"Thank you, young lord, for saving my life. I shall never forget this grace as long as I live," the veteran said, cupping his fists and bowing deeply.
As he was about to leave, Fan Yi paused, raised an eyebrow, and muttered to himself: "People in the old days must have been big on repaying kindness and grudges. So if I don't take some kind of reward, his conscience is going to bother him for the rest of his life. Absolutely, it will! A true hero sees things through to the end. You can't save a man's life and then break his heart!"
With that thought, Fan Yi stopped in his tracks and turned back around.
"Is there something else, young master?" the veteran asked, looking puzzled.
"Be my coachman!" Fan Yi said with a helpless expression.
*Sigh*, to keep him from feeling guilty for the rest of his days, I suppose I'll just have to sacrifice the chance to practice my Tread-Sky Step myself.
Thinking of this, Fan Yi couldn't help the corners of his mouth twitching upward in profound sorrow.
"……"
The veteran stood in silence for a moment, then cupped his fists once more. "Since the young master thinks so highly of this humble one, please allow me to accompany you back to the capital and follow by your side."
He hadn't fallen silent out of hypocrisy; he genuinely wanted to repay Fan Yi, but logically speaking, the other guy should have just walked away without looking back.
This sly rascal Fan Yi had straight-up asked him to sell his services, which he certainly hadn't been mentally prepared for.
Still, what difference did it make where he drifted? He had spent half his life slogging through battlefield hells and built up a decent nest egg, only for his wife and children to fall victim to a plague a few years ago that they hadn't survived.
Once he heard the news, the warrior's spirit in him died. Without that blood-deep grit, he knew he'd never survive the next war.
War is brutal. Forget about an elite soldier like him; when a real battle starts, even a slip in luck can get someone with Dark Force hacked to death.
So, he had applied for retirement. Because he was getting on in years and had plenty of military merit to his name, the approving officer happened to have some personal ties with him, and he had been assigned to serve as a guard under the Prince of Chu.
He wasn't short on money; what he lacked was a job to pass the time. After all, after all these years, he honestly didn't know how to do anything except fight wars.
In truth, Fan Yi wasn't entirely trying to cash in on a favor; he genuinely couldn't bear to see a man who had dedicated his life to defending the country getting dragged into the vicious feuds of these noble houses in his twilight years.
How much better to just follow him! He could live out the rest of his days safe, worry-free, and happy—plus, the pay would definitely be generous. Whenever he felt like life lacked a bit of excitement, the young master would just take him along to crash the gates of major martial sects!
Fan Yi's physical deficiency had already been made up for, and from here on out, his cultivation would skyrocket like it had been hooked up to a turbocharger.
He couldn't say for certain when he would break through to Dan Jin, but he had a vague feeling it would be within the next few days.
Actually, Fan Yi had no idea that this veteran—who had racked up over a hundred decapitations on the battlefield—had a personal fortune three to four times greater than his own, despite his claims of financial freedom.
As for the Qi Refiners Fan Yi had provoked? Fan Yi considered them small change.
Sure, those Qi Refiners had some trickier methods, but they were no match for Fan Yi and the people he wanted to protect.
Why? Broadly speaking, this bunch of Qi Refiners was still skulking in the shadows, not daring to fully show themselves to the world—which proved their power wasn't yet enough to contend with secular authority.
On an individual level, Xia Hong—the supreme secular ruler and the natural mortal enemy who dealt harsh blows to Qi Refiners—was still alive and kicking. That alone demonstrated that the might of Dan Jin went far beyond what Fan Yi had imagined.
"We're heading to the capital anyway. Let's travel together," Fan Yi said leisurely, leading the two carriage horses over from the side.
The wolf pack a kilometer away from the Mountain God Temple had merely been passing through and had already left, so Fan Yi was in no rush; he could take his time wobbling about and learning how to ride a horse.
A few paces away, a sixty-something veteran with graying hair, Old Han, and a young masterly-looking boy were digging a hole to bury the dead.
Well, literally speaking.
The old man dug a hole, and the teenage boy dragged the slain guards in one by one and covered them up bit by bit.
As for the assassins' bodies, the old man dug a massive pit, intending to toss them all in and bury the lot.
At that point, the little boy stopped helping; instead, hugging his younger sister, he sat with a slight sulk in the cold wind so they could share body heat.
