Western Shadow
The north wind, sharp as a knife, swept across Longshou Plain, brutally crushing the stench of last night's fierce battle into the swirling snowflakes. Anji Camp awoke with a vengeance, wracked with excruciating pain. Silent laborers, their backs hunched, gathered the remains of their comrades from the frozen, scorched earth. As shovels turned the frozen soil, soaked to the blood of the Blood Wolf King's puppet, the clods revealed eerie, bluish-black ice crystals that refracted an ominous glow in the pale morning light.
Xuanweizi crouched down, his snow-white whisk gently sweeping across a patch of ice crystals. He then took out a silver needle as thin as a cow's hair and carefully inserted it. The moment the needle tip touched the ice crystal, it was instantly covered with a layer of lifeless gray, losing all its luster.
"The evil poison has seeped into the very fabric of the earth." The old Taoist's voice was deep and heavy, like a heavy cloud pressing down. He twirled the gray needle tip between his fingertips, his face so solemn it seemed to drip with water. "If the spring plowing begins, the poison will grow silently with the wheat seedlings, eventually entering the throats and intestines of the common people, gnawing at their bones and rotting their hearts. Its calamity... will be worse than that of war!"
Not far away, Ji Zhai, along with several core disciples of the Mohist school, was busy at the mountain-like remains of the Blood Wolf King puppet, braving the biting wind. Cold iron tools pried open the hard, twisted alloy shell, revealing a complex web of springs and pipes inside. The Mohist master, his fingertips drenched in a drop of viscous black oil seeping from the broken joints, used the snow beneath him to sketch the internal structure of this bizarre creation. His brow furrowed deeper: “Normally, the key points of a mechanism require high-quality copper oil for lubrication to ensure smooth operation. This thing, however…” He rubbed two fingers together, and the viscous black oil seemed to possess a faint life, wriggling slightly beneath his fingertips, emitting a sweet, foul stench mixed with rotting flesh and inferior grease, “…a venomous concoction made from corpse oil! Truly insidious!”
"Ugh—" A-Tu, who had been enduring discomfort while observing and learning from the sidelines, suddenly covered his mouth and rushed to the side to dry heave. During the battle last night, a few drops of splattered wolf blood had accidentally entered his mouth, and now the cold, rusty taste mixed with the image of the "Gu worm nectar" before him was churning in his stomach.
"Master Ji! Look at this!" A disciple struggled to pull half of a twisted and broken bronze component from deep within Wang Kui's chest cavity. At the end of the component, a clear wolf head emblem with a wild and untamed aura was clearly visible—it was the unique mark of the Northern Rong Royal Court's Crafts Bureau!
Ji Zhai's pupils suddenly contracted to needle size! The cold bronze emblem gripped his hand, and the image of Fan Xin raising the Commander's Order and revealing his identity as the Commander of the Rift Formation last night instantly overlapped with the wolf-head emblem before him. The surging undercurrents splitting within the suspended blade collided violently with the rumbling war machine of the Northern Rong! An unprecedented chill crept up his spine.
---
Hexi Governor's Office - Temporary Military Tent
The charcoal brazier inside the tent crackled and popped, yet it couldn't dispel the bone-chilling cold. Xiao Yuxuan's shoulders were wrapped in rough hemp cloth, the bitter scent of herbs mingling with the heavy stench of blood filling the air. Around the old wounds from last night's fierce battle, dark red bloodstains seeped even wider into the hemp cloth, like ominous ink plum blossoms. On the desk, two drastically different urgent reports pierced his vision like two cold daggers.
One document was a "Restriction on Land Reclamation Order" delivered by a Black-Clad Guard on horseback before Yan Yang left. The words, outlined in vermilion, exuded an undeniable ruthlessness: "The land of Longshouyuan, the Ghost Plain, has been tainted by the filthy blood of evil beasts and has become an extremely poisonous and desolate area... Cultivation is hereby permanently prohibited! Violators will be punished for disrupting the earth's veins and harming the people! Their land will be confiscated, and they will be exiled three thousand miles away!" The cold official seal was stamped at the end, like a heavy tombstone.
The other was a secret report sent by Gu Yan's trusted henchmen at great risk; it contained only eight characters, their ink as hot as burning charcoal, penetrating the paper:
Rong merchants enter the Western Regions, their wolf armor replaced with new bones.
