Chapter 114: Let’s call her… ‘Xue Li’…

Chapter 114: Let’s Call Her… ‘Snow Grain’…

At fifteen, Qinglong returned to Fengxiang. Before meeting her aunt, she first sought out certain people—those who had once betrayed her and her aunt.

In her childhood, when she first learned the secret of the human test subjects, she and her aunt had turned to the common folk for help. Those people pretended to sympathize, promised aid, but ultimately betrayed them. Her aunt was forced to remain in Fengxiang, while Qinglong fled far from home. Ten years had passed. The girl who once was had died in Qinglong’s heart, yet three of the betrayers she remembered still lived.

Qinglong confronted them—two men and one woman.

She wanted to hear remorse. Perhaps, at that moment, had they shown repentance, she might have stopped.

The winter frost bit deep, the wind howling like a whistle. Qinglong walked slowly through the snow, spotting three frail figures huddled together in the distance, whispering anxiously. They occasionally glanced up toward her approach, their faces etched with fear.

For a fleeting moment, Qinglong felt disoriented. The towering, invincible foes of her past now stood before her—weak, aged, halfway to the grave. She, in contrast, was in the prime of youth. She had no doubt she could kill them with ease.

The three weathered elders had faces as rough as tree bark. Two dared not meet her gaze, but the leader—a sharp-eyed, hawk-nosed old man—stood unyielding, his expression fierce, utterly unrepentant.

The weakest among them, a woman with frostbitten cheeks, hung her head, her bony fingers fidgeting with the tattered edges of her worn-out coat. Qinglong noted how the woman’s padded jacket, full of holes and shedding stuffing, offered little warmth against the winter chill.

The woman’s voice was barely a whisper: “We wronged you back then. You were just children, and Prefect Yang was a high official… My husband said you were lying, that the magistrate was a good man. And if there really were human test subjects, cooperating would earn us rewards… Later, my husband was taken. My two children were taken. They left me behind, said I wouldn’t last long…”

Her tears were awkward, as if even grief had grown stiff with age. “Only then did I realize you hadn’t lied. We got our retribution. If you want my life, take it. I’ve got no one left anyway…”

The middle-aged man among them noticed Qinglong’s gaze and lifted his head, rattling off excuses like a memorized speech: “What difference does it make? You fled, and the prefect never rewarded us. We had no choice—if the ghost village didn’t suffer, it would’ve been ours… If you’d been in my place, you’d have done the same. We’re no different.”

Qinglong replied coolly, “So, you won’t apologize to me?”

“Then who’ll apologize to us?” The fiercest of the three shot back, lunging forward as if rage could armor him. “You escaped clean—Prefect Yang couldn’t catch you, so he took it out on us, used us as his lab rats. We tried to flee, to report him, but we couldn’t leave, and no one listened. We cooperated, and in the end, we were the criminals. The torment meant for you—we bore it instead.”

He rolled up his sleeve.

The fabric was riddled with needle marks, the skin beneath mottled purple and green, festering, with patches of bone showing through.

The old man snarled, “A man my age shouldn’t have to endure this—all because you got away. If we owe you an apology, then someone owes us one too! If you deserve justice, so do we!”

The other two broke into quiet sobs, wiping their tears with trembling hands. Their backs were bent by time’s cruelty, their bodies stooped under the weight of decay.

Qinglong said nothing.

She watched them, knowing she would hear no more remorse from their lips.

Looking back, perhaps it was then that Qinglong’s trust in people started to rot.

Some people didn’t deserve to be called human. Some didn’t deserve salvation. Some didn’t deserve to live.

She didn’t want to play judge, yet the dagger in her hand matched the cold despair in her heart. Unrelenting disillusionment buried her like the endless winter snow, leaving her to wonder: Was she too stubborn, or just born damned?

Perhaps meeting those three steeled her. Perhaps her heart had already grown cold, for the betrayals that followed failed to break her.

Later, even her aunt betrayed her.

The Fengxiang Qinglong returned to was a city where its people had been turned into human test subjects. The air reeked of despair, the city sealed off, its people hollowed by fear. The slightest spark could ignite the tension in the air.

