Volume One: The Emperor's Decree Chapter Thirteen: Night of Dark Moon and Raging Winds

A small, crooked tombstone stood over a humble grave in the woods, the engraving upon it carefully chiseled to clarity: “The Grave of Xue Yiran.” The once-proud eldest daughter of the Xue family, her final resting place had become so wretchedly forlorn. Not far behind this grave, two more simple mounds marked where the unfortunate coachmen, drawn into her tragedy, had also been laid to rest.

With a strip of cloth torn from his sleeve, he buried it alongside her, knelt solemnly before the mound, and bowed his head in respect. Dust-covered and weary, Liu Xiaoyi rose to his feet, shouldered his bundle, and continued on his journey.

From the corpse of the Ninth Elder, he had scavenged a few silver notes, some protective talismans commonly carried by those in the martial world, and, most crucially, the elder’s token, which he now kept close against his person.

In time, when he would again stand before Jingqi Mountain, he’d have a reason—an explanation. The debts owed to Xue Yiran would one day be repaid in full, but to return now, alone and powerless, would be to throw his life away. No one could know how many enemies still lay in wait, eager for his demise. The shocking turn that allowed him to draw the Peach Blossom Sword and slay the Ninth Elder was a stroke of luck; even now, recalling it sent a chill down his spine.

He walked through the night into dawn, and on into dusk, not stopping until he felt he had put sufficient distance behind him. At last, he and Yu Wenwan took to the main road, seeking shelter in a small village by its side.

Such roadside villages thrived on the business of travelers, each household running some form of stable or inn. Prices tended to be high, but supplies were plentiful, and service prompt. The moment he set foot inside, a smiling attendant greeted him.

“Honored guest, will you be taking a meal or a room?”

“Two good rooms, hot water, and food as quickly as possible.” Producing a solid silver ingot, he pressed it into the attendant’s hand, who grinned and dashed off to the kitchen, hollering as he went.

There were quite a few guests at this hour. The two young attendants were clearly overwhelmed, bustling about in a fluster. The proprietor, seeing the chaos, slung a towel over his shoulder and joined in to help.

Exhaustion pressed down on Liu Xiaoyi the moment he closed the door. He set aside his bundle and sword, half-collapsed onto the bed, and drifted into a haze of sleep.

Yu Wenwan sat nearby, her mind unsteady since watching Xue Yiran breathe her last. At times she would give Liu Xiaoyi a foolish smile, then suddenly break into tears. To lose a childhood friend before her eyes, to bury her with her own hands, her dress stained in blood—it was more than she could bear.

Just days ago, she had been the daughter of a great family. Now, alone and adrift, she found herself on a wooden chair in a foreign inn, unable even to name the place she was in.

How could there be words for such devastation?

A gentle knock at the door announced the arrival of hot food and water. The attendant, catching sight of the girl’s vacant eyes, stammered an apology in fright and quickly shut the door behind him.

Yu Wenwan dipped a towel in the steaming water and went to Liu Xiaoyi’s side. Bending over, she gently wiped his face again and again, repeating the motion until his cheeks were clean.

It was he who had led her to safety. Though they had only known each other a little more than half a month, in the blink of an eye he was the last familiar soul left to her.

Feeling the warmth on his skin, Liu Xiaoyi slowly opened his eyes to the sight of a disheveled young woman clumsily tending to his face.

“Miss Yu, you should rest as well,” he said, worry in his voice. He feared she might lose her mind under the crushing weight of grief and trauma.

She seemed not to hear him, turning away to rinse the towel.

He reached out, took her wrist, washed her hands with soap, and led her to sit at the table.

“Eat something to regain your strength. There’s a long road ahead, and I can’t let anything more happen to you.”

The girl, half-mad with grief, only shook her head and mumbled incoherently, oblivious even to the food set before her.

With a sigh, Liu Xiaoyi swallowed back his own fatigue and awkwardly fed her. Never before had he done such a thing, and his clumsiness showed—each spoonful brought more food to her lips, but more still fell away.

Only when night had deepened and silence settled did the meal finally end. Sated, Yu Wenwan soon drifted into a heavy sleep, her head resting on the table, tear-stains still visible at the corner of her eyes.

“Miss Yu, your fate is truly pitiable. All your fortune and status gone before you could even marry, left to this… and as for me, I suppose I’m the lucky one,” Liu Xiaoyi murmured, not feeling his own hardships deeply. At fifteen, a decade of wandering had already hardened him.

Rubbing his sore arms, he gently lifted her to the bed, then made a pallet on the floor for himself, fully clothed. In her condition, he dared not risk sleeping in separate rooms.

Soon after the lights were dimmed, a faint rustling came from the rear of the inn where the proprietor and his staff were counting the day’s takings.

“Boss, we’ve barely had business these past ten days, but today we found ourselves a real fat sheep.”

“Careful now! The authorities are watching. If there’s trouble, we’ll be the ones to pay.”

“A young man with a crazy girl, showed up at dusk, probably some ruined young master from the south. He’s got money to spare—three of us can take him, easy as soup off a spoon!”

Inns on such remote stretches of road seldom had clean hands. A plump guest was never allowed to slip by.

The three men moved as if well-practiced, donning masks and drawing knives, slipping along the wall to the guest’s door. Pressing their ears to the wood, they heard only soft snores. One attendant used the back of his knife to quietly lift the door bar and crept inside.

Sure enough, only a boy and a girl of similar age lay inside, both deeply asleep. The trio shared a wicked grin as knives were raised and struck down toward their heads.

Just as the blade was a mere inch from his scalp, Liu Xiaoyi’s eyes snapped open. In a flash, he kicked the attacker’s elbow, sending the knife clattering to the floor. With his left hand, he flicked an icy crystal, striking the man at the bedside in the waist, a knife landing mere inches from Yu Wenwan’s face.

“So, a den of thieves after all! Think you’ll escape?”

With a slap of the table, he leapt up, the Peach Blossom Sword flashing from its scabbard. The sheath itself flew across the room, striking the fleeing proprietor squarely in the back. With a yelp, the fat man crashed to the ground.

The two attendants, realizing their peril, tried to fight back, but it was far too late. The sword flashed twice, and two heads fell to the floor with a sickening thud. The blade gleamed coldly, unstained by blood, as Liu Xiaoyi advanced slowly toward the door.

The fat proprietor scrambled backwards on his hands, bumping against the railing. He straightened, wide-eyed, pleading, “Spare me—” But before he could finish, cold steel flashed before his eyes, his tongue stiffened, and his lifeless body slumped to the icy floor.

By habit, Liu Xiaoyi wiped the blade clean on his sleeve, picked up the scabbard and sheathed the sword. He dragged the proprietor’s corpse back into the room and closed the door, only to find a pair of shining eyes watching him from the bed.

“Liu… Xiaoyi… I’m so scared… I’m so scared!” Yu Wenwan burst into tears, tumbling from the bed and crawling on her knees to clutch at his legs. “The martial world is terrifying… What am I to do… Someone, please save me…”

Her sobs and broken words poured out in a flood of fear. To her, the martial world was nothing but that shallow grave, nothing but the three corpses now lying in this room.

Rough, warm hands gently lifted her, holding her tight in a comforting embrace. His warmth slowly soothed her frantic heart.

“The road ahead is long. I swear to protect you. If you don’t mind, consider me your family.”

On this night, fifteen-year-old Liu Xiaoyi truly stepped into the martial world. The sword, reforged by the order of kings, sang with excitement in the darkness.