“The bronze horn” looked like a toppled giant trumpet, lying across the city wall. Around its rim grew a ring of verdant patina, mottled and uneven, as if it were carved with intricate patterns.

The messenger took a deep breath, aimed at one end of the bronze horn, and let out a long call. The sound, amplified dozens of times by the massive horn, boomed out like a great bell, echoing endlessly.

“Wild geese return, open—the—dark—river—”

Two rows of soldiers responded by gripping the huge wooden handles atop the city tower. With a loud shout, each of them, bare-chested and muscles taut, exerted their strength together. The mountain-sized wooden wheels creaked and groaned as they turned. Below the tower, a broad avenue of bluestone slabs split in two with a rumble. Countless interlocking gears began to twist, and the stone bricks on both sides parted ways, moving in opposite directions.

The earth cracked open, revealing a deep, hidden river beneath, running through the entire town of Yan Hui.

The messenger blew a low, drawn-out note, which resonated from the bronze horn, lingering and penetrating everything as it drifted away.

A long call echoed back from the giant kite above. Then, countless fiery wings beat in unison, and the surrounding clouds and mist churned wildly—the craft was preparing to land.

The first handful of “goose feed” scattered down like a goddess sowing flowers, and the children below went wild, all reaching out to snatch it.

Unfortunately, the stretch where the goose feed was scattered was not long. Soon, the giant kite descended into the dark river, settling steadily on the water, coming to rest before the people’s eyes.

The hull was imposing, the cold iron glinting with an indescribable aura of slaughter. The horn from the ship sounded inexplicably tragic, echoing unceasingly, resonating through the entire town of Yan Hui, as if the souls of a thousand years of battlefield dead had awakened together, singing in unison.

The giant kite slowly sailed along the dark river into the city, the sound of rushing water all around. The messenger let out another long call.

“Extinguish—the—lights—”

The fiery wings on both sides of the giant kite went out at the command, and a faint burnt smell, like after firecrackers, drifted through the air. The giant kite moved forward with the current, the dragons carved around it seeming like totems frozen in time, exuding a demonic divinity.

Charles watched the giant kite approach from afar amid the jostling crowd. Even though he claimed he didn’t want to come, and had indeed seen the giant kite return many times, he was still awed by the sheer size of the vessel when facing it directly.

If the north-patrolling giant kite was already so impressive, what kind of spectacle must the three great Xuan Iron camps, the nation’s ultimate weapons, be?

The young man, trapped in this remote and narrow corner of Yan Hui town, could hardly even imagine it.

The giant kite drew near, the residual heat from its extinguished wings washing over him. Charles instinctively reached out to grab the person beside him, warning, “The giant kite is here, there are too many people on this side, let’s move back a bit.”

No one responded. He grabbed at empty air. Charles turned around and found that his troublesome adoptive father had disappeared at some point.

☆ Chapter 5: Xiuniang

Charles struggled to stand on tiptoe, looking over the crowd and shouting, “Sixteen!”

No one answered. The crowd chasing after the giant kite surged forward en masse—some cheering, some shouting “It’s here!”, and others angrily yelling, “Stop pushing!”

Charles was bumped several times, each collision stoking his anger further. Fuming, he roared, “Father!”

The crowd flowed ceaselessly along the dark river. Charles, searching for someone, struggled to stand his ground against the current, soon sweating from being jostled shoulder to shoulder. The awe he’d felt at the giant kite had completely vanished; with such an adoptive father, who knew how many years of his life he’d lose.

Charles thought angrily, “William Sullivan must be full and bored. On such a hot day, of all things, why insist on coming out to watch the crowd!”

Just then, someone not far away shrieked, “Stop pushing, someone fell in!”

Instinctively, Charles glanced in the direction of the scream.

The crowd by the riverbank was thrown into brief chaos.

“Heavens, someone really fell in!”

“Go find the officer on duty over there!”

“Make way! Make way! We can’t get out like this…”

Charles was about to make way for those desperately trying to get out when he vaguely heard someone say, “Master Sixteen, be careful!”

Charles shivered, wondering if his nerves were just too taut. He hurried forward, grabbing someone squeezing out from the riverbank. “Who fell in? It’s not William Sullivan, is it?”

Whether the person heard Charles clearly or not was unclear; he just nodded distractedly, “Seems so—let me out first.”

A buzzing filled Charles’s mind. Amid the scorching heat radiating from the giant kite, a cold sweat broke out on his back. He took a deep breath and, feet barely touching the ground, forced his way against the crowd toward the riverbank, stumbling a few steps before grabbing the railing to steady himself.

Anxiously, he craned his neck to look down, and sure enough, saw someone struggling in the water.

The surface of the underground river was six or seven zhang below, the bottom invisible, exuding a chilling gloom. Great white waves surged past, and the person in the river, like drifting duckweed, had nothing to hold onto. There was no sound at all, and it was impossible to see who it was.

Charles yanked off his outer garment. “Make way, please make way!”

Someone nearby shouted, “You can’t just jump in—quick, get a rope for that boy!”