Chapter 70: The Death and Life of Huichen

“The Marquis has returned!”

Amid the cheers of the “Fifteen-Foot Giants,” a streak of crimson fire appeared in the sight of the soldiers.

Xiao Yu stood on the saddle, following the soldiers’ gazes southward, and saw Chiyan’s steed arrive beyond Hualong Pass.

It did not stop, continuing to gallop forward.

The wooden planks of the Feixian Ferry’s suspension bridge had been washed away by floodwaters, and the two main iron cables had been pulled away by Song Zhong, yet four or five slender iron cables, as thick as a wine cup, still connected both banks.

Though the cables had no planks and swayed violently, Chiyan’s steed trod as if on solid ground, racing swiftly along one thin cable and in an instant reached the other side of Feixian Ferry, arriving before the Fire Crow Army’s formation.

“My Lord, you’re wounded?”

The Yangyang Marquis still held his ten-foot-long Fangtian Huaji spear; his armor bore obvious damage, with a grotesque tear gashed through the round breastplate.

His crimson cloak was tattered, and his handsome, martial face was pale and streaked with blood.

“Minor wounds, nothing serious… cough, cough!”

No sooner had the Yangyang Marquis spoken than he coughed lightly, with fine threads of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Yet his breath remained steady, and when he leapt from Chiyan’s steed, his movements were still agile.

Xiao Yu pondered silently: the few surviving remnants of the “Western Eight Immortals” could never have harmed the Yangyang Marquis.

Someone was indeed behind the Eight Immortals.

The Western Eight Immortals were merely the visible assassins.

The Yangyang Marquis must have suspected this long ago, which is why he earlier mentioned using Chiyan’s speed to conserve his strength.

Now that the Yangyang Marquis has returned, then the assassin…

——Didn’t the Great Qin reward decapitations? Then why didn’t he bring back the assassin’s head?

Xiao Yu was deeply curious about the true trump card of the “Western Eight Immortals.”

The confidence to become a Human Immortal must stem from a realm higher than Human Immortal.

What kind of Immortal was it?

“Coordinate with the soldiers across the river at Hualong Pass and lay down wooden planks as quickly as possible. Spend the night on the other side.”

The Yangyang Marquis gave the order, then turned instinctively toward his command tent.

But as he turned his head toward the direction of Yunlai Inn, he saw only a blinding white expanse—the flood had swept everything clean.

Not even the camp tents remained; the very foundation of Yunlai Inn had been washed away, leaving only uneven rocks, not a single clod of soil left on the ground.

“I’ll go to Hualong Pass first. You… Cai Fengnian, you handle the arrangements.”

Hualong Pass was less than three hundred paces straight from Yunlai Inn, yet it suffered almost no impact from the “Eight Immortals Shooting the Sun.”

The raging floodwaters could not cross the Hualong River.

Only when Song Zhong pulled the cables did part of Hualong Pass’s mountain slope collapse.

After entrusting the follow-up matters to Marshal Cai, the Yangyang Marquis leapt back onto Chiyan’s steed.

But before he had taken two steps, he noticed a conspicuous oddity in the ranks: Xiao Yu, dressed in a ruqun, stood on Song Changqing’s shoulders, her large, clear black-and-white eyes fixed on him.

Oh, Xiao Yu didn’t intend to stand out—she simply had to, because the Great Qin Giants stood over four meters tall; if she didn’t stand on Song Changqing’s shoulders, she couldn’t see a thing ahead!

The Yangyang Marquis froze, dismounted from Chiyan’s steed, patted its head with lingering fondness, and said softly: “Guan Yu, this is Guan family’s treasured steed. The battle is over. As agreed, take it back.”

He stroked Chiyan’s flame-red mane once more, then turned resolutely and strode toward the opposite bank.

Xiao Yu nearly blurted out: A fine steed deserves a hero—My Lord, keep Chiyan!

Guan Huichen was never truly alone; even in death, he had the Guan family.

If she truly had the authority to dispose of Chiyan, she shouldn’t have given it to the Yangyang Marquis—she should have kept it for herself.

“Song Changqing, come with me!”

Xiao Yu leapt into the air, flipped two somersaults, landed steadily on the ground, then stepped past the Great Qin warriors staring at her with strange eyes, walking several paces to Chiyan’s steed.

