Chapter 540: Maid Like Snow

A lone rider, dressed in coarse linen clothes and carrying two sabers at his waist, was traveling west across the desolate borderlands.

West of Liangzhou, there were once three ancient military garrisons: Fengxiang, Linyao, and Qingcang. They controlled the upper reaches of the Central Plains and, together with Iron Gate Pass, formed a strategic pincer that restricted the vast Western Regions. However, these three garrisons have long been abandoned and have become a perfect haven for hundreds of thousands of displaced people. These desperate fugitives are remarkably brave and skilled in combat. Even women and children as young as seven or eight, if given a wooden spear, would dare to fight to the death against Northern Liang soldiers. The border army of Liangzhou has historically used these displaced people for combat drills, and much of these "criminals'" ferocity has been forced upon them by the Northern Liang iron cavalry, leaving them no choice but to fight desperately. The first step in selecting Northern Liang scout-archers is to cast them into this area, providing them with only a horse, a crossbow, and a Liang saber, then leaving them to fend for themselves. Only by surviving a month do they pass the first threshold. If they die, recovering their bodies is a luxury, as their corpses would have long been whipped to shreds by those who harbor deep resentment towards Northern Liang. People in Lingzhou, far from the border, say that children raised there enjoy kicking and playing with the skulls of fallen Northern Liang soldiers, making the inhabitants of that place seem almost ghoulish and utterly terrifying.

After traveling two hundred *li* west, the rider encountered a group of prospective scout-archers who had just been cast into the area. A confrontation immediately ensued, without a single word exchanged. The man in coarse linen effortlessly fended off volleys of crossbow bolts and two waves of charges, injuring no one. These elite soldiers, having failed to achieve their objective, gave up on trying to take down such a formidable opponent. While the number of heads they brought back to Liangzhou correlated with their reward money, their primary goal was still survival. Since it was clear they couldn't take this man's head, they quietly retrieved their crossbow bolts and took a detour. This gathering place for displaced people was full of hidden talents, not lacking martial artists who had committed crimes in Liyang and fled beyond the Great Wall. Those who managed to establish themselves here either possessed high martial arts skills or were adept in unorthodox techniques. Therefore, when the soldiers encountered this saber-wielding rider in white linen, they were not particularly surprised. What did surprise them, and fill them with apprehension, was that this seemingly young man had fended off all their attacks without even drawing a single saber.

The hundreds of thousands of displaced people, a motley crew, were not scattered; they were primarily concentrated in the three abandoned cities—Qingcang, Linyao, and Fengxiang—from east to west, which had been removed from Liyang's maps. This was because if they dispersed, they would inevitably become prey to Northern Liang soldiers. These displaced people rarely carried weapons, and such scattered, poorly armed individuals, no matter how fearless, would surely die when encountering organized teams of soldiers aspiring to become elite Northern Liang scouts. As for why Northern Liang didn't launch a swift attack to take all three cities, the displaced people, fortunate just to be alive, cared little about it; they wished the old Northern Liang King would just forget about them entirely. However, they had heard rumors, with a mix of belief and doubt, that "The Butcher" had died. Initially, they felt some relief, but then rumors spread throughout the three cities that a new king had ascended, intending to use them to establish his authority, and that a large army would soon descend upon them, immediately filling them with dread. These displaced people actually harbored the most hatred for the "poisonous scholar" Li Yishan. When the Xu family took control of Northern Liang, all able-bodied men from local aristocratic families who had shown even a hint of disloyalty were utterly annihilated. Children no taller than a horse's back were driven to this area. Afterward, Northern Liang soldiers came here to hunt for military merits, and the prohibition of salt and iron from Liangzhou into this area were all at Li Yishan's behest. In earlier years, some, yearning for wealth and glory, hoped to use secret intelligence from the three cities as a pledge of allegiance, exchanging it for a stable life with Northern Liang. However, Li Yishan ordered them all slaughtered, their bodies dumped outside Qingcang City. This finally made all the displaced people completely despair; Li was clearly determined to make them wandering ghosts for life! As for the old Northern Liang King, Xu Xiao, the displaced people generally felt more fear than hatred towards him in the past. But now that "The Butcher" was dead, their feelings had turned to intense hatred, because some people had spread detailed rumors that before his death, "The Butcher" had left a will demanding the new king bury 200,000 displaced people with him, supposedly to gather an army of a million in the underworld, enabling him to contend with the King of Hell. Such an outlandish tale, which seemed utterly preposterous at first listen, was believed by everyone in this precarious land of displaced people!