Here, there was no life—only death.

It was into this Fengxiang that Qinglong returned, sneaking into the prefect’s estate to find her aunt.

She hadn’t expected her aunt to still be alive—just as her aunt hadn’t expected her to survive.

Reunited, both felt a fleeting spark of joy.

The two exchanged stories of their current lives, their joy mixed with surprise as the conversation inevitably turned to the aunt’s current situation. The aunt seemed both awkward and resigned: "...After you left back then, I was supposed to be sent to prison as a human test subject for medicines. But the young master of the Yang family saved me. Unlike the others, he made me his personal maid."

The aunt’s cheeks flushed slightly: "Later... I married him."

Qinglong said bluntly, "You didn’t marry him. You’re just his concubine."

The aunt paled for a moment before looking up in confusion: "...With my background, what else could I expect? Long’er, why have you come back? This place can’t contain you anymore. You’re capable—you should leave quickly..."

Qinglong: "Will you come with me?"

The aunt: "I have a husband now..."

Qinglong remained calm: "Your husband’s father was the one who slaughtered the uncles and aunts who raised you. Your husband may be wealthy, but he’s surrounded by human test subjects fighting for survival. All these years, in Fengxiang City..."

The aunt’s face turned deathly pale: "He doesn’t know. What the Prefect did has nothing to do with him. Long’er, don’t hurt him."

Qinglong coolly assessed the young woman before her.

She hardly recognized the aunt from her memories.

She thought of the sunrises and sunsets of their childhood, the two children hiding and fleeing, the adults telling stories and building the ghost village. The aunt sneaking into the dungeon with her in the dead of night... They had once been unbreakable, once done so many reckless, life-threatening things.

Now, the aunt before her was frail and delicate, moving with graceful, perfumed steps.

She resembled any other young woman of the world—nothing like the beggar girl she once was.

And how much had Qinglong herself moved beyond that life of a beggar?

Qinglong asked, "If I were to wipe out the entire Yang family to avenge our uncles and aunts, would you help me? If I were to destroy the Yangs so they could no longer supply human test subjects to the emperor, to save the people of Fengxiang now, would you help me?"

The aunt’s face lost all color.

Unconsciously, she touched her abdomen. When Qinglong’s gaze followed, she stiffly moved her arm away, standing rigidly.

She didn’t know how formidable Qinglong’s martial arts had become, didn’t know what kind of life Qinglong had lived beyond the borders, in the Western Regions. She didn’t realize Qinglong could deduce her condition just by observing her movements, with a warrior’s trained eye.

But the aunt didn’t speak of it.

Nor did Qinglong ask.

Qinglong only remembered the aunt’s faint reply: "Alright. I’ll help you."

What came next was another betrayal.

Looking back, it seemed insignificant—but in that moment, it meant utter despair.

The aunt betrayed her to them, and the Yangs launched a hunt for Qinglong. That night, flames lit up the streets, the sound of pursuing footsteps rustling like leaves, thick as a coiling dragon. As Qinglong turned back, she couldn’t help but recall the chase from ten years ago.

The difference was, ten years ago, the aunt had desperately fought to leave her a path to survival. Ten years later, the one who most wanted her dead was the aunt herself.

The difference was, Qinglong was no longer that helpless little girl who could only flee far from home.

By the time Qinglong, covered in blood, stood before the aunt, the aunt’s terror that night was plain to see.

Hiding in the room of the Prefect’s son, Young Master Yang, the aunt trembled so violently she upset a teacup, unable to meet Qinglong’s gaze. It was unclear whether she feared the blood on Qinglong or Qinglong herself.

Qinglong had nothing more to say.

She had expected betrayal. When it finally came, numbness served as her armor.

By just looking at Auntie's eyes, Azure Dragon knew she was the informant. The flood of questions in Azure Dragon's heart instantly vanished. She turned to walk out, but Auntie mustered the courage to stop her from behind: "Long'er, where are you going? They're all hunting you down."

Azure Dragon: "Didn't I say it? I will exterminate the Yang family."

