The north wind of the twelfth month howled through ancient Qingyang Town, whipping dust against the faded escort flags hanging outside the Azure Dragon Escort Agency.
In the stables behind the compound, a sixteen-year-old boy was busily hauling bundles of hay. He was thin and frail, his padded jacket patched all over, his face smeared with kitchen soot. Only his eyes shone with an unusual brightness.
His name was Ye Chen.
Ten years ago, he had been the only survivor of Ye Family Manor. People found him curled up inside a rice jar, a rag stuffed in his mouth, with the screams and stench of blood still echoing in his ears. A crippled old beggar surnamed Sun had carried him away and raised him until he was ten, when the old man died of a chill. Before he died, he had only managed to press a pitch-black iron shard shaped like half a broken sword into Ye Chen's hand and warn him, “Don’t... don’t go north...”
From then on, Ye Chen had drifted to Qingyang and begged for work as a stable hand at the Azure Dragon Escort Agency so he could earn enough to eat.
“Ye Chen! Where the hell are you hiding?”
Steward Zhao’s shout rang out. Ye Chen hurried outside, his head bowed low.
“Miss Li wants to ride out of town for a spring outing today. Go lead Blackbolt out here, and remember to wash him clean. If you can’t get it done, get out of the escort agency!”
Ye Chen answered obediently and ran into the stable. Blackbolt was the agency’s most prized horse, with a vicious temper. Aside from Li Muwan—the Chief Escort Master’s daughter—no one dared approach him. The last escort guard reckless enough to try taming him had taken three broken ribs from a single kick.
The moment Ye Chen drew near, Blackbolt let out a long neigh and reared up on his hind legs.
Ye Chen didn’t dodge. He simply extended his hand, a handful of warm roasted beans resting in his palm. He had gone without breakfast for three days to save them for this horse.
“Pulling this trick again?” he said with a hoarse chuckle. “I know you’re as lonely as I am.”
Blackbolt snorted, then lowered his head and ate the beans from his hand. Taking the opportunity, Ye Chen stroked his mane and whispered, “That’s a good boy. Make sure you show that young lady a good time today.”
The rear gate opened, and a figure dressed in white walked in.
It was Li Muwan. She had just turned fifteen, with willow-shaped brows and eyes clear as autumn water. She wore a white martial outfit, with a blue-sheathed short sword fastened at her waist. She was the pearl of all Qingyang Town, equally accomplished in the civil and martial arts.
She glanced at Ye Chen, who was standing meekly beside the stable, and frowned. “Are you the new stable boy?”
Ye Chen hurriedly knelt, not daring to raise his head. “Yes, Miss. This humble servant is Ye Chen.”
“Lift your head. Let me see you.”
Ye Chen hesitated before looking up. When Li Muwan saw his blazing eyes, she paused slightly, but then said coolly, “Bring the horse here.”
Ye Chen led Blackbolt over. Li Muwan vaulted onto the horse, her movements swift and graceful. She was just about to urge him forward when a deafening clamor of gongs and drums suddenly erupted outside the escort agency’s gate.
“The Iron Sword Sect is here under the orders of the Martial Alliance Leader to discuss a matter with the Azure Dragon Escort Agency!”
A group of blue-robed men embroidered with iron swords across their chests stormed inside. Leading them was a scar-faced middle-aged man with a longsword strapped to his back and arrogance gleaming in his eyes.
Chief Escort Master Li Qingshan hurried out of the main hall to greet him. “So it’s Guardian Zhao of the Iron Sword Sect. Forgive my lack of courtesy, forgive my lack of courtesy!”
Guardian Zhao sneered and didn’t even offer a fist-and-palm salute. “Chief Escort Master Li, let’s speak plainly. Half a month ago, your agency escorted a shipment from the north. There was a sandalwood box among the cargo. Hand it over.”
Li Qingshan’s expression changed. “What are you talking about, Guardian Zhao? I, Li, don’t understand. That escort run belonged to Master Wang...”
“Master Wang?” Guardian Zhao drew his sword with a rasp. The icy sword aura made the surrounding escort guards instinctively retreat. “Master Wang’s entire family was killed three days ago. That box contains the Shattered Map to Hidden Sword Valley. It belongs to the martial world, not some small escort agency like yours!”
Ye Chen was standing in the corner of the stable. The moment he heard the words “Shattered Map to Hidden Sword Valley,” his whole body shuddered. The pitch-black iron shard beneath his shirt—the shard shaped like half a broken sword that Old Man Sun had given him—suddenly grew searing hot.
Ten years ago, on the night the village was massacred, he had hidden inside the rice jar. Through a crack, he had seen a man in black holding a torch. An iron sword just like that one had been embroidered across his chest.
The Iron Sword Sect!
Ye Chen’s eyes reddened in an instant. He clenched both fists so tightly that his fingernails pierced his flesh, drawing blood.
Li Muwan, still mounted on Blackbolt, sensed the tension in the air as well. She shouted, “Your Iron Sword Sect is too overbearing! This is the Azure Dragon Escort Agency, not a place you can search whenever you please!”
Guardian Zhao threw his head back and laughed. “You little brat, this isn’t a place for you to speak!”
With that, he swept out a hand, sending a wave of palm force straight toward Li Muwan. Blackbolt shrieked in terror and reared up on his hind legs.
Just as Li Muwan was about to fall from the saddle, a thin, soot-stained figure shot out like a leopard.
It was Ye Chen!
No one had time to see how he moved. He was suddenly beside the horse, using his own thin back to brace against its panicked hooves while gripping the reins with one hand.
Guardian Zhao’s palm force grazed his shoulder, ripping open his padded jacket and leaving a long streak of blood.
The entire courtyard fell deathly silent.
Li Qingshan cried out in shock, “Chen’er!”
Guardian Zhao narrowed his eyes at the stable boy who had taken one of his palm strikes without dying. A flicker of suspicion appeared in his gaze.
Ye Chen slowly rose to his feet. Blood ran down from his shoulder, but he didn’t make a sound. He raised his head and stared at the iron sword embroidered across Guardian Zhao’s chest. His voice was hoarse with the hatred he had repressed for ten years.
“The Iron Sword Sect... at last... I’ve found you.”