“Father said you’re a divine steed, able to understand human speech, so I’ll speak plainly: he sent me out to find you—he needs you. Perhaps he’s already dead, but I still must take you to him.”

She shouted these words from two steps away, then stepped closer and reached out to touch Chiyan’s head.

Chiyan turned its head away.

——You wretched beast, why didn’t you dodge when the Yangyang Marquis just touched you?

Xiao Yu silently cursed the creature for being a sycophant, then reached for the dangling reins.

This time, Chiyan did not dodge or rage, nor did it kick, head-butt, or bite her—as it had before, even spitting fire when angry.

Xiao Yu didn’t attempt to mount its back to test its limits.

She led Chiyan straight toward the wine cellar in the back courtyard, with Song Changqing and Wei Wu following behind.

Though she had only called Song Changqing, Wei Wu had followed of his own accord.

In truth, the Iron Cavalry Battalion had dwindled to barely fifty or sixty men.

Before the Eight Immortals Shooting the Sun, the Iron Cavalry had over two hundred riders, the Xisha Garrison over five hundred; now the entire Fire Crow Army numbered barely three hundred, minus nearly a hundred “Great Qin Giants,” leaving fewer than two hundred and fifty Western elite soldiers.

The Iron Cavalry was already doing well.

Fewer than forty from the Xisha Garrison survived—less than one in ten.

The remaining soldiers from other Western nations divided among the hundred-odd survivors.

One word: horrific!

“Good, good—the wine cellar door is thick and embedded in the cave, untouched by the flood.”

Xiao Yu turned back, her face relieved: “Don’t just stand there stunned—Father and Zhong Shu are dead, but their bodies must still be inside the cellar. Hurry, break open the door and bring them out.”

Miao the Monk was positioned on the slope above the wine cellar.

As the flood flowed forward, the cellar behind it bore less impact than other areas.

Only the nearby soil and the outer wooden frame had been washed away.

The thick wooden door was tightly embedded in the stone wall, as if sunk into it.

“Miss Yu, is that you?”

No sooner had Xiao Yu spoken than, as Song Changqing and Wei Wu pondered how to pry open the door, a faint voice called from within.

Xiao Yu hurried forward, peering through the crack, eyes wide with joy: “Zhong Shu, you’re alive? Wonderful! Where’s Father? Is he well?”

She turned back, urging urgently: “Stop standing there like fools—use your cavalry sabers and chop the door open!”

Changqing and Wei Wu obeyed, slashing through the wooden door with several strokes; murky water trickled out.

“Miss Yu, I’m here,” Guan Zhong’s voice came from afar, muffled.

This time, no command from Miss Yu was needed.

Changqing and Wei Wu stepped forward—but after only a few paces, Wei Wu stumbled over a corpse.

“This is… Wang Bao? Good heavens, Li Qing, Li Shangfu—they’re… here? How…?”

At first he shouted, then his voice grew quieter, more hesitant, his eyes flickering uncertainly.

Song Changqing stared for only an instant, then muttered: “They drowned.”

Neither had been invited by Marshal Cai, but both knew Wang Bao, Li Qing, and the others had returned safely to camp just as they had.

Yet before they could rejoin, Wang Bao and the others had been whispered to by a Tianfeng soldier, then pulled into a nearby tent.

Wei Wu glanced at the headless corpse, grimacing as he nodded: “With a flood this massive, not drowning would be abnormal.”

Guan Zhong called out at an inopportune moment: “I’m here! Hurry and save me~~~”

Changqing and Wei Wu froze, silent, then hurried forward.

Xiao Yu followed behind, arms crossed, watching their backs with cold laughter.

Only when they reached the deepest part of the cellar did they find Guan Zhong… inside a wine vat.

“Zhong Shu, you’re clever—thinking to hide inside a wine vat.”

Xiao Yu glanced back: from the cellar door to here, there were two stone steps, both sloping upward, not downward.

Thus, the interior of the cellar was higher than the entrance.

“Didn’t drown, but nearly suffocated~~~”

Guan Zhong was stout, his round face purple-red from suffocation.

After being pulled from the vat like a radish by Song Changqing, he gasped for air with wide-open mouth.

His clothes were soaked, yet he hadn’t drowned.

