The Legend of the Rebel Marquis

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The rushing green waters shivered in the wind,
And the persistent evening rain dampened the flowers’ faces.
Along the riverbank, the croaking of frogs seeped into the ears,
While a solitary sail, forlorn, drifted—a sorrowful traveler.

...

“Master, just ahead lies Blackwind Pass.” On the sailboat, an elder with graying hair nervously alerted the man beside him.

The man nodded slightly, offering no further words. Though in his fifties, the traces of hardship and sorrow were etched deeply upon his face.

“Master, rest assured, we will be safe,” said the old man. Yet anyone could hear the hollowness in his reassurance—it was as much to soothe himself as his master.

“Pass the word—everyone must be cautious,” the man sighed. Since they had come this far, they could only hope for heaven’s mercy.

Besides the two of them, more than a dozen others were aboard, including ten robust men whose bearing marked them as skilled guards. Yet even with such protection, none dared breathe loudly before Blackwind Pass, as if fearful of provoking some lurking threat.

Blackwind Pass was a border town of the Chen Kingdom. Backed by the Heaven’s End Mountains, its east and west flanks hemmed in by dense forests and lofty peaks, with the Greenwoods River surging past its gates.

Though the city was guarded by natural barriers, its remoteness from the capital had long turned it into a den of bandits. Even officials in the town colluded with the outlaws, engaging in murder and plunder.

No merchant caravan would ever