Chapter 122: The Winds Rise (Part 19)

The flickering firelight illuminated Tingbing Mountain.

Dozens of retainers, gripping blades and clutching bows, stood guard in the surrounding darkness. These simple, honest men from the Xu family village had just endured a bewildering flight, a sudden nocturnal slaughter, and a desperate, explosive struggle for survival. Although more than ten of their number had been killed or wounded, and the survivors were stained with blood and marked by scars, they seemed to have been reborn. They stood straight and tall in the night, their eyes fixed firmly on the glowing fires below the mountain, no longer harboring a trace of fear. Some still cast backward glances toward the mountain hollow.

Xu Le sat beside his grandfather, his expression focused, listening intently as the old man—gravely wounded—spoke on and on. Time flowed like water, and dawn was fast approaching. Yet, Xu Gan felt he had not said enough; he had so much more to tell his grandson.

He wanted to tell Xu Le how their ancestors, entrenched in their fortified village, had once faced the invincible cavalry of the Xianbei and mastered the mounted combat techniques created by the peerless champions of the Murong clan. He wanted to tell him that once on the battlefield, beyond standard military strategy, there were nuances to observe, dangers to watch for, and small tricks one could employ. He wanted to tell him that although the age of chaos was dawning—an era where martial prowess would be the only currency for decades to come—relying on force alone would never lead to true victory.

He wanted to warn him that the great aristocratic clans, those terrifying behemoths that had dominated the chaos of the past centuries and dragged the mighty Sui Dynasty into fragmentation and turmoil, were now poised to greedily feast upon the corpse of the empire. Yet, these clans, despite controlling every institution of the world, had reached the end of their road. The world no longer wished to return to those centuries of bloodshed; a new era was at hand. Though it would be paved with hardship and gore, Xu Le must never, ever become a lackey to those clans.

Leaning against the rock, Xu Gan continued to speak. His white hair fluttered in the night wind, and a flush returned to his cheeks. He no longer seemed like a man nearing the end of his days, nor did he seem burdened by the fatal arrow in his chest. He simply wished to pass on all his experience and wisdom to Xu Le in these fleeting moments. No matter how long the night, it had to end, and for Xu Gan, this night was far too short.

As the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Xu Gan finally fell silent, gazing with profound tenderness at Xu Le, who knelt by his side.

His grandson was a truly handsome youth. His eyes were like bright stars, his nose noble and sharp, and his brows slanted upward like wings. Kneeling there, his back was as straight as a blade. But Le was far too young, and his nature was too sharp; he was about to face the approaching chaos and the increasingly maddened aristocratic clans.

Yet, he could no longer protect him. A self-deprecating smile touched Xu Gan’s lips. What had he truly protected in his life? What had he accomplished? Nothing but a body full of scars, a broken home, and the loss of his kin. He would have to let Le walk his own path from here.

At the very end, Xu Gan wanted to tell Xu Le about his father, Xu Wei—about what happened that night and who the true murderer was. But in the end, he held his tongue. The enemy was simply too powerful. Xu Le was far from being a match for them yet. He would have to discover the truth for himself when he was older and then decide what to do.

Xu Le watched his grandfather in silence. Throughout the night, he had etched every word into his heart. When his grandfather paused, leaving words unsaid, Xu Le understood why. He did not press for answers. Each generation had its own responsibilities. His grandfather had carried the burden for long enough; it was time for him to take it up. But behind him, his grandfather would no longer be standing. Subconsciously, Xu Le bit his teeth together so hard that the taste of blood filled his mouth—he had bitten through his own gums.

In the pale morning light, Xu Gan looked at Xu Le for a long time, then reached out a trembling hand to stroke the young man’s hair. For nineteen years, Xu Gan had been a stern guardian, constantly tempering his only grandson, never before showing such tenderness.

Xu Le bowed his head.

Xu Gan’s voice grew faint, intermittent, thin as a mosquito’s hum. "Death is inevitable for all; there is no need for sorrow. I have lived long enough. Le, you must walk the road ahead alone. Protect yourself, and take care of those beside you."

Dark blood spilled from Xu Gan’s mouth once more as the mountain wind suddenly intensified.

Fragments of memory flickered before Xu Gan’s eyes: the bloody battles along the Yellow River between Northern Zhou and Northern Qi; tens of thousands of warriors from various tribes fighting to the death; black-armored cavalry crashing into enemy lines. He remembered the joy of his son’s birth, the drunkenness at his son’s wedding, and the arrival of his grandson—until that night when the sky was set aflame. The final image was of himself, an old man alone on horseback outside Chang'an, looking down at the infant in his arms, who cooed and danced with joy.

In the autumn of the twelfth year of the Daye era, Xu Gan, a great general of Northern Zhou and a man considered the most influential in the military outside the Eight Pillars of State, perished on Tingbing Mountain.

The hand that had been stroking Xu Le’s hair suddenly slumped. Xu Le raised his head to see his grandfather sitting upright, his head bowed, his breath gone. Xu Le prostrated himself, his body trembling violently, yet he did not utter a sound. Whoever had forced his grandfather from Chang'an, whoever had condemned him to a life of displacement and to this death on Tingbing Mountain, he would drag them out one by one. No one would stop him.

"Grandfather!" Han Xiaoliu’s cry broke the silence. The Han brothers fell to their knees, and the dozens of retainers followed, bowing to bid Xu Gan a final farewell. Mother Han stood in the distance, covering her face as her body shook.

Xu Le stood up and lifted his grandfather’s body. The man who had always seemed so tall and robust in his mind now felt weightless. Xu Le turned to look down the mountain, where the smoke from the campfires still tightly encircled them. Anyone who broke through would be spotted by the Yue Cavalry of Mayi and hunted down.

Han Yue stepped up behind him. Without turning his head, Xu Le said in a low voice, "Bring me my armor."

Han Yue nodded silently and turned away.

Xu Le looked at the tiny figures of the Mayi cavalry emerging in the morning light and whispered, "Grandfather, watch me crush them. Watch me from the heavens."

A fierce wind suddenly rose, blowing from Tingbing Mountain, destined to stir the entire era.