“The people of Mang Liu are indeed extraordinary. To think you found me in just two days, and even sent someone of your stature personally! This old man feels quite honored,” Rong Huo said, looking at Qing Yun as he drained the bitter tea from his cup.
“What are you trying to say?” Qing Yun finally responded, a faint mocking smile still playing on his lips.
“Young master, the relationship between Tian Du and Mang Liu is clear to those with keen eyes!” Rong Huo said.
“And so?” Unexpectedly, Qing Yun’s smile deepened, his eyes radiating cold derision. “You’re a clever man too, sir. What do you see?”
Rong Huo’s provocative spirit wilted at this question. Indeed, what good was knowing? Knowing changed nothing.
For his old bones, Qing Yun was both enemy and victor.
“Do you reject me so strongly because you’ve decided I’m the villain, sir?” Qing Yun watched the silent Rong Huo as he took a sip of wine. “Do you believe my arrival in the Central Desert will inevitably disrupt the balance Yun Pei has maintained for three hundred years? That war will break out and people’s lives will be thrown into chaos?”
Rong Huo trembled at these words, startled that Qing Yun had so easily discerned his thoughts. His gaze betrayed a hint of fear. He sighed deeply as if feeling the bitter tea’s aroma slowly awakening his soul—the soul that had witnessed the changes of the desert world and recorded the rise and fall of empires.
“Young master, people only speak of Zhan’s unmatched strength and Ruo Wen’s terrifying ferocity. They don’t realize that both strength and ferocity dance in the palm of your hand. Rong Huo knows well the seven or eight divisions of this vast desert, yet fails to comprehend Tian Du’s northern dominion these past ten years… You single-handedly created the spy organization Mang Liu, manipulating nations at will. Rong Huo knows that you will inevitably dominate all directions. But Rong Huo also knows that because of you, the Southern Desert has fallen into unprecedented darkness. Does the young master know how many people Huang Tian Kuang Bing Tuan has killed? Does he know how many refugees Gu He has buried alive? Do these innocent civilians deserve to become sacrifices for your ambitions?”
As he spoke, tears welled up in Rong Huo’s eyes, his frail body trembling at the memory of the hell on earth he had witnessed in recent days. It was a sorrow that pierced the heart! No wonder everyone aspires to success and fame—the common folk often die without knowing why! Living honest lives, they’ve wronged no one, have they?!
Hearing Rong Huo’s words, Qing Yun showed no sign of wavering. He merely refilled his cup, held it to his lips, and after a long moment, slowly said, “Master Rong calls himself half a sage. Does Master Rong know what truly constitutes the way of heaven?”
Rong Huo replied, “In this vast land, no one can truly unify it all. Habitable areas are limited. Those in power occupy the fertile lands, while the lower classes retreat to desolate places. It cannot be evenly divided, so war is futile! Therefore, the way of heaven lies in avoiding war!”
Upon hearing this, Qing Yun burst into laughter, so loud that it drew the attention of other patrons in the tavern.
“Ah, sir! As you say, Yun Pei has controlled the Southern Desert for 300 years, occupying the most fertile oasis resources, nurturing a population of 17 million, and supporting nearly 10 million people in neighboring countries. Meanwhile, to ensure their resource reserves, they frequently demand tribute and marriage alliances from other slave nations and nomadic tribes in exchange for military support. In your view, is this the way of heaven? To act like a bloodsucking leech, absorbing the best resources of the desert for oneself—is this the way of heaven?”
“At least it allows over 30 million people to live in peace!” Rong Huo retorted.
Qing Yun smiled, “What about the other 60 million? What about our people in the Northern Desert? Are they destined to live in the barren north? To be slaughtered at will? Old Master Rong, what you speak of is not the way of heaven. Heaven’s way is cruel; it cares not who lives or dies. In this life as humans, all we can do is fight with all our might. The tides of fortune turn, and now it’s Tian Du’s turn to dominate!”
With that, he threw back another drink, as if savoring the taste of his grand ambitions.
