Chapter 60: Undercurrents Surging

Fifty li north of Qingshi Post was a wilderness known to the locals as “Duanchang Plain.”

This had once been the frontline of clashes between the Liang and Jin kingdoms, with white bones sunk into the yellow sand and wild grass growing taller than a person.

The deep autumn wind blew from the north, carrying a rusty scent of aged blood that drilled straight into the seams of one’s bones.

A slightly dilapidated carriage was traveling alone on the uneven official road.

The driver was a sturdy young woman dressed in a coarse cloth short outfit, her round face reddened by the wind, yet her eyes revealed a clever sharpness.

She was one of Feng Anlan’s attendants.

On the other side of the carriage, a woman with a cold expression and capable attire walked with her hand on her sword; she was the other attendant.

Inside the carriage, Feng Anlan was leaning against a soft cushion, her eyes closed in rest.

As the ninth daughter of the Liang emperor, she had spent two years as a hostage in Zhou.

Those two years were like a long, damp dream.

Now returning to her homeland, what awaited her was not the royal family’s warmth, but continuous ambushes.

“Haven’t we arrived yet?”

Feng Anlan opened her eyes, her voice somewhat hoarse.

Two years of hostage life had ground away the immaturity between her brows, adding a depth that didn’t belong to her age.

“Replying to Your Highness, once we pass this Duanchang Plain, we’ll enter Lin’an Prefecture’s territory.” 

The attendant answered softly through the curtain, her voice carrying a trace of imperceptible tension.

Feng Anlan turned her head, looking to her side.

There sat a gray-clothed woman, her hair like snow, casually bound with a wooden hairpin, a long sword placed horizontally across her knees.

From start to finish, she hadn’t spoken; even her breathing was so faint it was nearly nonexistent, like a temperatureless ice sculpture.

Shuang Feixue.

This “Jade Sword Immortal” who had once shaken the jianghu had now become the sole reliance of her, this down-and-out imperial princess.

“Senior Shuang.”

Feng Anlan called softly.

Shuang Feixue didn’t open her eyes, merely responding faintly.

“Hm.”

“The closer we get to Bianliang, the more people there are trying to kill me.” 

Feng Anlan looked at the wild grass rapidly receding outside the window and smiled self-mockingly.

“In that Majesty’s eyes, I’m a pawn disrupting the situation; in those high ministers’ eyes, I’m the fuse igniting war. It seems the entire world of this Liang kingdom wants me dead on this road home.”

In this chaotic era, the struggle for power was always crueler than swords; an imperial daughter’s identity was both a protective talisman and a death warrant.

Shuang Feixue slowly opened her eyes.

What a pair of eyes they were—cold, pure, yet carrying an indifference that saw through life and death.

“They want you dead, but I promised you, so I will definitely let you live.”

Shuang Feixue’s voice was light, carrying an unquestionable tone.

Feng Anlan opened her mouth, just about to reply, when the carriage suddenly shook violently and then came to a dead stop.

“Your Highness, careful!”

The attendant’s angry shout rang out abruptly.

Almost instantly, dozens of black shadows darted out like ghosts from the originally silent wild grass.

These people moved in perfect unison, all in black clothes and iron masks, their long knives gleaming with a cold light under the pale sunlight.

They wasted no words, not even a routine challenge shout, directly transforming into a wave of blades surging toward the carriage.

Lvwu and Hongfu instantly drew their knives to meet them.

Those dozens of black-clothed people all had extraordinary skills, clearly death warriors who had undergone rigorous training.

Puchi!

Hongfu’s knife pierced through one death warrior’s chest, but more long knives sealed off her retreat.

“These people… aren’t jianghu rabble!” The attendant shouted through gritted teeth while fighting.

“They’re using military formations!”

Feng Anlan sat inside the carriage, her fingers gripping the cushion tightly.

Though she had prepared mentally, seeing those fearless death warriors still sent a chill rising in her heart.

Who exactly was it? 

Daring to use forces suspected to be from the military to assassinate an imperial daughter so close to the capital?

Shuang Feixue moved.

She didn’t stand up, merely extending two slender, jade-like fingers and flicking them against the long sword on her knees.

Hum—

A clear, resonant sword cry pierced through the noisy shouts of battle, as if a fresh breeze swept across this desolate Duanchang Plain.

In the next moment, Shuang Feixue vanished.

Feng Anlan only felt a blur before her eyes; the carriage curtain lifted slightly, and that gray figure had already appeared atop the carriage.

The sword remained unsheathed.

Shuang Feixue gripped the hilt, her form graceful like a butterfly as she shuttled through the dense crowd.

