HMHSE - 53

Jizhou had been occupied by forces from outside the pass for more than a decade. Many places no longer showed any trace of belonging to the Central Plains, like this town.

More like a caged enclosure than a town, its inhabitants lived in constant fear.

Shen Rong was embraced by Shan Zong as they passed through the town, traversing almost every walkable area.

As they walked, the crowd thinned. They had reached another town entrance, beyond which lay the open land.

She hadn’t seen Shan Zong stop yet, and quietly asked, “Didn’t find them?”

Shan Zong hummed in affirmation.

Shen Rong murmured, “It’s hard to find one person among so many.”

Shan Zong said, “I’m not looking for one person.”

“What?” She couldn’t help but glance at him.

Shan Zong held her, one hand leading the horse, his eyes still scanning the surroundings, not responding.

After a few glances, he tightened his embrace on Shen Rong and moved forward: “Let’s go.”

Exiting this town entrance meant they had completely passed through the town.

Outside, the world was still a grey expanse. On one side was the vague outline of Jizhou city, and on the other, continuous high mountains, all distant like brushstrokes painted on the horizon.

“Not looking anymore?” Shen Rong believed her judgment of the direction was correct. Shan Zong handed her the reins, his eyes slightly lowered: “Not looking anymore.”

Shen Rong took them, and before mounting, she looked at him again, unable to resist asking, “Who exactly are you looking for?”

Shan Zong looked up and smiled, resuming his nonchalant demeanor: “It’s no longer important. I never expected to find them for sure anyway. That map was just a clue.”

As his words fell, his index finger quickly rose to his lips, his expression already stern.

Shen Rong remained silent, glancing left and right. Then, his hand embraced her waist, releasing the reins, and she walked forward with him.

Ahead was the direction towards Jizhou city. They had left the town entrance far behind, and all they saw was the vast, dusty wilderness, traversed by a bumpy dirt road.

An old man sat by the dirt road, his back to the town, facing Jizhou city.

Shan Zong had just spotted this person, which made him stop speaking.

Shen Rong hadn’t noticed him until now, as they drew closer.

A tattered figure with wild, streaky grey hair, unkempt and dirty, with a broken, mud-stained bowl at his feet. He was humming like a song, his voice hoarse and ancient: “Old year, new year...”

It was an old beggar.

Shen Rong glanced at Shan Zong, seeing him staring at the man, so she said nothing.

Suddenly, the man moved, turning his face: “Who? Outsiders!”

His voice was hoarse, as if coarse sand had been ground through it, somewhat slurred, but he spoke in Han Chinese.

More of his face, which was obscured by hair, became visible. It was covered in scars, and his lower lip was askew, clearly disfigured.

Shen Rong subtly turned her head, frowning, no longer looking.

Shan Zong responded, deliberately lowering his voice: “Yes, outsiders.”

The man moved closer to him, hissing hoarsely, “From the Central Plains? Your voice sounds familiar.”

“That’s right, from the Central Plains,” Shan Zong repeated. “You look familiar to me too.”

The man seemed agitated, his hands fumbling on the ground as if trying to reach him.

Only then did Shen Rong realize that his eyes were blind, and even his legs were broken. He wasn’t sitting there; he was sprawled there. She had no idea how he had managed to get to this place.

“I know who you are!” His voice was hissing, his streaky white hair knotted in strands. He suddenly grabbed Shan Zong’s robe hem, feeling the silken surface of the brocade garment, and excitedly exclaimed, “Father! It’s you, you’ve come to find me!”

Shen Rong stared at Shan Zong in astonishment. This man had completely white hair, yet he called him “father” right away?

Suddenly, the man sniffed in her direction, muttering hoarsely, “So fragrant...” and abruptly lunged towards her, “Wife! You’re my wife!”

Shen Rong was startled. Shan Zong embraced her and moved sideways, blocking her. The man didn’t touch her.

“Where’s my wife!” He was still searching.

Shen Rong pressed against Shan Zong’s chest and whispered, “So he’s mad.”

Shan Zong looked at the man and hummed: “If he wasn’t mad, he wouldn’t have run here alone, nor would he dare to hum that song.”

