Chapter Thirty-One: Each Displays Their Unique Skills to Rescue the Lord

It was said that Grand Tutor Ranlong of the Xia Dynasty personally rode the Divine One-Horned Rhinoceros, traveling through the night without pause, leading three thousand light cavalry from the city gates toward Tiger Pass. At this moment, King Wu of Shangqiu and his companions stood resolutely side by side before Xuanwu Pass, facing the swirling yellow sands raised by the approaching troops. They were prepared to fight to the death with unyielding courage.

Yet, in a dramatic twist, the leader of the pursuing force, Wang Weizhi, suddenly raised his hand in signal. Clad in a silver helmet and armor, a flowing scarlet robe at his back, a jade belt at his waist, astride a Celestial Cloud steed, and wielding the silver Dragon-Sunder Lance, he turned and called out in a loud voice: “The four before us are my teachers and comrades. See that no harm befalls the innocent!”

“Yes, General! All troops, hold position and form ranks!” came the thunderous reply.

Instantly, the thousands of horsemen halted and fell into formation. Their light armor and swift advance revealed them as elite soldiers, each one a veteran of many campaigns, both courageous and skilled.

Even before Wang Weizhi could issue further orders, the commanders responded in perfect unison, prepared for battle.

“Brothers, we have followed General Wang into battle for ten years. We are as close as kin. We will obey every command, never failing our duty!” one officer shouted, and the rest echoed his cry, their voices rising like a tide.

“We are willing to follow the general’s orders! General Wang, command us!” The roar of thousands shook the ground.

Not far above, Ba Shizhu, observing from the sky, sensed a shift in the wind. Clearly, General Wang was moved by loyalty to his teacher and was about to turn his forces to aid Xuanwu Pass. Ba Shizhu, no ordinary foe, made a snap decision—she spurred her six-winged vulture to land quietly nearby, hiding herself to watch events unfold from the shadows.

She surmised that Wutong and Guo Jingyuan would soon arrive; then, together, they could seize the traitors and return them to court.

Even though Wang Weizhi commanded hundreds of defectors, they were no match for the extraordinary talents of the Great Xia Empire. Two of the Seven-Star Tower witches had yet to enter the fray. The first mistress of the Tower, Yi Shen, though a young girl, was the most formidable among them. If the Seven-Star witches were the paragons of their tribe’s outcasts, then Yi Shen was the most exceptional of all. She could silently invade a target’s mind, weaving dreams within moments, and find their vulnerabilities. Once ensnared in her nightmares, one could remain trapped, perhaps even die in sleep, never to awaken—a most insidious and unguardable attack.

If she joined forces with the mightiest witch, Profiled Jialuo, even a divine warrior could be lost in their dreamscape, Jialuo wearing down the victim’s will until victory was assured without a fight.

The second mistress, Star Woman, was unremarkable in appearance but supremely enigmatic. She acted with solitary resolve, was compassionate and skilled in medicine, yet not a disciple of Mistress Yuan. She followed no one’s commands and kept no contact with the other witches, making her the most unique of all.

Meanwhile, Tiger Pass remained ensnared within the immortal’s Celestial Net, a mystery none could unravel. Wutong could not use her Five Elements escape art inside this web, though elsewhere she could slip through obstacles with ease—hundreds of miles in a blink. Guo Jingyuan’s mount, the Northern Savage Beast, could cross deserts and rocky plains at incredible speed. His past exploits had earned him the name Tiger General—no empty boast.

Among King Wu’s companions, the elder Official Zhonggu stepped forward, face etched with worry, and spoke earnestly to Wang Weizhi: “Foolish child, why do this? I am but a retired servant, my paths my own! But have you considered the families of these many soldiers? You are destroying your own bright future!”

Wang Weizhi was his proudest pupil, fiercely loyal, honest, and devoted. The official’s heart ached.

“Teacher, your lessons I will never forget. Loyalty is rare in this world, but true loyalty and filial piety are for wise and virtuous lords, not for a debased and debauched king! The court is in chaos, the Grand Tutor Ranlong guards the Northern Sea and shuns politics, the border generals do not meddle in affairs of state. After more than a decade by your side, I know the truth of our times. As the ancients said: ‘A teacher for a day, a father for life.’ I, Wang Weizhi, will use my life to honor my teacher’s kindness—through fire and water, even to death, I will not betray you!”

