Huang Yueliang, her face streaked with exhaustion and lingering fear, dismounted from her horse. Guo Longtong, ever eager to serve, quickly took her place. With a shared, grim understanding, Guo Longtong and Huang Hongse then turned to return to Waterfall City with the wounded, their figures fading into the dimming light. Huang Yueliang climbed onto a small, smooth stone, its surface cool beneath her, and sat beside Lee Dachin, their shared anxiety forming an unspoken bond.
The two friends watched as some families, their faces radiant with overwhelming relief, joyously reunited, embracing their loved ones with desperate hugs and tearful cries. Others, however, remained rooted to their spots, their expressions a haunting blend of desperate hope and profound dread, clinging to the agonizing prayer that the very next figure emerging from the shimmering underwater path would be their beloved.
"Have you seen Yaoting?" Lee Dachin asked, his voice barely a whisper, hoarse with a fear he dared not voice fully.
"Yes, I've seen both Peizhi and Yaoting," Huang Yueliang replied, her gaze distant, filled with a sorrow that was both for the two men and for the unspoken truth. "Baiyu and Renshu held the last cards. To be honest, we couldn't win that war. The demonic creatures were too strong, endless. Renshu ordered us to retreat because they intended to use the annihilation talisman. That means everything in its path, including themselves and anyone within range, would be completely destroyed." Her voice cracked with the weight of the revelation.
"Do you think he used it?" Lee Dachin asked, his voice even hoarser now, a raw, painful whisper, afraid of the answer.
Huang Yueliang's voice trembled, tears finally welling in her eyes. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice thick with anguish, "but I think so. What else could make the ground shake like that? I haven't seen them since they rode off with Ping'an and Prince Siyuan." She gripped Lee Dachin's left hand tightly, seeking comfort, and leaned her head heavily on his left shoulder, tears beginning to fall, warm and searing, onto his skin. "Feeling the earth shaking and those strong winds passing by us... I... I hope they were protected from destruction and not in range."
Lee Dachin felt her tears, a searing warmth that seemed to burn his skin, mirroring the ache in his own heart. He wanted to cry out, to leap from the stone and race in the opposite direction of the incoming soldiers, to go find Fang Yaoting, to tear the world apart until he found him.
Huang Yueliang continued, her voice muffled against him, laden with the grim details. "Baiyu and Renshu made Peizhi promise to ensure Ping'an crossed the lake. Peizhi lied to Ping'an, telling her Baiyu was wounded, and Renshu was carrying him to the lake, luring Ping'an to cross. But she found out. Ping'an, Prince Siyuan, and his ten soldiers returned to the battlefield. Yaoting and Peizhi followed them back too."
Lee Dachin managed a faint, fragile smile, though his eyes held a profound, aching sadness that betrayed the optimism. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice gentle, "they might not have been in range." He had long known that Fang Yaoting would act this way, a deep, unsettling certainty. He remembered their time in Fox Mountain, when Yaoting was dragged into the spirit clans' battle, not by choice, but by loyalty. It wasn't what he wanted, but because his friend needed help, he wouldn't abandon him. This unwavering, fierce loyalty was what Lee Dachin cherished most about him, what he adored. In a dark, secret corner of his heart, Lee Dachin harbored a grim, hidden hope: that if Fang Yaoting truly died, he would die alongside his friends, so he wouldn't be alone in his lonely journey to the underworld.
As dusk settled, casting long, mournful shadows, the wounded soldiers were carefully transported to Waterfall City, their groans and moans a somber symphony. Some uninjured soldiers, fairies, and hunters also emerged from the shimmering underwater path, their faces etched with exhaustion. The soldiers joyously reunited with their families, their cries of relief and happiness echoing across the shore, while the hunters and fairies began their solemn, weary walk back to camp. Finally, the last two Horsemen soldiers walked out, their forms fading into the gathering darkness, and the shimmering water slowly, definitively, enveloped the path behind them, sealing off the horrors of the battlefield.
One Horsemen soldier, his face grave, his voice heavy with the weight of the day, addressed the waiting crowd. "These are all the wounded and some unscathed soldiers," he announced, his voice carrying the grim truth. "According to King Shammek's order, everyone please prepare for a solemn ceremony tomorrow morning. We will lay our deceased heroes to rest."
Huang Yueliang looked at Lee Dachin, her eyes mirroring his unspoken dread. Then, unable to hold back the torrent of grief any longer, she burst into a heart-wrenching sob, a raw sound of profound despair.
Families who had waited all day, their hopes crushed, shattered into uncontrolled tears, their cries mingling with hers. Under the cold, blue moonlight, in the profound, aching silence of the night, the only sounds that could be heard were the raw, gut-wrenching sobs of fathers, mothers, wives, children, brothers, sisters, friends, and their fellow heroes, mourning a loss too vast to comprehend.
The next morning, the air, usually silent with anticipation, was now filled with the gentle, almost mournful symphony of birds chirping. Lee Dachin and Huang Yueliang awoke to this serene sound, their bodies stiff from a night of anxious waiting. They joined the growing ranks of grieving families, each face a testament to unspoken fears, as they waited patiently in line. Horsemen soldiers, their expressions somber, began to pull carriages laden with bodies up the lake shore. Each fallen hero was neatly covered with a pristine white cloth, only their heads visible for identification, a cruel mercy. As each carriage slowly, painfully, rolled from the shimmering underwater path onto the lakeshore, families surged forward, their cries of recognition choked with agony, and solemnly walked alongside the wagons, a silent procession of sorrow, following them towards the designated burial ground.