The man failed to grab them. His dirty hands clapped repeatedly on the ground, as if in regret or annoyance. Then he stopped moving, as if stunned.

Shen Rong, fearing he might have another fit, kept a close eye on him.

Shan Zong tightened his embrace on her. His arm, hidden within his wide sleeve, wrapped around her waist, firm and strong.

The man suddenly spoke again, his voice even hoarser: “Where was I? Oh, right, from the Central Plains. Someone from the Central Plains has finally come. Who are you?”

He seemed to have completely forgotten about his earlier madness.

Shan Zong said in a deep voice, “A merchant named Chong.”

“Merchant...” The man felt around his body and pulled out a dirty, tattered piece of leather. He trembled as he handed it over: “Then I’ll give you money. You help me send a message back to the Central Plains, just say... just say...”

Shen Rong glanced at the tattered leather. It was so worn out it was unrecognizable, a piece pulled from who knows where. It seemed to have embroidered characters on it, but it was too dirty to see clearly.

Shan Zong actually took it: “What message? To whom?”

“To... just say...” The man was still thinking, as if his mind was muddled. He sat there, dazed, and then started humming the song again: “Old year, new year, how many years have passed in a flash. When will the Central Plains army arrive? Year after year after year...”

Only then did Shen Rong realize this was a folk song that had spread after Jizhou was occupied, circulating for more than a decade. Even she had heard it a few times in Chang’an.

He was probably someone who longed for his homeland to return, driven mad by the chaos of war, his condition fluctuating between lucidity and delusion.

She looked at Shan Zong again. He showed no intention of leaving, still watching the madman.

The next moment, she saw the madman suddenly press his ear to the ground. When he looked up, there was a hint of alarm in his hoarse voice: “Run! You two, run!”

Shan Zong tucked the tattered leather into his bosom, and with an arm around Shen Rong, he pulled her along and walked away.

As Shen Rong was led away by him, the madman sat there, beginning to hum that bold song again: “Old year, new year...”

By the horse, Shan Zong supported Shen Rong’s waist, helping her mount: “Quick.”

Shen Rong stepped into the stirrup and sat on the horseback. He quickly swung himself up behind her, embracing her from behind, and spurred the horse forward.

Dust billowed behind them. The faint sound of horse hooves could be heard, mixed with barbarian shouts and curses, the madman’s cries, and the terrified screams of many people. It must have been barbarian soldiers again.

Shan Zong did not look back, did not even glance back, and galloped straight ahead.

Shen Rong asked from in front of him, “Are they chasing us?” Her voice was instantly swallowed by the pounding hooves of the galloping horse beneath them.

“Don’t worry, we can shake them off,” Shan Zong’s voice was deep, as if it hadn’t yet returned from the deliberate low tone he used when speaking to the madman.

The horse ran too fast. She could only lower her head to avoid the directly oncoming wind. She couldn’t look forward, only backward.

In her peripheral vision, the city wall of Jizhou was receding, as if falling into chaotic dust, gradually disappearing from sight.

Indeed, there were several figures on horseback chasing them in the dust, but they couldn’t keep up.

If it weren’t for these people chasing them, the town and that madman would make one doubt if they were real.

Shan Zong rode on a side path. Although Shen Rong had guided them on the way here, he had already memorized the direction.

As they plunged into a patch of withered forest, the daylight had already dimmed.

“They’re not chasing us anymore?” Shen Rong asked, slightly out of breath.

“Shook them off,” Shan Zong lowered his head and glanced at her. They had been traveling continuously until now, without food or water, yet she hadn’t mentioned a single word.

Even in the official residence, she was meticulously attended to by the Changsun family’s servants.

He didn’t say anything either, but the horse beneath them sped up considerably.

Leaving the withered forest, they had already bypassed the earthen platform where they had previously rendezvoused, and the mountain range ahead was now visible.

Shen Rong recognized it; among the continuous mountain ranges was the part of Mount Wangji outside the pass.

They were now approaching from the opposite direction of where Donglai and the others were, and were almost at the border pass.

Just as her heart relaxed, Shan Zong suddenly reined in the horse sharply.

Shen Rong, thrown back with the horse’s sudden halt, nearly crashed into his chest.