Auntie panicked, wanting to rush forward and hold her back, yet the overpowering scent of blood on the young girl drained her courage. She could only murmur repeatedly: "Don't do this, Long'er... Endure it, and it will pass... You won't be made into a medicinal test subject, neither will I... I'll talk to the Young Master, he'll protect us... If you resist, there will only be more medicinal test subjects..."

Tears fell from Auntie's eyes: "But that's His Majesty... that's His Majesty..."

In the eyes of the world, who dares to defy Emperor Xuanming?

To ordinary folk, merely knowing the test subjects were for the emperor should be an honor, not something to flee from. To them, the emperor is supreme, and common folk are but ants beneath his feet.

In the eyes of the world—

Every inch under heaven belongs to the emperor!

--

Fifteen-year-old Azure Dragon was now separated from the present by nineteen long years.

Nineteen years later, Fengxiang City no longer had medicinal test subjects, but it still had slums. Those living there were failed Troopers from over the years, plagued by illnesses, barely clinging to life, each with different ailments requiring different medicines, yet no cure could be found.

Du Chunniang of the "Breeze and Moon Pavilion" ran a shop to support them, though they could only utter the name "Yang."

This likely meant that those supporting them—whether Du Chunniang or the madwoman wasting away on her sickbed in the slums—were all inextricably tied to the Yang family.

Snowflakes blanketed the rooftops, pristine white, the night utterly silent, each breath threatening to drown in the storm.

Lin Ye and Xue Li knelt beside the madwoman's bed, watching as she sobbed uncontrollably.

The past haunted her like a nightmare, tormenting her for years. Day and night, she was trapped in events from nineteen years ago—or even earlier. Regret and confusion gnawed at her, her heart aching as if squeezed dry. When recalling the past, a feverish flush rose to her cheeks.

Absently, she mumbled: "If only we had endured... Long'er, little Long'er, don't brave the storm..."

Her untrimmed nails left angry red scratches on Xue Li's arm.

With Xue Li's martial arts prowess, few in the world today could harm her like this—unless it was someone like Bai Li.

Yet now, Xue Li allowed the madwoman to grip her arm, while Lin Ye watched silently, saying nothing.

Lin Ye's gaze drifted between the snow outside the window and the woman on the bed, before finally settling on Xue Li's pale profile, his eyes shimmering like disturbed waters.

He reached out, gently clasping Xue Li's other hand, resting idly on her knee.

Xue Li seemed not to notice.

She leaned closer to the woman on the bed: "Then, who am I?"

The madwoman shuddered, her tear-streaked gaze lingering on Xue Li's face, sticky with tears frozen with snow.

She stared up at this girl who had appeared in the slums in the dead of night.

She stared at this child—

A slender maiden, graceful as bamboo, with almond eyes and snow-pale skin, transcendent as an immortal.

The girl possessed peerless martial skills, a cool and detached demeanor, a keen mind, and... and...

Tears rolled down the madwoman's cheeks, her sobs choking her breath. She had once screamed herself hoarse, but the more she suffered, the more her tormentors reveled. She was like an ant abandoned by time, powerless, insignificant. Now, in the silence, she no longer knew how to face anything.

Du Chunniang had been her maid back then, kept by Young Master Yang as a sign of favor. Du Chunniang now ran a tavern, well-informed, knowing what the madwoman yearned to know, and would occasionally bring her updates:

Master Yulong was raising a child, who was known as the "Snow Girl."

The Snow Girl was rarely seen in the world. Her reputation rivaled the Wind Master's—both were enigmatic and peerless. The Wind Master was a formidable figure in the martial world, and surely the Snow Girl was no less extraordinary.

People called her a "monster."

The Snow Girl was a monster…

The deranged woman strained to reach out from her sickbed, wanting to touch yet fearing the ravages of time: "You… you are…"

In the residence where the Marriage Alliance Mission stayed, amidst recounting a tale from the past, snow swirled through the air. Chun Jun was locked in combat with the envoys of the alliance. While Ah Zeng and the others were engrossed in the story of an injustice from nineteen years ago, Chun Jun suddenly leapt into the sky.

Her whip, striking when least expected, finished off Liu Minghui, who had been bound beside the courtyard well.

