Chapter 231: You Remove Xie Jinhuan (Revised)

Outside Shanhé Pass.

Beneath the ice-bound thousand-li steppe lies an ancient battlefield passed down from antiquity.

The most famous battle here was when the Emperor of Humanity shattered the barbarian alliance, sweeping the six directions and laying the foundation for today’s world order.

Since then, through every dynasty, whether cultivation sects or northern and southern imperial courts, this line has been the site of hundreds of battles; to the east of the steppe lies a canyon, said to be the battleground where the Emperor of Humanity fought his final duel with his archenemy—named “Jianchuan,” the origin of Linchuan County’s name.

Yet the thousands of li of rugged blood and fire have long been buried beneath snow and sand; today, the ancient battlefield looks merely a pitted, desolate expanse of snow.

On a snowy plain a hundred li from Shanhé Pass, a campfire burned.

A grizzled itinerant performer sat atop the trunk of a tree long fallen, gazing at the swirling snowstorm, plucking his three-stringed lute:

“Dang dang dang~”

“Where the wind howls~ banners fall~ horses neigh in dread, bones piled high bury old dreams, heroic souls silently guard barren mounds…”

…

The mournful melody echoed across the snowfield, where tens of thousands of dead lay buried yet no living soul stirred; soon, faint footsteps sounded:

Crunch, crunch~

The performer looked up to see a figure in black robes emerging from the storm, immediately pausing his music and smiling in greeting:

“Long time no see, Wei Shaoxia, you’ve grown even more composed.”

The newcomer was Wei Jili, of considerable cultivation, though his reputation in the southern martial world was modest, for Xueying Ridge had two supreme-grade masters—one being Wei Wuyi, the foremost martial artist of the south.

As the eldest legitimate son, Wei Jili was now over sixty, having spent years managing sect affairs and rarely appearing in public; he now halted before the fire, clasping his fists in greeting:

“You, too, remain as radiant as ever.”

The performer plucked at his lute and sighed: “Not as I once was. The saying goes: no one visits the Three Treasures without reason. You’ve come from the south—surely not just for old times’ sake.”

Wei Jili’s father served as Vice Supervisor in the Daqian court, yet he himself had come alone to the north—a risky move; he cut straight to the point:

“Recently, Sikong Tianyuan set a trap in the southern frontier to kill Xie Jinhuan, but every agent sent failed. The south dares not stir the hornet’s nest again, so they’ve sent this boy north. I’ve come to warn you: deal with him swiftly, or his abilities may ruin our northern plans.”

The performer sighed: “You’ve plotted for twenty years, yet nearly had your table overturned by a mere child. Even Sikong the Elder’s own scheme failed—now you dump him on us to clean up, lest he return south and wreck your schemes again. Your concern is understandable, but aren’t you afraid of alerting him?”

Wei Jili replied: “The Dan King had already intended to send envoys to Zhou before Xie Jinhuan even headed south, and he greatly admired him. We merely seized the opportunity after Sikong Tianyuan’s failure to facilitate this transfer. Whether you act or not, this boy will come—and with his abilities, he will almost certainly ruin your plans.”

The performer, clearly familiar with Xie Jinhuan’s reputation, asked:

“If you’re handing him off to us, at least give us his whereabouts.”

Wei Jili shook his head: “This boy is too cautious, as if he has heavenly eyes. Any direct pursuit will almost certainly be detected. To avoid alerting him, we can only monitor the relay stations and checkpoints along the way. But after his setback in the south, he concealed his trail—we can only deduce he’s already crossed the border into the north.”

“From Shanhé Pass to Yanjing spans three provinces. We don’t know when he crossed or his route—how are we supposed to find him? By the time he reaches Yanjing, we won’t be able to act.”

“Since I’ve come, I have a way to draw him out. You only need to gather men to handle him.”

As Wei Jili spoke, he withdrew a sheet of paper from his sleeve and tossed it to the performer:

“He’ll be accompanied by the lord of Queyue Manor. This details the circumstances of Bu Qingya and his wife’s deaths. Spread the news, then lie in wait—he’ll come.”

The performer took the paper and glanced at it:

“Bu Qingya was once the second-in-command of the Witch Alliance—I’ve met him. Now his daughter’s left the mountains. Time flies. Very well, Wei Shaoxia, return to the south. This boy won’t reach Yanjing, nor will he return to the southern court.”

Wei Jili warned:

“Sikong Tianyuan used every ounce of strength—even lion hunting a rabbit—but still failed to kill him. Don’t underestimate him.”

The performer tucked the paper away:

“Killing is easy. The hard part is leaving no trace—whether the deed succeeds or fails, we must not alert him or expose ourselves. Fortunately, there are usable hands nearby. If he dies by their hand, no one will suspect.”

Seeing this, Wei Jili said no more, bowed, and vanished into the snowstorm.

Dang dang~

The lute resumed beside the fire; the performer played alone for a moment, then pulled three copper coins from his sleeve, tossed them, caught them in his palm, studied them briefly, and frowned:

“Great misfortune. One person won’t be enough to handle him…”

…

—

At dawn.

Outside the inn, the clatter of carriages and the cries of street vendors rose:

“Lamb heads…”

“Coal for sale…”

…

Xie Jinhuan awoke to the noise, opening his eyes silently to find himself seated on the floor, his outer robe removed, and beside him a warm, soft mass.

