TIC Extra 2

Huai'an 2: Summoning Souls

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Chapter 17: Parting with the Dust and Frost

The snow ceased in the latter half of the night, and the wind began to turn dry and biting. As the Hour of the Ox drew to a close, a patrol of Northern Desert cavalrymen had halted to rest their horses; huddled in small groups of two or three, they leaned against one another, sipping on mare's milk wine and drifting into a drowsy stupor.

Suddenly, hundreds of daggers and short blades flashed with a cold, steely glint, seeming to freeze the very snow beneath their feet. By the time the cavalrymen turned to look, their throats had already been severed.

There was no sound; everything remained as silent as the chilling night wind whistling past.

One of the Xi Li soldiers fumbled his strike, allowing two Northern Desert cavalrymen—who had narrowly escaped death beneath the blades—to spin around and flee.

"Don't let them get away to raise the alarm!" Huai'an urged in a hushed voice.

Gui Ningyuan whipped the dagger from his waist; it tore through the night wind, and the fleeing man stumbled a few steps before collapsing into the snow.

Huai'an, too, drew the long whip he wore coiled around his waist; carried by the whistling northern gale, it lashed out and cinched tight around the neck of the other man. With a single, forceful tug, the man’s life was snuffed out.

"How do you still know how to use *that*?" Gui Ningyuan asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"To give you a thrashing whenever you got out of line, you little brat," Huai'an murmured softly into Gui Ningyuan's ear as he walked past him, turning his face just slightly to the side.

Donning the uniforms of the Northern Desert cavalry and mounting their horses, five hundred elite Xi Li soldiers galloped straight toward the Northern Desert Royal Court, shrouded in the deep darkness of the night. Meanwhile, within the Royal Court itself, a revelry was in full swing, lasting until dawn as a grand banquet was held to fete the Emperor and Prime Minister who had fled there from the realm of Da Ming.

If the Northern Desert wished to march south into the Central Plains, they were compelled to pass through Da Ming; consequently, the relationship between Da Ming and the Northern Desert had long been one of mutual benefit—at once adversarial and allied. Every shred of interest the Northern Desert sought to secure within the Central Plains required Da Ming's explicit sanction; conversely, Da Ming had long served as a natural bulwark, shielding the Northern Desert from the incursions of the Central Plains states and the nations of the South.

Given its remote geographical location and harsh environment, the Northern Desert had long cast covetous eyes upon the fertile riches of the Central Plains, harboring a deep desire to launch a massive southward expansion. Yet, having to rely on Da Ming for passage meant effectively placing themselves under another's control—a source of enduring frustration and regret for the Northern Desert Royal Court. The decision to offer sanctuary to the fugitive Emperor of Da Ming and his Chancellor, Su Zhiwen, was ultimately driven by the allure of the terms Su Zhiwen had proposed. Su Zhiwen was keenly aware of the deep-seated grievance that plagued Bei Mo; he was willing to offer, in exchange, a vast tract of Da Ming’s territory—a swath spanning three-tenths of the empire, stretching from the southwest all the way to the north. With this contiguous territory providing an unimpeded north-to-south corridor, the iron cavalry of Bei Mo could march southward to storm the passes with absolutely no further inhibitions.

The sole prerequisite, of course, was that Bei Mo must commit its troops to aid the Emperor of Da Ming in restoring his fallen empire.

It was a perfect accord. The night-long revelry of song, dance, and feasting within the felt tent gradually subsided as the night drew to a close; the guests, now thoroughly intoxicated, began to feel the onset of drowsiness.

"The armies of Xi Li simply cannot compare to the iron cavalry of the Great Desert. They might be capable of skirmishing with the effete little kingdoms of the South, but were they to truly face off against our hundred thousand horsemen, they would crumble at the slightest touch." The chieftain of Bei Mo, flushed with drink, clapped the Emperor of Da Ming on the shoulder. "Rest assured: once the snow melts and the mountain passes open next month, with the support of our Three Northern Tribes, retaking Da Ming will be child's play. Right now, the main Xi Li forces are clashing with our troops along the Da Ming border; they are doing nothing but scrambling to keep up—gaining absolutely no ground whatsoever. In my estimation, their recent string of victories was nothing more than a stroke of dumb luck."

