Chapter 3 - Cemetary
As expected, Colonel Meng Wan was true to her word. After He Simu and Chen Ying awoke and finished their breakfast, the physician confirmed they were unharmed. Soon after, the two were courteously escorted out of the Governor’s mansion. It was, after all, a military-restricted area where no civilians were permitted to linger.
Chen Ying clutched the hem of He Simu’s clothes, his voice small and anxious:
“Miss Xiaoxiao… will we still have food to eat?”
This child couldn’t go more than three sentences without bringing up food. Clearly, he had known hunger far too well.
He Simu stroked his hair and smiled.
“Of course we will. And much better than what you’ve eaten before.”
Taking his hand, she went in search of his father’s body. The young general had ordered the corpses gathered and placed in several abandoned mansions, where families were invited to claim their dead. Those left unclaimed after three days would be buried together.
Inside one such mansion, countless bodies lay in rows, the sight enough to dizzy the eyes. He Simu quietly cast a spell, the guidance leading her directly to Chen Ying’s father.
At the sight of the corpse, Chen Ying broke into tears again. Wiping his face, he choked out,
“Father… there are so many wounds, I can hardly recognize him. Sister, how did you know right away it was him?”
“I’m an adult,” He Simu said smoothly. “Adults have better eyesight than children.”
Chen Ying pressed himself against his father’s body, sobbing as he clumsily straightened his clothes and wiped his face with a damp cloth. When he noticed the faint bite marks on the neck, his lips quivered and he wailed even louder.
“I’m too late! Wild beasts already harmed Father’s body!”
The so-called “wild beast” stood just a few paces away, wondering how this child still had tears left to shed. She patted his head gently.
“When you’re done crying, let’s take him for burial.”
They registered with the soldiers, then carried the body to the cemetery beyond the city walls. The place was overrun with crooked trees and wild grass, and now filled with grieving citizens. Wails rose one after another as space quickly dwindled beneath the weight of so many fresh graves.
He Simu found a wooden board, sat on the mound, and helped Chen Ying carve a tombstone. The boy could not write, only haltingly pronounce his father’s name, so she transcribed the characters from his words.
When the board was placed at the head of the grave, it seemed to seal the finality of his death. Chen Ying fell silent, scattering paper money with tears streaming down his face.
“Why cry for him?” He Simu murmured. “If anything, he should cry for you. His journey here has ended—he’ll be reborn. But you, little one, must endure in this chaotic world. Between the two of you, you’re the more pitiful.”
The child said nothing, quietly dabbing at his tears.
With a sigh, He Simu knelt and tossed a stack of paper money into the air. The pale sheets spiraled upward, sunlight flashing across their surface—then, with a faint rustle, they transformed into a flurry of white butterflies, wings shimmering as they took flight.
Chen Ying’s eyes widened in wonder, and even nearby mourners gasped in astonishment.
“You try,” He Simu urged.
The boy hesitated, then tossed a handful himself. The paper scattered mid-air, bursting into a cloud of butterflies that danced upward like drifting snowflakes.
Startled, he jumped to his feet, staring at his hands.
“I… how did I…?”
“What are you staring at? Just a trick,” He Simu chuckled.
His eyes lit up.
“Then Miss Xiaoxiao is a magician!”
“I suppose so.”
With a snap of her fingers, the butterflies caught the north wind and drifted away. Chen Ying’s gaze followed them, mouth agape. He Simu lifted her eyes as well—
—and saw a youth standing at the end of their flight path, framed in slanting sunlight. His posture was upright, like a pine reaching the heavens.
He wore a veiled hat draped in black gauze, a silver-gray round-collared robe embroidered with celestial patterns, his hair bound neatly with a silver crown, pale ribbons swaying with the wind.
This was what He Simu saw. In truth, she could not perceive color—only black, white, and shades between. The world of an evil ghost was colorless.
The butterflies brushed past him. He inclined his head slightly, the ribbons painting arcs in the air. His smile broke like sunlight through the gauze.
“What a marvelous trick.”
He Simu rose, her gaze flickering to the Po Wang Sword at his waist before resting on the faint outline of his face beneath the veil. Fate had spared her the trouble of seeking him—he had walked straight to her.
