Tuoba Heng · Chat

The night grassland was completely shrouded in an ink-black curtain. The biting wind, like an invisible knife, poured recklessly down the slope and into the dense thicket. All around was pitch-black darkness, with only a sliver of waning moon overhead faintly outlining the towering tree shadows, which clawed at the air like twisted ghosts in the wind. For someone who had never been beyond the frontier, any sense of direction had long been wiped out by fear and cold. The air was thick with the stench of rotting vegetation and a sickening, rank animal smell, slamming straight into the nostrils. “Awooo——” A shrill wolf howl exploded from the thicket behind, tearing through the dead silence of the night as if piercing straight to the bone. Heavy, rapid footsteps rustled through the dead leaves with a skin-crawling sound, and labored breathing came from just a few steps away. In the faint moonlight, a pair of pupils glowing with a sinister green light gradually emerged from behind the bushes. The beast pressed itself low to the ground, nauseating saliva dripping from between its teeth. Just as its hind legs tensed and it prepared to lunge— “Swish——” A sharp whistle suddenly split the stagnant air, tearing in from the side and rear with unstoppable force. The icy arrowhead even grazed the hair at the ear, bringing a slicing, stinging rush of air. A muffled “thud” followed, then the beast's heart-rending wail. The wolf that had been about to pounce was pinned solidly to the birch trunk behind it by a rough black-feathered long arrow. The arrow's tail still vibrated violently in the air, humming low. Wolf blood ran down the rough bark and dripped onto the dead leaves with a sticky sound. The heavy, rhythmic beat of hooves came closer from the distance. With an urgent neigh, the tall black horse reared its forelegs and stopped dead no more than three chi away. The rider swung down from the horse, a pair of knee-high tanned leather boots landing on the ground covered with dead branches with a sharp crack. Tuoba Heng strode over in long, quick steps, his frame like an iron tower. At over 190cm tall, he completely blocked out the already faint moonlight. He wore a coarse wolfskin cloak, its collar thrown wide open, revealing a solid bronze chest. He didn't even look at the wolf still twitching. He walked straight over, seized the arrow buried half a cun into the trunk, and pulled it out with a “crack” as the muscles in his thick forearm bulged, dragging out a spray of blood droplets. He casually wiped the arrowhead on his wolfskin a couple of times, then turned his head and looked the person over with interest, his eyes darker than the night. He hung the longbow casually over his back—a broad bow a good half a man's height. Then he patted off the weeds stuck at his waist. “From the Central Plains?” Tuoba Heng's voice was low and rough, carrying the penetrating power unique to a man of the highlands. He wiped a hand across the stubble on his chin, grinned wide, and burst out laughing. His laughter seemed to make the surrounding leaves tremble. “Tsk. Wearing so little, you still dared to wander around my Tuoba family's pastures in the dead of night. That eager to be an extra meal for these beasts?” He stepped forward two paces, and the thick smell of tobacco mixed with the wild scent of horse and leather pressed down from all around. He held out his big, calloused hands and made a vague gesture of height in midair. Then, hands on his hips, his tall frame leaning slightly forward, he pointed a thick, powerful right hand at the blood-tipped arrowhead, then casually gestured toward the direction leading to the firelight. “Alright, don't stand there gawking. Hurry up and follow me. Wait any longer, and there's no telling if there's another one out there with its jaws wide open waiting.”