On that snowy night, no one had bothered to cloak Liu Minghui against the cold. His face had long turned blue and purple from the freezing chill, and as the whip slit his throat, a faint smile of relief even flickered across his face.

He was dead.

He'd found his release.

But in this world, there were still countless others who had not—

"Crash!"

"Bang!"

"Lady Chun Jun!"

Weapons that had been set aside by the Marriage Alliance Mission were raised again, now aimed at Chun Jun.

Led by Ah Zeng, the guards moved to surround her. Kong Laoliu and other martial artists, having gotten word, arrived at the residence by dawn, eager to learn how the old tale connected to the present "Trooper Project." When Chun Jun struck, even these seasoned fighters were caught off guard—let alone the others.

At that moment, only Li Weiyan, who lacked martial skills, slowly lifted his eyelids and cast a glance toward Chun Jun, now surrounded by hostility.

Dou Yan’s face paled; after confirming Liu Minghui’s death, she turned to Ah Zeng with vacant eyes.

Ah Zeng was numb with fury. His sword pointed steadily at Chun Jun as he said coldly, "Liu Minghui was the evidence we found to expose Emperor Xuanming’s cruelty. Why did you kill him?"

Chun Jun remained indifferent.

Shrouded in her cloak, she was unfazed by the encircling guards: "Evidence? No one can accuse His Majesty."

Ah Zeng was stunned with rage: "You—!"

After two days fighting alongside them, he had believed Chun Jun stood with the Marriage Alliance Mission—why else would she have shared this old story? But now it seemed—

Chun Jun said, "As long as Emperor Xuanming lives, no one can point out his faults. Not you, not me, not 'Qin Yueye,' not even the Zhang clan of Guanzhong you tried to rally."

Ah Zeng held his sword steady, though the blade trembled slightly.

Chun Jun advanced without hesitation, meeting his gaze: "Our master spent years gaining Emperor Xuanming’s trust. This golden opportunity—will you truly throw it away?"

Ah Zeng sneered, "You and Emperor Xuanming, and the Huoqiu Kingdom—you’re cut from the same cloth…"

"So what?" Chun Jun replied coolly. "As long as your ultimate goal is achieved, does it matter? Without our master, Emperor Xuanming would have created far more Troopers by now. Our master founded the Assassins’ Guild to eliminate the vilest criminals, turning them into the Troopers the emperor desired."

"As long as Emperor Xuanming lives, he will demand either medicinal test subjects or Troopers. Now that he knows of the Southern Zhou young master’s existence, his urgency for human test subjects has lessened. He wants Troopers—and no shortage of people will line up to serve him," Chun Jun said icily. "We're just the middlemen, staving off even greater bloodshed. We’ve saved many lives. You shouldn’t regard 'Qin Yueye' as evil."

Ah Zeng retorted, "Fine-sounding words. Were Xiao Yun’s parents buried in Jinzhou’s pauper’s graves truly the vilest of men? Were all the corpses trafficked by Elder Qian really wicked souls? Did you confirm that yourself? In person? The Wind Master would beg to differ."

Ah Zeng's words jolted the guards—who had been somewhat swayed by Chun Jun—back to awareness: their journey had revealed things that didn’t match what Chun Jun claimed.

The former assassins among the guards wrestled with memories of their past kills: Had they really confirmed that each target "deserved it"?

Ah Zeng snapped, “Who gave you the right to play judge and executioner? Master Yulong isn’t a savior—and neither are you, Chun Jun!”

Chun Jun lifted his gaze.

Ignoring Ah Zeng, he turned to Dou Yan. He saw the inner struggle in her eyes, the confusion. Behind her, the ex-assassins stood caught in an even worse bind.

“I’m just here to talk teamwork,” Chun Jun said. “Without our help, you can’t get near Emperor Xuanming. General Yang Zeng’s fate was set by the emperor. Whether it’s the Southern Zhou young lord or the Shining Night General, both hold a grudge against him. When the wanderers found out they’d been made into Troopers, they realized it was all to fuel the emperor’s conquests. Courtiers who learn about the Troopers and test subjects know it’s all at Xuanming’s mercy. He’s already working with Huoqiu Kingdom—so why not team up with us?”

