Chapter Four – Road to the North

The morning sun broke through the pale veil of mist, casting a soft golden light upon the road that wound its way toward the northern frontier. Xinyue sat upright atop her mare, the reins held loosely in her hands. Her posture was calm, but her gaze—half-hidden beneath the brim of a plain riding hat—was sharp, scanning the road ahead. To any passerby, she appeared merely a frail noblewoman travelling with two attendants; but beneath the plain cloak and modest garb, she carried herself with the quiet authority of one accustomed to command.

The journey from Qinghe Town had been neither rough nor smooth. The road alternated between gentle slopes and flat plains, dotted with the occasional rest pavilion and wayside shrine. Traders came and went, ox-carts groaning beneath bales of cloth and sacks of millet. Once in a while, a mounted patrol would pass, the soldiers giving brief, appraising looks before riding on.

For three days they travelled thus, stopping at humble inns where the walls were thin but the hearth fires warm. Qiaoyun, ever restless, complained about the stale tea and the uneven bedding, earning herself mild scoldings from Xiaohua, who seemed determined to keep her from drawing attention. Xinyue said little. She ate sparingly, spoke only when necessary, and kept her hood low whenever strangers passed.

By the afternoon of the fourth day, the air had grown noticeably colder. The wind carried with it the faint bite of snow from distant mountains, and the clouds overhead thickened into a dim grey ceiling. The road began to narrow, hemmed in by low hills that seemed to lean closer with each step their horses took.

At last, the land opened into a broad clearing where the northern border gates rose—a fortress of black stone and timber, its watchtowers bristling with spears. The walls loomed high, weathered by years of wind and frost, and atop the battlements, guards in dark fur-lined armour kept their eyes fixed on the road. The gates themselves were carved with the sigil of the Northern Command, the bronze plates gleaming faintly beneath the muted light.

“Looks… forbidding,” Qiaoyun murmured under her breath, clutching the ends of her cloak. “Do they really check everyone who passes?”

“They must,” Xiaohua replied, her tone steady. “The North does not take kindly to strangers.”

Xinyue’s gaze lingered on the gates. “It will be fine. Keep close to me, and speak only if spoken to.”

As they approached, the sound of boots striking stone echoed from within the archway. A line had already formed before the gates—merchants with their carts, mounted messengers, even a few pilgrims with travel papers clutched tightly in their hands. Two guards moved down the line, inspecting each person with a practiced, unyielding eye.

When it was their turn, one of the guards—a tall man with a beard flecked with frost—stepped forward. His fur-lined helm shadowed his eyes, but his voice carried the clipped authority of someone who had long served at the frontier.

“Papers,” he said curtly.

From the folds of her sleeve, Xinyue withdrew a small, lacquered case. She glanced once at Qiaoyun and Xiaohua—silent reminders to remain still—before she opened it. Inside lay a golden pass, its edges chased with delicate patterns, the centre engraved with the sinuous form of a dragon. In the pale light, the metal seemed almost alive, its scales glinting as though it drew breath.

The guard’s eyes flickered, and though his expression remained impassive, a subtle shift passed over his stance. He took the pass carefully, examining the engraving as though weighing its meaning. The dragon was no common seal; it belonged only to the highest ranks of the imperial household.

His voice softened, just barely. “This is a royal pass. Why is it not borne by its rightful holder?”

Xinyue’s answer came without hesitation, her tone cool and composed. “The holder is unwell and unable to travel alone. I carry it on her behalf.”

The guard studied her for a moment longer before returning the pass with a shallow bow—too shallow to betray deference, yet not so casual as to suggest doubt. “Your purpose in the North?”

“To visit the residence of the Northern Border Garrison’s commanding general,” Xinyue replied, her voice steady. She did not name him, for etiquette demanded otherwise; in formal address, high-ranking officers were spoken of only by title.

The guard exchanged a brief look with his companion, something unspoken passing between them. “The general’s residence,” he repeated, his tone unreadable. “Very well. Proceed—but be advised, the North has grown… cautious of late.”

He stepped aside, signalling for the gate to be opened. The massive doors creaked inward, revealing a road that stretched beyond the fortress into the frost-dusted expanse of the northern lands.

As their horses moved forward, Qiaoyun leaned closer to Xiaohua, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was… too easy. We just walk in? No questions about who we are?”

Xiaohua kept her gaze ahead. “The pass was enough. Here, the dragon speaks louder than any name.”

Qiaoyun frowned, still unsettled. “But why would they—”

“Quiet,” Xinyue’s voice cut softly through the air, not unkind, but with the weight of command. “Questions can wait until we are past the walls.”

They rode on in silence, the shadows of the gate towers stretching long across the road. Behind them, the heavy doors closed with a deep, resonant thud, sealing away the southern lands. Ahead, the northern wind swept over the plains, carrying with it the promise of snow… and the faint, unspoken knowledge that their journey had only just crossed its first true threshold.

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