Xiao Yuxuan's bloodshot eyes were fixed on the five words "Wolf Armor Replaced with New Bones." Last night, when that thunderous spear pierced through the Blood Wolf King Puppet's hard skull, the sound wasn't the usual crisp cracking of shattering mechanisms, but an unusually dull, resilient, thud like tearing tanned leather. Now, the answer to this strange sound was finally found—the Northern Rong had provided a tough alloy far surpassing the iron-smelting standards of the Central Plains, forging an even more ferocious skeleton for these bloodthirsty mechanical beasts!
"Father..." A weak yet stubborn cry came from the corner of the military tent. Xiao Dingbian lay on a simple straw mat, his left leg wrapped in thick strips of cloth soaked in medicinal juice, his face as pale as paper. Last night, while protecting several terrified children in the school, he was viciously struck by the claws of a dying wolf puppet. Although his bones weren't broken on the spot, the tendons and veins had been corroded by the eerie black energy. After a careful examination, Xuanweizi left a stern warning: "Within three months, this leg must not be subjected to any exertion, otherwise the evil energy will penetrate to the marrow, and even a god cannot save you!"
The boy's stubborn gaze passed over the low table, locking onto the heavy, blood-stained spear on his father's desk. The dark red blood clots on the spearhead resembled the embers of last night's fierce battle. "The Northern Rong... are they coming soon?" His voice was soft, yet it struck Xiao Yuxuan's heart like a hammer blow.
Xiao Yuxuan did not answer immediately. He leaned on the table and stood up, his tall figure casting a silent silhouette against the curtain wall. He walked to his son's bedside, his gaze falling on the ceremonial sword that Xiao Dingbian had casually placed beside his pillow. The unsharpened blade reflected the faint light of the charcoal fire, and also reflected the resentment and anxiety churning in the boy's eyes.
"You think it's useless?" Xiao Yuxuan's voice was low and hoarse as he reached for the ceremonial sword. It felt cold and heavy in his hand. Suddenly, he flipped his wrist, turning the sword upside down, and slammed the leather-covered hilt heavily against the thick elm pillar supporting the military tent!
Thump!
A muffled thud echoed within the tent. To Xiao Dingbian's astonishment, a hidden compartment deftly popped open at the bottom of the seemingly seamless sword hilt, revealing the hollow inner lining—filled with Xuanweizi's specially made antidote powder, emitting a bitter medicinal fragrance!
“It was Ji Zhai who modified it.” Xiao Yuxuan’s voice was calm and even. He closed the ingenious hidden compartment with steady and powerful movements. “The sword is not sharpened, not because it is incapable, but because killing is not its true purpose.” He gently placed the sword back beside his son’s pillow, his gaze as deep as a pool. “However, the way to survive, the path to protect the people…” He paused, each word carrying immense weight, “The weapon in hand, the thought in heart, must all possess a weight of a thousand pounds!”
---
Jincheng Tax Bureau Secret Room
The heavy felt blankets blocked out all outside sounds, leaving only the flickering candlelight, which cast a half-light, half-shadow on Yan Yang's pale, gaunt face, making him look like a ghost crawling out of a tomb. His long, withered fingers slowly traced the map of the Western Regions spread out on the huge rosewood table, his fingertips finally stopping precisely on the Jade Gate Pass, which symbolized the western gateway of the empire.
A black-clad guard commander, dressed in a tight-fitting black outfit and exuding a chilling aura, knelt on one knee, his voice extremely low: "My lord, the gold ingots that the border officials accepted as bribes from Rong merchants have been intercepted. Through secret examination, the hidden markings on the inner layer of the gold ingots... are undoubtedly the mark of the Northern Rong Royal Court's Crafts Bureau!"
"Fool!" Yan Yang spat out the two words through gritted teeth, his icy tone dimming the candlelight. His gaunt figure, cast by the candlelight onto the wall painted with landscapes, twisted into a vulture poised to devour its prey. "To move against that border official now would be like sounding the alarm to the Northern Rong, letting them know that the court is fully aware of their schemes. To stir up trouble and alert the enemy would be utterly foolish!" A cold glint flashed in his narrow eyes, a cruel calculation flickering across them.
