Chapter 40: The Northern Reaches: A Harsh Welcome

“The Northern Reaches are safe,” Gu Chang’an declared, her gaze fixed on Shen Zhaoqing as she spoke each word with deliberate precision. “There, no one will ever be able to take you from my side again.”

Shen Zhaoqing’s heart sank, bit by bit.

She finally understood, with chilling clarity, that Gu Chang’an hadn’t brought her to the Northern Reaches for any “fail-safe plan.”

Gu Chang’an was saving herself.

Shen Zhaoqing’s very existence had begun to shake the foundations of Gu Chang’an’s Sword Dao. The Supreme Forgetfulness Sword Art, which Gu Chang’an cultivated, demanded that she sever all seven emotions and six desires, her heart as still as placid water.

Yet, Shen Zhaoqing, like a stone cast into a tranquil lake, had stirred up tumultuous waves within her heart.

Gu Chang’an found herself unable to ‘forget,’ and so, she had chosen the most extreme method to ‘lock away’ this emotion that threatened to consume her.

As long as Shen Zhaoqing remained securely bound to her side, imprisoned within her sword domain, never to leave, the fissure that threatened to tear her sword heart apart would never materialize.

What a self-serving and utterly deranged logic this was.

Shen Zhaoqing could no longer utter a single word. She simply turned away, silently leaning back against the railing.

The gaze from behind her felt heavier, more scorching than before, binding her, body and soul, in an impenetrable embrace.

She struggled to breathe.

Ahead of the skiff, at the very edge of the horizon, a continuous, snow-covered expanse of pale mountains was faintly visible.

That was the Northern Reaches.

A new, larger, and far more perilous place.

As Shen Zhaoqing gazed at that white expanse, a symbol of despair, she suddenly yearned for a strong drink.

No, one wasn’t enough.

She wanted to get utterly, hopelessly drunk, perhaps even to never awaken, until this damned epoch finally met its end.

****

As the skiff breached the clouds and began its slow descent, Shen Zhaoqing inhaled the scent of the Northern Reaches for the very first time.

It was not the pure, ethereal qi of an immortal’s grotto, nor the bustling, human-scented air of Qingzhou City.

It was a harsh yet vibrant aroma, a blend of wind, snow, cold iron, potent liquor, medicinal herbs, and a faint, unmistakable hint of blood.

“Hiss—” Shen Zhaoqing instinctively clutched the thin green robe she wore more tightly.

The skiff’s protective enchantments dissipated, and a biting cold wind instantly rushed in, blanching the faces of the pampered Qingyun Sect disciples. Wang Xiaopang, in particular, let out an exaggerated sneeze, his round face etched with a tragic grandeur, as if preparing for a heroic sacrifice.

Shen Zhaoqing peered down from the porthole.

The land below was a vast, desolate white, blanketed by endless ice and snow. A winding black defensive line, like a colossal dragon, stretched across the landscape. This was a city wall, cast from unknown black giant stones and profound iron, towering into the clouds.

Its surface bore countless scars from blades and axes, along with dried, blackened bloodstains—whether from human or beast, it was impossible to tell.

Innumerable black banners, emblazoned with the image of a howling wolf, fluttered and snapped fiercely in the wind and snow.

This was the Frost Iron Defense Line.

The foremost front in the human race’s defense against the Ten Thousand Beast Valley, a crucible of war forged from flesh and steel.

The skiff landed smoothly on a massive training ground behind the city wall. The ground was paved with thick bluestone slabs, intricately carved with complex array patterns, clearly designed to facilitate the takeoff and landing of large magic tools.

Gu Chang’an, clad in white, was the first to disembark. Her posture was as straight as a pine, her aloof aura naturally warding off the surrounding wind and snow. The other disciples followed closely, each struggling to maintain their composure and the dignified bearing of an immortal sect master.

Shen Zhaoqing, with her neck pulled in and hands tucked into her sleeves, shuffled along lazily at the very end of the line.

A contingent of people was already waiting on the training ground.

At the forefront stood a woman.

She was tall and imposing, even more so than many men. Her general’s armor, made of profound iron inlaid with silver, was rigid and severe, encasing her entirely, with only slight articulation at the joints. Her rare, silver-white hair was pulled back into a simple, battle-worn ponytail with a leather cord, a few stray strands clinging to her cheeks in the cold wind.

