At this moment, Qingyun sat in the great hall of the Maika Palace, still wearing his black brocade robe, his deep gray eyes filled with a mixture of frivolity and haziness. At the banquet, several great generals including the historian Rong Huo and Liao Zhen were also seated. They had no interest in appreciating the light songs and alluring dances before them. Liao Zhen drank a large cup, his dry voice mixed with urgency, “Your Majesty, why leave so much for Huke?”
This question didn’t dampen Qingyun’s mood. He smiled and said, “Master Rong, what do you think?”
Rong Huo looked at the food and wine before him, nodding with a sorrowful expression, “If we take everything, the people of Huke will rebel completely. Leaving them half a mouthful of food is like keeping a lifeline on them.”
Qingyun grunted, taking a sip of wine, “No one understands the world better than you, sir!”
Rong Huo let out a strange laugh, “Rest assured, Your Highness. If Rong Huo lives to the end, I will surely record this strange event of ‘the white horse changing riders’ well, ensuring it won’t be forgotten even after a thousand years.” Rong Huo’s words were not without sarcasm. The once romantic King Jing Tian had now stumbled so in matters of love, which was somewhat satisfying to others. Thinking of this, he raised his tea to drink.
“How dare you!” Liao Zhen erupted in anger, his large sword slicing off Rong Huo’s topknot. In an instant, strands of silver hair fell into the dishes. Rong Huo was stunned, and before he could turn around, another forward general, Suo Zana, stepped forward with a spear, stripping off Rong Huo’s elegant robe. These two dealt with the old scholar Rong Huo as easily as an eagle catching a chick, leaving him exhausted and disheveled, sitting awkwardly on the floor.
Hehe! A deep laugh was heard, and Qingyun, who had been watching the show from his chair, finally spoke, “Stand down!” He took a small sip of his strong wine, his lips glistening with cold moisture. “Sir, you seem to enjoy courting disaster. If you fear death, why do you provoke so frequently?” On the back of his right hand holding the cup, a deep red scar from a swift sword was still visible.
Rong Huo got up, his hair disheveled, without his outer robe, even more vulnerable to the cold night wind. He shivered, sitting at the table and sneezing violently, “If Your Highness couldn’t tolerate provocation, Rong Huo would have been dead long ago!” He seemed to know he should say some pleasing words to the master before him, the old man lowering his head, not daring to look at Qingyun again.
“Don’t worry, sir! To some extent, keeping someone like you by my side keeps my mind clearer!” Qingyun didn’t take offense, just smiled lightly, “Moreover, I want to see how you will record me in the historical records in the end!” With that, he stood up. As he rose, all the other generals present quickly stood up, looking at him in unison, showing their well-trained discipline. Qingyun looked back, “Carry on as you were!” Then he turned to leave.
“Your Majesty!” A beautiful concubine sitting at his table called out to him, “Tonight…”
Qingyun’s gaze turned cold, “Not necessary!”
This coldness startled everyone. His Majesty hadn’t favored any woman for a long time.
In truth, it wasn’t that Qingyun didn’t want women, but at least for now, he was unwilling. He didn’t want to be with other women when he couldn’t forget her, because that would only make him angrier, more irritable, and more unable to forget her humiliation and heartlessness. She wasn’t an unreachable bunch of grapes on the vine, was she? Why should he replace her with another woman? Such boring self-deception had never been part of his principles.
Neither Na Zhan nor Huang Beishuang could stop his iron cavalry from conquering the 42 states of Ningguang and unifying the world.
One day, in that Guanghan Palace, he would repay her tenfold.
Whether one was awake or not, drunk or not, no longer mattered. As long as that fiery liquor still burned in his chest, he would not look back.
I have a white horse named Feita, riding the wind to accompany me;
You have a jade ring that gathers clouds, reflecting the moon in your wine cup;
I still remember Chang’e’s delicate form, entangled in dreams night after night,
Now with flower marks scarring my hand, clenching my fist is difficult each time.
After drunkenness, there’s no more sorrow, in wine there’s no more joy,
I’ve lost a heart full of spring, tasting the cold of frost at half past one!
One day, this shall be repaid!
One day, this shall be repaid!
Chapter 9: The Crisis of All Crises
In winter, small oases between the great nations were crowded with refugees from various places – from Huke, Fengtian, and other nomadic tribes, mostly the elderly, weak, sick, and disabled. Without warm clothing, their exposed skin was covered in purple sores and blue marks. Everyone had sunken eyes, radiating desolation and despair, barely clinging to life in the wind.
They sat in circles of twenty, with a bonfire in the center. One person took a bite of a large flatbread, couldn’t help but sniff it a few times, then reluctantly passed it to the person next to them. That person also took just one bite before passing it on. They passed around this piece of bread, covered in ash and saliva, caring not for the taste but only for survival.
Initially, the refugees ate separately, with the desperate resorting to theft. But after repeated conflicts that wasted food and cost lives, someone – no one remembers who – suggested pooling their food. Each day, everyone got one bite, with no stealing or extra portions allowed. Those with larger mouths were considered lucky, while those with smaller mouths were deemed unfortunate. After a few rounds of this, the refugees finally settled down. Humans are resilient creatures; given even a slight reprieve, they can endure.
“You little brat, how dare you take two bites!” A man’s fierce shout was followed by a slap to a child’s face. “Throw him out!” In these circles, anyone greedy enough to take an extra bite was expelled and left to starve. The child, though dazed from the blow, stubbornly knelt within the circle, unwilling to leave. Despite his youth, his gaze was determined.
“Stop hitting him. I’ll give up my bite!” The voice was familiar – it was Zhan Bie’s elderly mother. “Let him have mine. He’s just a child, forgive him!”
The old woman held the child in her arms, both covered in wounds.
The child, still defiant in her embrace, refused to cry. “Grandma! I’ll repay you someday!”
Fengtian.
On the day of Zijian in the year 332 CE, the borders were sealed.
In the streets of Heyan, the capital of Fengtian, fighting arenas and apothecaries outnumbered teahouses and taverns. Since the Wild Blood King’s recruitment call, waves of eager participants had come forward. In this country, only the strongest qualified to be soldiers. In a way, Ruo Wen’s “Nine Pardons, One Execution” policy had brought not just bloody turmoil to this barren land, but also rapid wealth accumulation and monopolization. No matter how many reckless or cunning individuals fought to the death, the ultimate victors were always the national army – the Huangtian Wild Troops.
At this moment, on the palace training grounds of Heyan, the muster was taking place. The Wild Blood King, Ruo Wen, sat arrogantly on his throne, his piercing gaze fixed on the hundred fierce generals who had made it through below. These were the fierce warriors who had emerged from the nationwide selection over the past thirty days. Each had slain their opponents in less time than it takes for a cup of tea to cool, with no fewer than fifty lives claimed by each. They now stood like hungry beasts, their eyes glowing an ominous red, looking at Ruo Wen on the stage with frenzied intensity.
Ruo Wen sneered, sensing their intent to challenge him.
“Cheng Xiang!” Ruo Wen called out, “Let’s begin. Show me what kind of seeds you’ve found.”