Xuanjia Ghost Light
The Wei River wailed and rushed under the heavy night, its inky waters carrying the blood-soaked mud from its banks, along with the ceaseless hammering and acrid smells from the distant ironworks, flowing heavily eastward. The chilling autumn winds of Qin, like whips dipped in salt water, lashed at Xiao Yuxuan's bare wrists and neck. He pressed himself against the jagged, cold shadows of the riverbank, his figure almost blending into the darkness, only his eyes, sharp as tempered arrowheads, piercing the deep night, fixed on the vast shadow enclosed by towering earthen walls ahead—the Black Stone Fortress Armory. This was the heart of the Legalist state, pumping the endless blades of death to its relentless policy of "agriculture and war."
The air was thick with a suffocating stench. A heavy, pungent smell of charcoal smoke formed the base, mixed with the stench of tanned animal hides, the acrid metallic odor of molten metal, and an indescribable, rancid aroma, like flesh slowly charring under intense heat. This was not the mundane atmosphere of an ordinary workshop, but the foul breath of a behemoth born purely for slaughter, exhaled in the darkness. In the distance came a dull, monotonous, and ceaseless thud—"Thump! Thump! Thump!" Like the heartbeat of a giant beast, or the death knell of war drums, the sound made the cold earth beneath his feet tremble slightly. It was the enormous forging hammer, powered by the Wei River, tirelessly pounding the red-hot iron blanks, twisting and shaping them into spears, swords, and ultimately, blood-soaked forms. Each hammer blow seemed to strike Xiao Yuxuan's heart, reminding him of the broken weapons on the banks of the Wei River and the lives that had vanished with them.
“General Bai,” came a very faint whisper from behind, almost swallowed by the wind. It was Sheng Guo. This veteran, a survivor of the bloody battle of the Wei River, had even deeper, knife-like wrinkles on his face, but his eyes were still like iron cooled after being tempered, filled with an unyielding weariness and vigilance. “It’s three-quarters past Xu hour. The guards have just changed shifts, and the next patrol to the east wall won’t be until half an incense stick’s time. But… the movements of that ‘caravan’ seem a bit off.”
Sheng Guo lowered her voice even further, carrying a hint of barely perceptible doubt. Xiao Yuxuan's heart skipped a beat. The "caravan" Sheng Guo referred to was the unexpected "gift" they had received a few days ago through an extremely secretive channel—a rough leather scroll marking the weakest points of patrols at several outskirts of Black Stone Fortress. At the end, there was only a small black bird mark hastily drawn in vermilion, its wings outstretched as if about to take flight. This mark vaguely matched the secret code mentioned by the "Crown Princess" envoy who claimed to be from the enemy kingdom's inner palace and had delivered a secret message through the old monk in the caravan a few days ago. This black bird was the totem of the enemy kingdom's royal family. Was this sudden "help" a trap? Or another probing move by that woman from the inner palace, traversing the smoke of war? There was no time to think about it further.
Xiao Yuxuan nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping across the scene like molten iron. The earthen walls of Black Stone Fortress rose over three zhang high, their tops topped with jagged, sharpened wooden stakes resembling the jagged fangs of a giant beast. Every few dozen steps, a simple watchtower built of thick logs stood abruptly, like a silent tombstone in the inky darkness. Within the watchtowers, the figures of armored soldiers wielding powerful crossbows could be vaguely seen, frozen like stone sculptures, only their occasionally turned heads reflecting a cold, lifeless metallic gleam in the flickering torchlight atop the walls. Outside the walls, a moat several zhang deep encircled the fortress, its bottom densely packed with wooden spikes soaked in tung oil, their tips gleaming black. The Legalist order and ruthlessness were forged by this cold, merciless defensive fortification and silent killing machine.
"Follow the map, head to the northwest corner! Sheng Guo, you cover the rear, and keep an eye out for the 'Black Bird'." Xiao Yuxuan's voice was deep and resolute. Whether it was a trap or not, he had to witness the evil unfolding within Black Stone Fortress.
"Yes!" Sheng Guo responded, his figure silently disappearing into the deeper darkness.
The three of them moved like ghosts skimming the ground, avoiding the two massive, spiked barricades and brightly lit sentry posts at the main gate, and circled around to the base of a seemingly impenetrable wall in the northwest corner of the fortress. Here, the shadows were deepest, and the damp, cold river wind swirled. The wall, being close to the river, was more mottled and loose than elsewhere due to years of moisture erosion, and a faint earthy, musty smell wafted from it.