As the rider approached Qingcang City, wisps of smoke from a few villages were faintly visible in the twilight. This area was seldom dared to be roamed recklessly by Northern Liang cavalry; the last time was when the Commissioner's son and a person with double pupils came here and merely circled the city from a distance. The saber-wielding man led his horse and asked for a dipper of water from a mud-hut family at the village entrance. The family of four—a sturdy, dark-skinned couple and their two shoeless children—had unusually cold, wary eyes. They were likely deterred by the visitor's two sabers at his waist, which suppressed their impulse to rob and kill for the horse. The man of the house, wincing at the thought of the loss, painstakingly scooped a dipper of murky water from the bottom of his water vat and handed it over. The visitor, instead of drinking to quench his thirst, "wastefully" used the water to wash his horse's nose. The two children of the household watched the man and his horse from afar, their eyes burning with intense desire. Here, possessing an iron saber made survival much easier. As for owning a good horse to ride, it was a pure luxury, acceptable only if one had a powerful backer; otherwise, it was tantamount to having "begging for death" written across one's face. As the young-faced, gray-haired rider handed back the calabash dipper, he glanced sideways at the two children. Both were looking at his sabers, but for different reasons. A child in Daoma Pass would look at a saber for the clean, pure dream of the *jianghu* they held in their hearts. These children, however, were thinking about how to kill when being killed. The two motivations were worlds apart, yet neither was right nor wrong. Before leading his horse away, he took a substantial piece of silver from his bulging money pouch and tossed it out. The man caught the silver, bit it hard, and then grinned at him, his eyes devoid of any gratitude.

Not long after, the man called upon two dozen young, able-bodied men from the village. They carried wooden spears, which were as indispensable to every household as blankets were to women. Some sturdy women and older children also refused to be left behind, and they aggressively intercepted the outsider who had carelessly revealed his silver. "Intercepted" was not entirely accurate, as the man had stopped his horse not far from the village, as if he had been waiting for them. The lone rider, with his sabers hanging at his waist, lightly tossed the money pouch onto the empty ground in front of him. In an authentic Northern Liang accent, he said, "If you're not afraid to die, and you have the ability, then take it."

This made no one dare to make the first move. The bag of silver was certainly tempting, but the young saber-wielding rider did not look like someone who would be easily robbed and killed. Seeing no movement from them, the wanderer urged his horse forward with a gentle squeeze of its flanks, its hooves softly tapping the ground as he moved towards the money bag. Just then, a wooden spear shot out rapidly, its sharpened tip aimed straight for the wanderer's chest. The one who threw the spear was a tall, sturdy youth whose spear technique had been honed by killing countless cunning gerbils, making him incredibly accurate. The wooden spear was fierce, but the wanderer, with an inexplicable movement, simply turned its tip and lightly grasped the spear. Apart from the ruthless and bewildered youth, the other men and women retreated with their spears, disassociating themselves from the boy's action. The saber-wielding wanderer used the spear's tip to pierce the money pouch. He then slowly rode his horse towards the youth, the tightly woven pouch sliding down the spear and stopping midway. Though the horse's hooves were not heavy, each step resonated in the hearts of the displaced people. The youth, motivated by greed, did not surrender to his fate. Instead of retreating, he advanced, sprinting madly towards the man and horse, not in a straight line, but twisting and sliding like a snake on the sand. The agile youth quickly passed half a *zhang* beyond the horse's head, twisted on his toes, and sharply turned, aiming to ram the horse's flank.

The wanderer casually reached out, grabbed the youth's head, and tossed him high into the air, the spear's tip pointing directly at the youth's abdomen.

Just then, a wail came from behind the men and women. An emaciated girl stumbled out from behind the human wall. The wanderer frowned, and the long spear traced a half-arc in the air. The youth crashed heavily to the ground, having escaped the fate of being impaled by his own wooden spear. He fell hard, but shook his head, struggled to his feet, and shielded the thin, sickly girl behind him, staring intently at the wanderer on horseback, who held the wooden spear diagonally.

The wanderer threw the wooden spear, which landed diagonally in the yellow sand a few steps in front of the youth and the girl. His gaze leaped over the youth's head, glancing at the group of displaced men and women. Only then did he rein in his horse, turn, and ride away.

The emaciated girl, so thin that even frostbite would have no flesh to rot, sobbed as she hugged the youth, her only kin. The youth, who had miraculously survived, shakily pulled out the long spear and retrieved the heavy money pouch. He untied the knot, and only a small piece of broken silver fell out. He was about to hand the pouch to the village elders for "distribution." It wasn't that the youth was overly generous; rather, let alone keeping it all for himself, even taking a little too much would result in a severe beating. This time, however, to the youth's great surprise, none of the thirty-odd men and women in the village stepped forward to take the money pouch. The youth was not foolish; he remembered the wanderer's glance before he left. Clearly, that *jianghu* master had made these people afraid to touch the silver. The youth had long lost his elders. Even without a single day of schooling or knowing a single character, this world had taught him much about human nature and practical matters, so he used the silver to buy a pitifully small amount of dried meat and coarse grains from those people.