Old Han smiled helplessly at Fan Yi. Relying on his formidable body control, Fan Yi sat steadily in the saddle and signaled that he was in no hurry and could wait.
Burying the enemy was a habit among veterans. In a military life where there was no tomorrow, who knew? Next time, it might be the other party burying you.
Both sides in military campaigns maintained a tacit understanding, guarding the fragile bottom line of humanity. Once one side breached humanitarian limits, public outrage might ignite an even larger war—or perhaps even a war of national extermination.
For a specific historical reference, see a certain country that got bogged down in the vast ocean of the people during World War II.
War was waged for interests and political leverage, which was why any wise commander generally avoided launching pointless wars blindly, and strove to keep the intensity of the conflict under control.
First, the boy had cleaned up the bodies without showing any squeamishness or disgust, and then he had held his sleeping sister securely in his arms. Fan Yi thought to himself: *Not bad. He isn't a heartless, spoiled brat; this one's still worth saving.*
……
"What? You're a commandery prince?" Fan Yi, sitting high in the saddle, suddenly slapped his forehead.
A small path wound through the landscape, occupied by a traveling group. At the head were two fine horses—one black, one red.
Atop the date-red steed sat our Lord Wushuang, Fan Yi; atop the black steed was Xia Wuxiu, holding his little sister. Behind them followed two figures, large and small: the smaller one was Gu San, carrying a bundle and clutching a sword, while the larger one was Old Han, who would henceforth serve as Fan Yi's personal coachman.
Early morning mist and heavy dew blanketed the path. Apart from Fan Yi, everyone else was soaked through, and they only began to feel better once the sun broke through and warmed them up.
Fan Yi and his companions had avoided the main highway not because they were scared of lingering ambushes, but simply to steer clear of trouble.
Yet who could have guessed he'd gone and tangled himself up in a super-sized headache?
Thinking of the older uncle Xia Wuxiu had mentioned, this was clearly a struggle for the imperial succession.
Tsk, tsk, tsk. Although he knew saving lives would definitely stir up big trouble, who would have thought he'd end up tied directly to Xia Hong, the man who had united the eight wastes?
Well, alright, he had technically already offended the guy yesterday. But back then, he hadn't known it was a family squabble, had he? Besides, casually saving a couple of kids and meddling in a succession struggle were two entirely different things!
Xia Wuxiu wasn't at all surprised by this Lord Wushuang's reaction. After all, the extent of his grandfather's deterrent power across the martial world could be easily understood just by looking at the various secret martial arts manuals of different sects stored in the royal library.
He had heard that his imperial grandfather was planning to get his hands on a Qi Refining technique and add it to his collection.
He glanced over at Xia Junyao, who was sitting in front of him on the horse, looking like a frightened little quail as she cast pitiful glances at Fan Yi. *Oh well! He was a sucker for this exact routine.*
"Go on, go on. Walk and practice your cultivation with my sword page," Fan Yi said, gesturing for Xia Wuxiu to hand little Junyao over to Old Han, who placed her securely in front of him in the saddle.
The old man and the little girl actually got along quite swimmingly.
Xia Wuxiu wore a helpless, bitter little frown as he dismounted, walked up to Gu San, and cupped his fists. "Little brother, do you need me to carry some of those things for you?"
Gu San raised his head in a daze. *Who is this guy?*
To this moment, Gu San's brain was still completely fried. He had been sleeping soundly last night, only to wake up and find himself clutching a scrap of cloth while a bunch of people around him munched on roasted rabbit meat and stared at him expectantly.
Before he could even shout the word "Master," his master had instantly turned him into a sword-carrying page, while proclaiming himself "Lord Wushuang."
Why did both titles sound so weird?
Still, that little girl sitting there gnawing endlessly on a rabbit leg without once glancing his way was rather cute and goofy.
Still dazed, he had finished gnawing his rabbit leg, dazedly accepted the broadsword, strapped two bundles to his back, and begun his dazed cultivation.
And now, some flashy bastard that his master had yelled at and called a "commandery prince" had strolled over, gently called him "little brother," and offered to carry his luggage?
"Who the hell are you?" Gu San finally managed to squeeze out those words.
Xia Wuxiu's smile slowly turned incomparably awkward.