Chapter 943: [Outbreak] (Part 2)

Across the mountains and fields, the cries of battle shook the sky; in an instant, flames blazed everywhere at the Imperial Mausoleum worksite. From within the Command Camp, a troop charged out. Judging by their attire, they seemed to be the Imperial Mausoleum Guard. Their leader, a burly man riding a black steed, drew his long bow like a full moon, aimed at Jiang Shaoli's position, and loosed an arrow—this man was none other than the Deputy Commander of the Imperial Mausoleum Guard, Jia Anshuang, who no one expected to turn traitor.

Jiang Shaoli had just put out the flames on his body, but he suffered burns in multiple places, pain piercing his heart. At that very moment, Jia Anshuang's lethal arrow arrived; Jiang Shaoli could not evade it, and lamented, 'My life is over.' He never imagined he would die here in confusion before accomplishing anything great in this world.

The surrounding guards, dazed and wounded by the recent explosion, could barely look after themselves, let alone him. In the critical moment, a short sword flew from the side, striking the arrow shaft and knocking the sure‑hit arrow aside. It was Murong Feiyan who, at the brink of life and death, saved Jiang Shaoli's life; although she refused to acknowledge him as her senior brother, she could not bear to watch him die, and, despite her own wounds, threw the short sword to save him.

Murong Feiyan's move drew all the rebels' attention. Jia Anshuang snorted, clamped his legs on the stirrups, lifted the reins with his left hand, and his black horse galloped toward Murong Feiyan. The long bow hung on the bird‑shaped hook; with a clang he drew the horse‑slaying sword from his back, gripped it at a forty‑five‑degree angle pointing to the ground, and in an instant reached Murong Feiyan, raising the sword to strike her down.

Murong Feiyan's face turned pale. Had she been in good health, she could still have fought Jia Anshuang, but the blast's shockwave had injured her; throwing the short sword had pulled Jiang Shaoli back from the brink of death, yet it drained much of her strength. Before her inner energy could stabilize, Jia Anshuang was already before her—his martial skill surpassed hers, and this blow aimed to cut her down from his horse.

Murong Feiyan gritted her teeth against the searing pain from the shockwave and tried to dodge, but her movements were sluggish in her current state. Though she knew how to evade, her body couldn't keep up with her mind; the icy blade aura sealed off every escape route, and Jia Anshuang's eyes flashed with ruthless killing intent. He wanted to kill Murong Feiyan because of Murong Rongzhan—who had once punished him for a mistake, breeding a grudge. Seeing this chance, he naturally thought of slaying Murong Feiyan to avenge Murong Rongzhan.

Just as Murong Feiyan thought doom was unavoidable, an iron rod thrust out from the side, blocking her path with a loud clang. The horse‑slaying sword struck the rod, gouging a deep groove, and sparks flew where blade and rod met.

Jia Anshuang's arm went numb from the shock, the tiger's mouth of his grip burning with pain, and he could barely hold onto his horse‑slaying sword. Looking up, he saw an ugly man appear before Murong Feiyan—apparently a laborer building the Imperial Mausoleum—wondering why he would help her, Jia Anshuang snapped, 'Are you mad? I'm the Righteous Army!'

Hu Xiaotian had no wish to linger in battle; he turned and seized Murong Feiyan's arm, sending a mental transmission: 'Feiyan, it's me—let's go!'

Hearing Hu Xiaotian's voice, Murong Feiyan finally recognized him, her heart pounding with surprise and joy. Had he not spoken, she would never have guessed that this ugly fellow was Hu Xiaotian, let alone that his martial arts had suddenly reached such a level—he could actually block Jia Anshuang's full‑force strike.

After a brief moment of shock, Jia Anshuang spurred his horse forward, shouting, 'Where do you think you're going?' Before he could catch up, Hu Xiaotian hurled the iron rod from his hand; it flew like a spear straight at the horse beneath Jia Anshuang's crotch. With all his strength, the rod shot forth like a powerful bow, and with a puff it pierced the horse's forehead, burrowing deep into its skull. The steed didn't even have time to whinny before collapsing. Jia Anshuang leapt off in panic, and the dozens of riders following him rushed forward to meet him, some already nocking arrows to shoot.

Hu Xiaotian hoisted Murong Feiyan onto his back, told her to hold tight around his neck, bent his knees slightly, and leapt upward. In an instant he soared to about four zhang high in mid‑air, then spread his arms. Vast inner energy surged from his Dantian Qi Sea through his meridians; the Art of Soaring that Bu Wu had taught him finally found its use tonight. The Command Camp lay on a hillside, and their escape route was downwind.

