The Storm Before Blood

Days of relentless heat were finally extinguished by a single torrential rain.
The rain fell upon the parched earth, hissing as though the land itself were breathing again.
White mist rose from the soaked soil, curling upward like a river crashing down from the heavens.

Through the dense veil of rain, I saw the bodies below the city wall—
mangled, twisted, scattered—
slowly carried away by the flood into the dark river nearby.

In the distance, the beacons had died out.
A scout galloped through the storm, mud splattering from his hooves.
He dismounted, knelt, and reported:
“General Qin An has withdrawn ten miles west to the outer camp.”

I nodded faintly. “I see.”

For three days, Qin An had camped before our walls.
Neither side had begun a true battle—only skirmishes here and there,
a hundred or so men dead.

Tu Xin had granted me the title General Bai,
handing over the command once held by General Lan—
three hundred thousand troops,
half the lifeblood of the Eastern Kingdom.

But that was not what concerned me.
What I cared about were the hundred Ghostmen that stood behind Tu Xin.

A hundred—no more, no less.
Ghostmen had been extinct for over a century.
That they should appear again in this world—
and under Tu Xin’s command—was unthinkable.

He handed them to me personally, smiling.

“Take them,” he said. “Play well.”

He knew Bai Xi well—
knew what she wanted.
But what he did not know
was that I was not Bai Xi.
I was Qiao Qiao.

Now, standing atop the city wall,
I looked out over the rain-soaked battlefield.

Tu Xin stood beside me, smiling with his usual ease.

“Do you wish to fight?”

I answered quietly,

“Since I am General Bai of Dongyi,
how could I not?”

He chuckled.

“Good. I have already spoken with Qin An.
The battle will be decided tomorrow.
You may kill him yourself.”

I nodded once and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To prepare for the battlefield,” I replied.

This was Bai Xi’s long-awaited duel—
her war of vengeance.
Naturally, I would prepare something special for Qin An.

The next day dawned gray and heavy.
The rain had lasted through the night,
and morning brought a fog so thick
that even the air tasted of water.

Through the mist, I could see the legions gathered below—
an ocean of armor and iron,
their battle standards whipping in the damp wind.
Among them, Qin An stood tall and dark.

Black armor.
Black sword.
Even his horse was pure black, without a speck of white.

He had always loved that color.

Tu Xin looked down upon the scene and smiled.

“Your turn,” he said.

I stepped forward, onto the battlements,
and gazed down at the mass of soldiers.

Qin An raised his sword and shouted,
his voice cutting through the fog:

“General Qin An of Xihan—come to learn your skill!”

I drew a long breath.
Removing my helmet,
I let the wind rush against my face.

He showed no surprise.
Of course not.
He had surely guessed long ago
that Dongyi’s newly appointed General Bai
was none other than Bai Xi herself.

I leapt lightly onto the edge of the wall,
looked down at him,
and called out:

“Qin An, today we fight to the death.
But before we begin—
answer me one question.”

“Ask,” he said coldly.

“Today, who do you fight for?”

Qin An slowly rose from the saddle,
his armor creaking with the movement.
His voice was steady and resolute:

“For my lord.
For my nation.
For the people of Xihan.”

Each word fell like a hammer—
short, firm, righteous.

How like him.
Always bound by duty.
Always walking the narrow path of law and order.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Such a man—
so upright, so unbending—
it thrilled me.
Made me want to crush everything he held dear,
to trample his ideals into the mud.

“Excellent,” I said, clapping my hands.
My voice carried far, echoing to every ear below.
“Then tell me, General Qin—
can you swear that there is not a single thread of personal feeling
in this war of yours?”

His gaze hardened,
and his sword lifted sharply, pointing straight at me.

“Bai Xi,” he said,
“I came here to fight, not to debate.
Stop this nonsense.
I ask you only once—will you fight, or will you not?”

Behind him, his soldiers stomped in unison,
dust rising beneath their boots.

“War! War! War!”

I raised a hand.

“Do not be so hasty, General.
I still have something to show you.”

With a snap of my fingers,
two guards dragged out a pair of figures bound with ropes.
A gust of wind caught them as they were hoisted from the wall—
two bodies swaying like tattered banners.

Qin An’s pupils contracted violently.
His voice shook.

“Father! Mother!”

Yes.
The two hanging from the battlements
were none other than his parents—
Qin Shuo and E Xiang.

“Villain!”
“Coward!”

