Leaving Xiyan Town and heading eastward, the vegetation gradually thinned, giving way to gravel that concealed the endless stretches of ochre earth. The air carried a faint trace of dryness and heat.
Beyond the Kunlun Demon Realm, the northern frontier of the Great Wu Dynasty and the Fengxuan Kingdom ruled by the Rong people was separated by a vast expanse of desert, stretching over a thousand miles. Between these two domains lay a crucial trade route connecting the nations. Though far from tranquil, it was still preferable to the lifeless demon realm or the bandit-infested wilderness.
The arid, oppressive winds of the Gobi Desert blew relentlessly into the northern borders of the Great Wu Dynasty. Were it not for the shimmering expanse of Jumo Lake, known as the "Emerald of the North," stretching for miles nearby, Xiyan Town—situated along the trade route—would likely share the same desolate, drought-stricken appearance that defined much of the northern frontier: cracked earth, tawny sand and stone, and ever-present swirling dust.
Here and there, tufts of unnamed wild grass stubbornly sprouted from beneath the rocks. Two deep ruts carved by wagon wheels snaked into the distance, faintly marking this as an official road.
An old ox leisurely pulled a cart along the path, chewing its cud with unhurried determination. Within the cart, nestled among the hay, sat a young gentleman dressed in white. His arms hugged his knees, eyes half-closed, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, listening to the rhythmic creak of the wheels as they turned.
A finely embroidered brocade pouch adorned his waist, its fabric of premium Shu silk depicting a vivid, multicolored cloud serpent. Occasionally, the pouch seemed to move ever so slightly, as though something alive resided within.
The old cart driver, wearing a tilted bamboo hat and clutching a long whip, appeared half-asleep, trusting his seasoned ox to find its way.
Suddenly, the thunder of hooves shattered the tranquility. Startled, the driver jolted awake and turned to look in the direction of the sound. Two riders charged past, kicking up clouds of dust. They cast fleeting glances at the ox cart as they sped by.
Clad in tattered leather armor and sheepskin cloaks, their disheveled hair and beards framed faces etched with menace. Straight swords were slung across their backs, while their saddles bulged with several stuffed bags. Even as they galloped by, a pungent mix of human sweat and horse odor lingered in the air.
"Whoa!" one of the riders suddenly yanked his reins.
His horse neighed in protest but swiftly slowed, turning to face the ox cart trundling down the path.
"Da Qingya, what's wrong?" the other rider followed suit, reining in his mount.
"Anlu! Didn't you see that fat lamb?" Da Qingya's gaze roved over the ox cart, lingering on the young gentleman in white. His eyes gleamed with unbridled greed.
Hearing their exchange, the cart driver's heart sank. He knew all too well—these were bandits. Judging by their attire, they were likely marauders from the Gobi Desert, out hunting for easy prey.
The old man scrambled off the cart, tossing aside his whip, and fell to his knees. Prostrating himself on the ground, he wailed, "Mercy, great sirs! Mercy! This humble old man has nothing of value. Take what little I have, but spare me—I have two grandchildren to care for. Please, show mercy!"
His trembling hands fished out a small string of copper coins from his pocket. These were the fare given to him by the gentleman in the cart. Though reluctant to accept them at first, he had been forced to. Now, they represented everything he owned.
With a sharp metallic clang, Da Qingya drew the straight sword from his back. The gleaming blade caught the sunlight as he waved it dismissively at the groveling old man. "Get lost, old fool! Don't block our way to riches!"
"Yes, yes, thank you, great sirs! Thank you!" The driver, as if granted a reprieve from death, scrambled to his feet and fled for his life, abandoning both his ox cart and its passenger. In a land overrun with ruthless bandits, self-preservation often left no room for heroics.
Anlu scanned the surroundings nervously, his eyes darting back and forth, dreading the appearance of government troops. Those soldiers, ruthless in their pursuit of outlaws, showed no mercy to bandits.
Though the coast seemed clear, he still voiced his unease. "Da Qingya, we should hurry across the border. If we run into the military, we're done for!"
These two bandits were remnants of a larger group led by Lao Dao Bazi, who had led a thousand horsemen south along the trade route after breaching the Heifeng Pass. Their attempt to raid Xiyan Town had ended in disaster, forcing them to flee in disarray under the relentless assault of Zhechong Prefecture's forces.
While most of the marauders had met their end or fled, Da Qingya and Anlu had managed to escape the chaos. Now, as they sought to smuggle their loot back into the desert, the sight of easy prey reignited their greed.
"You coward," Da Qingya sneered. "There's nothing to fear! At worst, we lose our heads. But this close to the border, we'd be fools to pass up this final haul."
Anlu hesitated but eventually relented. Drawing his sword with a sharp clang, he turned to the ox cart and bellowed at the seemingly petrified gentleman, "You there! Hand over everything of value, or my blade will do the talking!"
Da Qingya smirked in approval. Now, this was more like it.
Sitting in the cart, Li Xiaobai's lips twitched in exasperation. Fate seemed to have a peculiar sense of humor—this was his second encounter with bandits since leaving Xiyan Town.
Da Qingya spurred his horse closer, brandishing his sword menacingly. "Hey, you! What's that on your waist? Toss it over!"
His greedy eyes fixated on the brocade pouch hanging at Li Xiaobai's side. The exquisite craftsmanship and fine Shu silk hinted at its worth, and its bulging contents promised a lucrative haul.
Sighing inwardly, Li Xiaobai untied the pouch and tossed it toward the bandits. "Here, catch!" he called, his tone almost casual.
As the pouch sailed through the air, it emitted a faint jingling sound. The bandits' eyes gleamed with anticipation—judging by its weight, it must contain a small fortune.
Da Qingya snatched the pouch mid-air and broke into a toothy grin, his yellowed teeth gleaming. It was satisfyingly heavy, its contents promising not only copper coins but also silver and perhaps even gold.
"What's inside, Da Qingya?" Anlu urged, edging closer.
Unable to contain his excitement, Da Qingya hastily loosened the crimson cord securing the pouch and reached inside.
A sharp pain pricked his finger, and before he could react, his body froze. A bluish-black hue spread rapidly from his hand, crawling up his arm and across his face. Within moments, he was lifeless, his expression frozen in a grotesque smile.
Unaware of his comrade's fate, Anlu called out impatiently, "What's in the pouch, Da Qingya?" When no response came, he finally turned to look—and recoiled in horror.
Da Qingya's corpse sat rigid on his horse, his hand still clutching the pouch. His lifeless skin bore an unnatural hue, and his frozen grin sent shivers down Anlu's spine.
"You… what sorcery is this?" Anlu demanded, his trembling blade pointing at Li Xiaobai.
Li Xiaobai shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm no sorcerer. Just an ordinary man."
Anlu hesitated, then barked, "Open the pouch! Put your hand inside!" He suspected some deadly mechanism hidden within.
With a calm smile, Li Xiaobai obliged, retrieving copper coins, silver ingots, and even a gold leaf from the pouch without incident. "See? Just money."
Anlu's jaw dropped at the fortune in plain view. But as he reached for his sword, his greed battling with his fear, Li Xiaobai's lips curved into a cold smile. "Shall we end this farce?"