Hu Xiaotian spread his arms, soaring through the night sky like a great eagle.

Jia Anshuang's men aimed and loosed arrows at the airborne pair, but their reactions were too slow; by the time they released, Hu Xiaotian with Murong Feiyan on his back had already flown beyond their range.

Lying on Hu Xiaotian's back, Murong Feiyan looked down at the Imperial Mausoleum: flames sprouted everywhere, tens of thousands of laborers could no longer endure the court's exploitation and abuse, and their anger had finally reached the point of explosion. The fiercest blaze engulfed the Huangling Digong under construction. Her eyes flickered in the firelight as she realized trouble was coming—no matter how deeply she sympathized with the workers, their uprising and burning of the Imperial Mausoleum would place all blame on the Imperial Mausoleum Guard, whose commander had been personally appointed by her father. Whether she acknowledged it or not, the blood tie to her birth father could not be denied, and this revolt might well implicate him.

Hu Xiaotian took advantage of the terrain, gliding over thirty zhang before gathering his inner energy, then gently touched down with his toes just on solid ground. He renewed the surge of his Dantian Qi Sea, lifted off again with Murong Feiyan on his back, and continued to swoop down the mountain.

Although Murong Feiyan's own lightness skill was not bad, she had never seen anyone fly so far, nor could she imagine that the person carrying her through the air was the same Hu Xiaotian who once lacked the strength to truss a chicken—this brat, could he have been feigning idiocy all along, actually being a martial arts master?

Hu Xiaotian observed the laborers' movements from aloft, constantly adjusting his escape route; he did not want to clash head‑on with the rebelling workers, for ordinary people would not revolt unless driven to desperation—officials oppress the people, the people have no choice but to rebel—and he still felt deep sympathy for these insurgent civilians.

Murong Feiyan turned toward the Command Camp and saw tens of thousands of laborers surging toward it like a flood; the camp held only a thousand soldiers, many of whom had joined tonight's uprising, so those stubbornly resisting would likely have no way out.

The laborers directed all their efforts at the Command Camp, attacking the Imperial Mausoleum Guard with whatever tools they could—stones, clubs, branches, bricks, shards—and once the people's anger ignited, it became uncontrollable.

Hu Xiaotian used the night's cover, employing the Art of Soaring to take Murong Feiyan through sparsely populated areas. Seeing the angry crowd below surging like a tide, he felt a secret alarm—no matter how strong one's martial arts, once caught in the sea of a people's war one would either drown or die of exhaustion; fortunately, no one noticed them gliding away in the night sky. Hu Xiaotian dodged here and there, finally escaping the Imperial Mausoleum worksite and reaching the grove where he had hidden Xiao Hui.

This spot was three li from the Imperial Mausoleum, yet the shouts of killing still rang clearly in his ears. Hu Xiaotian set Murong Feiyan down; though his inner power was abundant, his command of the Art of Soaring was not yet effortless, especially while carrying another. He had exhausted himself in the escape, his clothes soaked with sweat, and he could not spare energy to control his facial muscles for a disguise—by the time he reached the woods he had resumed his true appearance.

Seeing Hu Xiaotian drenched in sweat, Murong Feiyan recalled his fearless rush to rescue her, her heart swelling with emotion. She cried, 'Xiaotian!' and threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly.

Hu Xiaotian embraced her delicate form, kissing her exquisite earlobe, and whispered, 'Be good—I've missed you terribly; have you missed me?'

Murong Feiyan nodded and held him even tighter.

Hu Xiaotian whispered, 'This isn't a place to linger; those laborers won't stay at the Imperial Mausoleum long—they'll leave soon. Let's go; we'll talk when we reach safety.'

Only then did Murong Feiyan release him; Hu Xiaotian whistled, and shortly afterward Xiao Hui burst from the distant woods, ears pricked.

Hu Xiaotian said, 'Let's go!' He helped Murong Feiyan onto the horse, swung up behind her, held her in his arms, and shook the reins: 'Giddy‑up!'

Xiao Hui flung its hooves wide and dashed toward the road beyond the forest; upon reaching the highway its speed surged to the max, like a gray lightning bolt cutting through the dark night. Murong Feiyan could not believe how fast the horse was—the wind roared in her face, nearly blowing her eyes shut. Her heart overflowed with joy at reuniting with her lover after so long, feeling she had a thousand things to say to Hu Xiaotian, wondering what had befallen him during their separation, what adventures had honed his martial arts so swiftly.

First update delivered—please vote for the monthly ticket! Today's monthly ticket seems fishy; Zhangyu has already reported it to the technical department, and they'll surely demand an explanation! (To be continued…~^~)