Wang Weizhi’s temperament was much like that of General Guan Longfeng—both upright and fiercely loyal.

Zhonggu recalled Wang Weizhi’s origins: a son of the noble Wang clan, his father a distinguished general, his mother unknown, cast out as a child and raised with servants, enduring years of hardship. At coming of age, he was sent to enlist in the army. By chance, he saved Zhonggu from an assassination attempt. Though repeatedly thanked, Wang Weizhi always replied that he was merely fulfilling his duty, his character simple and sincere. Zhonggu, recognizing greatness, publicly accepted him as a disciple.

Thus:

“By chance conscripted, unaware destiny binds to the Grand Historian.
Taken as a disciple, swiftly rising to deputy general.”

With Zhonggu’s support, Wang Weizhi rose rapidly, becoming commander of the City Gate Army and deputy to General Guan Longfeng.

“Foolish child, all must choose their own path and answer for it. I am old, half my life beneath the earth. Even if I die by your hand, I have no regrets! But you are young, with a bright future ahead—do not waste it for my sake!” Zhonggu’s heart was heavy; if his disciple ruined his life for him, he could not rest in death.

“Teacher, you need not persuade me further. My mind is made up!” Wang Weizhi declared. He would not obey, determined to escort Zhonggu and the others from the passes, even if it meant death.

He swung his crimson robe onto his mount and commanded: “Brothers, we will defend my teacher to the death! Xuanwu Pass is not as fearsome as rumored. United, we shall break through! Besides, the Xuanwu General is too proud to fight as one—that is our advantage!”

With that, he led his men forward as vanguard.

“My foolish child, do not go against your fate! How can I find peace in the afterlife?” Zhonggu lamented, his disciple so determined to protect him.

“If there is an attack ahead, we fight to the death! Escort the teacher out of the pass at all costs!” Wang Weizhi commanded, paying no heed to Zhonggu’s pleas.

…

Meanwhile, a hundred miles ahead at Tiger Pass, three thousand light cavalry churned up clouds of sand along the rugged mountain path. At their head rode Grand Tutor Ranlong, sword-browed, pressing on without rest.

Such an elite force could only mean war was imminent, the commoners in Yudu City whispering that the Nine Provinces would soon be thrown into chaos by King Wu. Ranlong had not returned to Xia for years, and now, without pause, rode straight for the outer passes. Surely, the events at Xiatai had provoked this sudden mobilization.

Wang Weizhi wasted no time, ordering his men to escort King Wu and his companions to Xuanwu Pass, their resolve unshaken, ready for whatever lay ahead.

At Xuanwu Pass, the ever-victorious General Wu Qigong had just received a pigeon message from the palace—a personal decree from King Jie himself: “The traitorous King Wu of Shangqiu must not escape the passes. All generals are to capture him alive at all costs, regardless of who aids him!”

Wu Qigong, a veteran of many campaigns, had long dismissed Shang as insignificant. He glanced at the decree with a snort and tossed it aside, caring little for it.

Within Xuanwu Pass, the soldiers were indulging in gambling and debauchery, their discipline in ruins. Scenes of revelry and excess abounded, soldiers cavorting with courtesans, their uniforms in tatters—an utter disgrace. In ancient times, the three taboos of the border passes were negligence, debauchery, and lawlessness—yet all were now broken.

If King Wu’s party had known the state of the pass, they might not have been so grimly determined, especially with the brilliant strategist Yi Yin among them.

Back at the palace, Lady Seven of the Inclining Palace had finally been persuaded by her maid Xiaohua to eat and sleep, unaware that King Jie would visit her that night.

That evening, King Jie was in high spirits. Lady Seven’s heart was uneasy—if King Wu had been captured, would she not have heard? In truth, the national preceptor Yuanji had sent a potent elixir, which King Jie drank to excess, inflaming his desires. Though in a haze, his lust was undiminished. For women he could not possess, he would go to any lengths. Unlike previous kings, who either ruled or indulged in one passion, King Jie was domineering and lecherous from youth, skilled in perverse arts, delighting in torturing women.

