169: Black Stone Pass

Chen Linsheng rode his horse north for another five days.

The terrain gradually rose, the official road disappeared, and even the dirt path trodden by merchant caravans became increasingly faint and hard to distinguish.

As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a vast wilderness of alternating grey and yellow, and the outlines of mountains, undulating like a crouching Dragon's spine, beginning to appear on the distant horizon.

The wind grew even stronger.

It was no longer the moist, gentle breeze of Jiuqu Prefecture, nor the dry, coarse hot wind of the Gobi edge, but a northern wind that felt as if it carried the scent of rust and ice, stinging the face as it blew.

The wind howled, whipping up sand and gravel that rattled against his leather coat; the world was a blur of dim yellow and vast emptiness.

The Date-Red Horse truly lived up to its reputation as a fine steed of the North. Even in such harsh conditions, its steps remained steady, only occasionally snorting to clear the dust from its nostrils.

Chen Linsheng crouched low, covering his nose and mouth with a piece of coarse cloth, revealing only a pair of calm eyes staring ahead.

Based on rough estimates and directions from the occasional traveling merchants he met along the way, he knew that the true frontier military defense line was not far ahead.

Sure enough, after traveling for another half-day and crossing a long, gentle slope, an abrupt grey-black "line" stretched across the earth at the edge of his vision.

It wasn't a natural mountain range, but a man-made military barrier winding along the treacherous terrain—the "Iron Wall Great Wall" of the Northern Frontier.

Though the distance was too great to see its specific structure, that silent, hard line and the silhouettes of taller beacon towers visible every few miles along it were enough to instill a sense of heavy, solemn, and inviolable Aura.

And the final gateway leading toward the Great Wall was the pass at the end of this road.

“Black Stone Pass.”

The pass was wedged between two black stone mountains that looked as if they had been split by a giant axe. It was barely ten zhang wide—a treacherous spot, easy to defend but hard to attack. At the pass, a three-zhang-high gate wall made of heavy logs and rammed earth had been built, complete with battlements and observation holes. A large flag, somewhat faded from wind and sand, flapped loudly atop the gatehouse.

Below the gate wall, there were wooden fences and Chevaux-de-frise, leaving only a single passage wide enough for two carriages to pass side-by-side.

At this moment, a loose queue of twenty to thirty people and seven or eight carriages had already formed in front of the passage, undergoing inspection.

There was a small squad of about a dozen soldiers guarding the pass.

They all wore standard dark red cotton armor with black trim, Fanyang Hats, and windproof cloaks. Although their armor looked somewhat old, every man stood ramrod straight, their eyes sharp as eagles as they scanned the passing people and carriages. Their movements were efficient and their inspections meticulous, exuding the hardened Aura of battle-hardened veterans and strict discipline.

The wind and sand were heavy, battering the soldiers' frost-reddened faces, but they seemed oblivious, performing their duties mechanically and with focus—checking Travel Permits, searching cargo, and questioning origins.

Occasionally, a caravan worker would try to sneak some silver to "make things easier," only to be immediately stopped by a cold, stern gaze, which would bring about an even stricter inspection.

Chen Linsheng led his Date-Red Horse and stood at the end of the line, observing quietly.

He noticed that the guards' inspection focused on three main areas: first, identity and Travel Permits, with particular attention to whether one came from sensitive areas or had ties to the Northern Desert; second, cargo, with a strict ban on carrying more than a certain amount of contraband such as ironware, crossbows, armor, salt, or tea out of the pass; and third, the state of the individuals—those with fresh scents of blood, shifty eyes, or suspicious behavior received extra "attention."

Understanding this, he silently circulated his Five Viscera Absorbing Essence Art to further suppress and dissipate any residual Evil Qi or scent of blood from his bandit-slaying, leaving only a calm and steady Hunyuan Qi Aura.

After waiting for about half an hour, it was his turn.

A young soldier stepped forward and asked routinely, "Travel Permit, place of origin, destination, and what are you carrying?"

