Though unable to rise, the woman still thanked him sincerely, adding with earnest advice:
"You're incredibly brave, a true pillar of Great Qin defending our borders. But next time, don't bear the burden alone. Some tasks are better left to others."
Her words left Zhao Xunan awkward, while the constables chuckled. Still, they jotted down the details and compiled a report before dismantling the thatched hut and its heated kang. From the ashes of the kang pit, over a dozen charred skeletons were unearthed—clearly sacrificed as "fertilizer" for the yin spirit mushrooms.
When asked about rescue methods, the coroner grinned. "Not too hard. Two Taoists cast spells to dispel the evil, returning the mushroom's spiritual energy to her body. The physicians used needles and herbs to strengthen her, and I just stitched her up. Sure, she'll be covered in scars, but she'll live."
Zhao Xunan gave them a thumbs-up. Specialization in one's craft—five millennia of refinement, indeed.
Delayed by the woman's ordeal, Zhao Xunan stayed another night. At dinner, the magistrate hosted a feast, during which he learned her background: the daughter of a prefect, a renowned scholar in the province, and a teacher at a local women's academy. No wonder she spoke with such poise—she was accustomed to instructing others.
Her abduction had sparked a half-year manhunt across several counties, with no leads. Had Zhao Xunan not stumbled upon her, the case would've remained unsolved.
The magistrate's words stirred a thought in Zhao Xunan. "Magistrate Lu," he said, "only a dozen corpses were found in the hut, but dozens more are missing. Could the old Taoist's yin spirit mushrooms be cultivated elsewhere?"
The magistrate and his aides froze. Zhao Xunan continued, "When I met the Taoist, he'd just left his hut. With no place to sleep here, he must've been scouting. There could be more huts hidden in the mountains—we need to search thoroughly."
This prompted the magistrate to dispatch men immediately. By nightfall, word reached the post station: another hut, identical to the first, had been found five li along the ridge. More discoveries followed.
But these held no more relevance to Zhao Xunan. At dawn, Zahua the horse trotted out of the courtyard, heading west along the post road.
The next few days were clear, though chilly. With few travelers on the road, Zahua galloped freely. Within two days, they crossed into Shaha Province. By New Year's Eve, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Zhao Xunan reached the final northwest checkpoint: Guiren Pass.
A military outpost bustling with activity, Guiren Pass was decked in peachwood talismans and red couplets, brimming with New Year's cheer. Zhao Xunan bought a candied hawthorn and watched the crowd—half were conscripts or militiamen, the rest family members of soldiers.
Since West Pass fell, Guiren Pass had become the last line of defense against the grasslands. Yet its walls, no more than two zhang high, left Zhao Xunan sighing. Compared to West Pass's fifteen-zhang behemoth, it was a dwarf.
Alone at an inn, he ate dumplings, a pang of loneliness echoing the year Ping'er had died. I've grown used to this over the years… but rebirth hasn't made it easier.
"Frugality to luxury is easy; luxury to frugality is hard," he muttered, draining a bitter cup of wine before retiring.
The next morning, clad in an expensive meteoric iron cold-forged "pockmarked armor," Zhao Xunan rode Zahua out of Guiren Pass. A sandstorm greeted them, kicking up grit that stung his face—but he grinned, relishing the wild expanse.
Compared to cramped cities, the boundless desert was where a man lived.
By dusk, they rested by a withered sea buckthorn thicket. Zhao Xunan wiped Zahua's sweat with a cloth, estimating they'd traveled a thousand li that day. Five taels for a cart and horse—who'd have thought it a thousand-li steed?
After eating bean paste mixed with eggs and letting Zahua nap, Zhao Xunan roasted flatbreads over the fire, humming to himself.
"Stop hiding—over an hour. What do you want?"
He'd noticed a figure crouched in a gully when they arrived, motionless despite his movements. Not dead—his sharp ears caught a rapid heartbeat.
Initially ignoring them, Zhao Xunan was drawn by the scent of roasted bread. The figure's throat bobbed as they devoured it, saliva dripping loud enough to rouse Zahua.
Zhao Xunan tossed a stone. "Ow!" A yelp echoed as a slender figure scrambled up, snatching a flatbread from the branch and tearing into it.
"Wu… wu…" The bread was dry, and she gagged after two bites. Zhao Xunan gripped her chin, pouring water from his waterskin until she gasped back to life.
Recovering, she grabbed the bread again, devouring it greedily. Clearly starved.
"Slow down—you'll get sick if you eat too fast after fasting." He passed her his waterskin and shared pickled vegetables with salt.
She ate ravenously, tears streaming as she spoke between bites: "Thank you… for saving me."
Her tattered skirt revealed long legs; Zhao Xunan shook his head, handing her a bowl of congee. "Eat your fill, but not too much."
As she ate, he asked, "Escaped from the grasslands?"
"Mm."
"Any home to go to?"
"…No. My parents and brother were killed by grasslanders three years ago. Only I remain." Her tone held no sorrow, just flat resignation.
Zhao Xunan frowned. He couldn't take her to Red Clay Ridge, but leaving her here felt wrong. Troublesome.
"How far from grassland territory?"
"Hundreds of li. How did I get here?" She shook her head. "You're not from the northwest. After the Three Kingdoms warred with Great Qin, most of the province became grassland stomping grounds. We're livestock to them—Guiren Pass is enemy soil!"
Her voice trembled with barely contained emotion. Zhao Xunan clenched his fists—her suffering was worse than he'd imagined. His resolve to retake West Pass hardened.
"What's your name?"
"Malan."
"You speak like a scholar—unlike a commoner."
"My father was the magistrate of Kumish County in Shaha Province. I learned to read as a child." Her head drooped, voice wavering. "But what good did it do?"
"Just making me a 'special' livestock for grassland lords—entertaining their guests with my body, a obedient bitch!"
Clang! Zhao Xunan's bowl shattered in his grip, rice porridge spilling. Fury surged through him; his temples throbbed.
He'd known grassland captives suffered, but this… this was beyond imagination.
After calming himself, he looked at her. "I'm heading to the northwest army, then Red Clay Ridge. Malan—will you come with me?"
Hope flickered in her eyes before dimming. She shook her head. "Grassland tribes hunt me. If I go with you, they'll kill you."
"What did you do?"
She bit her lip, bitter smile. "Killed the son of the grassland prince, Kuerdunwei, who 'enjoyed' torturing servant girls. I watched my sister get gutted—what else could I do?"
Zhao Xunan nodded, drawing Tianji. He pointed to Zahua behind a thicket. "Hide there. Grassland raiders are coming."
Malan tensed, ears pricked. Distant hoofbeats grew louder.
Zhao Xunan raised a hand for silence, then strode into the storm.
"Armored Great Qin border troops—shoot them!" The raider leader, sharp-eyed, spotted Zhao Xunan's gray armor and took him for a lone scout. Arrows flew.
Malan paled—grassland archers were deadly. Dozens of feathered shafts would bury any soldier.
"Scatter!" Zhao Xunan roared, dashing forward. His true qi shattered incoming arrows mid-air.
Leaping high, Tianji blazed golden. "Cut!"
The blade fell like a falling sun, splitting the lead rider and horse into fragments. The explosion carved a crater, flinging debris that pinned raiders to the ground, their screams echoing.