"I knew it—you'd have your reasons for choosing the northwest frontier," Feng Pingbo said, slapping Zhao Xunan's arm forcefully. The midnight hour made him pause, though; he clamped his mouth shut, then continued in a lower voice: "The grasslands have held West Pass for fifty years. They guard it like their own flesh. Good opportunities don't just fall into one's lap."
His words carried weight—Feng Pingbo wasn't just any general. As former Grand Marshal of TianCe Pavilion, he'd spent decades fixated on West Pass. He'd even led armies to scout it, clashing with the Grassland Court for a year and pushing within striking distance. But the pass, built by ancient hands, stood unyielding. Tens of thousands of casualties later, they'd been repelled, only to be encircled by fresh Grassland reinforcements. Without the 300,000 elite guards of the Left and Right Thousand Ox Guard, the northwest army would've been annihilated.
West Pass was a fortress, a iron bucket. Cracking it seemed impossible.
"The general's right—opportunities aren't found. They're made," Zhao Xunan said, popping a pickled soybean into his mouth with a smile.
Feng Pingbo pondered, then nodded. "If I'd met you ten years ago… Great Qin wouldn't be in this sorry state."
"Ten years ago, I was seven. What could I have done? Helped you take back West Pass?"
"Who cares if it worked? A prodigy like you—maybe you'd have shaken the grasslands with a wave of your spear!"
Feng Pingbo's words slurred with wine. Zhao Xunan winced; "martial fool" fit him perfectly.
Past the heavy talk, the two drank and chatted wildly under the moonlit sky. Zhao Xunan raised his cup to the northwest, a faint smile on his face.
West Pass wasn't his only goal. His martial essence awaited there, as did the Eighteen Fateful Encounters.
"Ha!" He slammed his wine cup—shattered, egg-sized—against the tower rail. A sudden burst of laughter erupted.
The sound roused the academy's students and instructors below. Curious, they craned their necks.
"Master's reciting poetry!" someone whispered.
Zhao Xunan, half-drunk, slurred the lines:
"To wine I sing, life's but a span—
Morning dew fades, days slip like sand.
Grief weighs heavy, yet I must sing—
What eases sorrow? White Lamb's sting.
Green robes, lingering, my heart does cling…"
His voice, raw and unrestrained, silenced the crowd.
A figure appeared atop the tower, bowing. "Master, the Grand Preceptor asks—does this quatrain have a title?"
Zhao Xunan squinted at the speaker: Non-Tu, the sixth-realm Qi Refiner he'd sparred with. He clapped the man's shoulder. "Short Song of the River—how's that? Does it capture the mood?"
Non-Tu nodded eagerly. "It's… invigorating. Though I'm no poet, Master, you've captured something wild!"
The two drunkards, oblivious, continued their antics. Zhao Xunan, now stripped to his waist, urinated loudly off the tower. Feng Pingbo, equally inebriated, laughed and mimicked him.
Below, hundreds of students and instructors gaped. Non-Tu clapped, muttering, "The master's a true immortal—unrestrained, bold!"
By dawn, Zhao Xunan woke with a hangover, face flushing. He avoided greetings, avoiding eye contact.
Feng Pingbo, similarly red-faced, met him halfway. They sighed in unison: "Last night… we made fools of ourselves."
In the side hall, the Grand Preceptor, Pu Yangyan, Wen Qi, and Nong Li awaited, chuckling. "Enjoyable night?" the Grand Preceptor asked, slamming the table. "A mountain head and a department head, pissing off a tower at midnight—do you have any sense of propriety?!"
The two trembled, kowtowing. "We'll behave, we swear!"
The Grand Preceptor glared. "If you crave attention, I'll gather the entire academy to watch. Perform for them—go on!"
"…"
After an hour of scolding, the elders relented. Zhao Xunan and Feng Pingbo slumped into seats, sweating.
"Your poetry's legendary, Master," the Grand Preceptor said, softening. "'Flying waterfalls three thousand feet'—quite the image. But what's the full title?"
Zhao Xunan grinned sheepishly. "It's called Watching the Wild Mountain Waterfall. Wrote it during a hike last year."
