Along the path, amidst a forest not overly dense, a piteous sight met their eyes.

  “Master, please… I beg you…” a man groaned. He lay prostrate upon the road, face pale, breath ragged.

  Beside him knelt a young boy, no more than five years of age, weeping softly.

  Han Sen crouched down at once.

  “What troubles you, friend?” he inquired gently.

  “I beseech you, master, take my son. Carry him far from here,” the man pleaded, voice trembling.

  “Away from Chang’an? Why?” Fei Fei asked, also kneeling beside Han Sen.

  “Do not go to Chang’an. There are… monsters there. My ankle is sprained—I ran too long. They… they pursue. Please, master, take my son away!”

  The man pressed his plea upon Han Sen with desperate urgency.

  Yet at that moment, Han Sen’s spiritual sense detected six men running toward their location—swift, heavy-footed, qi thick with malice.

  “Hah! Scoundrels! Refused to pay their rent, and now flee to this place!” the lead attacker exclaimed, seeing the fallen man by the roadside while Han Sen and Fei Fei stood nearby.

  The men of Deng Tian Men descended without preamble, attacking with ferocious intent.

  Truly like beasts, their strength stood at the Foundation Establishment stage.

  The man trembled with fear, clutching his child close.

  Han Sen remained silent.

  He allowed Fei Fei to draw her blade and confront the six men: four at Foundation Establishment, two at Qi Condensation.

  Though both Han Sen and Fei Fei stood at Foundation Establishment, Fei Fei’s foundation stemmed from the pure and profound Cloud and Wave art.

  Whereas the men of Deng Tian Men drew their power from black stones.

  Foundation Establishment they may be, but the depth and potency of their power differed greatly.

  Furthermore, Fei Fei possessed a pure and potent martial art: Goddess Descent to Earth, a fragment of the Heavenly Descent.

  Initially, Fei Fei seemed overwhelmed by the swarm of six strong and ruthless men, who attacked without restraint, employing trickery, lewd gestures, and brutal blows.

  But slowly, Fei Fei felt her energy flow with increasing stability, her movements becoming more precise and ordered.

  Conversely, the six men found themselves pressed back, each feeling as if they faced a single Fei Fei whose blade movements blocked every avenue of attack.

  Soon, they all fell, struck down by disabling sword thrusts.

  Fei Fei, enraged by the men’s depravity, lowered her harsh hand and severed their meridians—utterly destroying their martial arts.

  They were crippled.

  It was unlikely they would walk the roads to Chang’an again within two days.

  “Come, let us proceed,” Han Sen urged, steadying the man who limped to his feet. They swiftly departed, leaving behind the six figures still writhing in pain upon the earth.

  “Thank you, Master, thank you, Mistress,” the man murmured deeply, his bow awkward due to the sprain in his ankle. He addressed Fei Fei as ‘Mistress’ because of her altered hairstyle, a clear sign of her married status. Surely, she was the wife of this composed young man.

  “Rest a moment upon that large stone—allow me to aid you,” Fei Fei spoke quickly. The man settled onto the stone beside him. Fei Fei removed his footwear, examining the swelling of his foot.

  “Ah, merely a common sprain,” Fei Fei remarked. “My father’s disciples have often suffered such injuries, and who else but I would be called upon to mend them? It is a trifling matter. Endure the discomfort briefly,” she said, channeling her inner strength.

  The man stifled a cry as Fei Fei manipulated his ankle, gently correcting its position. After several skillful adjustments, he felt a marked improvement in his mobility.

  “Thank you, Mistress, thank you!” His face regained color, no longer pale from the agonizing pain he had previously endured.

  “Friend, tell us what has befallen Chang’an?” Han Sen inquired with a gentle tone.

  The man recounted that he was a humble merchant from Chang’an. Now, all was governed by Deng Tian Men, and the soldiery paid no heed to the common folk. Most soldiers remained within their barracks, the streets devoid of order or protection.

  The men of Deng Tian Men possessed no sense of shame—they extorted, plundered, violated, and committed every imaginable wickedness without fear. The martial brotherhood were powerless, most still of low station, facing opponents who had largely achieved Foundation Establishment. They acted with unrestrained tyranny. Their numbers swelled to thousands, dominating every corner of the capital.

  Hearing this, Han Sen and Fei Fei exchanged a knowing glance. They could not possibly confront the entire force of Deng Tian Men in Chang’an. Furthermore, conflict would inevitably harm the innocent populace.

  What course should they take?

  Han Sen and Fei Fei bid farewell to the man, who was now considerably better, and parted ways. He intended to continue his journey to his village in the province of Shennan. Han Sen and Fei Fei turned their steps towards the road leading to Chang’an.