He stopped looking at the commander and instead pulled a blank "Grain Requisition Order" that had been prepared beforehand from the desk, casually throwing it in front of the kneeling commander as if discarding a piece of rotten flesh. "Go to Longshou Plain. Xiao Yuxuan of Anji Camp disregarded the prohibition and illegally cultivated poisonous soil, defying the national law. His actions have seriously endangered the fundamental livelihood of the people in Hexi. According to the law... confiscate 30% of his troops' grain rations for this autumn in Hexi, as a warning to others!" The corners of his mouth slowly turned upward, forming a rigid and cold arc, his nasolabial folds as deep as if carved by a knife. "Remember, starving people often know better than the iron cavalry of the barbarians... how to demolish houses and destroy beams."
---
Didao Rift Formation Sect Spy
In the secluded small room, the fire burned brightly, illuminating Fan Xin's round but unusually weary face. His rough fingers repeatedly stroked the dark, neither-gold nor-wood, rectangular token; in the flickering firelight, countless fine, hair-like, blood-red lines seemed to flow faintly within its surface. Gu Yan, carrying the stench of the frontier winds and the pungent smell of horse mane, pushed open the door and entered, his cloak still stained with unmelted snowflakes.
"What the Rong people gave us was far more than just harder bones." Gu Yan's voice was hoarse from his long journey. He unfastened his cloak and carefully took out a palm-sized, rough-edged, black iron piece covered with a few withered grass blades from his inner pocket. "They're trying to inject something even more insidious directly into the joints and vital organs of these steel beasts!" He brought the iron piece close to the fire. The dense, twisted Rong script incantations etched on the inside were clearly visible in the firelight, and at the core of all the incantations was a blood-dripping, ferocious wolf head pattern!
Fan Xin's breath hitched, followed by a violent, heart-wrenching cough. He abruptly covered his mouth, but thick, black blood seeped uncontrollably from between his fingers—last night, when he raised the Juzi token to intimidate the Black-Clad Guards, a splatter of sharp, flying wolf-puppet bone fragments had silently sliced his wrist. The wound, though small, was now faintly black.
"The contract between the Beast Head Faction and the Northern Rong..." Gu Yan's voice was lowered even further, almost a whisper, each word carrying a chilling coldness, "...to test poison on living people! To use captured artisans from Hexi...to test the witchcraft injected into the joints of these mechanical beasts! Scarface wanted the ultimate power of mechanical sorcery, while the Northern Rong wanted...a poison army that could kill without leaving a trace!"
The fire in the stove suddenly crackled and popped, and flames shot up more than a foot high.
Fan Xin stared intently at the ominous black aura around his wrist, then suddenly looked at the iron plate engraved with incantations in the furnace fire, his eyes churning with turbulent emotions. Suddenly, he made a move that even Gu Yan hadn't expected—he slammed the heavy, cold Juzi token, symbolizing the supreme authority of the Rift Array Sect, into the blazing embers!
laugh--!
The Juzi Token plunged into the crimson charcoal, but instead of melting, it emitted a sharp, piercing shriek, as if the metal were being twisted to an extreme degree! Under the scorching heat of the flames, countless fine, spiderweb-like, crisscrossing crimson-gold metallic veins suddenly appeared on the dark token's surface, rapidly protruding and moving like living things! Finally, all the veins converged at the top of the Juzi Token, forming an extremely subtle and profound star array! The starlight flickered uncertainly in the firelight, carrying an ancient and sorrowful warning.
"The prophecy of the Ancestor of the Hanging Blade... it really is true..." Fan Xin's voice trembled as if in a dream, staring intently at the star map that appeared in the flames, his face as pale as gold paper. "'When the blood-red patterns of the Ju Zi Ling appear, all the ingenious machines in the world will fall into the Shura realm'... When the Ju Zi Ling is tainted with evil and displays a blood-red star map... it is a terrible omen that all the mechanical creations in the world will fall into the path of slaughter and become weapons of Shura!"
---
Longshouyuan · Midnight
A sharp pain emanating from deep within his left leg, like countless red-hot steel needles stabbing wildly into his tendons and marrow, abruptly jolted Xiao Dingbian awake from his deep sleep. Cold sweat instantly soaked through his thin undergarment. Gritting his teeth, he looked down in the faint snowlight filtering through the tent and saw several thick, black wisps, as thick as earthworms, slowly writhing and moving beneath the skin of his injured leg, which was wrapped in bandages! Each writhing brought excruciating, searing pain.