The elders nodded, impressed. Nong Li sighed. "Poetry's reached its peak with you. Even a 'pissing poem' is a masterpiece. How can scholars compete?"
Zhao Xunan chuckled nervously. Was that praise… or mockery?
After the scolding, they relaxed. Zhao Xunan poured tea for the elders, saying, "I leave for the northwest tomorrow. The academy's in good hands with you all."
His gaze shifted to Zhao Ping'er, lingering. "I worry about Ping'er. We've never been apart. Please look after her."
The Grand Preceptor waved him off. "Relax—she's a fourth-realm Qi Refiner. Who'd bully her? Plus, she's bright and pretty. Any unmarried man here'd burn to marry her. She'd bring you luck, your cultivation, and your legacy. Who'd refuse that?"
Zhao Xunan frowned. "Ping'er's family. We've been together since we were kids. My parents treated her like their own. She's my sister—my only family. Marrying her off as a concubine? That'd be cruel."
He paused. "When I turn twenty, I'll free her from servitude. If she marries, she'll do so as a proper bride."
The elders nodded, understanding. They'd assumed he saw her as a consort—never as family.
"Actually, freeing her's not just about duty," Zhao Xunan admitted. "There's a karmic bond. I can't leave it hanging."
Nong Li nodded. "Understood. You care for her deeply."
Zhao Xunan hesitated, then added, "I've been divining lately. The court's fortunes are grim. Ten readings, all bad. Especially the civil exams—something's wrong. I need to warn them."
Feng Pingbo grinned, holding out his hand. "Let me read your palm—how long till you die?"
Zhao Xunan rolled his eyes. "You're a thousand-year-old tree sprouting new branches. You'll outlive all of us!"
Laughter filled the room. Zhao Xunan sighed—some truths were too dangerous to speak.
At dawn, Zhao Xunan mounted his horse, leading his mixed-breed steed. Zhao Ping'er clung to him, tears in her eyes. They'd never been apart for so long.
"Take care of the academy," Zhao Xunan said, patting her hand. To Xiao Nuo'er and the Li brothers: "Watch over your masters. Don't slack in your cultivation. When I return, Xiao Nuo'er—you'll reach the second realm. You two—step onto the path of immortality."
The world was changing. To fall behind was to perish.
The Li brothers and Xiao Nuo'er bowed. Zhao Xunan spurred his horse, riding into the snow-laden north.
In the imperial court, the Emperor frowned. "West Pass? Zhao Xunan's eyeing West Pass?"
Left Chief Secretary Hu Huai'min and War Minister Zhou Chengzhi bowed. "General Feng mentioned it. Master Zhao's ambitions… they're alarming."
"Why didn't you report this earlier?"
Hu Huai'min exchanged a glance with Zhou Chengzhi. "We doubted him. One man against the pass? Impossible."
"But General Feng insisted—demanded the title 'General of the Center' for Master Zhao. Insisted he's fit to lead the northwest. Said the pass's commander is just a general—unworthy of Master Zhao's rank."
The Emperor leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Zhao Xunan's a scholar—a second-rank official. Leading an army? The court's reputation would suffer."
Zhou Chengzhi sighed. "General Feng argued: 'The Martial Arts Academy's head holds a second-rank civilian post and oversees the National Academy. Demoting him to a seventh-rank military officer insults both scholars and soldiers!'"
The Emperor paused. Zhao Xunan's name had spread far. His books on governance and warfare were legendary—"Scholarly Leader, Martial Saint" wasn't an exaggeration. Promoting him to a minor post would've caused outrage.
"West Pass's fall has bled Great Qin for fifty years," the Emperor said, voice softening. "If Zhao Xunan can take it back and reactivate the Protective Great Formation… that'd be a feat to rival 'Sealing the Wolf's Lair.' A king's title wouldn't be too much."
"Order the northwest army to assist him. I'll stake the empire's fortune on this!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Hu Huai'min and Zhou Chengzhi bowed, eyes blazing. For the first time in decades, Great Qin dared to dream of reclaiming its glory.
Meanwhile, Zhao Xunan rode north, snow blanketing the land. The New Year loomed, but his heart was light.
Somewhere ahead lay West Pass—and his destiny.