Her features were sharply defined, her phoenix eyes as serene as two frozen lakes. A faint, horizontal saber scar across the corner of her eye added a chilling, battle-hardened ferocity that made one’s heart pound.

She stood there silently, flanked by dozens of personal guards, similarly clad in profound armor.

No introduction was needed. Shen Zhaoqing knew immediately that this woman was likely the authority figure here.

Gu Chang’an stepped forward, nodding slightly. Her voice was as clear and cold as jade. “Gu Chang’an of the Qingyun Sect, by the True Monarch’s command, leads thirty-six disciples to reinforce the Northern Reaches.”

The silver-haired general’s gaze swept over Gu Chang’an, then over the ethereal Qingyun disciples behind her. There was no trace of the awe or excitement a mortal might show upon seeing an immortal master; only a professional, scrutinizing assessment.

“Tuoba Yanxue, Commander of the Frost Iron Legion in the Northern Reaches of Yan Kingdom.” Her voice was colder and harsher than the wind and snow, with a metallic, grating quality. “Immortal Gu, you’ve had a difficult journey. Military matters are urgent, so we’ll dispense with pleasantries.”

She paused, her gaze, like a tangible blade, slowly raking across each Qingyun disciple’s face.

Those who met her eyes felt a chill run down their spines. When that icy stare finally landed on the listless, yawning Shen Zhaoqing at the back of the line, a clear emotion surfaced on Tuoba Yanxue’s face.

It was undisguised, profound disgust.

Shen Zhaoqing: “…”

Shen Zhaoqing could feel Tuoba Yanxue’s gaze lingering on her for a full three breaths.

Shen Zhaoqing lazily lifted her eyelids, met the general’s stare for a moment, then idly shifted her gaze to examine a speck of mud on her boot.

‘Go ahead and stare, it’s not like I’ll lose a chunk of flesh,’ Shen Zhaoqing thought.

“And this is?” Tuoba Yanxue’s tone remained flat, yet anyone could discern the targeted coldness within it.

Gu Chang’an’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

She, too, had sensed Tuoba Yanxue’s hostility towards Shen Zhaoqing, and a wave of displeasure quietly rose within her.

“My junior sister, Shen Zhaoqing,” Gu Chang’an answered coolly, her words carrying an undeniable note of protection. “She accompanies me for experience.”

“Experience?” Tuoba Yanxue scoffed as if hearing a joke, a cold curve appearing on her lips. “Immortal Gu, this is the Frost Iron Defense Line, not your immortal sect’s private garden. People die here daily; demon races attack our gates daily. We need warriors capable of fighting on the front lines, not…”

Her words trailed off, but her contemptuous gaze conveyed everything.

—Not a pampered young lady who needed protection.

“She…” Gu Chang’an was about to retort when Tuoba Yanxue raised a hand, cutting her off.

“Immortal Gu’s good intentions are appreciated, but military matters have military rules,” Tuoba Yanxue said, her gaze sharpening to a blade as she looked at Gu Chang’an, her tone leaving no room for argument. “By regulation, all new arrivals, whether immortal or mortal, must undergo combat assessment before being assigned. Immortal Gu and the other Sword Immortals are highly cultivated, naturally serving as the main force to guard the walls and slay great demons. As for this Junior Sister Shen…”

Her gaze once again fell upon Shen Zhaoqing, as if appraising a useless sack of military rations.

“Peak Qi Induction Realm, unstable spiritual power, fluctuating aura, utterly devoid of battle intent.”

Tuoba Yanxue’s assessment was precise and scathing, each word a slap across the Qingyun Sect’s face.

The surrounding Qingyun disciples’ expressions turned grim. They knew Shen Zhaoqing’s cultivation was low, but to have it pointed out so directly and publicly by a mortal general still caused them a surge of humiliation.

Only Shen Zhaoqing herself wore an expression of ‘you’re absolutely right,’ even nodding in agreement.

Gu Chang’an’s face had become so dark it looked as though water might drip from it.

‘Let me go back, please let me go back, let me go back,’ Shen Zhaoqing’s thoughts were practically written on her face.

The ambient temperature plummeted, and the wind and snow seemed to freeze for a moment.

“Issue my military order,” Tuoba Yanxue commanded a nearby deputy general.

“Assign Shen Zhaoqing to the logistics and supply camp.”