In the third year of Tianbao, windswept sands rolled across Longxi. Jiang Yihan reined in his horse at a pass in the Qilian Mountains, his fingertips brushing the rippling-water engraving on his sword hilt. In the distance, camel bells rang faintly as a band of Tibetan cavalry raided a merchant caravan. He remembered his father's dying words: "The way of the sword is to end war, not spill blood." But when the cries of women and children pierced the sky, he finally rode forth. The Autumnwater Sword left its sheath like the moon breaking through heavy clouds.