Turning his head, he saw Bu Xianzi, clad in a deep-blue dress, arms crossed, clutching his robe, shoulder to shoulder with him; in unconscious sleep, her cheek rested against his shoulder, her serene face tranquil.

“...” Xie Jinhuan knew that if he leaned on someone for warmth in a dream, reality would mirror it—he couldn’t move, yet couldn’t stay still; then he noticed Gui Xifu materializing before him, her gaze weary.

Ye Hongshang, dressed in a red dress, sat by the table and shrugged: “Don’t blame me, sister. Reality is like this—to keep you from leaving the illusion, I made the beach snow. Ask Meiqiu for the full reason.”

Xie Jinhuan frowned, turned to the window, and saw the crack he’d painstakingly sealed had been torn wide open; snow had piled on the sill. His furry, close-serving maid, noticing he was awake, shook her head and gestured for breakfast:

“Gujiji…”

“?”

I knew it…

Xie Jinhuan realized the room held no warmth—it was as cold as an ice cellar—and finally understood why he’d shivered all night.

Perhaps hearing Meiqiu’s noise, movement stirred beside him:

“Huh~”

Bu Yuehua had spent the night studying star charts and didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep; now her spiritual sense returned to her mind, she realized she was leaning on someone’s shoulder, snapped upright, opened her eyes to find herself outside the dream, and immediately leapt up to check her robes—seeing they were intact, not replaced by the scandalous stepmother dress, she exhaled in relief.

Xie Jinhuan pushed off the ground, tossing the little bird that flew at him for food aside:

“I told you the dream was illusion—yesterday, Meiqiu pulled open the window, and the wind blew right on us. Cold is normal.”

“Gujiji~”

Denied food, Meiqiu flew to Bu Yuehua’s shoulder and began acting cute.

Bu Yuehua had been forced to wear a skimpy dress and share a bed with Xie Jinhuan all night—she felt awkward—but Xie Jinhuan was indeed teaching her the Martial Dao Scripture, and Meiqiu was just hungry—what fault was there? So she pretended it had all been a dream:

“Thank you. The Martial Dao Scripture is profound—I barely understood it. I’ll need days more to learn. Meiqiu’s been hungry all night—let’s eat first.”

Xie Jinhuan said nothing, flicked Meiqiu’s head, and they descended together to the restaurant across the street.

Meiqiu had stared out the window all night; now seeing the lamb shop, she couldn’t move. Xie Jinhuan had to accompany her, ordering two taels of lean meat, finely chopped into tiny bits, not a speck of fat.

Bu Yuehua waited in the restaurant, watching Xie Jinhuan demonstrate his knife skills while carrying Meiqiu, and silently shook her head. As she waited for breakfast, she suddenly overheard idle chatter from passing constables:

“The government office’s useless—over ten people dead in Baihua County, and still no resolution…”

“Can’t blame the officials entirely. I heard the demon Daoist who stole souls used a ‘Juhun Suo’—that weapon was once used by the Corpse Ancestor…”

At the words “Juhun Suo,” Bu Yuehua stiffened; beneath her veil, her serene face hardened with cold fury. She turned to the three constables:

“You’re certain?”

The three drinkers, startled, fell silent, sensing danger—but the seemingly delicate female swordsman gripped her slender blade:

“You’re certain it was the Juhun Suo?”

“Er…”

The speaking constable turned paler, stammering:

“I’m not sure—I just heard it from others on the street…”

Bu Yuehua drew a quiet breath, rose, bowed slightly in apology, then strode swiftly out into the street.

Xie Jinhuan was buying Meiqiu breakfast when he caught sight of Bu Xianzi hurrying out—he dropped the silver and followed quickly:

“Sister Hua?”

Bu Yuehua retrieved her horse from the inn, paused briefly, then explained calmly:

“We must go to Baihua County. There’s been a bandit outbreak there—rumored to involve the Juhun Suo. That weapon ties into old grudges within our sect—it’s important.”

Xie Jinhuan had heard of Baihua County’s troubles; folk tales linked them to the Northern Zhou’s “Chiwu Sect,” which emerged shortly after Empress Guo rose to power, harvesting the essence of commoners, spreading rumors like “The state falls by red, demons come to Zhou soil,” and even claiming Empress Guo was the reincarnated demoness of Chiwu, preparing to seize Daqian.

But Xie Jinhuan knew the red-haired sister—he didn’t believe the rumors. He bought a few buns and mounted his horse:

“What’s the Juhun Suo? Is it tied to the Chiwu Sect?”

Bu Yuehua rode through the bustling street, explaining as they went:

“The Juhun Suo was originally the treasured artifact of the Corpse Witch Sect, later seized by the Corpse Ancestor, then lost in war. Afterward, the orthodox sects searched everywhere but found nothing—until thirty years ago, it reappeared. As for the Chiwu Sect, I don’t know its origins—it’s not a branch of any known witch sect.”

From Bu Yuehua’s sudden shift in demeanor, Xie Jinhuan sensed this matter ran deep—but since she didn’t elaborate, he asked no further, and they galloped together toward Baihua County…

(End of Chapter)