Chapter Nine: Calamity

Only then did the Left Prime Minister realize that the commander knew about the mechanisms simply because he belonged to the Baixi family. When the second round failed to activate, he had hoped his kin would be safe; now, seeing the mechanisms triggered, he understood his family was lost. Overwhelmed by grief and rage, he no longer wished to cling to life alone.

As everyone stood shocked, the Left Prime Minister suddenly vomited blood and nearly collapsed. They rushed forward, supporting him with anxious hands.

“How can I face the sovereign now…” he murmured.

The crowd comforted him endlessly; after a time, his emotions calmed somewhat, and he suddenly straightened, issuing orders in a stern voice: “Fight the fire at once! Inform all generals hunting fugitives—under no circumstances may Baiyue escape our land!”

At that time, Baiyue had rescued Bu Jingxian by soaring up the cliff, only to be struck by the Left Prime Minister’s palm. Bu Jingxian’s counterattack forced him to retreat; wary of Bu Jingxian’s prowess, the Prime Minister dared not pursue alone.

Bu Jingxian carried Baiyue, running several miles before pausing to rest. He examined her condition, relieved to see her strength was not rapidly draining. That palm had not struck true, sparing her vital organs; her life was not in danger.

Baiyue, however, coughed blood all the way, feeling as though death was imminent.

Seeing her thus, Bu Jingxian was both moved and remorseful.

“Why would you go to such lengths? Standing up in that moment could have brought great disaster upon the Wanxia Sect.”

As he spoke, he massaged her to stimulate circulation. Baiyue looked at him and smiled.

“If I must watch you die, I’d rather abandon everything and follow you in exile.”

Bu Jingxian’s hands froze; he stared at her in disbelief. Had it been Baixing, he would not have been so surprised—she was impulsive and sincere, prone to acting without considering consequences. Baixing had always shown affection for him; such words, though bold, were not inconceivable.

But Baiyue was not one to act on emotion; she must have weighed the consequences. Though they had met often in recent days, they seldom spoke privately. He could not imagine she would make such a choice for him.

Seeing him speechless, Baiyue smiled again and asked, “Will I die? That Left Prime Minister is a hidden martial master.”

“No,” Bu Jingxian replied, recovering himself and resuming the massage. “That palm didn’t land solidly, nor did it harm your internal organs. Now your wounds are slowly healing through internal energy, though the trauma to your meridians will torment you for seven or eight days.”

“If you claim you don’t know martial arts, it’s hard to believe you possess such power—and even harder to believe you can assess my injuries so precisely. But if you do know martial arts, why did you meet Ling Shaobao head-on instead of avoiding him?”

Baiyue had mentioned this before, even teaching him the Wanxia Sect’s secret technique, the Immortal Dance, as a counter to Ling Shaobao’s “Brave Never Return.” Bu Jingxian could neither explain nor wished to; he silently accepted her judgment.

“I’ve studied internal energy, but know nothing of techniques or forms.”

“Who was your master?” Baiyue pressed, seizing the opportunity.

Bu Jingxian pondered, unwilling to reveal everything but loath to fabricate too much. If they survived, they would be dependent on each other; who could tell what the future held? Should Baiyue learn his words today were entirely false, she would surely find it unacceptable.

“Consider it the Northern Spirit Sect. I met an elder while wandering, was taken to the mountain to work as a servant, learned a set of internal energy methods, but no martial techniques.” Fearing further questions, Bu Jingxian quickly asked, “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better.” Baiyue answered, attempting to stand and stretching her limbs. “I need to meditate for a moment.”

“I’ll guard you.”

Baiyue sat on the ground, closed her eyes, and cultivated her energy with the Dusk Formula.

After a while, a thunderous explosion rang out from the direction of Golden Light City. Bu Jingxian wondered what was happening, when Baiyue, in the midst of meditation, suddenly spat blood, her energy disrupted, nearly collapsing. He rushed forward to catch her, seeing her eyes brimming with tears, choking out words of grief:

“Our sect… is finished!”

Soon after, fire arrows shot from Golden Light City in waves, scattering in all directions and setting the fields of golden grass ablaze. In moments, the flames spread rapidly.

From the mountain foot to Golden Light City, dozens of miles of golden grass fields were swallowed by the fire, turning into crackling sparks. Burning embers and ash drifted upward, carried by hot air, filling the sky with glowing red flecks and rolling black smoke.