Sheng Guo pulled an unassuming short-handled pickaxe from his pocket, handling it with the ease as if it were his own fingers. His movements were swift and precise, using the tip of the pickaxe to lightly pry and chisel at specific locations along the base of the wall. Accompanied by the barely audible sound of crumbling soil, a small piece of plaster, along with the loosened rammed earth beneath, was carefully removed, revealing a narrow hole barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through—a hidden passage they had painstakingly created months ago, exploiting the loose soil and moisture erosion of the area, using a special agent provided by Ji Zhai to slowly erode the rammed earth layer before carefully restoring it. A stronger, almost suffocating mixture of odors suddenly burst forth from the hole—the scorching metallic smell, the stench of sweat, and an overwhelming, pungent stench of blood!
Xiao Yuxuan held his breath and was the first to squeeze in sideways. The scene before him instantly dragged him into a hellish landscape more terrifying than a battlefield.
The vast space was carved into a sinister labyrinth by a crisscrossing network of smoke-belching coal-fired tunnels and low, dilapidated sheds resembling animal cages. In the central area, several enormous furnaces, like the gaping maws of legendary gluttons devouring life, roared with white-hot coals, casting an eerie crimson glow upon everything around them. Molten bronze, hot and golden-red, flowed and solidified slowly within massive clay molds, radiating blinding light and terrifying heat waves that scorched flesh. The air was distorted by the intense heat, and everything within sight trembled.
In this crimson hell dominated by the furnace fire, countless craftsmen moved about, their upper bodies bare except for tattered rags around their waists, their original color indistinguishable. Their backs were hunched, like burdened old horses, their muscles bulging, covered with crisscrossing, layered, purplish-black whip marks, and scattered blackened branding marks from splashing molten iron. Sweat and grime etched deep furrows into their bodies, only to be dried by the furnace fire, forming a layer of grayish-white alkaline crust. Their eyes were mostly empty and numb, their bodies moving only instinctively—adding charcoal, blowing air, using long-handled iron tongs to pick up red-hot iron billets, rushing towards the tireless hammer.
"Thump—!!!"
A massive water-powered forging hammer crashed down with tremendous force, sparks flying like a torrential rain. An old, emaciated craftsman, almost entirely enveloped by the hammer's shadow, was straining with all his might to force a red-hot iron blank into the hammer's grip with heavy iron tongs. At that critical moment, his foot slipped on the oil-soaked mud! He stumbled forward and fell to the ground!
"Ah—!" A short, shrill scream, almost inhuman, was instantly drowned out by the deafening sound of hammering.
Xiao Yuxuan's pupils constricted sharply! He saw the old craftsman's arm, along with the iron ingot he was holding, instantly smashed into a blurry, smoking mixture of flesh and slag by the merciless falling hammer! Hot metal fragments and blood splattered onto the faces and bodies of the surrounding craftsmen, causing a suppressed commotion and a terrified retreat. However, there were no screams, no cries. Only the two craftsmen closest to him, their faces showing a numb sense of shared fate, quickly stepped forward, wrapped the old craftsman's still convulsing body in rags, dragged him away from the hammer, and carelessly tossed him into a corner piled with slag and waste, like discarding a bag of garbage. In that corner, the vague outlines of several curled-up bodies covered with tattered mats could be seen.
A foreman dressed in black leather lamellar armor and a short whip at his waist strode over, not even frowning. He merely glanced with disgust at the rapidly cooling dark red stain and twisted iron slag mixture on the ground, and then sternly berated the several craftsmen standing nearby who were dumbfounded: "Are you standing there doing something stupid?! You unlucky things! Drag them away! Wash them with water! If you miss the quenching time for the 'Moyang' sword blank, I'll skin you alive!" The "Moyang" he mentioned was the new longsword that the Legalist craftsmen were proud of and which was about to be equipped by the elite Iron Eagle Warriors.
The craftsmen, like startled ants, immediately had some frantically bring cold water to wash the ground. The overseer's gaze swept across the entire area with a cold, animalistic scrutiny, finally settling on a young craftsman whose movements were slightly sluggish from overwork. A cruel smile curled at the corner of his lips, and he abruptly drew a short whip from his waist!
With a sharp "crack!" the whip tip, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, lashed the young craftsman's back, tearing his skin and flesh!