The entire tent erupted in raucous laughter.

"Their Emperor is a capable fighter, true enough, but at the end of the day, he is still just a callow, wet-behind-the-ears brat—hardly a figure to be feared. A few years back, they did acquire a formidable general, but alas, he died young. Had it not been for the protection afforded by Yi Dong over these past three years, they would have been finished long ago. We owe a great debt to Chancellor Su for his skillful mediation, which helped Yi Dong see the true lay of the land and persuaded them to join forces with you and me." The chieftain of Bei Mo then took a seat beside Su Zhiwen, raising his cup to drink with him. "Hmph. Though, truth be told, Yi Dong still proved rather useless. They set out to 'trap the dog behind closed doors,' yet ended up getting bitten by the dog themselves. Otherwise, by this very moment, Xi Li would have already been carved up and divided amongst us."

Su Zhiwen merely smiled and nodded in agreement—a smile executed with exquisite precision: a fraction more would have verged on sycophancy; a fraction less, on cold indifference. It seemed as though his smile was the *only* correct way to smile—the only smile that betrayed absolutely nothing of the man behind it. “I hear that the commander who led west Li’s forces a few years back was originally a man of Da Ming. How did they manage to poach someone of such formidable caliber?” the chieftain of Bei Mo asked, pouring wine for Su Zhiwen as he spoke.

“He was taken prisoner; unable to withstand their threats and inducements, he committed treason and defected to the enemy. Had it not been for Prime Minister Su’s keen insight—*hmph*.” Before Su Zhiwen could offer a reply, the Emperor of Da Ming began to grumble in complaint.

Su Zhiwen maintained his usual expression—neither nodding nor shaking his head. It had become nearly impossible to discern any emotion or thought from his face. He resembled the night itself: seemingly right before one’s eyes, yet always concealing depths that remained unfathomable.

“Disaster! The fodder depot is on fire!” Suddenly, a clamor of voices erupted from outside the felt tent.

The chieftain froze for a moment, the alcohol-induced haze clearing from his mind. The fodder depot held the winter provisions for the army’s horses; if it were to burn to the ground, the entire Royal Court would have to be relocated—a prospect that struck him as an utter nuisance.

Uttering a curse, he set down his wine cup and strode toward the exit. The Emperor of Da Ming rose as well, intending to follow him out to investigate. But just then, Su Zhiwen quietly reached out and tugged at his sleeve from behind.

The fodder depot was heavily guarded; how could a fire break out so easily? Moreover, even if a fire *had* started, fanned by the dry, biting wind, the flames would have surely soared skyward in an instant. The guards stationed outside the tent would have spotted the blaze immediately; any alarm should have been raised by the guards closest to the scene, yet the shouts seemed to be coming from a distance. In this foreign land, far from home, it was best to err on the side of caution.

The chieftain pushed aside the tent flap, stepped outside, and scanned the distance. There was not a trace of smoke or flame to be seen. He questioned the soldiers nearby, all of whom confirmed they had heard the shouts but had witnessed no fire. The chieftain was just opening his mouth to unleash a tirade when, like a meteor streaking across the dawning sky, a sharp arrow shot forth and pierced straight through his throat.

A hundred paces away, Huai An—mounted on his steed—drew his mighty bow taut as a full moon. The arrow flew true as a shooting star, tearing a path through the ranks of the Bei Mo Royal Court’s guards.

“Assassin! Give chase!”

The soldiers stationed outside the Royal Court fell into disarray; scrambling onto their horses, they launched a relentless pursuit of Huai An. “Damn it! Huaian was right—Su Zhiwen truly is a cunning fox; he really didn't step foot outside his tent. We won't wait any longer—attack!” From behind a small hillock on the opposite flank, Gui Ningyuan led his troops in a direct assault on the Royal Court.

