Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Alliance (Part Eleven)

At the foot of the low mountain, Xu Le and his companions rushed down as if flying, Xu Le taking a final leap in those last steps. The servants watching over the horses below saw the commotion not far off and were momentarily at a loss. As Xu Le and his group sprinted down, they finally regained their composure, leading the horses forward to meet them.

Xu Le's large crimson horse, whose lineage was unknown, had long legs, a narrow waist, and a shoulder height equal to a man's. Though it too had lost much flesh, it remained spirited and robust, its stride powerful. This warhorse had been carefully chosen by Xu Gan, meant for Xu Le; as for where it came from, Xu Le had long since given up guessing at his grandfather's uncanny abilities.

As his master raced down, the crimson horse grew excited, neighing and pawing the ground as it approached, as if more eager for battle than Xu Le himself. Xu Le came running, and without waiting for the servant to hand him the reins, he slapped the saddle and vaulted up.

Han Yue followed closely behind Xu Le, tall yet swift, almost like Xu Le’s shadow. As Xu Le mounted, Han Yue was already leading his own horse by the reins.

Han Yue’s original steed was a common village horse, badly worn after the struggle with Yuan Junwei, its hooves ruined and now useless. His current mount was a gift from Luo Dun—well-fed, muscular, and its shoulder height only slightly less than Xu Le’s. Not only Han Yue, but all the horses from Song Bao downward had been selected from Luo Dun’s tribe, given without hesitation to Xu Le’s party.

Han Yue’s saddle bore not only his belongings but also a lance thrust diagonally at its side, and a large bundle tied securely behind. The bundle had been carried all the way, never lost, fastened tightly. Han Yue drew out the lance and tossed it to Xu Le, then mounted his horse.

Xu Le caught the lance casually, watching Han Yue mount and fall in behind him. Song Bao, running at full speed, was the third to grab his reins. Xu Le raised his lance: “Ah Yue, Da Lang, follow me and ride ahead. The others, wait here!”

Ahead lay a settlement of more than a thousand Yue tribesmen, unaware of what was happening—a camp with hundreds of fierce warriors of the steppe. Speed was crucial; the three would scout out the situation, come and go freely, and then decide what to do.

To lead an army, scouts must go first. Even with only seven or eight men, Xu Le’s command had the proper form.

Han Yue needed no prompting; even if Xu Le were to battle the ten kings of hell in the underworld, Han Yue would follow. Song Bao hesitated briefly, mounted, and uttered just one word: “Go!”

Xu Le’s face was cold, his lance held downward. He tugged the reins. The crimson horse reared, spun half a circle in mid-air, and with a piercing neigh, galloped toward the encampment of the thousand Yue tribesmen!

“I don’t care about your other affairs. If you nine tribes tear each other apart, I’ll just watch. But my grandfather has few friends; if you harm Old Luo Dun, I’ll turn your nine clans upside down!”

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Bu Li was also racing back.

Across the wilderness, the low mountain defensive line of the Heng’an Eagle Battalion lay ahead, and behind it, the settlement of a thousand Yue tribesmen engaged in fierce battle.

Bu Li's small figure, black hair flying, her face streaked with tears, yet she gritted her teeth and ran wildly.

In all her years, Bu Li had never been so afraid. The days spent in the wolf pack were long forgotten, when she lived in a haze, surviving only by instinct.

Only when Luo Dun found her did she eat warm food for the first time, was taught to wash and dress, shown how to do countless things, for the first time felt safe beside someone, began to care about the world, realized she was a person.

All of this was because of Luo Dun: when bitten or scratched, he’d only laugh it off; at night, he’d watch over her and tuck her beneath a wool blanket; he’d helplessly watch her break things.

Whenever she saw his grey hair and beard, Bu Li felt at ease. Sometimes she’d mischievously pull out a few hairs, and Luo Dun would only chuckle.

Luo Dun said he was her grandfather, and as long as fate spared him, he’d always protect her.

Bu Li swore to protect her grandfather for life; if fate sought to take him, she’d stab fate itself with her knife!

But today, her grandfather was seized among many people. He told her to run, to find that young man whose smile revealed six white teeth, who seemed friendly but always made Bu Li feel uneasy.

Bu Li possessed a natural sensitivity to danger and was actually quite afraid of people, though she masked it with her fierce demeanor.

She obeyed her grandfather. She ran. Yet she was terrified—so many armed men hacking each other down, making her hair stand on end. Her only memory from the wolf pack: when she saw too many men with weapons, she must run!

But now, Bu Li only wanted to turn back, charge into the dangerous crowd, and rescue her grandfather!

She knew she couldn’t save him… Bu Li knew she was agile, could move silently, could end a man before he noticed her—except for that young man with six white teeth, whose reflexes were even quicker than hers!

But there were so many… Even if she died trying, she couldn’t save her grandfather. So when he told her to find that young man, Bu Li fled without hesitation!

That young man, always smiling, always revealing six white teeth, made Bu Li’s hair stand on end. It was a unique instinct she carried from life in the wolf pack.

Just as her wolf pack would sense the greatest danger when the king of the mountain, the tiger, roared past.

Only he could save her grandfather!

As long as she could find him!

Bu Li ran, lungs burning, tears streaming without her noticing, no time to wipe them away, wind chilling her face.

An arrow whistled past, its wind fierce, shot from a strong bow.

Bu Li dared not look back, unsure how much longer she could last. Perhaps after one arrow, a dozen bows were drawn behind her, and soon arrows would rain.

Just then, through tear-filled eyes, Bu Li saw a rider charging toward her.

Crimson horse, long lance, fluttering robes—Xu Le atop the horse.

But his usual smiling face was now cold as iron, sword-like brows raised, full of murderous intent, charging like lightning!

Again, the sound of arrows slicing the air—her pursuers firing.

Bu Li finally cried out, her voice still childish, made awkward by rare speech.

But Bu Li could speak.

“Bad men have taken Grandpa!”