Chapter 116: The Strategist of Dreamlink Mountain

Murong Yan invited the old physician into the Ye Feng residence and immediately asked him to examine Ye Xiaotian. The old doctor took the pulse, listened to the chest, examined the complexion, and inspected the eyelids, fussing for quite some time. In the end, he collapsed weakly to the ground like a deflated balloon.

Murong Yan hurriedly asked, “Sir, how is it? Is my father-in-law still salvageable?”

The old doctor sighed deeply and repeatedly shook his head. “There is no hope. The elder has already passed some time ago.”

Murong Yan was stunned, but she quickly regained her composure, grabbing the doctor by the collar and lifting him up. “What kind of doctor are you? What kind of healer? My father-in-law was speaking to me this very morning! How could he have died so suddenly? It’s impossible!”

Then she turned sharply to the scout and demanded, “Where did you find this quack? You brought him here to treat my father-in-law, not to conduct a funeral!”

The scout, sweating profusely, respectfully reported, “He truly is a great doctor—he is Li Guochun, the divine healer of this era. If he is not genuine, I am willing to let the marshal cut off my head!”

The old doctor bowed repeatedly and hurriedly replied, “Marshal Murong, you are the guardian deity and great savior of the people. Your father-in-law was truly my ancestor. Even with my failing eyesight, I would not dare to misdiagnose. The elder’s energy was exhausted; he succumbed to a severe illness. Speaking to you this morning was likely a final flicker of life upon seeing you return. Please, marshal, accept my condolences.”

Hearing this, Murong Yan’s body weakened, and her grasp loosened. With a thud, the old doctor fell to the ground once more. At this moment, Murong Yan could no longer hold back. Turning around, she rushed forward, checking Ye Xiaotian’s breath and pulse until she was certain he had passed. Only then did she burst into uncontrollable sobs—her grief thunderous, cloaked in a dark cloud of sorrow.

The old doctor shed a few tears himself, quietly gathered his medical kit, and slipped away. The head steward offered apologies on Murong Yan’s behalf, enclosing a packet of silver coins, but the old doctor refused to accept it.

“Head steward, just take good care of Marshal Murong at home. She must preserve her health and grieve with composure. I cannot take this money. If I do, the people will curse me behind my back,” he said before hastily fleeing.

With the old doctor gone, Murong Yan remained to mourn and observe the period of mourning. White cloths covered the entire residence, a solemn mourning hall was set up. Officials of various ranks from the entire city came to pay their respects. The common folk donned mourning attire voluntarily to honor the elder, halting all entertainment activities.

On the day of the funeral, cries echoed throughout the city, resounding in the skies. The procession stretched on endlessly, disappearing from sight. Murong Yan, clad in heavy mourning garb, wept like pear blossoms drenched in rain, collapsing onto the coffin multiple times, unable to bear their final separation. Only after the consolation and urging of others did she manage to bury Ye Xiaotian and erect a tombstone.

Back inside, Murong Yan lost all appetite, growing thinner by the day. On one such day, she sat dumbly before the spirit tablet, lost in thought.

Suddenly, a scout burst into the mourning hall, breathless. “Report! A grave situation! Feng Rusong of Menglian Mountain has attacked again, led by a pale-faced scholar, now challenging at the city gates!”

Murong Yan’s brows shot up, her almond-shaped eyes wide with shock. With a sharp “clack,” she sprang to her feet.

“Feng Rusong! You heartless villain! I showed you mercy last time—you owe me that much! I never imagined you were the murderer who starved my father-in-law to death. This time, I will not spare you!” she declared fiercely.

“Bring the horses and draw the blades! Gather the troops and follow me out of the city!” she commanded, donning her armor and rushing out of the Ye residence, leading a squad toward the city outskirts.

Outside the city, Murong Yan surveyed the scene. Opposite her stood a middle-aged scholar, wearing a light silk blue headscarf, a long robe with a slanted collar and crossed skirts, cloud-patterned boots, and wielding a feather fan. Beneath him stood a large black horse with snow-white hooves.

The horse pawed the ground incessantly, snorting loudly.

“Identify yourself! Speak your name! No nameless ghost dies by my blade!” Murong Yan tightened her grip on her battle horse, raised her embroidered blade, and shouted.

“Oh! You must be Murong Yan?” The scholar’s small eyes twirled mischievously before he said, “Truly, your beauty rivals that of a celestial fairy.”

Murong Yan’s anger flared inwardly. Who cares about beauty in the midst of battle? Victory requires real steel and real blood!

She once again raised her blade, pointing sharply. “Speak your name quickly! You look like a mere scholar, not a warrior. If you’re afraid to die, send a substitute!”

The scholar stroked his goatee and laughed heartily. “You ask about me? I am Du Anxun, strategist of Menglian Mountain, known as the ‘Little Zhuge.’ Your last victory over my lord was merely luck. This time I have come myself—let’s see what you’re really capable of!”

Murong Yan’s fury rose again at the name. She had long heard from her master that Du Anxun was the worst scoundrel, having sabotaged their efforts multiple times and aided Zhang Jixian in seizing Black Earth City. This had forged a deep-seated enmity between their armies.