After spending the bag of silver, the youth did not rush back to the village. Instead, he gave the remaining small piece of broken silver to his sister, squatted down, and let her ride on his neck. Slowly standing up, carrying the wooden spear that had nearly cost him his life, the youth felt a little annoyed that the money pouch had also been taken. He looked towards Qingcang City but could no longer see the wanderer. With a bright smile, the youth said, "Little Grass Root, it's silver!"

The little girl, tightly clutching the broken silver, rested her chin on her brother's head and hummed a strong affirmation.

The rider entered the dilapidated Qingcang City just before the curfew. Here, there was no concept of travel passes; merely being alive was the greatest pass, and no one cared about one's surname or household registration. In this city, being Zhang Julu, the Grand Secretary, was useless, and being the emperor's son was no different. Probably only someone named Xu from Northern Liang could command respect and authority. After entering the city, the wanderer sat high on his horse, surveying his surroundings. This city was indeed unlike those within Northern Liang's jurisdiction. It had nothing to do with whether it was rich or poor; Daoma Pass was also poor, but the pedestrians there lived securely and freely. On the main street of Qingcang City, there were indeed many well-dressed men in fine clothes and silk who presented themselves openly. However, everyone was on guard, scrutinizing each other with deep suspicion. There were few lone travelers, mostly groups. Some street thugs and ruffians squatting on the roadside, seemingly idle, were not as leisurely and half-dead-looking as the local bullies in the Central Plains. The several groups looking up at him at that moment had fierce glares, as if they could instantly calculate how much silver his horse, two sabers, and entire belongings could fetch, and whether it was worth risking their lives for such ill-gotten gains. In such a dangerous place, where everyone was like a jackal, if a scholar who recited poetry were thrown in, they would likely be hacked to death on the spot.

The wanderer looked up slightly and saw the tallest watchtower in the city, a beacon tower. Among the hundreds of thousands of displaced people, over nearly twenty years, only four had carved a bloody path and declared themselves kings. Three of them separately occupied Fengxiang, Linyao, and Qingcang, establishing their own independent strongholds. The last "vassal king" had founded a sect that supported nearly ten thousand people between the old garrisons of Linyao and Fengxiang. The one controlling Qingcang, due to constant attrition from Northern Liang cavalry, had the weakest power base, but also the most violent temperament. His real name was Cai Junchen. He was once an unremarkable swordsman in the *jianghu* of Liyang. After unexpectedly rising to prominence here, he gave himself a ridiculous and overly ornate nickname: "Thousand Frost Myriad Snow Pear Blossom Sword." Whenever a renowned swordsman visited, this Lord of Qingcang would "invite" them for a swordplay exchange, and then those swordsmen would simply disappear. Their treasured swords became Cai Junchen's prized possessions. When troubled, he would often "plant" famous swords into women, charmingly calling it "a pear blossom tree," showing how "refined" this city lord, whom the local displaced people respectfully called the "Dragon King of Xixia," truly was.

The wanderer followed the line of sight from the watchtower westwards. Cai Junchen's "Dragon King's Mansion" was located at the westernmost part of the city. This was because Qingcang was closest to Northern Liang on its eastern side, allowing Cai Junchen to make a quicker escape if he had to abandon the city. The Dragon King of Xixia often boasted that one day he would lead his troops to attack Qingliang Mountain, but who would believe him? Cai Junchen himself probably didn't.

The Dragon King's Mansion within Qingcang City encompassed the entire western part of the city. Following the imperial capital's layout, it also had an outer imperial city and an inner palace city. The so-called imperial city walls were merely red-painted battlements, little more than two *zhang* tall. However, some of the halls and pavilions inside were indeed lavishly adorned with bright yellow glazed tiles, managing to convey a touch of imperial grandeur, only for it to be completely ruined by the disparate heights of the numerous watchtowers. Whenever there was a rebellion in Qingcang, the imperial city walls were easily scaled, and then these hedgehog-like watchtowers proved their worth. However, such uprisings at most involved two or three hundred people, not even comparable to some skirmishes among horse bandits in the displaced people's territory. When the rider was still a hundred *zhang* from the imperial city gate, he was stopped by a team of leather-armored infantry at a roadblock. They carried rare, brightly polished iron spears. The leader was a burly man resembling a captain, wearing an old Southern Tang-style iron armor. Upon catching sight of the audacious fellow's two sabers, his gaze became fixed and burning. He laughed loudly and declared, "A thief has trespassed into the Imperial City! Soldiers, kill him on the spot!"

Over twenty spear-wielding infantrymen rushed forward in a flurry. They had no discernible formation but were agile and incredibly fierce.

The captain suddenly shouted, "Wait!"

The infantrymen abruptly halted. The man in Tang-style armor drew his saber, pointed it at the wanderer, and chuckled, "Young man, those are fine sabers! Tell me their names before you die. Seizing famous sabers is not like seizing women; with the latter, you don't need to care about their names. I don't pity women, but I am a man who cherishes good sabers."

The wanderer, clad in linen clothes as white as snow, smiled and said, "One is Embroidered Winter, and the other is Pawn Crossing the River."