Lee Dachin and Huang Yueliang watched, their hearts heavy, as wagon after wagon of deceased heroes passed them by, the turning wheels kicking up a constant haze of dust that seemed to obscure their vision, a metaphor for the fog of grief. When the very last wagon had gone, King Shammek, his regal posture now bowed by immense sorrow, stopped. His gaze, heavy with compassion, swept over the remaining families, their faces still etched with desperate, agonizing hope.
"Those who are still waiting," King Shammek announced, his voice thick with profound sadness, barely above a whisper, "your son, father, or husband is either missing or unrecognizable due to severe physical wounds. But they will not be forgotten. Their names will be written on the 'The Wall of Heroes'." He looked down, his voice choked with his own grief, tears welling in his eyes. "I express my deepest condolences to everyone."
King Shammek stepped aside, his movements slow, burdened. Then, a horrifying, truly gruesome sight unfolded: forty-three wagons, piled high and overflowing with dismembered body parts, rolled past. The air filled with gasps and choked cries. Some weak-hearted individuals retched onto the ground, their stomachs rebelling, while others, primarily women, swayed and fainted from sheer, overwhelming horror, collapsing amidst the dust.
From behind the last, most gruesome wagon, Lim Peizhi leaped off, his movements weary but filled with an incredible, life-affirming certainty.
Huang Yueliang's breath hitched in her throat, and then she cried out, a raw, joyous sound, tears of pure relief streaming uncontrollably down her face. She launched herself from the cold stone where she had sat all night, running desperately, blindly, towards her husband. Lim Peizhi met her halfway, his arms opening wide, pulling her into a fierce, desperate kiss that spoke of survival and profound gratitude. Huang Yueliang sobbed uncontrollably, burying her face in his chest, clinging to him as if he might disappear. The husband and wife, a beacon of light amidst the pervasive sorrow, rejoiced through their tears, their reunion a small, precious miracle.
Lee Dachin remained on the rock, his body curled tightly, almost like a fetus, his face buried deep in his knees, an attempt to hide from the agonizing reality. Tears silently slipped down his cheeks, hot tracks on his skin. Those were all the dead and the living soldiers. His mind screamed. His lover, his best friend, and his only two remaining family members—Guo Baiyu and Zhao Renshu—were gone.
A fading "clip-clop, clip-clop" echoed, a lonely sound that pierced the silence, then abruptly stopped directly in front of the rock. The sudden stillness, the sound of horse hooves halting so close, made Lee Dachin slowly, agonizingly, raise his head.
Fang Yaoting smiled down at him, his eyes filled with a profound warmth that reached out to him, and a playful glint that hinted at their shared history. "Hey, sleeping head," he murmured, his voice gentle, reassuring, "I sent you a message to go down to Waterfall City and wait for me there. Have you received the message?"
Lee Dachin's breath hitched. He wiped his tears away with a trembling hand, a shaky laugh, half-sob, half-relief, escaping him. "You didn't say when I needed to leave," he quipped, a weak attempt at humor. He slowly, carefully, got to his feet, his limbs stiff from waiting.
Fang Yaoting, still on horseback, effortlessly leaped onto the rock, landing gracefully beside Lee Dachin.
The Guozhao disciples, standing nearby, stopped what they were doing, their eyes wide, watching their Third Master pull Teacher Lee into his arms and kiss him deeply, a public display of raw, unrestrained affection that spoke volumes of their survival and reunion.
Lee Dachin pulled away, his gaze falling, sweeping over the students standing below. He counted them, his heart sinking with each numbered face, a fresh wave of grief washing over him as he realized there were only eighty-six, not the two hundred they had sent into battle. He sobbed vigorously, uncontrollably, burying his face in Fang Yaoting's chest, the pain too much to bear. He had taught each of them, loved each of them like his own children.
"They all fought bravely," Fang Yaoting murmured, holding Lee Dachin tightly, tears silently falling from the corners of his own eyes, mingling with Dachin's. "I'm very proud of each and every one of them."
Lee Dachin continued to sob loudly, finding solace, a fragile anchor, in Fang Yaoting's steadfast embrace, clinging to the warmth of his returned lover.
Those who survived spent a somber week excavating all the graves for the deceased heroes, their hands heavy with the sacred task. Aishu, her face serene but sorrowful, completed the soul purification ritual, a gentle blessing for the departed. And before the sun dipped below the horizon, all the dead heroes were finally laid to rest, their long, final journey complete. Each lay on the icy soil, covered from head to toe with a pristine white cloth, a symbol of purity and peace.
Aishu raised her arms towards the evening sky, her voice a solemn, melodic incantation, carrying their prayers on the wind. "May all your souls ascend to heaven," she chanted, her words a balm to the grieving.
As families and friends, their hearts heavy, said their final, tearful farewells, each placed a single, vibrant red rose at the feet of their deceased loved one, the crimson petals a stark contrast to the white shrouds, a final token of love and remembrance. For those soldiers with no family present, their comrades, brothers in arms, performed the solemn ritual, placing roses at their feet, ensuring no one was forgotten. The living, with heavy hearts and weary hands, helped bury the dead, a shared burden of sorrow.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of bruised purple and orange, everyone made their way down to Waterfall City, their steps slow and burdened, while the Horsemen soldiers, their faces grim but resolute, solemnly marched back to Immortal Valley, resuming their eternal vigil.