  “Fei Fei, try this,” Han Sen said, producing a peach-colored cloth from his enchanted pocket. “Place it upon your head, channel your qi into it while envisioning the form of a simple, elderly woman. Continue to infuse it with qi—do not cease.”

  “Yes… brother… what is this?” Fei Fei placed the cloth upon her head and followed his instructions. She opened her eyes, finding her physical form unchanged. Her inner energy remained as potent as ever.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Han Sen smiled. He beheld his wife transformed into a woman with silvered hair, yet possessing the agile movements of a young maiden. The sight was amusing indeed!

  “Fei Fei, observe yourself,” Han Sen said, gesturing towards a small pool of water at the edge of the forest. Fei Fei approached the water’s edge and crouched, peering at her reflection. She gasped in astonishment, discovering she had become an old woman!

  “Brother! Why have I become this way?” she cried, her voice laced with anxiety.

  Han Sen’s laughter echoed softly, finding Fei Fei lost in bewilderment.

  “It is simple,” he explained. “Cease the flow of qi to the object upon your head.”

  Fei Fei halted the qi’s passage. Her gaze returned to the pool’s surface.

  The reflection shimmered, revealing her true visage once more. Her eyebrows arched, her eyes widened in astonishment.

  “Brother! This… this is truly wondrous! Magnificent!”

  “Hahaha… very well. So you understand now. Employ it again. Return to the guise of a common crone.”

  “Huuuh… do you find pleasure in old women?”

  “Hush… naturally, I prefer my beautiful wife.”

  “Huuuh… brother… eh… husband, you tease me!”

  A blush crept across Fei Fei’s cheeks, a tender reminder of the bond that now defined her as Han Sen’s wife.

  How easily did station fade when walking as siblings, jesting and sharing laughter. Yet Fei Fei knew they were bound now, by a thread deeper, more singular.

  She simply did not yet know how, or in what form it would take. All had transpired with such swiftness, yet to fully settle within her mind.

  Following Han Sen’s counsel, Fei Fei reshaped herself, returning to the form of the aged woman.

  At the final crossroads before Chang’an’s gates, Han Sen uttered his incantation. He invoked the Art of Vanishing, dissolving from mortal sight.

  Now, only a stooped crone was observed, shuffling slowly into Chang’an, her head bowed low.

  No one chided. No one questioned. No one guarded.

  Fei Fei stepped forward, accompanied by Han Sen at her side, venturing deep within the city, then turning onto a deserted lane.

  They maintained their lightness skill, moving swiftly toward the Dragon Gate.

  They paused upon a hidden rooftop, observing the Dragon Gate below. Few guards were present. Neglected, the grasses grew tall and untended.

  “Let us proceed,” Han Sen spoke, releasing his vanishing art.

  They descended from the roof, Fei Fei dismissing her disguise as well, securing the enchanted cloth within her pouch.

  Together, they advanced toward the guards stationed at the Dragon Gate.

  The gatekeeper recognized Han Sen at once. How could he forget the young man who had felled the towering, powerful, and exceedingly arrogant Uyghur warrior?

  With courteous deference, Han Sen requested an audience with General Hun Jian.

  The guard called out to a comrade, who hurried forward and ushered Han Sen inside, toward the General’s chambers. A flicker of unease danced in the eyes of the soldier escorting him, but Han Sen let it pass, a mere ripple on a tranquil pond.

  He was within the Dragon Gate, after all.

  Soon, they arrived at the General’s office. Han Sen paused, struck by the palpable weight of the atmosphere.

  A formidable aura emanated from within, and his heart quickened in response.

  The soldier preceding them entered first, delivering a report. Then, General Hun Jian emerged, his face beaming with a welcoming smile.

  Han Sen offered a respectful bow, followed by Fei Fei.

  “Come, come in,” General Hun Jian said. “Someone wishes to meet you.”

  “Meet me?” Han Sen asked, surprised.

  Hun Jian strode purposefully into the inner chamber. There, a towering general, his long, thick beard a testament to his age and authority, exuded immense power and presence.

  Nascent Soul… or Soul Formation, Han Sen mused inwardly.

  “Greetings, I am Han Sen,” he said, adopting the perfect shoubei li stance.

  The General smiled, replying with a voice that resonated with authority.

  “I am Guo Ziyi, Han Sen. I have heard much of you,” General Guo Ziyi answered, his tone weighty. There was an undeniable gravitas in his voice, a pressure to be serious, and a subtle undercurrent of concern.

  “May fortune favor you, General,” Han Sen replied, his own demeanor polite and composed.

  General Guo Ziyi smiled, observing Han Sen’s maturity, a depth far beyond his years.

