Staring at the straightforward, burly man before him, Zhao Xunan's Tianji glowed faintly, then flickered out. With a final kick to the man's backside, he grumbled:
"Get lost. If you ever cross my path again, I won't hold back."
"...Just let me go like this?" Uncle Bo, blood still dripping from his face, asked, startled.
Zhao Xunan snorted, laughing despite himself. "What, do you think I need a palanquin to send you off?" He flicked a hand in dismissal.
Uncle Bo scrambled to his feet, mounted his horse, and rode off while downing a handful of healing pills. "You're a real man, Lord Zhao!" he called over his shoulder. "Next time we fight, I'll go easy on you!"
Watching his retreating figure, Zhao Xunan chuckled. He's not stupid—just too straightforward. Since he'd come to the northwest, battles would only grow fiercer. I hope he's smart enough to stay out of trouble. Losing such an interesting fellow would be a shame.
By then, Ma Lan had ridden close, holding a water-soaked cloth. Her face was filled with unhidden admiration. Zhao Xunan took it, wiping blood from his face and hands, then asked thoughtfully: "Want to learn martial arts?"
"Yes. In this chaotic world, strength keeps you from being trampled."
Ma Lan nodded, her smile bitter. "But I'm too old. It's too late."
"Late? I started practicing martial arts and cultivation in the first year of the Kaiyuan era—hardly early. Yet here I am."
Ma Lan's eyes widened. Her master, whom she'd always seen as a peerless warrior, had only begun his path two years ago?
They mounted their horses and headed toward Yinshan Garrison. Zhao Xunan glanced at the shadowy figures in the distance, chuckling. "Want to learn? Then endure hardship, grit your teeth, and bear pain. The martial path? It's just the beginning."
Ma Lan nodded fiercely.
Five li from Yinshan Garrison, a unit of chainmail-clad light cavalry approached at a gallop. Since they were within twenty li of West Pass, the garrison's officers, having heard of the earlier battle, recognized Zhao Xunan at once.
General Dong Haodong, commander of Yinshan Garrison, personally led the welcome party. He was ninety-nine percent certain this was the renowned "Mr. Shanhe"—Zhao Xunan. Though he'd been appointed as Zhao's deputy, Dong was a marginal figure compared to the scholar-official, who held a Senior Second Rank and mingled with court elites. A recent imperial decree had made it clear: Dong was out of scope. Better to know my place.
"Lord Zhao Xunan!" Dong called, bowing deeply ten zhang away. "I failed to welcome you properly—please forgive me!"
Behind Zhao, the officers gaped. Since when does a deputy general address a new lieutenant general as "Lord"?
Zhao Xunan forced a smile, about to return the bow, when Dong rushed forward, voice brimming with feeling: "The sight of you at the city walls was inspiring—only someone like you could do such a thing. We're all in awe!"
"From now on, the safety of the northwest frontier rests on you, Lord Zhao!"
The flattery felt forced. Zhao Xunan knew Dong's reputation: a shrewd, politically savvy commander. He's buttering me up. Why?
They reached the city. Compared to the massive, gray-stone West Pass, Jiaojiao City was unimpressive—earthen walls barely ten zhang high, patched with fresh mud, stained brown by old blood, reeking of iron and decay.
Inside, the ragged soldiers in cracked armor lined the walls, their faces gray with exhaustion. Zhao Xunan's expression turned grave. "General Dong… you and your men have suffered."
Dong's smile faded. "The real sufferers are the people of the northwest. We soldiers… we let them down."
Jiaojiao City was young, built just five years prior during the New Emperor's reign. When the Three Kingdoms had invaded, Jiaojiao Pass had fallen nine times in three months. After years of restraint, the Great Qin court had struck back on the Night of the Exchange.
Sixty thousand soldiers from two frontier garrisons had advanced to West Pass; 130,000 from the Left and Right Guard Divisions had swept the northwest, slaying 50,000 warriors and capturing 200,000 civilians. Fifty thousand laborers from neighboring provinces, under arrow fire, had built Jiaojiao City in a month. Eighty thousand elite soldiers and 150,000 laborers had died to secure it.
This victory had stabilized the court, making it the most celebrated achievement in recent memory—though rarely mentioned in teahouses, lest it invite envy.
At the welcome banquet, Dong Haodong insisted Zhao Xunan sit at the head. They spoke in hushed tones of West Pass's secrets. "I need time to assess the enemy," Zhao said. "But I have my ways."
Dong nodded. The court had invested heavily in summoning him—there must be a greater plan. As a deputy, he'd follow orders. The fewer who know, the better.
"Should I announce your status to the men?" Dong asked. "They're staring at you funny."
Zhao smiled. "I'm just a new lieutenant general from Yinshan."
If Dong hadn't told him, Zhao wouldn't have known the court had granted him such authority. They really want me to take West Pass back.
Dong laughed, though his eyes were sharp. These fools want to test you. But you're a Qi Refiner who's transcended mortality—what can a bunch of upper-ninth-rank martial artists do?
Before he could voice this, a drunken officer staggered over, holding a wine bowl. "Lieutenant General Zhao—your skill is legendary!" He slurred. "Let's drink to your might!"
Dong spewed wine across the table. Helian Yi—this snake! He knew the man's tricks.
Zhao rose, holding his own bowl. "Let's drink."
Helian Yi's eyes narrowed. With a hidden flick of his wrist, his bowl slammed into Zhao's.
Clang! Helian Yi's crude pottery bowl shattered. Zhao's bowl, untouched, held every drop of wine.
Zhao straightened, downed his wine, and grinned at the wine-splattered Dong. "Uncle Dong—care to explain?"
"Me? I didn't do it!" Dong wiped his face, laughing. "You did it on purpose—payback for stealing my concubine that day!"
Helian Yi paled. Damn it—he remembers!
Dong laughed, pointing at Helian Yi. "This fool wanted to challenge you. Let him. If he can take you, the lieutenant general title is his!"
The hall erupted. Officers whispered: A lieutenant general? For defeating twenty enemy riders? That's a grand master's feat!
Only a dozen in Yinshan Garrison were grand masters. If Zhao could defeat one so easily…
"Enough talk!" Dong snatched a chicken leg, tossing it to Zhao. "Prove it in the training field. The first to beat you gets the title—and a month at Dragon City Brothel!"
Hundreds surged out, eager for a chance.
Left Marshal Gongyang Junhe, munching peanuts, muttered: "This is a trap. You're pushing us into the fire."
Dong grabbed his ear. "You think you're clever? You've never gotten promoted—why? Because you're a fool!"
Gongyang Junhe, reeking of sweat, nearly fainted.
Zhao leaned against a weapons rack, watching the crowd. "Weapons or fists—show me what you've got. The first to win takes the title. Any rules?"
"I'll be first!" Helian Yi rolled up his sleeves, grinning. "Weapons are too risky—let's fight barehanded. Watch out for my Tiger Fist!"
He struck a pose. Dong kicked Gongyang Junhe aside. "I'll judge. No lethal blows. Begin!"
Helian Yi lunged, a Tiger Steals the Heart strike aimed at Zhao's chest.
Boom! Zhao didn't dodge. A side kick sent Helian Yi flying three zhang, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Dong blinked. A grand master—one kick?
"Zhao Xunan wins!" Dong called.
The next challenger, a determined captain, picked up a blunt spear. But as he stepped forward, he hesitated—Defeating a grand master? This is suicide.
But the lieutenant general title was tempting. He gripped the spear, took a breath, and charged.