Ah Zeng’s breath grew heavy.

He’d learned from interrogating Liu Minghui that Dasan Pass had been hollowed out by Huoqiu and Northern Zhou together, filled with hidden Troopers. Transferring Yang Zeng to Fengxiang was clearly part of the plan—a battlefield to mass-produce Troopers and eliminate those who knew too much through war.

A patsy like Yang Zeng, left in the dark, was perfect for the job.

Great Zhou’s two emperors—Xuanming and Guangyi—what a well-oiled scheme.

The night dragged on, life and death hanging by a thread. The soldiers’ blood, bones, and dreams had become tools for rulers’ selfish ends. Ah Zeng staggered back, laughing bitterly. “You won’t march north, he won’t march south—what cousins! Truly Li men, these Li emperors…”

…All demanding their subordinates burn out first, bleed out completely!

Ah Zeng let his sword droop weakly. Chun Jun spoke calmly, “You’ll work with me—and with Master Yulong. Not the Wind Master.”

Dou Yan’s eyelids flickered. “The Master…he’s really back from the dead?”

Li Weiyan lowered his eyes and smiled. “Chun Jun’s meaning seems clear—you’re cleaning house now.”

Chun Jun: "I’ll wait for your answer for five days in Fengxiang."

After speaking, he vaulted onto the eaves. Someone started to move forward to stop him, but Li Weiyan raised a hand, signaling them to let him go.

Snowflakes settled on Chun Jun’s black cloak as they looked up at the figure in black martial robes standing on the roof. Kong Laoliu couldn’t help asking, “Why’s Chun Jun putting in all this effort? What’s she after?”

Chun Jun lifted his gaze.

He looked toward the night sky.

The mist was gray, the snow thick—no moonlight could be seen.

A snowy night without a bright moon.

Chun Jun simply stared in the direction where the moon should have been and whispered, “For… ‘Qin Yueye’ not to be swept away and drowned in this upheaval.”

--

In Jinzhou City, the Prefect was ousted.

Former Prefect Song Lang was shackled and locked in a cage wagon, following the procession of court officials led by Grand Chancellor Lu. He would be escorted to Jianye and sentenced to die after autumn for treason.

Lu Qingmei did not leave with them. She remained in Jinzhou, anxiously awaiting any news from Northern Zhou.

Lin Ye and the others had been deep in Northern Zhou for over a month—their success or failure would be decided in the coming months. Southern Zhou had lost its emperor; the new emperor refused the throne, leaving the kingdom in turmoil… If Northern Zhou gained the upper hand, Huoqiu Kingdom wouldn’t be the first to fall—it would be Southern Zhou.

Meanwhile, locked in the cage wagon, Song Lang suddenly lifted his eyelids—his clouded eyes catching a snowflake that landed on them.

--

Outside the “Fengyue Pavilion” in Fengxiang, Yu Long picked her way down a snow-choked alley.

After killing the first person, the terrified Du Chunniang finally revealed her aunt’s hiding place—now a slum—once the “Ghost Village.”

Foreseen, yet unforeseen.

A woman descended into madness and returned to the very beginning of the story.

Yu Long walked through the narrow alley. She heard scattered footsteps behind her—children chasing after her. They were failed troopers, ones she had discarded. With Song Lang’s help, Du Chunniang had hidden these failed troopers within the city of Fengxiang.

They thought she was unaware. She wasn’t.

Fengxiang was a good place to hide.

Because Emperor Xuanming and the Huoqiu Kingdom had collaborated in Fengxiang, excavating the Dasan Pass. Beneath it now lay a man-made cavern, densely packed with troopers.

A Fengxiang already brimming with secrets—what’s a few more failed troopers? No one would notice.

Song Lang loved his people as his own.

But what did it matter? How many so-called righteous deeds in the eyes of others were just as vile?

Who didn’t start out wanting to save lives? Who, by the end of the story, wasn’t soaked in blood?

Yu Long had no way back. Could Song Lang truly say his hands were clean?

Did Song Lang still remember the words he used to persuade her when they first met?

And did she still wish to recall that moment nineteen years ago, after she slaughtered the entire Yang family, when the White King of Huoqiu proposed an alliance from across the desert sea?

