Empress Su Mingyue stood to one side of the cave entrance, her long sword held horizontally before her, quickly issuing new commands: "Retract the formation, form a semi-circular defense, and protect the cave entrance! All young masters and young misses, enter the cave first; servants follow, and guards bring up the rear."

Her voice remained cold and sharp, devoid of any superfluous emotion, yet it was steady and precise, acting like a stabilizing anchor amidst the chaos.

The young masters and young misses filed into the cave entrance, supported by their maids and nurses.

After all the young masters and young misses had entered the cave, Empress Su Mingyue did not move.

She stood in front of the cave entrance, the semi-circular defensive formation spreading out to both sides with her at the center, while the guards used their bodies to block the final few steps of open ground leading to the cave entrance.

The long sword in her hand was slightly raised, its tip stained with a streak of crimson—who knew which masked man's blood it was.

The mountain wind blew the stray hairs on her forehead, revealing those black-and-white, distinct phoenix eyes that were as cold as if they had been soaked in a frozen spring.

"Those who retreated inside first, move further in; do not block the cave entrance."

She ordered into the cave without turning her head, then said to the Guard Commander: "Hold the cave entrance; do not let anyone break through inside."

After saying this, she had no intention of retreating into the cave at all.

Outside the cave, Zhou Ming stood merely a step away from the entrance. One of his feet was already planted on the stone ledge of the entrance, while the other was nailed to the spot.

Enter, or not enter?

Safety was just a step away; as long as he turned around and ducked in, those scenes of flashing blades and blood-spattered carnage would have nothing to do with him.

Yet Empress Su Mingyue was still standing outside the cave entrance, her four senior maids still holding short swords beside her, and that moon-white jacket of hers was splattered with countless streaks of blood.

And he was still standing here, behind everyone, between them and the cave entrance that he could hide in at any moment.

He froze in place, his heart beating so fast it felt like it would jump out of his throat, and the broken wooden board in his hands was clenched so tightly it creaked.

Zhou Ming remained frozen there, one foot inside the cave entrance and one foot outside, his posture as awkward as a crab stuck in its shell.

The cave was just a step behind him; as long as he took another half-step back, he could shrink his whole body inside and be safe.

Yet his feet felt like they were filled with lead, nailed to the stone ledge, unable to move at all.

The sounds of battle were deafening on the battlefield.

The guards tightened their formation, utilizing the narrow terrain on both sides of the mountain wall to finally block the black-clad masked men who were closing in for the kill.

The open ground in front of the cave entrance was barely a few zhang wide. The numerical advantage of the masked men was largely diminished by the restrictions of the terrain; they could not break through, yet they fought to the death and would not retreat.

The sparks from clashing blades were blindingly bright, and every collision was accompanied by roars and muffled groans.

Empress Su Mingyue stood there quietly, just like that.

She stood at the very center of the semi-circular defensive line, stepping on a slightly raised rock, making her half a head taller than those around her.

That moon-white jacket was already stained with dirt, and the sleeve was torn, revealing a section of her white inner garment.

Yet her back remained as straight as a rod, as if an iron bar had been run through her spine.

Her lips moved from time to time, and commands were issued from her mouth, concise, accurate, and devoid of any superfluous emotion.

Zhou Ming watched her back and suddenly felt that this Young Miss did not seem to be commanding a life-or-death breakout, but rather as if she were in the mansion, instructing the steward to arrange for cleaning.

The same tone, the same expression; the only difference was that the tip of her sword was still dripping blood.

The four senior maids guarded the four corners, surrounding Empress Su Mingyue in the middle.

The way Dongmei held her short sword was different from the other three maids.

Her sword tip hung slightly low, her wrist relaxed, and she appeared entirely indifferent, yet whenever stray arrows or debris flew toward them, her sword was always the first to reach out, silently deflecting the objects away.

The guards fought in rotation.

When those in the front row could no longer hold out, someone would grab them by the back of their collars and drag them back, and the guards in the second row would immediately step up to fill the gap.

No one gave orders, no one commanded; this rhythm of rotation was as practiced and proficient as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times.

Zhou Ming took it all in and made a silent note in his heart: these guards, who usually stood watch, patrolled, and guarded the Yongning Marquis Mansion, looked like nothing more than ordinary martial men.

But when it came to a real battlefield with real swords and spears, the discipline and tacit understanding they displayed, as well as their formidable martial prowess, were definitely not something ordinary household guards could possess.

The Yongning Marquis Mansion was truly not as simple as it appeared on the surface.

Strangely, the cold arrows that had been shot sporadically had now completely vanished.

Zhou Ming did not see a single arrow shot toward their position again; he did not know if the enemy's archers had already been dealt with, or if they were hiding somewhere waiting for a better opportunity.

He did not know how much time had passed—perhaps the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, perhaps an hour.

Suddenly, a rapid sound of hoofbeats came from the mountain path.

It was not the scattered hoofbeats of the masked men from their earlier encirclement, but a rhythmic, uniform, and heavy sound like drumbeats, crushing their way up from the bottom of the mountain path.

Among the black-clad masked men, someone shouted hoarsely: "Retreat!"

This order came suddenly, yet it was executed extremely quickly.

The masked men retreated rapidly in unison, their movements so orderly that they did not seem like a rabble.

They retreated with great method; the front line covered the rear, the rear line retreated first, and their blades remained pointed outward, showing not the slightest sign of collapse.

How could Empress Su Mingyue let them retreat just like that?

She turned around abruptly, her gaze sweeping across the cave entrance.

Ordering the Guard Commander to hold the cave entrance, in that very instant she issued the command, she saw Zhou Ming.

He was standing at the cave entrance, holding that broken wooden board against his chest, his two eyes scanning the surroundings nervously, his whole body as stiff as a bamboo pole.

That appearance was truly comical: holding a piece of broken wood as a shield, not daring to fully hide inside, yet not daring to charge out, just stuck at the cave entrance in a dilemma.

The corners of Empress Su Mingyue's mouth curled upward ever so slightly.

The arc was so shallow it was almost invisible, but Zhou Ming saw it.

Before he could discern what that meant, Empress Su Mingyue had already turned around, facing the guards, her voice suddenly rising: "Entangle them! Do not let a single one escape!"

After saying this, she raised her long sword and charged in the direction the black-clad men were retreating.

Zhou Ming's heart jumped into his throat.

His hands gripped that broken wooden board, his knuckles turning white, his lips trembling as he desperately recited in his heart: "Young Miss, please, do not let anything happen to you; please do not let anything happen. If something happens to you, all of us will have to be buried with you; not one of us will survive. They won't care if we are innocent or not; you must, must survive for my sake!"

The more he recited, the more panicked he became, and the more panicked he became, the faster he recited.

The direction the black-clad men were originally retreating was to the west side of the mountain path; that was a shortcut down the mountain, with dense woods where it would be hard to find them once they ducked inside.

Yet, they had barely retreated a few dozen steps when they all stopped in unison.

Below the mountain path, a troop with bright armor and distinct uniforms was charging up to meet them.

These were the reinforcements from down the mountain, fresh troops who had arrived from the Marquis Mansion and other mansions. Their numbers were not many, but their equipment was excellent, their blades and armor reflecting a biting, cold gleam under the dim daylight.