She smiled sweetly, bowing with practiced grace. The body she inhabited had been that of a gentle young girl, and when she smiled, her innocence seemed almost luminous.
“For saving our lives yesterday, General, my brother and I can never repay you. We offer our humble thanks.”
He raised a finger to his lips.
“I serve Great Liang—it is my duty to save its people. There’s no need to thank me. But… please, don’t call me ‘General.’ If others overhear, it may cause trouble.”
Disguised, without attendants, he clearly sought to remain unnoticed.
“An incognito inspection, then?” she guessed.
He did not answer, his gaze shifting to the soldiers stationed in the distance, overseeing disputes among the grieving. Some were taking bribes to drive families from their plots. Even in tragedy, the living oppressed one another.
He looked back. “And yet you recognized me at once, despite this hat? We only met in passing yesterday.”
“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Your reputation and bearing are so extraordinary, how could I fail to notice?”
He folded his arms, resting his chin on his hand, amused.
“Extraordinary, is it? Then tell me—what’s my name?”
“…”
Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted to ask him?
He laughed softly.
“No need to flatter. If I truly had a reputation worth praising, I wouldn’t have failed to protect Liang City. My name is Duan Xu—courtesy name Shun Xi.”
Duan Xu. Though young, his rank was high. Yet there was no arrogance in him, only humility.
He Simu smiled. “This humble woman is He Xiaoxiao, and this is my adopted brother, Xue Chen Ying.”
“Miss Xiaoxiao,” Duan Xu repeated, stepping closer. He seemed about to speak again when He Simu caught movement in her peripheral vision. She cried out, “Watch out!”
Even before the words left her lips, Duan Xu had already shifted. The Po Wang Sword flashed from its sheath, spun in his palm, and with a streak of silver light, struck down the arrow loosed from the rooftop. In the same breath, it slid back into its scabbard.
Guards shouted, rushing after the fleeing shadow. Duan Xu, calm as ever, sheathed his blade and smiled faintly.
“It seems I’ve been recognized by more than just Miss He.”
When he turned back, He Simu and Chen Ying were clutching his sleeves, trembling pitifully.
Tears glimmered in her eyes as she whispered, “That was… truly frightening.”
“…It’s all right now. Thank you for warning me,” Duan Xu said gently.
Seizing the moment, He Simu clung to him.
“My brother and I have no family left. We were driven from the Governor’s mansion yesterday and have nowhere to go. Snow is coming, and we don’t even know where we’ll sleep tonight.”
Chen Ying nodded fiercely, eyes wide with desperation.
Duan Xu studied them for a moment, then nodded.
“Very well. A drop of kindness should be repaid with a spring. I’ll arrange shelter for you both.”
He glanced at the sky. “But did Miss He just say it would snow? On such a clear day?”
“The year’s been strange. If the Guan River can freeze, snow under a clear sky is no surprise. The sun may be bright, but the weather is turning,” she said lightly, tapping her temple. “My eyes are sharp.”
Indeed, her plan had worked. The assassin’s arrow would not have struck him, but she had nudged its path with a spell, ensuring he had to draw the Po Wang Sword.
The sword gleamed when unsheathed, sharp only in the hands of its chosen master. And this young general, lacking cultivation yet wielding it with ease, seemed favored by fate itself.
Why would the Po Wang Sword grant him such recognition?
The thought lingered as snow began to fall, blanketing the ruined city.
He Simu lifted her sleeve to shield Chen Ying’s head. “You’ve just recovered from a day and night of unconsciousness. Don’t catch a cold, or I won’t be able to care for you.”
A shadow fell over her. Black gauze dropped before her eyes—the general had placed his veiled hat on her head.
“Miss He has also just recovered,” he said, smiling. “Take care not to catch cold.”
His eyes shone with youthful brilliance, his smile bright and unguarded.
She held the brim, lips curving faintly. “Thank you, General.”
Duan Xu turned, striding forward into the snow, back straight and light as if the world’s burdens meant nothing.
Like the moon above the mountains, snow on a sunny day, and a youth walking untroubled beneath heaven.