At this point, Rong Huo was left speechless. He remembered his elder brother, Rong Ruo, once telling him that the way of heaven is merciless, allowing the mortal world to turn and change as it will. The so-called sages often understand this point, realizing that any change in history is determined by people. To fight or not to fight, both are possible paths. The victors are not necessarily righteous, nor are the defeated necessarily wicked. This is why Rong Ruo tore off the single-character heavenly secret Qi Da had written on the last page of the “Great Desert Collection.”
He believed it wasn’t a heavenly secret because true heavenly secrets are impartial.
Thump, thump!
Qing Yun tapped the black wine jar on the table, producing a crisp sound.
“I’m finished,” he said. “Sir, let’s go.”
Leaving a gold leaf that nearly made the waiter faint with joy, Rong Huo and Qing Yun left the tavern.
Qing Yun patted Fei Ta, who was waiting at the door, and leaped onto the horse’s back. Looking down at Rong Huo, the cold, mocking smile returned to his lips. “Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to walk for a while.”
Rong Huo looked up at Qing Yun’s arrogant figure and began to follow behind the white horse Fei Ta, limping with each step. As he walked, he massaged his lower back, probably sore from his earlier performance on the stage. After a while, he looked at Qing Yun’s back and said, “Young master, capturing me is useless. Even if I die, I won’t tell you what you want to know!”
However, Qing Yun didn’t turn back. He just gazed at the end of the winding snow-covered road, as if he had forgotten Rong Huo’s existence, so alone and detached.
Under the setting sun, two silhouettes moved forward, as different as heaven and earth. In the sky, the remnant sun looked like blood, with strange clouds rolling, as if welcoming a new era—so grand, yet so sorrowful…
If one speaks of the pain of parting in this world, it’s no better than never having met.
If one speaks of the suffering of flesh and blood in this mortal realm, it’s no better than never having been born.
Beacon fires splash across the sky, but heaven doesn’t respond; weapons paint the earth red, but the earth doesn’t care.
Not knowing where one was before birth, yet owing debts to be repaid with this life.
Bitter tea fragrant, fragrant tea bitter,
Is it unjust, or not unjust?
May living beings return for several lifetimes,
To chase after each other across the ends of the earth.
If unjust, how unjust,
The predecessor’s burden is carried by the successor,
Past life’s debts are repaid in this life.
Is it unjust, or not unjust?
The scenery of the great desert is always mysteriously enchanting, especially when the wind is not fierce and the sun not scorching. Layers of rosy clouds intertwine with red sandy waves at the horizon, while strangely shaped drought-resistant plants cast eerie shadows on the yellow earth, like a ground full of kneeling monsters waiting for the arrival of saints or demons. The gentle seasonal breeze is unusually tender now, as if truly tired of lonely wandering, insisting on stirring up the softest layer of thin sand to dance intimately with itself. Reflected in the red sunlight, it shimmers in the air, a lonely brilliance that grows more desolate the longer one looks…
Poets in the great desert often call this scene “Demon God’s Tears.” Of course, this is merely self-consolation. Faced with the myriad lives, neither gods nor demons would shed tears, absolutely not.
Seven thousand li north of the snow plains lies a red desert sea, with endless waves of dunes stretching as far as the eye can see. There are no oases, only a vague line of yellow earthen castles visible on the horizon, like a resting great serpent—even in stillness, it exudes a wild and fierce aura.
At the castle gates, one can see patches of black figures prostrating on the ground. Upon closer inspection, they are indeed a field of kneeling “monsters,” numbering about five thousand. Each has a robust build and a cold aura, wearing terrifying monster masks and black night-walking clothes. They kneel on the ground, pressing their upper bodies against the sand to show their loyalty. Then, a wave-like chant rises, “We welcome Your Majesty back to the castle!”
After three consecutive chants, the vast sound once again jolted Rong Huo’s tired nerves. With disheveled hair and aching body, he stood beside Fei Ta. He heard Qing Yun raise his hand, and Fei Ta reared up with a neigh. “Hya!” Then the galloping horse and its rider thundered into the castle like lightning, leaving Rong Huo standing dazed before this group of strange black demons.
Northern Pacification Heavenly King, Huo Qing Yun!
Pacification means peace, but there is neither governance nor peace. The Heavenly Pacifier is the king, determining the course of heaven.