"Useless! Haven't you eaten enough? If you're any slower, you won't get any corn porridge tonight either!"
The young craftsman shuddered violently, letting out a muffled groan. His teeth clenched so tightly they bled, but he dared not pause for a moment, pushing the heavy bellows with even greater effort. The overseer snorted with satisfaction, his gaze sweeping over the group of "tools" struggling on the brink of death, as if admiring his masterpiece.
Xiao Yuxuan's nails dug deeply into his palms, a chilling rage shooting from his feet to his head, making his blood boil. The mountains of corpses and seas of blood on the Wei River battlefield seemed to overlap with the living hell before him. General Bai Yu's dying sigh of "stop the war" struck his soul like a heavy hammer. This was the truth beneath the Legalist foundation of "enriching the country and strengthening the army"! Cold weapons, born solely for slaughter, forged from the blood and souls of countless artisans!
He forced himself to look away, his gaze fixed on the depths of the workshop. There lay the area where armor was made. In the firelight, rows of freshly quenched and cooled black armor plates, strung together with thick hemp ropes, hung on wooden racks like dried fish, radiating a chilling luster. This was the Qin army's Xuanjia armor, feared by all nations! Each armor plate gleamed with an ominous light, as if silently sucking the life from its forger. Several emaciated craftsmen, with hands as rough as tree bark, painstakingly strung these armor plates together, one by one, into a suit of armor, using bone needles piercing through tough cow tendons, under the fierce gaze of the overseer. Their fingers were mostly swollen and deformed, covered in cuts and calluses, their movements slow and painful. Xiao Yuxuan even saw a craftsman, picking up a sharp-edged armor plate, cut his palm on the edge, blood instantly gushing out and dripping onto the cold Xuanjia armor. He glanced at it numbly, sucked on the wound with his mouth, and continued to sew, as if the bleeding hand wasn't his own.
"The craftsman's name must be inscribed on the object to verify its authenticity!" A sharp voice rang out not far away. Xiao Yuxuan looked in the direction of the voice and saw a craftsman official dressed in a neat robe and wearing a legal hat, holding a bamboo scroll and a carving knife, giving the final "inscription" to a batch of freshly polished bronze sword blanks. He picked up a gleaming sword and carefully examined a tiny, almost imperceptible engraved character—"Hai"—near the hilt. He nodded in satisfaction and used the carving knife to make a mark next to the corresponding "Hai" character on the bamboo scroll. This was the strict system that the Legalists were so proud of: "The craftsman's name must be inscribed on the object to verify its authenticity; if the work is substandard, the perpetrator will be punished." Every weapon was inscribed with the name of the forger or supervisor, and if any quality problems occurred, the investigation would be thorough and the perpetrators would be severely punished. This was originally a good law to ensure quality, but in Black Stone Fortress, it had become a death knell hanging over the heads of every craftsman, ready to fall at any moment.
"Master Craftsman," a foreman beside him bowed obsequiously, "this batch of sword blanks from the 'Hai' group has been quenched to an excellent degree, with sharp blades. They will surely be awarded by the Captain!"
The foreman stroked his beard with an air of nonchalance, his gaze sweeping over the laboring artisans with a condescending indifference: "Hmm. Tell the head craftsman of the 'Hai' group to produce thirty more 'Moyang' sword blanks within three days, without fail. If the deadline is missed..." He snorted coldly, not finishing his sentence, but the chilling threat made the surrounding overseers involuntarily shrink back.
Xiao Yuxuan's heart sank to the bottom. This tightly controlled system, which utterly alienated people into tools, was like a cold iron cage, harder to break through than any high wall. He had to find evidence! He had to find a corner that could tear open this dark veil and let the outside world see the horrific price paid behind this powerful weaponry!
Using the heavy shadows cast by the workshops and the massive furnace, Xiao Yuxuan moved stealthily like a ghost. Avoiding the patrolling squads of armored soldiers and the hawk-like gazes of the overseers, his target was a relatively isolated area deep within the workshops—a section built of massive stone blocks, guarded by armored soldiers at the entrance—the craftsmen's "dormitory." Calling it a dormitory was an understatement; it was more like a prison. The low stone huts had no windows, only a few small vents, emitting an indescribable stench. Two armored soldiers with halberds stood at the entrance like guardian deities, their faces expressionless.