The soldiers whom Huaian had lured away were too late to fall back and defend; they could only watch helplessly as the Royal Court’s defenses were breached. The Northern Desert forces were thrown into utter chaos—men and horses alike were overturned, and several key chieftains were taken prisoner alive. Simultaneously, the Xi Li soldiers who had previously remained stationed at the valley entrance launched a swift strike, severing every route by which the Northern Desert reinforcements could reach the Royal Court.

“That damned Emperor and Su Zhiwen have slipped through our fingers again!”

Gui Ningyuan scoured every felt tent, yet found no trace of the Great Ming Emperor or Su Zhiwen. Huaian remained silent, his gaze fixed intently upon the faint, indistinct glimmer of dawn rising on the horizon.

They could not be allowed to escape. If they slipped away this time, recapturing them would be a feat as impossible as scaling the heavens—and it would inevitably lead to endless future calamities.

The wind swept across the open wilderness from every direction, swirling wildly and erratically. The sun had risen, yet its light remained dim and murky, failing to pierce the gloom; the landscape felt less like the waking world and more like the realm of the dead.

Huaian scanned the surrounding terrain, then suddenly vaulted onto his horse.

“Where are you going?” Gui Ningyuan barely had the words out of his mouth before Huaian was already galloping away, riding straight into the wind.

Five arrows remained in his quiver, a bow was slung across his back, and a horse carried him forward—it was enough. More than enough to bring this to a final, definitive end.

An end to the man he had loved for ten years. An end to his service to the realm he had sworn to defend with his life for twenty-six years. And an end to the enemy who had annihilated his entire clan—as well as the former master of Great Ming who had never once placed his trust in him.

Huaian rode on without looking back, yet he knew with absolute certainty what lay behind him: the slowly ascending morning sun. And, surely, the figure of Gui Ningyuan, spurring his horse onward in hot pursuit.

After riding hard for nearly thirty *li*, Huaian suddenly reined in his horse and halted at a fork in the road. Seated atop his steed, he drew his bowstring taut, aiming toward the northwest—yet held his release.

To the northwest lay a patch of woods. Its withered branches twisted and tangled, obscuring the faint rays of the morning sun; the forest itself remained a mere blur of shifting shadows, yielding nothing but the rustling whisper of leaves in the wind. Huai’an closed his eyes.

The wind swept through the branches. That was his sixteenth year. He was still a lowly captain in the military camp—having just earned his first battlefield merit, he had gone to the imperial court to receive his commendation.

Inside the Great Ming Imperial Palace, civil and military officials gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing jovially. He stood in a corner, gazing upon the magnificent halls and this mighty empire, believing that he would be able to protect his homeland and his family.

"Well, look here—where did this greenhorn brat come running in from?" A group of dandies, clad in silks and finery, strutted past him with their noses held high. Huai’an lowered his head and remained silent.

The wind swept through the withered grass. Then, a single ray of light appeared amidst the crowd. A slender, refined young man stepped out from that group and walked over to stand beside him.

"That is an envoy from Yidong; pay no mind to his nonsense—he is merely jealous that you are younger than he is." At his words, the crowd erupted in laughter, surging around the young man to converse with him in high spirits. In every gesture and movement, the young man exuded an air of effortless grace and seasoned maturity. Huai’an kept his head bowed and remained silent, yet inwardly, he smiled along with them.

The wind swept through the empty forest path.

"What is your name?"

"Huai’an."

"A young master of the Huai clan? Your grandfather and father were both generals; you, too, are bound to succeed." Having said this, the young man turned and walked away. It was high summer—the brief, fleeting summer of Great Ming. A profusion of blossoms bloomed along the path he took as he departed.

That year, Su Zhiwen had just turned twenty; yet, he already stood head and shoulders above the other civil officials of Great Ming, having attained the rank of a high-ranking minister.