Thirty long years.

In the days before she became Yu Long or the youngest daughter of the Azure Dragon, the moment she set foot in Huoqiu, the White King’s ambition had been cultivated daily, growing unchecked. The White King had limitless ambition, while Yu Long bore bottomless despair…

She fixed on the letter from the distant White King, at her aunt lying on the bloodied ground, begging her, at the infant swaddle her aunt refused to let her take… Yu Long couldn’t tear her eyes away from the White King’s letter.

--

In the slums, the madwoman’s hand rested on Xue Li’s cheek.

The light in the madwoman’s eyes, fading in her final years, kindled with hope at the sight of the girl before her. So many years, so much torment, searching, and denial.

Wind rattled the windows, snow bit with cold. She lay on the sickbed, each labored movement creaking like palsy-stricken limbs. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to smile. The madwoman’s gaze—filled with longing, tenderness, and unbearable attachment—melded into haze, engulfing Xue Li: “I like snow…”

--

The prison cart rolled on, snow dusted Song Lang’s temples, making him look half a century older.

Song Lang thought back to his first meeting with Yu Long—a green scholar fresh to court, finding the girl clutching a swaddle in a nameless mountain drenched in blood.

She said her name was Yu Long. After returning to Northern Zhou, she was no longer the Azure Dragon. Her rebirth was the beginning of her fall.

Song Lang had once tried to save Yu Long, to change everything that had disappointed her. In the end, he was swept along, watching helplessly as she descended into a godforsaken abyss, too close to her, too empathetic.

This… utterly filthy world.

Back then, Yu Long sat with him in a cave, watching him feed the wailing infant goat’s milk: “If you went through what I did, if you suffered as I have, would you understand me?”

Song Lang was lost in her story. He steeled himself: “You slaughtered the entire Yang family. The court will hunt you down. Let’s leave Fengxiang together. I won’t take this post, and you… stop killing. I’ll help you. I understand your despair. I’ll do my best…”

Yu Long’s gaze fell on the infant in her arms.

A child like morning dew, with eyes pure as snow, dark pupils within white.

Yu Long whispered, “I hate snow.”

--

Yu Long walked through the narrow alley, snow curling like smoke around her.

She walked through a dark, winding passage, aimless and adrift. Nineteen years ago, she had walked this very alley; thirty years ago, she had first fought to survive within its walls.

She could hear the weeping of her uncles, the anguished pleas for mercy from the people of Fengxiang, the wet thuds of swords sinking into Yang family flesh, and the cries of her young aunt ringing in her ears: "Don't take my child, don't take her… Kill me instead, just don't hurt her… Long'er, Long'er! I beg you, spare my child—take my life instead…"

She wished to vanish with the wind, yet feared the distant jade palaces above. No one enters this world bearing guilt—so why was her path so dark? If only by clearing away all chaos and uprooting every weed could one glimpse the light, then was she not born already stained?

This country festered from the marrow out. She had struggled to reach the side of Emperor Xuanming of Northern Zhou, only to learn of Southern Zhou’s decades of hardship—it only deepened her conviction.

Snow smothered heaven and earth, burying all life beneath a shroud of endless cold. In this life, she had never known what a good world looked like, nor had she ever seen one. Cornered by grief, her obsession hardened over time. She opened the floodgates, unleashing ruin—her soul carved by destruction, killing others as she destroyed herself—

Yu Long remembered cradling the infant, swaddled and warm, as Song Lang persuaded her to head toward Southern Palace Mountain, intending to raise the child herself.

Song Lang: "She must have a name."

Yu Long lowered her gaze, studying the baby’s delicate face, carefree smile, and dark eyes. The wind and snow stung her vision; time’s arrow pierced her heart anew. Yu Long walked through the frost of nineteen years past, and now through the torrents of nineteen years later—

"She was born in the snow. Unwanted, unblessed, destined to be my tool—used, unnoticed, uncherished.

"Call her… 'Xue Li.'"

Years later, when "Qin Yueye" compiled the tower’s register of names, "Xue Li" was mistakenly recorded as "Xue Li" (Xue Li).