The snow thickened, drifting like torn cotton into the dark.
Only ragged breaths and the iron tang of blood filled the air, whipped into the nose by the wind.
Qingshui knelt, bracing herself on her blade. Her shoulder was soaked crimson; her eyes narrowed on the new intruder who had stepped onto the battlefield.
The storm hid his face, but as he came closer she saw it—masked by the visage of a beast.
Opposite, Shuidui still stood, his curved blade dripping red, cold light glimmering along its edge. His gaze held surprise, and a trace of mockery, fixed on the masked man.
The air between the three seemed frozen; even the snow fell slower.
The black-clad figure was silent a long time. Then he flung a bundle down.
"Still alive? Then move. Take this. Do what you must. The women are safe—someone will meet them. When you see who, you'll understand."
The bundle struck before Qingshui, something hard knocking inside. Shuidui narrowed his eyes but did not stop it. He only sank lower, ripples spreading at his feet, ready to strike.
The masked man glanced at him.
"I'll hold him."
Qingshui's face had gone ghostly pale. Her lips moved as if to speak, but at last she only nodded and forced herself up.
"Leaving already, Shuili?" Shuidui stirred. Aura lent him speed—his form a water-gleam lunging like an arrow.
Qingshui's gut twisted. She raised what strength she had left to block—but someone else moved faster.
In a blink, two figures were before her. The black-clad man caught Shuidui's weapon hand, pinning it immovable.
Only then did the shockwave crash down. Air burst around them, snow flung wide. For a heartbeat, flakes seemed to halt midair.
"Did I permit you to move?"
His cloak snapped across her vision. Qingshui glimpsed Shuidui's face—shock, and anger. Somehow it made her want to laugh.
"So you do have feelings."
She cast him one last look, then at the back shielding her. Snatching up the bundle, she staggered away.
Snow clung to her lashes, melting to tracks of water.
Before she turned for good, she looked back—hard, burning it into her.
They still stood locked, unmoving, unspeaking.
She spun, forced aura into her legs, and fled.
Her steps lurched, wounds tearing, a crooked line of blood marking her trail in the snow.
The wind bore the sounds behind her—clashing steel, low grunts—scattered and broken.
She bit down, chest burning like fire, yet caged in ice.
Who is he…
The bundle in her hand was heavy, as if to rip her arm away, but she clutched it like life itself.
Blood surged up her throat; she swallowed it hard—salt and rust.
Snow raged. Her breath broke ragged.
At last, through the white blur, two figures emerged.
Bihua crouched, clutching Layne tight. Both wore strange oversized coats—awkward, almost comical. Layne's head was buried in her chest, his breaths frantic.
Beside them stood another silhouette. Behind, a looming shadow—large, like a carriage.
Qingshui gritted her teeth, forced every shred of strength into reaching them.
Bihua heard her steps and shrieked, hugging her child back, eyes wild with fear.
"It's me."
Her voice rasped, broken, laced with blood. Her wound was caked with ice, skin purpling.
Relief broke over Bihua's pale face; she exhaled hard, but said nothing—only held Layne tighter, suspicion still flickering in her eyes.
Qingshui dropped the bundle at her feet, wiped snow and blood from her face, and turned to the shadow by the carriage.
A wagon stood there under gray canvas, wheels sunk in snow. By the yoke stood a figure swathed in robes, motionless though snow had piled on his shoulders.
Qingshui squinted, searching his face—it seemed familiar, but memory slipped.
The man moved, snow cascading off him as he stepped closer, stopping five paces away.
"Don't recognize me? You still haven't returned my insignia."
Her pupils shrank. "You? You're with Xuánhǔ—then the one who saved me was…"
He nodded. "The Lord of Xuánhǔ."
The Sixth Attendant's voice was sharp, hard.
"You remember—then no more wasted words. Take the bundle. Get in."
Bihua flinched, clutching Layne, edging back.
Qingshui glanced at her, lips bloodless but forcing a smile.
"Get in. We've no better choice."
The Sixth Attendant watched them clamber into the wagon, then took the reins. His voice came quick, clipped:
"Qingzhou and Lizhou are closed to you. Head to Yuntai. Keep moving—change ground as often as you can, even flee Haidao if needed. The Lord says your foes reach the highest ranks of the kingdom. He doesn't know how long he can buy you."
Qingshui glared. Bihua was already bending over her wounds.
"So that's it? Send us wandering like fugitives?"
He cast her a look, one brow raised.
"The bundle holds what the Lord could gather. I'll see you to the Lizhou border."
The wind lashed his robe as he snapped the reins. "Survive—that's victory enough."
Bihua's eyes trembled, torn between fear and questions she dared not voice. Even inside the wagon, cheeks raw with cold, she still shook—whether from chill or dread, neither clear.
Layne huddled in her arms, peering out, his small face pale. His voice quavered:
"Auntie… teacher… what's happening…?"
Qingshui's throat worked. She almost spoke—but in the end, bowed her head, tore the bundle open instead.
It spilled across her lap with a rustle.
On top—medicinals: elixirs for qi, powders to staunch blood.
Beside them, silver ingots and a small block of gold. Her lost blade lay there too.
At the bottom—papers. She snatched them, scanned, and her pupils shrank.
Bihua's true name. Her bloodline.
The hand behind her death warrant: the Grand Chancellor.
Schemes between the Water Envoy and the Earth Envoy. Li Chengxiao's web.
The destroyed artifact's truth. Even whispers of the Cersei Federation.
Her hand shook. She looked at Bihua—knowing. Now there was no turning back.
Everywhere, enemies.
She lifted her eyes, hard, at the driver.
"Hey."
He didn't turn. "Read it all? Then think ahead. We've been moving since the Lord pulled us out—you hold everything he knows."
The wind cracked the curtain. Snow froze along the axles; the wagon groaned like it might collapse.
Qingshui lowered her gaze to the bundle in her lap. Medicine, silver, words inked heavy—reminding her: This is the road you chose.
Her jaw clenched. She snapped her eyes up, fixing on Bihua.
Bihua looked back—eyes red, voice raw.
"Qingshui…"
It was disappointment. Yet also the sound of someone forcing herself to trust.
Qingshui closed her eyes. A single drop slid down her cheek, freezing—tear or snow, she could not tell.
A long, trembling breath. Her voice cracked.
"I'll explain. Believe me."
Bihua's shoulder shook. Her eyes welled, spilling light.
But she said nothing more—only tightened