The blossoms withered and fell. Hooves trampled over the dry twigs and fallen leaves, followed by the crushing weight of carriage wheels.

Suddenly, an arrow tore through the vast expanse of the sky—tearing through the wind, tearing through the memories—and whistled forth.

Deep within the woods, a carriage collapsed in response to the arrow’s strike. Huai’an opened his eyes and slung his bow back across his shoulders. Four arrows remained in his quiver.

Heavenly troops descend like snow upon the Jade Gate Pass; enemy arrows fly like sand against their golden armor.

That was his sixteenth year—the year he emerged as a rising star among the archers of the Great Ming army, a warrior whose aim was unerring. Huai An, mounted on horseback, blocked the path in front of the overturned carriage. There was someone inside the carriage, though they had not yet climbed out. The man who had been driving the carriage was Su Zhiwen; he now stood to one side of the vehicle.

"Minister Huai." Su Zhiwen smiled.

The sun had risen high, catching in the tangled branches overhead.

The horse grew somewhat restless; Huai An gently stroked its mane from the saddle, and the animal immediately calmed down again.

*Minister Huai.* The last time he had heard that title was five years ago. Back then, Huai An had gone to war with Su Zhiwen’s child growing within him.

"Truly worthy of the title, Minister Huai. You have every move I make mapped out perfectly."

Huai An gazed silently at this man—someone he had known for ten years, yet had all but forgotten for the last five.

"With drawn bow, you shatter the left flank; with a release to the right, you strike down the Moon Tribe. Minister Huai, your aim remains astonishingly precise."

That smile, that face—they seemed so utterly foreign, as if he had never known them at all.

"To die by your hand... I suppose that counts as a fitting end." Su Zhiwen gave a slight bow, a gesture of formal courtesy. "I only ask this: my family remains in the Northern Desert. I hope you will treat them with kindness."

"Under the laws of Xili, the elderly, the infirm, and women and children are neither slain nor subjected to humiliation," Huai An replied.

"Good. Very good. In that case, I have nothing left to say. Go ahead—make your move." Su Zhiwen looked up at Huai An, still seated upon his horse.

Huai An looked back at Su Zhiwen. Behind him, the fiery-red sun had burst through the clouds, yet it was completely obscured by Huai An’s silhouette. His figure—and his face—remained shrouded in deep shadow; no matter how one strained to look, they remained utterly indistinct.

"I have no authority to make a move. Whether you live or die—that decision rests entirely with His Majesty."

"Oh?" Su Zhiwen smiled and shook his head. "Does he treat you well?"

He understood Huai An just as well as Huai An understood him. Had he not failed to anticipate that Huai An was still alive, there was no way he would have allowed himself to be cornered by him here today.

But Huai An *was* indeed alive—whether his life had been one of hardship, pain, or perhaps even sweetness and joy, it was now a matter that held no relevance to him.

"Not well enough. He still has much to learn." Gui Ningyuan emerged slowly from the woods behind them, leading his horse by the reins. "Prime Minister Su, choose your path: life or death."

"Live to submit to Xili?" Su Zhiwen sneered. "I will never be a servant to two masters."

Huai An’s brows furrowed deeply.

Gui Ningyuan stepped in front of Huai An, placing himself between the latter and Su Zhiwen. "Oh? And what of those who bear two surnames—one of Light, one of Shadow; presenting one face to the world while plotting another behind its back? How do you explain that?"

Su Zhiwen was just about to open his mouth when Gui Ningyuan cut him off. "Hold your tongue, Prime Minister Su. Your tongue is far too sharp; We cannot hope to outargue you—nor do We wish to. However, you are indeed worrying over nothing; Xili has absolutely no desire to take you in. If you wish to live, go and clarify the truth regarding the Huai family affair from years ago—set the record straight, once and for all."

"You speak to me of right and wrong?" Su Zhiwen cast a cold, disdainful look at Gui Ningyuan. "Xili stands on the left, while I stand on the right; a single line must be viewed from both ends. What you perceive as 'right' is, in all likelihood, precisely what Da Ming perceives as 'wrong'."

