Chapter Text
For a long moment, the entire caravan seemed frozen in ice, not a sound or movement from anyone, even the animals gone quiet. Then it exploded with activity, people yelling and running and scrambling to wagons.
“QUIET!” Nie Meitong yelled, using his qi to blast his voice down the whole line. Most people stopped, although a few soldiers kept running to their stations. “We have five minutes! Non-combatants to the blue wagon as rehearsed! Everyone else take up arms and get to your positions!” He grabbed Nie Huaisang by the arm and dragged him down the caravan as he kept shouting. “Spirit trapping nets over the precious cargo! All fighters range around the retreat wagons! Archers in position!”
A dozen of the Nie soldiers jumped up on top of wagons or into nearby trees, deftly stringing their bows as they went as only cultivators could. Yanli turned to Liu Peng.
“Get Xiao Niao’s things out of our carriage, and see to it the wet-nurse and her family are at the blue wagon! We’ll met you there. Jiang Wu, go with her.”
Liu Peng ran off, Jiang Wu on her heels, his sword already drawn to protect her.
Meng Shi clutched the baby to her chest, staring up at the oncoming Wen in horror.
“Don’t worry, Second Mother, they will probably not attack outright. They are here for Nie Huaisang, and keeping him alive makes for a better hostage,” she said, tugging at Meng Shi’s sleeve to get her moving.
The blue wagon had high sides and was used to haul the disassembled tents, but was led by draft horses in harness instead of oxen—faster to run if a retreat was called for, but strong enough to pull a wagon carrying a lot of people. A group of Nie had already thrown all the tent supplies out like so much trash, and elders were being loaded into the wagon as if they were sacks of rice. One wizened Nie, young enough that he still wielded his saber, stood (stooped as he was) next to the driver, his gaze fierce, clearly willing to sacrifice the rest of his old age to protect the wagon as a last defense.
Several Nie helped A’Yao into the wagon, while Jiang Yimin and Jiang Minhao assisted Yanli and Meng Shi. For the moment, most people were standing, shifting around to make room as more got on. Yanli looked out over the side and saw cooks standing behind the front-line soldiers circling the wagon, knives and cleavers in each hand, while carriage drivers stood by with whips and poles to protect the horses.
“Lady Meng!” The wet-nurse called out frantically, her family jumping up after her.
Yanli frowned at the crowd, which continued to grow. A’Yao saw her expression and nodded in agreement—fleeing was out of the question, but putting all the non-combatants in one place seemed like folly.
The Wen were almost on them when Yanli heard Nie Meitong shouting again. “Now, Young Master! Now!”
Everyone’s head whipped to the front of the wagon, where Nie Huaisang stood ahead of the horses with a fierce expression on his face and two of Yanli’s fans open in his hands. They were newer pieces done in her more exuberant Crane in the Mist style, a riot of colors creating a nearly abstract design done in complex stitchwork she had literally bled over, at times. She named the pair “Fighting Dragons” and had been glad when Sang’er had purchased both together.
There was a long pause as he took a deep breath, and then he started dancing, swift and sure steps all around the blue wagon and the one behind it holding the clan’s precious heirlooms. He pushed and pulled the fans through the air, which seemed to move around them in a heat haze.
“Young Master is threading a ward!” One of the elders exclaimed, sounding more delighted than scared. Others oohed and ahhhed as if they were at the theater. Meanwhile, the Wen were close enough to be seen clearly.
“Hold your fire! Do not engage unless they attack!” Nie Meitong bellowed.
Nie Huaisang made it around the back of the second wagon and sped up, his arms moving so fast the fans were simply blurs of color in his hands. Yanli watched, bewitched by what he was doing.
“It’s your fans,” A’Yao said cryptically.
Yanli shook her head. “I’ve never seen anyone build a ward like this.”
An elder tutted at them. “Qi-threading an array is a lost art of the Nie. The Lan sew a few dirt repelling arrays in their hems and call it day, but we used to be masters at qi-threading.” She nodded at where Nie Huaisang was closing the circle. “He’s been collecting the work of a modern master, Crane in the Mist. I’ve heard she’s a powerful rogue cultivator down south, near Yunmeng, and recreated the practice after studying with Baoshan Sanren.”
Another elder smacked his lips before speaking. “Don’t see how. Yunmeng’s big trade is silk and you can’t get silk to hold qi like good linen can. It’s got tensile strength but can’t conduct qi for shit. I’m betting Master Crane in the Mist is out of Qisan.”
“That’s ridiculous, Rong’er! What, she started with wool? Don’t be an idiot.”
Another elder sighed. “Wool is adequate for qi-threading, we have many records of it. You know that, YuYu.”
“Call me YuYu again and I’ll—”
They were all cut short by the clang of a powerful ward snapping into place around them. Yanli turned to look at A’Yao, at a loss for words.
He looked extremely smug.
“Did you know about that?” She whispered.
He shook his head. “I have never heard of qi-threading before. But it doesn’t surprise me that you’ve been doing it accidentally.”