He suddenly remembered his father's words and the ceremonial sword. Suppressing the almost unbearable pain, he grabbed the cold sword from beside his pillow, reversed the hilt, and with the hard leather-covered end aimed at the spot beneath his skin where the black energy was most intense, slammed it down hard!
puff!
A muffled thud. A stream of black blood, pungent and foul-smelling, gushed from the pores of the wound, splattering onto the cold straw mat. At the same time, a wisp of white smoke, carrying a bitter medicinal fragrance, hissed from the powder emanating from the hidden compartment of the sword hilt, swirling around the gushing black blood, clashing fiercely like fire and water meeting.
The boy was breathing heavily, his chest heaving like a broken bellows, and large beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead. He leaned on the hilt of his sword, struggling to look out through the gap in the tent flap.
The wind and snow had not yet ceased. Flickering firelight cast swaying shadows on the tent. Father Xiao Yuxuan, his towering figure like a mountain, personally directed the men as they threw the mountain of wolf puppet remains into the massive fire. Flames soared into the sky, twisted black smoke billowing, attempting to devour everything. The leaping flames reflected on Father's sharply defined profile; the old, menacing scar running diagonally from his brow bone to his jaw, like a crimson centipede, appeared even more resolute in the firelight, yet also carried an indescribable desolation.
The gaze passed beyond the flames burning the evil creatures, landing on the distant ruins of the school, standing silently in the snow. A familiar figure was vigorously swinging a hammer. It was Chen Zhong! He was nailing a heavy wooden plaque, freshly carved and still bearing the marks of the wood, to the earthen wall of the school, a corner of which had been knocked down by the wolf puppet, yet it still stubbornly stood firm. On the plaque, several large characters branded with a red-hot iron bar were clearly visible in the snowy night:
Border Residents Self-Defense Battalion
Beneath the sign, figures moved about. The able-bodied young migrants who had registered during the day in response to the "Three Amnesties" were spontaneously gathering there. They had no decent weapons; some clutched hoes and pickaxes used for clearing land, their blades already chipped and worn; some carried heavy sand trays used for practicing calligraphy in school; and some had simply picked up two handy stones, clutching them tightly in their palms. Silence reigned, yet a suppressed, pent-up energy was gathering silently.
Just then, a small, cool hand gently touched Xiao Dingbian's hand, which was tightly gripping the hilt of his sword. He looked down and saw the orphan from the daytime chaos, the one whom Daoist Xuanweizi had rescued from the jaws of wolves, whose parents had both died of plague. The child stood on tiptoe, struggling to hand him a relatively clean strip of cloth that he had found somewhere, and clumsily tried to tie it around Xiao Dingbian's injured leg, which was trembling slightly from the pain.
“Brother,” the child looked up, his dirty little face gleaming in the darkness, his large eyes shining brightly. He pointed his little finger, red from the cold, at the raging fire in the distance that was burning the evil puppets and illuminating the night sky. “When I… when I learn the skills from the ‘Records of Gongzheng’ that Master Ji taught me… I’ll build… build a furnace even bigger than that one!” He tried to straighten his thin chest, his voice filled with the stubbornness unique to children, “and burn those bad wolves… to ashes! Not a single bone fragment will be left!”
Xiao Ding looked at the flickering firelight in the child's eyes, then looked down at the ceremonial sword he was clutching tightly—the one that had saved his life. He felt the cool touch of the hilt in his palm, and heard the faint vibrations of the medicinal powder within, still battling the toxin in his leg. A complex mix of pain, warmth, and an even heavier sense of responsibility welled up inside him.
Just then, the night wind carried my father's hoarse yet metallic voice, piercing through the snow, clearly into the tent. Each word was like a dull knife scraping against frozen earth, heavy and resolute:
"Dig a trench—three zhang deep!"
"Draw water from the Wei River—fill it to the brim!"
"Build a wall to protect life on this poisonous soil!"
The wind and snow suddenly became even more violent, howling as they swept across the scorched Dragon Head Plain, as if countless battle spirits were responding to the call to survive.
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