  “I have heard of your victory over those Uyghurs. It was as it should be,” General Guo Ziyi said. “Han Sen, this time, the Empire greatly needs your assistance.”

  “What is it that I can do, General?” Han Sen inquired, genuinely curious.

  “You can instruct our Tang soldiers. We must swiftly strengthen our legions,” Guo Ziyi responded, “for the truth is, our current martial instructors can no longer elevate our soldiers to the heights required.”

  The aura of Guo Ziyi seemed to fill the entire chamber. Han Sen felt a tightness in his chest, simply from facing the General’s presence.

  It wasn’t merely the aura; the commands of General Guo Ziyi within the Dragon Gate carried the weight of the Emperor’s decree. None dared to defy them.

  “As you command, General,” Han Sen replied. “However, the purpose of my visit was to retrieve the ashes and memorial tablet of my late father, Han Lei.”

  “Oh? You are the son of the Royal Hero, Han Lei?”

  “That is correct, General.”

  “Excellent. Your father was a Hero, and the blood of heroism flows within you as well. But can you arrange for someone to bring the ashes? We require your presence here immediately.”

  Han Sen pondered. He had come this far—how was he to proceed?

  “Husband, allow me to retrieve them,” Fei Fei said softly, understanding the magnitude of the challenge and the command laid upon her husband.

  Han Sen nodded.

  General Hun Jian, understanding the situation, bowed swiftly. “Fear not, I will dispatch a company of soldiers to escort the ashes of Hero Han Lei and Han Sen’s wife,” he said quickly.

  “Very well, see to it,” General Guo Ziyi instructed.

  Hun Jian bowed again, directing his men to prepare the escort to carry Han Lei’s ashes to the location indicated by Fei Fei.

  Han Sen was not overly concerned. He knew Fei Fei’s current abilities surpassed those of most martial artists in Chang’an. Unless they encountered a formidable monster, their journey should be relatively safe.

  “Do you understand, Han Sen, that heroism is not merely self-sacrifice?” General Guo Ziyi spoke, his voice resonating with the weight of years and the scars of countless battlefields.

  “Sacrifice extends beyond the self, encompassing family, wife, and child, does it not?” Han Sen inquired, his gaze steady. The pain of being left by his father still lingered within him like a quiet wound that never fully healed.

  “Haha, no—it is not sacrifice itself.

  Men sacrifice all things, even their own lives and their children, in pursuit of a goal. One might lay down his life for wealth. For a dream. For a promise. But these are not acts of heroism."

  Guo Ziyi repeated, his words carrying a profound truth forged in the fires of war.

  “Indeed? Yet if heroes did not sacrifice, perhaps my mother and I would not suffer so.”

  “Upon the battlefield, death is commonplace. Each soldier leaves behind wives and children, families, often for long stretches. Then they perish. Are all who die then considered heroes?

  Certainly not. True, their sacrifices are honored. Their wives and children become victims, enduring hardship. But it does not elevate all to the status of a hero.”

  “So many have fallen,” Han Sen murmured slowly. Yes—so many had fallen, and for so long each death on the battlefield had been lauded as heroic.

  “It is not death or sacrifice that defines a hero. They become heroes when they recognize they fight for something greater than themselves, prioritizing a cause larger than their own desires or the well-being of their families. They strive, even beyond the limitations of their own being, to transcend those boundaries, to ensure that a nobler purpose is fulfilled.”

  Han Sen nodded, striving to absorb the General’s wisdom, feeling the weight of those words settle deep within his chest.

  “Within heroism lies suffering. There is also the willingness to accept orders, for war and chaos often dictate circumstances, forcing one to act unjustly.

  Just as I have acted unjustly toward you,” General Guo Ziyi admitted, his expression clouded with regret. “For that, I offer you my apologies.

  But at this moment, the interests of the kingdom are of a more pressing nature. And we have few choices.”

  Han Sen nodded, understanding and accepting the burden laid upon him.

  Yet everything felt rushed, unforeseen.

  Like his parting with his wife.

  Fei Fei, that very day, prepared to depart, accompanied by a company of soldiers, riding toward the city of Tuhe.

  “My husband, I await your return home, with mother-in-law,” Fei Fei spoke, her voice laced with respect and a quiet sorrow.

  She gazed at him, her eyes reflecting a love and admiration that resonated deep within his soul.

  And a longing—a yearning to truly experience the fullness of being a wife.

  The dragon stood at the threshold of greater duty.

  The phoenix flew south.

  Both carried the same unspoken promise.

  To return.

  To endure.

  To stand together once more.

  While the storm from the west gathered strength.

  And the capital—already wounded—waited in silence for what was to come.