Chapter 75: That Spring of Santong

Zhang Chi understood that in the current situation, there was no better way to escape—they could only try to break out. But with neither he nor the Wine Maiden possessing any real martial skill, how could they possibly fight their way through these well-armed soldiers in formation?

Not far from him stood a horse—the very one whose general Dao Xuan had unseated with a stone earlier. Zhang Chi quickly shot Dao Xuan a glance, nodding toward the horse. Dao Xuan caught his meaning but shook his head.

All the soldiers had their spears pointed at the center; even with a horse, what good would it do? They would never be able to charge through. Attempting it would likely mean instant death by a hail of spears.

The enemy troops pressed closer, tightening the encirclement. The circle grew smaller and smaller, and Zhang Chi and the Wine Maiden felt the mounting pressure. This was not the distant awe of facing an army; this was the terror of being swallowed alive by thousands with no way out.

The Wine Maiden clung tightly to Zhang Chi’s sleeve. Seeing her anxiety, Zhang Chi asked softly, “Are you afraid?”

“No, as long as I’m with you, I’m not afraid of anything,” she whispered back.

Her hands gripped his sleeve even tighter as she spoke, and Zhang Chi realized she held on not out of nervousness, but for fear of being separated from him. He was deeply moved, sighed inwardly, and took her hand. “Don’t worry. Even if they charge at us, no matter what happens, I won’t let you go.”

The soldiers, wary of Dao Xuan’s martial prowess, did not dare rush forward. Instead, they closed in gradually, shrinking the space so much that soon there would be no room to fight. When that moment came, no amount of skill could save them. Such was the situation now—if the encirclement completed, the few of them would have no chance of survival.

But at this critical moment, a dragon’s roar suddenly sounded from behind the army!

Of course, there were no dragons in this world. It was a horse, neighing with a sound like a dragon’s cry. Not only did its voice resemble a dragon’s, its gallop was swift and majestic, leaping like lightning—a streak of white charging straight into the fray.

“Snow White!” Zhang Chi cried out in delight—truly a savior’s steed!

It was not the first or second time Snow White had rescued Zhang Chi. Without this horse, he would have met his end long ago. Seeing the steed now, Zhang Chi felt a great weight lifted from his heart. With Snow White beneath him, who could hope to catch him?

The encircling soldiers, their spears poised, were caught off guard by the sudden charge from behind. Snow White kicked and trampled her way through, scattering soldiers left and right. By the time they turned their spears to face her, she had already burst into the circle and come to a halt beside Zhang Chi.

Zhang Chi swiftly mounted, then reached down to pull the Wine Maiden up behind him. At that moment, Dao Xuan seized the fallen general’s horse and shouted, “Brother Zhang! Make for the eastern gate!”

With Snow White, everything was easier. She accelerated at once; though the soldiers ahead raised their spears, she leapt high, clearing them in a single bound and landing in the midst of chaos beyond.

Never had these soldiers seen a horse leap so high or so far. They stared, dumbfounded.

Snow White plunged into the ranks, kicking and trampling, disrupting the formation. Dao Xuan followed in her wake, whipping his horse, and soon the imperial soldiers were left far behind.

Out of danger, Zhang Chi let out a long breath and patted Snow White’s neck. “Once again, you’ve saved us, my good horse.”

Dao Xuan rode up from behind. “Brother Zhang, how did you end up here? Were you looking for the others?”

Zhang Chi nodded. “I was. And you—how did you get here in time to save me?”

“After we got separated, I thought you might come here to meet the others, so I came ahead and found a place to hide. That’s when I saw you surrounded by soldiers.”

“I see,” Zhang Chi said. “Did you happen to see Miss Ruoshui, Xie Lingyun, or the others?”

Dao Xuan nodded. “I did see Santong heading east toward the city gate, accompanied by a woman and a group of followers from the Five Pecks of Rice Sect. But I didn’t see Miss Ruoshui or Xie Lingyun.”

“Santong went east with the sect? Are you sure you weren’t mistaken?” Zhang Chi was shocked.

“I don’t think so,” Dao Xuan said, shaking his head. “I was surprised myself. I’m certain it was him; he was riding with a woman, leading a large group of sect followers east. I called out, but he didn’t hear me. I didn’t see Miss Ruoshui or Xie Lingyun, and I was worried you’d come here and find no one, so I waited.”

“He was with the sect willingly? Not under duress?”

Dao Xuan thought for a moment and said, “It didn’t look like he was forced.”

That was strange indeed. Zhang Chi could make no sense of it. “Why don’t we search the east gate? Maybe we’ll find some clue.”

“Exactly. That’s why I told you to escape east,” Dao Xuan said, urging his horse forward. “The imperial army is in the city; we must hurry, or the sect will escape.”

Zhang Chi nodded, and the three of them, on two horses, galloped toward the eastern Thunder Gate.

…

Dao Xuan’s words were true—Santong was indeed with the Five Pecks of Rice Sect, and the woman riding with him was the very one he had met on Mount Kuaiji, with whom he had shared a fleeting night during the previous ritual.

The truth was simple: Santong had been hiding, waiting for Zhang Chi, but was discovered by passing sect followers. Fortunately, he, Miss Ruoshui, and Xie Lingyun had already changed into the sect’s attire, so they were not recognized and were taken along with the group heading east.

Santong had little choice but to go along. Though dull and somewhat self-important, he knew he couldn’t hope to fight their way out with his meager skills.

As they emerged from the alley, Santong was stunned to see that the leader of the sect followers was the very woman from that night.

Riding up, she regarded him with surprise. “Brother, what are you doing here?”

Santong’s heart pounded—she was, after all, his first love, and he could not bear to deceive her. But he wasn’t foolish enough to tell the truth and risk all their lives, so he remained silent.

Seeing his silence, the woman smiled. “I understand. You’ve never fought in a battle before, and were hiding here out of fear, am I right?”

Santong felt wronged—afraid for his life was not a flattering impression—but he could only blush furiously and nod.

Her smile only widened. “Don’t worry, Brother. Why not come with me? Then you won’t have to fight.” With that, she dismounted and pulled him up to ride with her.

Santong could not refuse, nor did he want to; but he was worried for Miss Ruoshui and Xie Lingyun, so he pointed to them and said, “These two are my friends.”

She smiled and called over two men, instructing, “These two—one frail, one a child—won’t last the march. Make space for them in the baggage wagon.”

No wonder she failed to recognize Miss Ruoshui—a face smeared with mud by Zhang Chi made her look every inch a starving, filthy refugee.

Thus, Miss Ruoshui and Xie Lingyun rode in the baggage wagon, explaining why Dao Xuan saw only Santong.

Now, Santong and the woman arrived at the eastern Thunder Gate. The woman issued orders from her horse, clearly of high standing within the sect.

Santong, awkward as ever, dared not speak. The woman, however, teased him lightly, “I wonder, Brother—since that night, have you thought of me?”

“I have,” Santong stammered, scratching his head. “I’ve thought of you every day—it’s unforgettable.”

She laughed behind her hand. “So, do you miss the deed, or do you miss me?”

Santong blushed deep crimson, but could not lie. “I…miss you. And…I miss that as well.”

His honesty pleased her. She leaned back against his chest. “Don’t worry, Brother. Once we’re out of the city and safe, we can do as we please.”

Santong was about to agree, but suddenly started. “Out of the city?”

How would he find Zhang Chi then? And how would Zhang Chi find him? If they lost each other, Zhang Chi would surely think him lost or dead—and be frantic with worry. All these concerns he kept to himself.