Xiao Yuxuan patiently lurked in the shadows, like a leopard waiting for its prey. Finally, an old, hunched craftsman, carrying a worn-out earthenware pot, emerged shakily from the stone house, seemingly going to fetch water. Just as he passed by the shadows where Xiao Yuxuan was hiding, Xiao Yuxuan moved with lightning speed, instantly covering his mouth and dragging him into the deeper darkness. The old craftsman's cloudy eyes were filled with extreme terror, his body trembling violently, almost collapsing.
"Don't be afraid! I'm not the supervisor!" Xiao Yuxuan lowered his voice, leaned close to his ear, and spoke urgently with an undeniable force, "I'm from outside! Tell me, who do you hate the most? What message do you want to leave behind?!"
The old craftsman's cloudy eyes were fixed on Xiao Yuxuan, filled with fear and doubt, and finally, a glimmer of almost insane light that had been suppressed by despair for so long. A strange, hoarse sound came from his throat, and his withered fingers gripped Xiao Yuxuan's arm tightly, his nails almost digging into his flesh. He pointed sharply into the depths of the stone house, then laboriously pointed to his own cracked lips, then shook his head desperately, tears welling in his eyes—he was mute!
Xiao Yuxuan understood instantly. He released his grip. The old craftsman didn't cry out, but instead breathed heavily, pointing with a trembling hand to a spot in the corner of the stone house where a pile of tattered straw mats lay. He then made a digging gesture, and finally, with all his might, he used his index finger to scribble three bloody characters on the cold, damp ground—characters he had written by digging his own withered fingernail into the ground:
"Those who kill me will be punished according to the Qin law!"
shocking!
Xiao Yuxuan's heart felt as if it were being clenched by an icy hand. Without further hesitation, he seized the moment when the guards at the door shifted their gaze and, like a cat, slipped into the foul-smelling stone house. Inside, it was dark and filthy. Dozens of emaciated craftsmen huddled on damp straw mats, like lambs to the slaughter, completely unresponsive to Xiao Yuxuan, the intruder, their silence a deathly numbness. He quickly went to the corner the old craftsman had pointed to, parted the musty, tattered straw mat, revealing a cold, hard rammed earth floor beneath. He drew his short dagger and carefully pried along the cracks in the floor tiles.
A loose stone slab was lifted. Below was a shallow pit. There was no gold or silver in the pit, only a few fragments of bamboo slips, their edges worn smooth, clearly from repeated use. They were covered with dense, twisted, and struggling characters written in some kind of dark red, long-dried and solidified ink! Xiao Yuxuan grabbed the bamboo slips and quickly scanned them by the faint light filtering through the vents in the stone house.
The handwriting was clearly written in blood!
"...In the winter of the year Guiwei, seventeen craftsmen from the 'Chou' group, due to the cold weather and insufficient furnace temperature, produced thirty halberds with cracks. They were all whipped a hundred times and froze to death in the snow outside the fort, their bodies never recovered..."
"...In the spring of the year Jia Shen, the head craftsman of the 'Yin' group, 'Shi,' secretly kept half a wheat cake for his young son. He was reported, and the entire group was starved for three days. 'Shi' was torn apart by chariots in front of the fortress..."
"...My wife fell ill, and though we sought medicine, she died. My young son, hungry, stole bean dregs to feed the horses, and was whipped to death by the overseer..."
"...This armor and this sword are both soaked with my blood and tears! The people have suffered under the Qin laws for too long! Hatred! Hatred! Hatred!"
"...If the sun and moon shine brightly, those who see these words in the future will know that Black Stone Fortress is not of this world, but a purgatory! The Qin laws are not for governing the country, but for devouring people!..."
Every word was written in blood, every sentence filled with injustice! At the end of the bamboo slip, there was no signature, only a pattern repeatedly drawn in blood, almost piercing through the bamboo—a simple, ancient-looking broken knife, seemingly suspended in mid-air, ready to fall at any moment! It was the mark of the "suspended knife"!
An indescribable grief and anger, like cold magma, instantly engulfed Xiao Yuxuan. He gripped the blood-stained bamboo slips tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, the edges of the bamboo slips almost piercing his palms. Just then, a rude shout from an armored soldier and a slight commotion suddenly came from the stone house doorway.
"Stop! What are you doing?!"
A slightly aloof female voice with a foreign accent rang out, her tone calm and even: "Please forgive me, sir. I am a maidservant who escorts the new charcoal with the 'Xuantong' merchant caravan. The manager sent me to inquire whether the several herbs for dispelling dampness that the head craftsman of the 'Hai' group ordered the other day still need to be delivered. The manager said that it can be settled together with the charcoal payment."