Shan Zong’s arm remained firmly around her, his eyes fixed ahead: “Enemy soldiers.”

She looked forward but only saw a patch of trees.

Shan Zong released her, swung off the horse, and with one hand, pulled out his cloth-wrapped straight saber from beneath the horse’s belly, quickly unwrapping it to reveal the slender scabbard.

He tucked the saber into his waist sash, also tucking in his robe hem to conceal the blade, and told Shen Rong, “Sit sideways.”

Shen Rong looked at him, turned as instructed, and sat sideways.

Shan Zong then deftly mounted the horse, grabbed the reins with one hand, and encircled her: “Remember not to look ahead in a moment.”

Shen Rong hadn’t even spoken when he spurred the horse forward again.

Just past the trees, the sky grew another shade darker. The river winding around the mountain range was now before them—the very river that had swept Shen Rong away.

On the riverbank was a line of about twenty to thirty horsemen, disheveled and pacing, completely blocking their path.

Shan Zong pressed the back of Shen Rong’s neck and whispered, “Hold on tight.”

Shen Rong nestled sideways into his embrace, burying her face in his chest, her heart gradually quickening. She stretched out her arms and tightly embraced his waist.

The horse immediately galloped forward with a furious snort, and confused hooves thundered ahead.

A swift wind swept past her side. Shan Zong drew the saber from his waist and charged straight through.

The next instant, Shen Rong felt something splatter against her neck, a warm sensation. Knowing it was blood, she bit her lip, holding on even tighter, listening to the strong heartbeat in the man’s chest.

The horse charged directly into the river, splashing waist-high water. The river water mixed with blood and fallen corpses.

Shan Zong’s expression remained unchanged. The saber in his hand was held horizontally beside Shen Rong, carving a path directly through.

Behind them, hooves thundered as the pursuers followed.

Shen Rong held Shan Zong’s waist, her heart pounding. Her nostrils were filled with his scent, an unidentifiable smell, now mixed with a hint of blood.

“Backup!” she suddenly heard him shout, his voice vibrating through his chest into her ears.

Shen Rong noticed a group of figures rushing out beside them, the sound of drawn swords echoing, heading behind them.

It was his dozen elite soldiers.

Shan Zong spurred his horse into the mountain forest, galloping along the steep ridge towards the border pass.

Donglai was already prepared atop the border pass, the ropes already secured.

Beside him were Hu Shi-yi and Zhang Wei, leading a squad of fully armored soldiers.

After Shan Zong left the border pass, they would come here at fixed times each day to check the situation, to provide support.

It wasn’t until dusk that they heard faint hoofbeats, followed by two figures running towards them.

“Donglai!” It was Shan Zong’s voice.

“Yes.” Donglai had already developed a tacit understanding with him on this journey, like his personal guard, and immediately dropped the ropes.

As the ropes were thrown down, an elite soldier returned from the mountain range to report, urgently saying, “Chief, we didn’t lose anyone, but another wave has arrived and is coming towards the border pass.”

“Hold them off,” Shan Zong ordered in a deep voice.

The soldier cupped his fist and turned back to intercept.

Shan Zong tucked his saber into his waist, quickly wrapped a rope around Shen Rong, grabbed her hand to make her hold the rope, and squeezed it hard: “Can you go up yourself?”

Shen Rong looked at him, noting he wasn’t wrapping the rope around himself. She asked, panting, “Aren’t you coming up?”

“I’ll cover the rear. You go up as quickly as possible. It’s almost dark, we need to prevent them from mixing into the border pass.”

Shen Rong panted, breath by breath: “Will something happen?”

Shan Zong suddenly curved his lips, cupped her face, making her look at him: “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. I told you, you’re so capable, and you still have to enjoy wealth and glory. You’re worth living well.”

“What about you?” Shen Rong asked unconsciously.

He was the military governor of a prefecture; the internal security and external defense of Youzhou still depended on him.

Shan Zong wrapped the rope around her waist again, nodded, his eyes dark: “I also need to live well. There’s still a lot to do.”

As he spoke, he tugged the rope and waved a hand upwards.

Donglai immediately pulled upwards.