Cries erupted from below.
Rage and curses filled the air.

Qin An trembled, his eyes bloodshot.
When he finally spoke, his voice burned with fury.

“Bai Xi… what do you want?”

“Nothing,” I said lightly,
drawing a small dagger from my belt.
“Only to make a trade.”

I gestured behind me, toward the corpse-strewn field.
Though the dead had been cleared,
shattered bones still littered the mud.

“We’ve fought long enough, Qin An.
I’m growing bored.
Let’s play a different game today.

You will retreat twenty li
and destroy all your silver arrows—
and I will release your parents.
I’m not asking you to surrender.
Surely that’s a fair bargain, isn’t it?”

He said nothing,
his lips pale, trembling.

“I’ll be honest,” I continued.
“Even if we fight today, you’ll gain nothing.
I have a hundred Ghostmen, ten legions of soldiers,
and more firepower than you can imagine.
Do you really think your fifty thousand men
can withstand even a few volleys?”

The murmur spread like a ripple among his troops.
Doubt was a seed that grew quickly.

I pressed on.

“Qin An, loyalty is noble—
but so is filial piety.
Step back today; you can fight again tomorrow.
But if your parents die,
no victory will ever bring them back.”

“Silence!” he roared.

His fury startled even me.
In all my memories,
Qin An had always been composed—
the calm, untouchable commander.
But my words had struck deep.

Behind him, his advisors whispered nervously,
calculating the truth of my claim.

Then a voice rose above the chaos—
firm, low, unyielding.

“Qin An.”

His father, Qin Shuo, lifted his head.

“Father…” Qin An whispered.

“Do you remember what I taught you?”

“You taught me many things,” Qin An said hoarsely.
“Loyalty to the sovereign.
Devotion to the nation.
The people above all.”

Qin Shuo’s lips curved into a faint smile.

“Good.
Then you know what must be done.”

“Father—” His voice cracked.

Qin Shuo turned toward his wife.

“My dear, forgive me.”

E Xiang smiled softly.

“Forgive you? What nonsense.
We vowed long ago—life or death, together.
To die for our land,
at your side—
that is my fortune.”

Below, soldiers wept openly.

Qin An’s voice rang out through the storm.

“Archers, ready!
Catapults, ready!”

“But, General—your parents—”

He kicked the man aside, roaring,

“Ready the weapons!”

I sighed.
The archers hidden within the wall
drew their bows, arrows nocked.
I lifted my hand—
then paused.

“Qin An,” I said softly.

Tens of thousands of eyes turned toward me.

“Do you truly not care for their lives?
I’m not asking you to surrender—
only to take a step back.
Is the life of your parents worth less
than this little battle?”

Silence fell like a shroud.

Then—his laugh.
Cold, hollow.

“A little battle?”
he repeated.
“This war is the life of tens of thousands!”

His voice was sharp as steel.

“Are my parents human,
and my soldiers not?
If I destroy those silver arrows,
none of them will live.
Bai Xi, you have driven me to this—
your cruelty is boundless.”

Tears burned down his face.

Before I could speak again,
another voice cut through the wind.

“Girl.”

It was E Xiang.
Her calm smile froze the breath in my lungs.

“This is our second meeting,” she said.
“The first time, I told you—
you are not worthy of my son.
And now, I see I was right.

You have done everything to force him,
to make him defy his heart,
just to prove he cares for you.

But look—
he never will.
Because you do not deserve him.”

“Shut up!” I snapped,
blood rising in my face.

At that moment,
Qin An drew his bow.

His archery was as famed as his swordsmanship.
It was said that if he aimed for a hawk’s left eye,
he would never hit the right.

Qin Shuo smiled faintly at his son.

“Release.”

The arrow screamed through the rain.
It struck the rope cleanly—

“No—!”

The hemp snapped.
The two bodies plummeted like broken birds.

Qin An spurred his horse,
a black streak racing forward—
but no speed could outrun the fall.
And below the wall
waited a trench lined with sharpened stakes.

The sound came—
thud, thud.

Blood sprayed the wall.

In that final moment,
Qin Shuo had wrapped his arms around E Xiang,
shielding her body with his own—
his last act of love.

The two hung together upon a single pike,
like a pair of blood-red sugar candies.

Qin An dismounted,
staring at them from afar.

“Father… Mother…”

Then he raised his head.
His eyes burned with fury.

“Bai Xi,” he said,
“I will kill you.”

I nodded.

“Good. Then let it begin.”