An empty vat could float, but the stone cave was sealed by floodwaters, the air foul and oxygen scarce.

Fortunately, this assassination wasn’t prolonged… it seemed Miao the Monk had prepared well, able to endure for a long time.

After regaining a little strength, Guan Zhong looked around, then pointed urgently to a larger vat: “Quick, move that barrel over—Master’s body is inside.”

“Is Father truly dead?” Xiao Yu squeezed hard, forcing two glistening tears from the corner of her eye.

Squeezing out tears was hard; she didn’t let them slide down her cheeks but held them trembling at the corners, shimmering, bright, unmistakable.

Oh, she wasn’t unmoved by Huichen’s death.

After all, this makeshift father had treated her well so far.

Yet she also understood: fundamentally, they had merely been using each other.

Their bond didn’t warrant tears streaming down her face.

“But it doesn’t matter—I’ve already avenged Father.”

Guan Zhong looked puzzled: “Avenged him? On whom?”

Master had breathed his last after hearing Guan Zhong say, “The Emperor is dead, the Little Li Consort’s plan is ruined.”

And Master had been mortally wounded because of the Yangyang Marquis.

——Did you kill the Yangyang Marquis?

The thought had barely formed when Guan Zhong crushed it.

“Didn’t the Hunter Flag Immortal Kong Zan kill my adoptive father?” Xiao Yu said.

“After the young lady left, the Hunter Flag Immortal and another immortal did come searching, but by then, Master had already taken his last breath...”

Seeing Song Changqing and Wei Wu had already lowered the wine jars from the wooden rack, Guan Zhong immediately fell silent and stepped forward to inspect them closely.

Seeing that the Fire Rat Robe wrapping Huachen’s remains had not been soaked by the filthy water, he exhaled a long breath of stale air, his expression relaxing considerably.

“Miss Xiao, you left earlier to find the Chiyan Steed—have you found it yet?”

“Uncle Zhong, I was just about to find you to speak about this...”

Xiao Yu glanced at Song Changqing and Wei Wu and said, “I need to speak privately with Uncle Zhong. Please wait outside the door, both generals.”

Guan Zhong’s face showed a puzzled expression—he had been about to say the same thing himself.

Song Changqing and Wei Wu said nothing, bowed slightly, and walked out in silence.

“Uncle Zhong, guess what I saw after entering the camp?”

“Saw what?” Guan Zhong asked offhandedly, then added anxiously, “Miss Xiao, I very much want to know how the Eight Western Immortals assassinated the Lieyang Marquis and what happened afterward, but I have something urgent to tell you now.”

Xiao Yu said, “Is it about my adoptive father’s funeral arrangements? Uncle Zhong, I was just about to speak with you about that too.”

“After entering the camp, the first thing I saw was the Lieyang Marquis riding the Chiyan Steed.”

“What?! The Lieyang Marquis seized Master’s precious steed?!” Guan Zhong exclaimed in shock.

Xiao Yu sighed, “You’re more experienced than I am—you must understand the significance of the Chiyan Steed to a warrior, especially one who cultivates fire-based martial arts.”

“The Lieyang Marquis had already mounted the Chiyan Steed.”

“When I loudly declared before all the soldiers that I had come to retrieve the Chiyan Steed to carry my adoptive father to seek a divine physician... he likely felt embarrassed, and immediately promised that after the battle, he would return the horse to the Guan family.”

“After all, he comes from the land of Chinese propriety—he must care about public opinion and reputation.”

“But I’ve been thinking—we’d better be pragmatic.”

“If we voluntarily give the divine steed to the Lieyang Marquis, perhaps we can gain some advantage for the Guan family, and at least avoid drawing unwanted attention.”

“We cannot give the Chiyan Steed to the Lieyang Marquis!” Guan Zhong urgently said. “Because Master is not yet dead—he still needs the Chiyan Steed to be saved!”

Xiao Yu looked in surprise at the corpse in the wine vat. “Didn’t you just say my adoptive father died—could it be you’re wary of Song Changqing and Wei Wu, fearing they might plot against us? Uncle Zhong, you’re being overly cautious.”

“No, Master truly is dead—but he can still be revived, if we deliver his remains to the Yingxiang Prefecture in time. Our ancestor will surely intervene.”