Chapter 1: The Border

In the border town of Yanhuicheng, there is a place called "General's Slope." The name sounds imposing, but in reality, it's just a small mound—someone with a long neck could see right over the top.

General's Slope wasn't always there. Legend has it that fourteen years ago, the first Iron Cavalry of Great Liang, the Xuan Iron Three Camps, marched north, wiped out the eighteen barbarian tribes, and on their triumphant return passed through Yanhuicheng. They discarded their broken armor here, forming a small hill on the spot. Over time, wind and rain wore it down, and it became General's Slope.

General's Slope is a barren hill where nothing grows—not even wild grass. There's not even cover for lovers to sneak around. It sits there, bare and exposed, and no one really knows what to do with it. The old folks say it's because the Xuan Iron Camp committed too many killings, leaving behind a murderous aura. As time passed, bored hooligans used it as inspiration to make up a series of ghost stories about the border, and eventually, hardly anyone went near it.

But at dusk this day, two kids around ten years old ran to the foot of General's Slope.

One was tall and skinny, the other short and chubby—together, they looked like a pair of running chopsticks and a bowl.

The tall, skinny one was dressed as a little girl. Only on closer inspection would you realize he was a boy. His nickname was Mary Carter, because a fortune teller said he was supposed to be born a girl but ended up in the wrong body, and the heavens might call him back to be reborn. His family, worried he wouldn't live long, raised him as a daughter.

The short, chubby one was the butcher Ge's youngest son, nicknamed Little Henry Grant. True to his name, he was covered in a sheen of prosperous fat.

The two of them craned their necks, peering at General's Slope, but because of the ghost stories, neither dared get closer.

Little Henry Grant was holding a copper "thousand-mile eye," stretching his neck to look toward General's Slope, muttering, "The sun's already set and he still hasn't come down. My big brother is really... what's that called—starving by hanging himself!"

Mary Carter: "That's called 'hanging from a beam and stabbing one's thigh.' Stop talking nonsense and give me the thousand-mile eye."

This fake girl often played the part for real, but unfortunately, always in the wrong direction—not like a lady, more like a shrew, especially fond of pinching people with his chicken-claw hands.

As soon as he reached out, Little Henry Grant's fat trembled in pain, and he quickly handed over the thousand-mile eye, warning, "Be careful with it! If you break it, my dad will beat me into dumpling filling."

The so-called "thousand-mile eye" was a small copper tube engraved with "five bats," with a crystal-clear glass lens inside. When pressed to the eye, you could tell the gender of a rabbit ten miles away.

Little Henry Grant's was especially fine, left to him by his grandfather who had been a scout.

Mary Carter played with it for a while, then raised it to look at the stars. "So clear."

Little Henry Grant followed his gaze and pointed, "I know, that's called the Dusk Star, also called 'Charles', same as my big brother's name. Mr. Sullivan taught me, I remember."

Mary Carter curled his lip. "Who says he's your big brother? Does he even care about you? You shamelessly chase after him, insisting on calling him big brother. Look at you... Hey, wait, is that him?"

Little Henry Grant looked in the direction he pointed—and it really was.

A young boy was walking down from General's Slope, head lowered, carrying a sword. Little Henry Grant suddenly wasn't afraid of ghosts anymore and charged out like a rolling thunderbolt: "Big brother! Big brother!"

He ran too fast and tripped over something at the foot of the slope, tumbling right to the boy's feet.

Little Henry Grant, covered in dirt, looked up without bothering to get up, first flashing a fawning, silly grin and baring his teeth: "Hehe, big brother, I've been waiting here for you all day."

The boy named Charles silently pulled back his foot, which had almost stepped on Little Henry Grant.