Gui Ningyuan showed no sign of offense; on the contrary, he smiled. "Prime Minister Su’s tongue is indeed formidable; We truly cannot outmatch you—nor do We intend to try." Gui Ningyuan clapped his hands, and two Xili soldiers emerged, escorting Lady Su—who was, in truth, the legitimate Princess of Da Ming.

"We warned you four years ago, Prime Minister Su: We are but a mere soldier—one who has lived by the blade and spilled rivers of blood. We ascended to the throne of this nation by sheer chance, yet We utterly lack the refined cultivation and moral rectitude expected of a true monarch. We are capable of employing any dirty trick imaginable. If you do not go and clearly explain the full details of the Huai family case from years past, then We shall simply have to put your wife to death."

Su Zhiwen visibly stiffened, his face darkening instantly. "According to the laws of Xili, one does not execute the elderly, the infirm, women, or children."

"The laws of Xili?" Gui Ningyuan burst into laughter. "The laws of Xili are what the people of Xili deem right; as Prime Minister Su himself has said—'Xili stands on the left, and I on the right; a single line must be viewed from both ends.' What *we* deem right is, I fear, precisely what *Da Ming* deems wrong. Thus, I have no choice but to humbly heed your instruction: I shall invert these notions of right and wrong, and employ a set of laws tailored specifically to Prime Minister Su’s own twisted moral compass to 'entertain' him."

From atop his horse, Huai’an lowered his head and smiled faintly. Guiningyuan glanced up and caught the sight instantly. It was the second day of *Jingzhe*—the Awakening of Insects—and the spring winds had arrived from the northeast, drifting in gently, heavy with rain. The first touch of yellow had already transformed the willow branches, while the early bloom of white had startled the plum blossoms into life. Spring itself seemed to have begun within Huai’an’s smile.

It was not until Huai’an gave him a subtle kick that Guiningyuan snapped back to reality. Rubbing his eyes, he tore his gaze away from Huai’an. He couldn't look; whenever he did, he felt like a complete fool. Guiningyuan frowned.

Su Zhiwen’s expression remained utterly serene; he simply fixed his gaze upon Guiningyuan.

"You don't believe me?" *Hah.* Guiningyuan sneered. Drawing his dagger, he strode two paces forward to stand before Lady Su, raising his hand as if to draw blood.

That legitimate Princess of Da Ming had never witnessed such a scene before; let alone a blade, she likely never even had to lift her own chopsticks to eat. Now, she screamed aloud in terror, trembling uncontrollably from head to toe.

Yet, Su Zhiwen remained silent. His face was utterly devoid of emotion.

"You bastard..." Guiningyuan thought in astonishment. Could this Su Zhiwen truly be willing to cast aside this woman's life and death with such indifference? "Very well, Su Zhiwen. I still hold your two sons in my custody. We shall take them one by one—we’ll grind you down slowly." With a flick of Guiningyuan’s wrist, the tip of the blade sliced ​​through the skin of the woman’s neck. Terrified into voicelessness, she could not even manage to let out a single sound.

"Your Majesty, stop!" The first to cry out in protest was, surprisingly, Huai’an.

"Huai’an, have you lost your mind? He slaughtered your entire clan—every last member of the Huai family, from the elders down to the youngest children!" Guiningyuan shouted, yet his hand—the hand holding the blade—froze mid-motion. Whatever Huai’an said, he would always heed.

"Then *he* is the one who has lost his mind," Huai’an replied calmly. Gui Ningyuan, too, fell silent, gazing toward Huai’an.

“He will never offer a clarification regarding the events of the past,” Huai’an said with a smile—one devoid of bitterness, seeming instead to hold a sense of release. “I have watched this man for fifteen years, yet I always felt I could not truly see him. I thought he sought genuine affection, yet he remained ever elusive, drifting in and out of reach; I thought he craved unbridled freedom, yet he clung tightly to power and status; I thought he desired wealth and glory, yet he swore undying loyalty to Great Ming. Only in this moment do I finally see him clearly: what he truly desires is merely the image of himself that exists in the minds of others.”