At the same time, several ropes were lowered, and soldiers slid down one after another.

Hu Shi-yi and Zhang Wei, seeing his gesture, dispatched soldiers.

The wind howled. Shen Rong went up, her body swaying as she was buffeted. Looking down, Shan Zong was no longer visible.

Donglai and Hu Shi-yi worked together, their speed swift. Shen Rong’s foot landed on top of the border pass, and she glanced outwards again.

Donglai steadied her: “Young mistress, hurry.”

The traps and defenses were already set. Shen Rong, supported by Donglai, passed through smoothly.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle, impossible to tell from which direction, pierced the air, exceedingly shrill.

Hu Shi-yi behind her drew his saber and cursed, “You all, hurry up! The scouts have warned us, outsiders have infiltrated from elsewhere! Damn it, they’re really trying hard!”

Zhang Wei also drew his saber and hurried with him to mobilize reinforcements.

Shen Rong had heard that sound before; she still remembered it. After that sound, Shan Zong had thrown a saber towards her, then rode his horse across the stream, splashing her with water.

She didn’t know from which side the outsiders had infiltrated. It wasn’t from this pass; the mountain ridge outside had already been moved by her. There were soldiers at the rope points, so they couldn’t get up.

Walking too quickly, her foot tripped on a rock. She steadied herself, then suddenly saw a disheveled figure emerge from the forest ahead and to her left.

Donglai swiftly drew his saber and went over: “Young mistress, go first.”

Shen Rong walked towards Mount Wangji, where mountain-guarding troops were stationed. They were now being continuously mobilized, and figures could be seen moving through the forest ahead.

Even if these people infiltrated, they wouldn’t get out unharmed. It seemed they suspected Shan Zong had obtained some military intelligence and were recklessly trying to intercept him.

Were there too many pursuers? She wondered as she walked, thinking if Shan Zong hadn’t been able to stop them...

Finally, nearly there, Shen Rong had walked too quickly. She leaned against a tree, covering her chest and panting continuously. A figure seemed to be beside her. She turned her head, startled.

A disheveled enemy soldier in barbarian clothes stared grimly at her, seemingly intending to sneak closer and seize her, but was discovered by her and stopped abruptly.

Shen Rong stared at the large saber in his hand, glimpsing figures approaching. She carefully backed away to prevent him from suddenly attacking.

But then, the enemy soldier’s face suddenly showed fear, stepping back step by step, as if startled.

A slender, straight saber was held horizontally beneath the enemy soldier’s neck. With a slice, the opponent fell to the ground, silently dead.

The tall figure of a man emerged from behind.

Shan Zong stood, holding the saber, looking at her, then behind her.

Shen Rong was panting, unconsciously glancing behind her, where a group of figures in chains stood among the trees.

Those heavily shackled convicts from the dungeon, one by one, had appeared behind her at some unknown time. Their shorn hair had grown to mid-length. In the gradually darkening forest, they were like shadows, like ghosts.

This bizarre scene was inexplicably terrifying, no wonder it had caused the enemy soldier to retreat in fear.

“No need to be polite, little beauty,” Wei Shenwu said, shrugging his left eye’s white scar, smiling grimly: “I said I haven’t repaid your life-saving grace yet. Consider that just now a repayment.”

Saying that, he looked behind her, his sinister smile turning into a cold one.

But then, the sound of a whip lashed out behind them.

The soldiers had already rushed over. In the distance, Hu Shi-yi was shouting, “The last one, eliminate them!”

Shen Rong turned around and was grabbed by the wrist.

Shan Zong, holding his saber, led her forward.

His brocade robe was disheveled. He strode quickly, taking only a few steps before pulling her into the shadows of the trees and embracing her with one arm.

Shen Rong crashed into his arms. Only then did she regain her senses, clutching his arm, still panting.

Shan Zong was also breathing heavily. He lowered his head, pressing against her face, his nose against hers, his chest rising and falling: “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Shen Rong felt her lips pressed against his. When she spoke, it was almost a friction, her breathing quickening: “I don’t think so.”

Shan Zong’s arm around her back stroked her once. Feeling no injury, his heart settled. He held her, panting for a long time.