Xiaohua, the maid, was not present, having gone to sleep in a side chamber. The night was bright and clear. The window of the Inclining Palace remained open—Lady Seven’s only comfort in her longing for King Wu. King Jie, thinking her homesick, had aligned the window to face her homeland, so she could gaze out when she missed home—a seemingly thoughtful gesture.

That night, Lady Seven fell into a deep sleep, unaware that her supper had been drugged with a mystical potion crafted by Yuanji, which silently stripped her of her cultivation and plunged her into unconsciousness.

King Jie had recently learned of her years of Daoist study on Mount Song, her proficiency in arts and chess, and her refined mind—all unknown to him before. Overcome with lust, he tore off his dragon robes and pounced upon her, ripping away her delicate garments until her pale, flawless body lay exposed before him. Perhaps, fevered by longing, she slipped into dreams where she and King Wu were finally united, flying together to the Sea of Witches for a night of union.

Meanwhile, King Wu’s party, under Wang Weizhi’s protection, reached the gates of Xuanwu Pass.

The pass lay silent in the night, so unlike the bustle of day. Minister Yi Yin had observed the defenses of all three passes before; now, even he and General Guan Longfeng could not make sense of the laxity—no sentries, no patrols.

Suddenly, a signal flare arced over the rear—illuminating the sky with the shape of a crescent moon and saber, dazzlingly bright.

The dozing soldiers of Xuanwu Pass jolted awake, watching the signal burn across the sky. One ran to report to General Wu Qigong.

“Not good! Scouts from Tiger Pass have sent a warning—General Wu Qigong will soon block our way!” Wang Weizhi recognized the flare as a Tiger Pass signal.

“General Wu Qigong is formidable, armed with two supreme treasures. We are mere mortals—if the pass were as unguarded as before, we might have slipped through. But now, what can we do?” Zhonggu’s face was grim.

Moments later, the gates swung open. A lone figure on a crimson horse, clad in a scarlet robe and Xuanwu turtle armor, carrying a seven-headed cobra trident, rode forth—white-haired, fierce. It was Wu Qigong himself.

King Wu and his companions were awed into silence by his imposing presence.

Behind him, no soldiers followed—it was just him. He thundered, “Traitors of Shangqiu, abandon your illusions! Dismount and surrender!”

“General, you are mistaken. We are prepared to die rather than surrender without a fight!” Guan Longfeng, though disguised, spoke with such mettle that Wu Qigong found him oddly familiar.

“Bold traitors! Even at death’s door you are unrepentant!” Wu Qigong roared.

Zhonggu, desperate, dismounted and bowed: “General Wu, you have long been absent from court and may not know the current state. King Jie has been ensnared by Yuanji, ignores governance, and forced King Wu’s betrothed into the palace. The kingdom is in chaos, but King Wu has the favor of the immortals—destiny marks him as the true lord. I beg you to let us pass!”

“Nonsense! Do you take me for a child to be fooled so easily?” Wu Qigong was loyal to Xia, unmoved by Zhonggu’s plea.

As Wu Qigong prepared to charge, six figures streaked through the sky. The leader called out: “King of Shangqiu, forgive our tardiness. Leave these to us—go, quickly!”

King Wu and Yi Yin rejoiced—it was the Six Heroes of Dongtian from Mount Song, each in robes of red, orange, white, blue, green, and purple, swords on their backs, encircling Wu Qigong.

They were Fang Zhongjun, Chen Zhongjun, Li Zhongjun, Wang Zhongjun, Xu Zhongjun, and Zhang Zhongjun—adopted and taught from childhood by Master Nantong Zhenjun. In their youth, they had earned fame and were known as the Six Heroes, while Lady Seven, Meixi, joined last and was less well-known.

“King Shang, we are grateful. May we all return safely to Shang!” King Wu called, rallying his group to escape.

“Arrogant fools!” Wu Qigong tried to intercept them alone.

But King Wu and his party ignored him and galloped for the pass.

“General, best concern yourself with your own safety!” Fang Zhongjun, clad in purple, blocked Wu Qigong’s way.

“Friends, do you truly wish to make enemies of Xia?” Wu Qigong knew that facing six Daoist adepts in their star sword formation put him at a disadvantage.