She huffed in frustration just as everyone looked up.
The ward over them was a glittering mirage of the dragons on the fans, twisting and spinning around over them like living things. It almost felt like looking up through the bottom of a koi pond.
Beyond, the Wen were circling like vultures over a carcass.
“Hold!” Nie Meitong repeated.
Everyone including Yanli kept their faces upturned, cautiously watching the Wen. There were probably about 200 of them all together—less than 500, she was certain, but that was enough to decimate their caravan, even if the Nie made sure it was a bloody fight to the last man.
Five fliers broke away and came in for a landing. Nie Meitong, standing off to the side and braced by only two of his lieutenants, was the obvious choice of leader, and the fliers landed only a few lengths away from him.
When she realized that no one in the group was Wen Chao or Wen Zhuliu, Yanli let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. A’Yao raised an arm to wrap around her shoulders, and she leaned into the touch. It was an inappropriately public display of affection, but in the moment, she knew no one was looking at them and she did not care.
The ‘discussion’ went on for a while, but it was very clear what—or rather, who—the Wen wanted: Nie Huaisang. The young man himself was standing just inside the ward, his arms out to his sides with the fans held high, holding the writhing power of the qi-threaded dragons in place. He was sweating and looked understandably nervous, but he did not even twitch as he stood there.
The switch happened so fast Yanli did not even process it at first. Nie Meitong was talking to his Wen counterpart one second, and in the next, one of the Nie lieutenants was lying on the ground and arrows were flying through the air. Nie Meitong and his remaining lieutenant were fiercely battling the five Wen, and other Nie soldiers were sprinting in their direction.
The circling Wen started spiraling down, some getting taken out by Nie arrows before they could land, but it was only a couple of moments later before the entire caravan was swarmed with Wen.
The elder who had been standing next to the driver stumbled down the steps and jogged over to Nie Huaisang, making a seal with his hands before pressing them against his abdomen. The qi transfer was so strong that it was visible to the naked eye, and Nie Huaisang gasped as a surge of power flexed through the ward. The elder kept his hands in place as his knees buckled.
“Move! Let me out!” The elder who had objected to being called ‘YuYu’ pushed her way out of the wagon, falling more than landing on the ground before waddling over to take over just as the other elder stumbled away from Nie Huaisang, his spiritual energy entirely depleted.
The soldiers surrounding the two retreat wagons were outnumbered two to one, but were fighting with everything they had. Many of the non-combatants in the wagon dropped down to their knees to avoid watching the carnage being carried out to protect them, but Yanli did not blame them. War was terrible, and she would shield them all from seeing or hearing it if possible.
Thinking that, she turned to Meng Shi and pushed her down to the floorboards. She held Xiao Niao tightly in her arms and looked up gratefully at Yanli. There was nothing to say. They both understood implicitly that either the Nie would win or they wouldn’t, and there was nothing for the people in the wagon to do but wait out their fate.
It felt like hours, but was likely only a few minutes before someone cried out and pointed to the sky. Next to Yanli, A’Yao looked up and frowned, and she followed his gaze.
Another flock of cultivators was incoming.
Several people wailed and broke down, crying out that more Wen were joining the battle.
“Be quiet!” A’Yao snapped loudly. Everyone turned to him. “It’s not Wen.”
A frisson of hope spread through the group. Yanli had no idea how A’Yao knew that, as she could not make out anything about the newcomers other than that they had to at least match the number of Wen…at least, not until they tipped down as elegantly as any flock of birds and the sunlight reflected off their golden raiments.
“Jin!” Someone called out. “Are they coming to help?”
Yanli and A’Yao glanced at each other, unsure of what to say, if anything, but less than a minute later the question was answered as the Jin plowed into the fight and began attacking the Wen.
Yanli fumbled through the people around her to the back of the wagon to get out, A’Yao following, telling Meng Shi to stay put until they gave the all clear. Just as her feet touched the ground, the ward around them finally faltered and dissipated, allowing fighters to spill into the space it had been protecting. Yanli ran for Nie Huaisang, finding him being cradled by the second elder, who looked on the verge of passing out herself. Yanli had to give the Nie credit for pure bull-headed stamina.
She fell to her knees next to them and took his hand to start feeding him a small trickle of her own qi. The elder nodded at her in gratitude, then her eyes flew wide in horror.
She heard more than saw A’Yao’s cane swing up to block a Wen blade that had been aimed for her neck. He almost crumpled from the force of it, but quickly flipped his cane around as he spun in place and cracked it against the Wen’s knee. Before the Wen could recover, he was impaled from behind by a bright, shining blade with a sword glare that Yanli knew well. The Jin tossed the Wen body aside and stepped forward to check on them, tall and graceful, a solid wall of cultivation power, his face fierce but almost ethereal in its beauty.
“Young Master Nie!” he said with genuine concern, then looked at the other three of them. He went pale in shock. “Jiang Yanli?”
“It is good to see you, Jin Zixuan.”
She was surprised at how much she meant it.