Volume One: A Thousand Years of the Stream Chapter Three: Leaving the Pass

On the perilous peak, flowers bloomed and withered, and two years passed in the blink of an eye.

That day, the great gates of Ansheng Pass swung open. A group of weary guards dragged themselves inside, and the gates promptly shut behind them. Leading the group was still Old Yang. Every time he returned, he bore new wounds; this time, he was carried back.

As Gouzi entered the pass, he shouted, “Where’s Sun Zikai?” Soon, Sun Zikai arrived with a medical kit. Old Yang lay on a wooden plank, bloodied cloth scattered on the ground. One of his arms was broken, and his face had turned pale.

Amputation, stopping the bleeding, cauterizing the skin... Old Yang was truly a man of steel, never once crying out in pain. Seven-year-old Sun Zikai, nerves taut, completed all the procedures flawlessly. Over these two years, he had perfectly assumed the role of the chief medic for Ansheng Pass. Every minor injury and sickness had passed through his hands, and the guards placed their utmost trust and reliance in his skills.

A woman asked what had happened. Gouzi explained, “Three groups of barbarians ambushed us. We thought there were only two bands near the birch forest. Old Yang led us to encircle them, but those two groups were in cahoots. We were flanked from behind. Nang, Xirang, and Dongzi didn't make it out. Old Yang stayed back to cover us and got his arm chopped off.”

The men lowered their heads deeply, like frostbitten eggplants. This campaign had dealt them a heavy blow, but such was their fate; the guards’ endings were always the same.

Old Yang, who had just fainted, slowly woke up. Sun Zikai immediately comforted him, “It’s okay, you’re alive.”

Old Yang nodded at Sun Zikai and then addressed the group, “This time, it’s my fault. I was careless and let them fool us. Lao Zhang (the scar-faced man), don’t go out for a while. Post two more guards on the city walls during the day and three at night. Watch carefully—don’t let them sneak in again.”

Lao Zhang nodded and added, “The bodies of Nangzi and the other two are still outside…”

Old Yang closed his eyes and sighed, then shook his head. Lao Zhang understood and said, “Their wives understand. I just had them pack their things. Soon, Gouzi will take them back to the city to find their children.”

Just then, a little girl ran in, grabbing Old Yang’s leg, crying anxiously, “Godfather, where’s your arm?”

The girl was four years old, adopted by the childless Old Yang and named Youshi. The women carried Youshi out, and the men gradually left as well.

Sun Zikai stood by the wooden plank, his gaze no longer as calm as before. Now, his eyes were those of someone looking at family. Old Yang saw him and tried to reach out to touch his head, but his right arm was gone. He said, “It’s nothing, just one arm. It won’t hold me back.”

“You use your right hand for the blade and can’t shoot a bow anymore,” Sun Zikai replied.

Old Yang turned his head and looked at the beam above. “I can use my fists, no problem.”

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