Inside the pass, the alarm was raised. The soldiers, though their general was blocked, would not let King Wu escape.

Ba Shizhu, following from behind, saw the battle unfold and went to assist Wu Qigong. The Six-Pointed Star Sword Formation was the most formidable of Dongtian’s arts; even Seven-Star Tower’s spies had suffered in it.

Her vulture soared overhead as she shouted, “How dare you Dongtian brats shelter Xia’s traitors! Leave now and Seven-Star Tower will not pursue you!”

Third disciple Li Zhongjun was furious; to him, Seven-Star Tower was the scourge of the mortal world. Had Master Nantong not forbidden them to confront the tower directly, they would have done so long ago.

“If not for our master’s command, we would have visited your tower long ago!” he retorted.

“With such trifling skills, you challenge us? Laughable!” Ba Shizhu mocked.

“Enough talk! Dismount and fight!” Second disciple Chen Zhongjun, the most skilled among them, challenged her.

“If you break the formation, there will be backlash! General Wu, do you dare to join me?” Ba Shizhu was well versed in the formation’s dangers.

“Why not! Battle!” Wu Qigong, never so humiliated before, was ready to fight.

Ba Shizhu and Wu Qigong leapt into the formation. The six heroes shifted positions, preventing them from reaching the center. Fang Zhongjun shouted, “Six-Star Shift, Swords Overturn the Land!”

Six giant swords grew in their hands, floating and spinning, trapping Ba Shizhu and Wu Qigong within. A single misstep would mean death.

Meanwhile, King Wu’s group had broken through. Wang Weizhi’s men, though not as fierce as the garrison, were veterans—battle-hardened, united, and determined. Many fell, dying with weapons still in hand, blocking the enemy at the cost of their lives. The sight filled King Wu with grief. Were it not for him, these men could have been home with their families.

The war had not truly begun, but the carnage steeled King Wu’s resolve. He vowed, should he survive, to bring down the wicked King Jie, whose credulity had led to this disaster.

…

Deep in the night, a cry of utter despair echoed through the Inclining Palace.

“Ahhh!” It was Lady Seven, Meixi, screaming.

King Jie had long since departed for his own chambers, sated after his brutal assault. Lady Seven’s body was bruised and battered, her flawless skin mottled with marks, her beauty stained and sullied, her clothes in tatters on the floor.

Maid Xiaohua, hearing the scream, rushed in to witness a sight she would never forget: Lady Seven, her beautiful face contorted in agony, lay naked and exposed, her body covered in bruises and wounds. Xiaohua immediately understood who was responsible.

She approached cautiously, the strange mingled scent of perfume and filth stinging her nose.

“No! Don’t come near!” Lady Seven was delirious, her once-clear eyes now wild with terror and vacancy, the trauma overwhelming.

“My lady, it’s me, Xiaohua!” the maid cried, tears streaming down her face. Lady Seven had always treated her kindly, like a sister—her heart broke to see her so.

She now understood why Steward Zhao had so insisted Lady Seven eat her supper; it was all King Jie’s plot. He had never truly possessed Lady Seven before, and so had drugged her meal. Xiaohua hadn’t suspected, not knowing the lady’s capabilities.

Now, overwhelmed by grief, Xiaohua could only weep. Lady Seven suddenly burst into mad laughter: “Tear those silks apart! How sweet the sound! I love it—tear them all!”

“My lady, please, don’t frighten me!” Xiaohua pleaded, helpless.

Lady Seven, naked, ran wildly about, trying to rip every piece of silk to shreds. Xiaohua hurried to drape a five-colored silk over her, unable to bear the sight of her beloved mistress in such distress. Once covered, Lady Seven quieted, collapsing into sobs in Xiaohua’s arms.

“Cry, my lady! Let it out! Xiaohua knows your pain, I know it all!” Xiaohua rocked her gently, soothing her back, trying to keep her from breaking down again.

From the shadows, the little chubby creature watched, bewildered by human suffering and love. Yet even it could feel Lady Seven’s soul crying out—her defenses utterly shattered, her agony so profound that even an animal could sense it.

What would happen next? That remains to be seen.