Chen Linsheng took out two documents from his robes. One was a standard Travel Permit issued by the Jiuqu Prefecture government, stamped with a vermilion official seal; the other was a Disciple identity certificate issued by the Yangwei Martial Arts Hall, bearing the personal seal of Martial Arts Hall Master.

“A native of Jiuqu Prefecture, Chen Lin, a Disciple of the Yangwei Martial Arts Hall and a traveling Martial Artist, heading to the Northern Frontier for experience,” he said calmly, handing over the documents. “I'm only carrying my personal weapons, a bow and arrows, my horse, and a few days' worth of dry rations and water.”

The soldier took them, carefully checking the authenticity of the Travel Permit, then sized up Chen Linsheng. His gaze lingered for a moment on the longbow on his back, the iron sword at his waist, and the magnificent Date-Red Horse. While the Date-Red Horse was fine, it wasn't too rare on the frontier, and it was normal for Martial Artists to carry bows and horses.

“A traveling Martial Artist?” The soldier looked up into Chen Linsheng's eyes. “The Northern Frontier is not peaceful; it's been especially chaotic lately. Why choose to go now?”

“I've heard the scenery and customs of the Northern Frontier are quite different from the Central Plains, and that martial arts training is more effective here, so I felt drawn to it. As for the chaos...” Chen Linsheng's expression remained unchanged. “A Martial Artist travels the world; where is there not a place to hone oneself?”

Seeing his steady temperament, clear eyes, and poised response, and sensing no suspicious Aura, the soldier nodded and returned the permit and certificate. “Go in. Wait by the tea shed over there; Commandant Wang might want to ask you a few questions.”

Chen Linsheng thanked him, led his horse through the fence, and walked to a simple tea shed under the inner wall of the pass.

The tea shed consisted of a thatched roof supported by several wooden pillars, open to the wind on all sides. Inside were three or four worn wooden tables, where a few merchants and porters were sitting, either waiting for inspection or resting.

A lame old man crouched before a clay stove boiling water, with several coarse ceramic bowls set out on a counter.

Chen Linsheng tied his horse to a pillar, ordered a bowl of hot tea, and found a corner to sit in.

Before long, a lean and capable officer in his early thirties, wearing black leather armor and a Yanling Saber at his waist, strode over. This was the pass Commandant, Wang Lang.

His gaze was like lightning as it swept over Chen Linsheng. He asked directly, “From Jiuqu Prefecture? A Disciple of Martial Arts Hall Master of the Yangwei Martial Arts Hall?”

“I am,” Chen Linsheng replied, standing up and cupping his hands.

“No need for formalities.” Wang Lang waved his hand, gesturing for him to sit, and sat down opposite him. “Hall Master Zhao also served on the border when he was young and has some history with an old superior of mine in the army; I've heard a bit about him. Seeing your steady gait and long, deep breaths, your Foundation is not weak. You have indeed received his true teachings.”

His tone turned serious. “However, friendship is one thing, but rules are rules. Fifty miles ahead is the true war zone buffer zone. Small groups of scouts from the Northern Desert Wolf Clan have been active recently, often appearing at night or during sandstorms to harass outposts and raid lone travelers. Even with your martial arts skills, you must not be careless.”

Chen Linsheng listened intently. “Please advise, Commandant.”

Wang Lang held up three fingers. “Remember three things: First, after sunset, no matter where you are, you must find shelter in a military fort, courier station, or reliable village for the night; never camp in the open. Second, if you see smoke from the beacon towers during the day or fire at night, that is a warning; move immediately to the nearest pass or fort without delay. Third, if you encounter Northern Desert cavalry, do not fight them head-on unless necessary. They are fast and their arrows are sharp, and they excel at hit-and-run tactics. Prioritize your safety and pass on the warning.”

“Thank you for the warning, Commandant. I will keep it in mind,” Chen Linsheng said, cupping his hands in thanks and noting this valuable advice.

Seeing that he had taken the advice to heart, Wang Lang's expression softened slightly, and he nodded. “You seem like a sensible man, so I won't say more. Finish your tea and head out. Once you leave the pass, it's a whole different world.”

He stood up and left to continue his inspection of the pass defenses.