distant and lingering. A moment later, a magnificent white horse raced toward them from afar, swift as the wind. One instant it was at the horizon, the next it stood before her, motionless, as if lightning in its movement, yet still as a painting when at rest.

The maiden affectionately patted the horse’s head and told Zhang Chi, “His name is Snow, a fine steed indeed.”

I’m more like a Mercedes myself, Zhang Chi thought, finding her words always somewhat mismatched. He muttered inwardly as the maiden mounted the horse. Thinking she was about to leave, Zhang Chi hurriedly asked, “May I know your surname, maiden?”

“I have no name, but some people call me Emei.” Emei, clad in white brighter than snow, astride the white horse, exuded an ethereal grace—so much so that even a true celestial visiting the mortal world would be no more transcendent.

“Emei…” Zhang Chi repeated, stunned.

His thoughts drifted to the old Taoist he had met in Huainan City, pondering the meaning behind the Taoist’s words.

“Shall I see you off for a way?” Emei said suddenly, seeing Zhang Chi lost in thought.

Before she finished speaking, her horse leapt forward, and as they passed Zhang Chi, Emei reached out, lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, and with effortless strength lifted him onto the horse.

Zhang Chi found it almost magical. The art of horse-riding was merely the skill of controlling one's mount—normally, one had to squeeze the horse’s sides with their legs, use reins and voice commands, but this horse seemed to share Emei’s mind. It needed no prompting, and Zhang Chi was amazed.

Riding together, Zhang Chi wrapped his arms around Emei’s waist, breathing in the faint fragrance of her hair, as if caught in a dream. Though he was not one to be moved simply by beauty, he couldn’t help but feel his heart stir.

“Did you truly come just to save me?” Zhang Chi asked shamelessly, hands lingering on Emei’s slender waist.

“That is one reason,” Emei replied calmly.

“And the other?”

Emei’s words were brief and startling: “To steal horses.”

The answer startled Zhang Chi. It took him a long moment before he could respond, “If you came for the horses, why did you save me?”

“I said I came to steal horses, not that I am allied with them,” Emei smiled. “At this moment, these three thousand warhorses are the focus of all eyes—everyone is watching their movements, and not just one faction.”

“But the horses have been released; how can you recover them once they’ve scattered?”

“Horses always need water,” Emei explained. “If you know their nature, you’ll realize they can find water even several miles away. There are no rivers or streams nearby, so I have already set arrangements at every water source within ten miles. After capturing the horses, I’ll move them in batches into the plains of Shu. The fertile land stretches for miles, and once the horses arrive, they vanish like water into the sea—impossible to trace.”

“But how did you know the horses would be thirsty?”

“I have people embedded in the caravan, controlling their diet—more salt, less water. Now, with the horses scattered, the first thing they’ll do is seek water.”

Such intricate planning astounded Zhang Chi. He marveled, “Miss Wang is destined to lose her horses against a foe like you—it’s only natural.”

Unexpectedly, Emei smiled, “You underestimate Miss Wang’s cunning. If she truly didn’t want her horses stolen, who in this world could take them? Even I would be powerless.”

Zhang Chi was embarrassed, feeling this was a case of not understanding how fast the world could change. Was there really a reason for someone to hope for their own loss?

“If not for Miss Wang, the world would have descended into chaos long ago. She is perhaps the cleverest person I’ve ever met,” Emei mused, pausing before continuing, “Yet, perhaps there is another…”

The last words were so soft only she could hear them.

“If Miss Wang is so clever, why would she hope to be robbed?” Zhang Chi pondered, unable to grasp the reasoning.

“Some things, if held by me, are powerful bargaining chips. But in Miss Wang’s hands, they might bring disaster.”

Emei seemed deliberately vague, and Zhang Chi, clicking his tongue, refrained from further questions.

Snow galloped like the wind. In the span of their conversation, they had already reached the hill ahead of the merchant caravan. Emei gently patted Snow’s head, and the horse stood quietly. Zhang Chi seemed addicted to holding Emei’s waist, now hugging even tighter. Emei blushed slightly, “Aren’t you going to dismount?”

Reluctant but not wanting to be too awkward, Zhang Chi jumped down, and Emei followed, saying, “A few miles ahead is the merchant caravan of Dachang Trading Company. I should not meet Miss Wang, so let us part here.”

Emei stroked Snow’s mane, full of affection. “I’ll give this horse to you.”

Snow seemed to understand. Filled with reluctance, it gazed at Emei with deep emotion, and tears glistened at the corners of its eyes.

“That’s not right,” Zhang Chi thought, perplexed. A celestial maiden had rescued him, let him hold her as they rode together, and now gifted him a prized horse. It was all like a dream.

He was about to refuse, but suddenly changed his mind. This woman was no ordinary person; who knew when they would meet again? Keeping her gift would be a memento, and perhaps, if the horse stayed by his side, they might meet again someday. So Zhang Chi shamelessly changed his tone, “How will you get back?”

Emei seemed to see through Zhang Chi’s thoughts and smiled, “Don’t worry, we will meet again.”

“How do you know we’ll meet again?” Zhang Chi, having experienced so many inexplicable things with Emei, was no longer surprised, but couldn’t help asking.

“In this life, you will be entangled endlessly with two words,” Emei’s gaze deepened.

“What words?”

“Cold Gate.” Her voice was soft and slow, as if each syllable weighed a thousand pounds.

Zhang Chi was not vain, but he almost thought the two words would be her name, “Emei,” only to hear her say “Cold Gate,” leaving him disappointed and puzzled.

Before Zhang Chi could ask what Cold Gate meant, or how he would be entangled with it, Emei spoke first, “Thank Miss Wang for the horse on my behalf.”

With that, Emei drifted away, vanishing into the night like a celestial in white.

Snow raised its forelegs, letting out a mournful, lingering cry.

Zhang Chi watched Emei depart, still feeling that the night was strange and dreamlike. He placed his hands before his nose, recalling the words the fortune-telling Taoist had written in Huainan City: “Subtle Emei.”

The beauty was gone, but her fragrance lingered in his hands.