The Xuan Tong Caravan? Herbs to dispel dampness? Xiao Yuxuan's heart trembled! He abruptly looked up, peering through the narrow vent of the stone house. In the dim light of the doorway, a slender figure, wrapped in a thick gray cloak, stood with her head slightly bowed before the armored soldier. The hood of the cloak was pulled low, obscuring most of her face, revealing only a clean-cut chin. She carried a small wicker basket covered with coarse linen. Just as the armored soldier impatiently waved her away, a gust of river wind blew by, lifting a corner of the cloak. In that fleeting glimpse, Xiao Yuxuan saw beneath the cloak an exquisitely crafted deep purple brocade robe embroidered with intricate black bird patterns in gold thread! That was far beyond the possession of a caravan maid!
It's her! The "Crown Princess" who claimed to be from the enemy's palace, delivering the secret message from the "Black Bird"! She actually appeared in this heavily fortified military stronghold at the heart of Qin territory! Is it a coincidence? Or... has she been secretly following him all along, even using that "patrol map," with her ultimate goal also being the core secret of this Black Stone Fortress? Was that "helping hand" actually a pawn to make him, the "Qin general," a tool to stir up trouble and attract attention?!
The woman seemed to sense Xiao Yuxuan's sharp gaze. Using the movement of sidestepping the armored soldier, she subtly raised her head slightly towards the air vent of the stone house. In the shadow of the hood, Xiao Yuxuan seemed to see a pair of eyes, calm as a deep pool, quickly scan the air vent before falling back down. Her lips seemed to move very slightly, without making a sound, but Xiao Yuxuan, with the keen observation honed on the battlefield, clearly recognized the shape of her lips—
"All the artisans in the land suffer from the Qin laws."
Eight words, like eight cold needles, pierced Xiao Yuxuan's mind. She saw it! She saw the hellish scene within this stone house, and she saw the blood-written letter in his hand! She crossed the chasm of national and personal hatred, and at this moment, in the depths of this human hell, she conveyed to him a clear and shocking signal: Under this merciless war machine, the artisans of the enemy state and the artisans of Qin suffered the same blood, tears, and hardships! The harshness of Qin's laws brought suffering to all under heaven!
In that instant, the raging anger and sorrow churning within Xiao Yuxuan's chest seemed to be infused with an extremely complex torrent. It was astonishment, vigilance, and an indescribable tremor. General Bai Yu's benevolence, the struggles of the Mohist Ji Zhai, Xuan Weizi's Dao of Heaven, Gu Yan's sinister ambitions… all the fragments of "stopping the war" seemed to collide and surge within the cold, heavy blood-written bamboo slip in his hand, within the eight silent words uttered by this mysterious woman from the enemy state!
The armored guards at the gate clearly had no interest in the "caravan maid's" questions and rudely drove her away. The figure in the deep purple robe and gray cloak quickly disappeared into the intricate shadows of the workers' quarters.
Xiao Yuxuan no longer hesitated. He carefully concealed the blood-stained bamboo slips close to his body, as if protecting a blazing ember, a flame powerful enough to burn down some iron curtain. He glanced one last time at the craftsmen in the stone house, their figures blurred in the dim light, only the omnipresent clanging of metal and the roar of the furnace continuing to relentlessly crush everything. He took a deep breath; the air, thick with the stench of blood, rust, and despair, almost suffocated him. He silently retreated from the stone house, following the shadow he had come from, and crept towards the hidden hole in the wall.
The initial mission of reconnaissance had been replaced by a heavier, more urgent task. The bamboo slips in his hands were not only evidence of the Legalist officials' crimes, but also clues to the mysterious "hanging sword." The gaze cast across the smoke of war by the enemy crown princess was like a faint yet undeniable ray of light in the darkness, abruptly extending his path to "stopping the war" into an even more unpredictable and enigmatic distance.
The massive shadow of Blackstone Fortress still loomed behind him, like a lurking beast. The bamboo scroll in his hand, however, seemed to come alive, heavy and burning hot. Xiao Yuxuan's figure disappeared into the darkness outside the wall hole, leaving only the ceaseless sound of the forging hammer within the armory, still striking the blood- and fire-soaked earth with a relentless "thump! thump! thump!", striking the faint, elusive light of "truth" and "possibility" in the long, cold night.
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