“The image of himself in the minds of others?” Gui Ningyuan asked.

“He adores the reflection of himself he sees in his wine cup while drinking and making merry with royalty and nobility; he adores the image of himself—applauded by ministers across the land—as he maneuvers through foreign courts to secure victories from a thousand miles away; and he adores the figure of ‘Prime Minister Su’—hailed with thunderous acclaim by the masses—as he shows compassion for the people and petitions on their behalf. That perfect version of himself—as seen through the eyes of others—is his one true love and obsession. To expect him to stand before the people of Great Ming and expose the shameful deeds he has committed himself... that is an absolute impossibility.”

Huai’an turned his head to look at the Great Ming Princess—Prime Minister Su’s lawful wife—who stood there pale with fright and trembling uncontrollably. “The people he claimed to have loved were, in truth, no different from the ceremonial sash he wore at his waist; they served merely as further proof—further validation—of his own ‘perfect’ life.”

Huai’an dismounted and walked over to stand beside Gui Ningyuan. “May this humble general beg a favor on behalf of the Princess?”

Gui Ningyuan nodded, sheathed his dagger, and stepped aside. “I leave it entirely to General Huai’s discretion.”

"You shall join them in death. We will reunite you—mother and son. May you find a kindred spirit in this life; perhaps that person is none other than yourself."

Gui Ningyuan pointed toward the carriage, inside which the Emperor of Da Ming had been cowering, never once daring to show his face. "What a spineless wretch this deposed emperor is! How on earth did he manage to claw his way onto the throne? How did his brothers not simply strangle him to death?"

Huai An smiled. "On the contrary—he poisoned and murdered every single one of his brothers."

Huai An turned toward the carriage, which now lay overturned and teetering precariously. "There are many sordid deeds—deeds that the Huai clan, and I myself, know all too well. In years past, out of deference to you as our sovereign, we chose not to speak of them. But now, I realize just how truly filthy they are—so filthy, in fact, that the grime has stained us as well. Consider it a hard-learned lesson."

Gui Ningyuan sighed. The realm, power, glory, and wealth—by the time they pass through one's own hands, who knows what foul, corrupted forms they take? Only the outermost veneer remains bright and gleaming. He turned to look at Huai An—the only pure and untainted possession left in his life.

"As for how to deal with these two," Gui Ningyuan said, stepping back, "I leave that entirely to General Huai."

Huai An turned his back and signaled the two soldiers guarding the Princess of Da Ming to take her away.

A scattering of hurried footsteps faded into the distance, crunching over the accumulated snow and the withered branches and fallen leaves buried beneath it. In the depths of this bitter winter, there was neither the chirping of insects nor the song of birds—only the whistling west wind, ruthlessly stripping away every last shred of vitality from the treetops.

Huai An reached behind him into his quiver, drew out two arrows, lowered his head, and nocked his bow.

Let the cycle of grievances—the lost lives and injustices suffered by the Huai clan—end here and now.

When he turned around again, the past was like an arrow loosed from the string—flying forward without looking back, finding its true destination.

"Are we going home, Ah-Ning?" Amidst the quiet woods, only the two of them remained—breathing softly in the stillness. Not too many, not too few—just the two of them; it was perfect.

"We are going home. Spring has already arrived there."

As they led their horses down the mountain, the sun hung like a fiery orb in the sky, casting a crimson glow upon the dark,玄-colored armor Huai An wore. *It looks just like a wedding gown,* Gui Ningyuan thought to himself.

Huai’an then addressed the woman: “Whether in Western Li or in Great Ming, the social customs are enlightened and open-minded. Although you were raised deep within the palace walls, you are now a mother yourself; it is time you learned to live your own life. Neither your husband—the Prime Minister—nor your brother—the Emperor—is worthy of you...”