“Du Anxun, what grudge do I have with you? Why do you hatch so many evil plots to harm our righteous army in Black Earth City?” Murong Yan growled through clenched teeth.

“Enough nonsense! The monarch of the Ten-Thousand Demons Kingdom, the Golden Ape Sage, has long promised us—if we seize Black Earth City, not only will all your lands be ours, but we will also carve out territories from Daxia and the Ten-Thousand Demons Kingdom to establish our own kingdom and government,” Du Anxun said proudly, his pale face beaming with satisfaction, eyes nearly closed from smiling.

“Bah! I once thought you were righteous warriors who showed mercy, but who knew you would collude with foreign enemies and oppress your allies! Where has your original intention of uprising gone? How shameful!” Murong Yan cursed passionately.

Du Anxun’s face flushed red with anger. He stuck his feather fan into the back of his neck, pulled out a small copper sword about three inches long, and held it in his palm, muttering incantations. Suddenly, the sword grew swiftly, extending into a magnificent seven-foot-long blade.

He then extended two fingers of his right hand, drawing a circle in the air before flicking his fingers forward and commanding, “Go!”

The long sword shot toward Murong Yan like lightning.

Murong Yan hurriedly raised her blade to block, and with a sharp clang and flying sparks, she knocked the sword aside. Before she could catch her breath, the sword whirled back and lunged at her chest with blinding speed.

Caught off guard, she closed her eyes and swung her blade to defend. Thanks to her rigorous training, she was able to perform exceptionally under pressure. Another clang rang out as she felt a tremor on her blade tip, knowing she had successfully parried the strike.

She opened her eyes to find the sword attacking from behind. Fortunately, her keen hearing caught the rush of wind, and she swung her blade back, deflecting it again.

For two hours, Murong Yan and the strange sword clashed relentlessly. Exhausted and drenched in sweat, she gasped for breath, her mind racing.

This wouldn’t do—she was forced to fight defensively, unable to get close to Du Anxun. If she kept this up, she’d tire herself out without inflicting any damage.

No, it was time to use a decoy technique. Gathering her focus, she shouted, “Clone!”

Instantly, a fiery phoenix appeared in the air, claws bared and flames roaring as it lunged at Du Anxun.

Unfazed, Du Anxun calmly reached into his waist, pulling out a handful of small copper swords. He held them in his palm and, following the previous ritual, extended two fingers and shouted repeatedly, “Go! Go! Go!”

In a flash, countless swords flew chaotically through the air, whistling as they sliced toward the phoenix and Murong Yan.

The barrage was so overwhelming that Murong Yan’s vision blurred, the swirling swords indistinguishable from one another. She was overwhelmed, unable to fend them all off.

Suddenly, her horse neighed loudly, rearing up on its front legs and nearly throwing her off. It then bolted wildly, pulling furiously despite her efforts to rein it in.

Eventually, the horse slowed and collapsed with a thud, unable to rise.

Murong Yan hurried down to check. A deep wound over a foot long and half an inch deep gushed blood from the horse’s haunches.

Her heart ached for the horse that had been with her for six or seven years, now gravely injured. Gently, she applied healing salve to the wound, stroked its mane, and spoke tenderly, “My dear horse, you’ve suffered much following me.”

The horse seemed to understand, licking her palm and shedding two tears from its eyes.

Murong Yan plucked some tender grass and fed it to the horse. Checking the ground behind, she noticed bloodstains trailing off. Alarmed, she thought: if Du Anxun follows this trail, what then?

She considered abandoning the horse to escape alone but couldn’t bear to leave it behind. Yet, if she stayed, both might be captured.

Reluctantly, she returned to the horse’s head, running her hand through its mane. “If you can get up, nod. We’ll hide in the forest ahead, alright?”

The horse answered with a long neigh, nodded repeatedly, then pushed off the ground and rose. Murong Yan rejoiced, took the reins firmly, and led the horse into the woods.

Once inside, she erased their hoof prints and bloodstains before settling quietly among the trees, caressing the horse to keep it calm.

Her eyes scanned outside the forest, watching for Du Anxun’s pursuit.

Sure enough, not long after, Du Anxun rode up on his black horse, circling the area where the trail vanished, searching for any sign of Murong Yan.

After an extended search yielded nothing, he had no choice but to press onward.

When Murong Yan saw him ride away, she emerged from the forest, ready to lead her horse back.

Suddenly, the sound of chopping wood came from within the forest, followed by a clear, resonant song sung by a young man in the local dialect:

“Born in Daxia, life is harsh,
Apprenticed in the mountains,
Ten years pass in a blink,
One day descending to slay demons!”

Murong Yan paid it no mind and prepared to continue home.

Then, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she had eaten nothing since morning.

If she waited till returning, she’d have no strength left. It seemed she must find the woodcutter and beg for some leftover food and warm water.

As she turned, she unwittingly stepped into a more thrilling tale—one that would lead her to marshal her forces, defeat Du Anxun, and shatter the Menglian Mountain army once and for all.