Each swing of the wooden scabbard brought a muffled sound of bones cracking.

Those death warriors, so troublesome in Hongfu’s eyes, were like paper before Shuang Feixue, collapsing at a touch.

“Courting death!”

The death warrior leader let out a sharp screech.

She pulled a signal flare from her bosom, just about to ignite it, when a cold sword qi sliced through the air.

Cha.

The leader’s wrist was severed at the root, and the signal flare dropped into the mud.

Shuang Feixue landed, her gray robes fluttering in the wind.

She finally drew her sword—a blade of lustrous white throughout, its body flowing with a glow like moonlight.

“Since you’ve come, all of you can stay.”

Shuang Feixue’s voice was light, yet it resounded as if right beside everyone’s ear.

The sword light rose.

It was a magnificence beyond the naked eye’s ability to capture.

The wild grass on Duanchang Plain seemed endowed with will in that moment, swaying madly with the flow of the sword qi.

With each thrust of the sword, a death warrior inevitably fell.

Shuang Feixue’s swordsmanship lacked Nanxi’s agility; her sword had but one word: cold.

Utter cold.

Those swept by her sword qi didn’t even bleed from their wounds; instead, they were covered by a thin layer of frost.

For the first time, the death warriors’ eyes revealed an emotion called “fear.”

They discovered that their vaunted true qi had no power to retaliate before this sword qi.

In less than the time it took an incense stick to burn, Duanchang Plain returned to silence.

Dozens of corpses lay haphazardly on the official road, emanating an eerie chill under the deep autumn sun.

Shuang Feixue sheathed her sword, her face still pale as paper, her breathing not disordered in the slightest.

Hongfu and Lvwu bore a few light wounds and were panting heavily, their gazes toward Shuang Feixue filled with sincere awe.

“Senior Shuang… are you alright?”

Feng Anlan stepped down from the carriage, her face somewhat pale.

Shuang Feixue shook her head and looked toward the direction of Bianliang, her brows slightly furrowed.

“These people’s strength is getting stronger with each encounter.”

Shuang Feixue said faintly.

“That wave just now followed the style of the State Preceptor’s mansion, but a few of the leaders used the forbidden army’s methods.”

Feng Anlan’s heart sank sharply.

The State Preceptor’s mansion and the forbidden army… if these two forces had merged, it meant that the one who wanted her life was no longer just that powerful State Preceptor, Feng Xuanyin.

Even her mother empress… had given approval?

“Let’s go.”

Shuang Feixue sat back on the edge of the carriage.

“It’s less than three days’ journey to Bianliang. The road ahead may be even harder than this Duanchang Plain.”

The carriage started moving again.

The horses’ hooves trod on the blood-soaked yellow sand, producing muffled sounds.

As the sun set in the west, it stretched the shadow of this battered carriage very long.

Dozens of li away, on a high ridge, a figure in moon-white robes was quietly observing all of this.

It was Feng Xuanyin.

This State Preceptor who held sway over Great Liang was currently holding a stack of secret reports in her hand.

She looked at the death warriors who had been utterly slaughtered by Shuang Feixue, her face showing no anger but instead a playful smile.

“Worthy of the former ‘Jade Sword Immortal’—fourteen years, and this cold qi is still so overbearing.”

Behind her, a black-clothed attendant knelt on the ground.

“Lord State Preceptor, even the experts dispatched by the forbidden army have been annihilated. Should we take action personally?”

“No.” Feng Xuanyin waved her hand, her fingers lightly sliding over the secret report before finally stopping on a name.

Leng Yanling.

“Sect Leader Leng has come down the mountain. This game is becoming more and more interesting.”

Feng Xuanyin turned around, her light gold pupils reflecting the distant outline of Bianliang City.

“Let Feng Anlan return to the capital—that’s Her Majesty’s will, and mine as well. But she must return ‘covered in wounds.’ Only then will the Zhou side have an excuse.”

“Then, on Sect Leader Leng’s side…”

“Let her be.” Feng Xuanyin looked up at the sky, where a goshawk was circling downward.

“She wants to bring her junior sister home; I want to turn this world upside down. Everyone takes what they need.”

At this time, the capital of the Liang kingdom, Bianliang, was situated at the center of a bizarre storm.

Refugees outside the city, nobles within, and those jianghu forces hidden in the shadows.

Leng Yanling’s swift green luan horse had already entered the city; Shuang Feixue’s lone sword was protecting the down-and-out imperial princess, approaching step by step.

And on that seemingly peaceful Zhuque Street, all the threads seemed to be converging toward the palace.