Baiyue vomited blood again, clutching Bu Jingxian’s arm in voiceless agony.

Bu Jingxian never expected the outwardly strong Baiyue to reveal such vulnerability. Understanding the cause of her grief, memories of his own childhood—when the Shenhun Sect was slaughtered by Zheng’s army—surged forth. He felt a kinship with her pain, and a deep guilt, knowing these calamities were, in part, his doing.

“I brought this disaster upon you.”

Baiyue shook her head, still sobbing, tightening her grip on his hand.

When the flames from the golden fields reached the mountain’s edge, she forced herself to suppress her sorrow. “Let’s go. If anyone escaped, they’ll be at the northern pass of Golden Light Field.”

Bu Jingxian swept her up in his arms. “Ghost-Fearing and Bilian are waiting there.”

Baiyue felt awkward being carried against his chest, turning her face aside. “I can walk.”

“No need to be stubborn.”

Bu Jingxian pressed on, and Baiyue said no more.

The mountain path was steep; as Bu Jingxian ran and leapt, Baiyue at first gripped his arm tightly. Later, she wrapped her arms around his waist, her heart pounding wildly, unsure where to look, unable to raise her eyes to his face.

Meanwhile, Baixing led a group, weeping as they hurried toward the northern pass. There, to their surprise, they encountered Ghost-Fearing and Bilian. Having just survived calamity, meeting friends who had also escaped brought joy that momentarily eased their grief. They quickly asked after each other; Ghost-Fearing explained he had waited on Bu Jingxian’s instructions.

The surviving Wanxia Sect members feared pursuit by Chen’s army and worried about Baiyue’s whereabouts. Debating whether to search or flee, they found no clear path to safety. Baixing, usually decisive, was now at a loss—climbing the mountain would implicate the bandits, whose willingness to help was uncertain.

Escaping toward Chu risked losing contact with Baiyue.

As they hesitated, someone spotted movement in the woods a few miles away, exclaiming, “There’s someone on the mountain!”

Everyone strained to look, seeing the swaying trees more likely caused by beasts than an army.

“Could it be the Sect Leader?”

With the suggestion, hope surged. After a moment, an elder volunteered to investigate. He soon returned, both joyful and anxious: “It’s the Sect Leader and Young Hero Zuo’an! The Sect Leader is gravely wounded!”

Baixing raced forward, finding Bu Jingxian holding Baiyue, whose lips, neck, and collar were stained with blood. She rushed to embrace her sister, crying and questioning her condition. Two elders hurried to help, supporting Baiyue and channeling energy to heal her.

During this, speech was forbidden, so Baixing pulled Bu Jingxian aside to ask what had happened. Learning Baiyue had been injured by the Left Prime Minister, all Wanxia Sect disciples were shocked, then furious, cursing him bitterly. They knew the catastrophe had been caused by the reformist Prime Minister.

Seeing these elders and disciples, once privileged, now ragged and lost, Bu Jingxian’s guilt deepened, marking his heart with a sense of debt to Wanxia Sect.

Bilian gazed at the burning fields, sighing with regret, “Such beautiful golden fields, destroyed in an instant…”

Ghost-Fearing spat, “Destroyed? Good! That wretched King Chen is so incompetent—let Golden Light City burn to ruins! If only the fire would reach Chen’s palace and burn that dog of a king alive!”

Some survivors, recalling the Vice Sect Leader, Elder Qin, and the slaughtered brethren in the city, cried out in anger, “King Chen is incompetent, betraying our sect’s loyal courage for years!” Their grief overflowed, and they shouted together, heedless of who might hear, “King Chen is incompetent, betraying our sect’s loyal courage for years!”

As Baiyue’s injuries improved, she stopped the elders from continuing their healing, and when she stood, she pushed away all support, forcing herself upright. Gazing toward the fire-swallowed Golden Light City, she declared coldly:

“Today, Baiyue of Wanxia Sect swears: King Chen has betrayed our sect’s loyal courage for years. From this day, Wanxia Sect abandons the incompetent King Chen! One day, the blood debt of Golden Light City will be repaid by our sect! One day, our sect will return to Chen, to avenge this tragedy!”

The surviving disciples of Wanxia Sect echoed her oath, standing beneath the moon and before the roaring flames, vowing vengeance.