The wind howled mournfully, snow rolled in waves, and the night was as dark as thick ink. The troops of the Southwestern Garrison stood before the camp gate. After the announcement from the front, the gate slowly opened, its black maw as menacing as a wild beast’s bloody jaws. He Xiao sat on horseback beside Chu Qiao, his battle blade hanging quietly at his waist, emitting a subtle cyan light that appeared particularly bright under the moonlight.

“My lady, shall we report to His Highness now?” He Xiao asked in a deep voice.

Chu Qiao quietly shook her head. The cold wind blew through the wisps of hair on her forehead like winding tendrils. She frowned slightly, her gaze profound as she looked at the brightly lit camp, and said in a deep voice, “No need. If things get complicated, there will inevitably be more twists and turns. It’s better to act first and report later.”

He Xiao hesitated, frowning as he said, “If we do that, won’t His Highness be angry?”

“I don’t know,” Chu Qiao said flatly. “Let’s do it first and then talk.”

With that, she spurred her horse forward. The guards saluted her in unison, but she seemed not to notice as she galloped into the camp. Behind her followed over a thousand soldiers of the Southwestern Garrison who had escaped death. The troops swept through the camp like a tornado, hoofbeats thundering like rolling muffled thunder. Snow danced in the air, spreading a fine mist beneath the horses’ hooves.

Many soldiers who had fallen into deep sleep were awakened, thinking enemies were attacking the camp. They hurriedly dressed, grabbed their weapons, and rushed out of their tents, only to be greeted by a head full of snow mist. Seeing the Southwestern Garrison troops charging fiercely toward the eastern camp, they immediately showed expressions of surprise. An old soldier in his forties, with his clothes not fully on and his belt half-tied, twitched his wrinkled face and frowned, saying, “Why are these fellows so angry? Something’s bound to happen. We should quickly inform His Highness.”

Meanwhile, Yan Xun’s tent had already lit up. Guards on duty rushed into the central command tent, their footsteps disturbing the man in his sleep.

“Now!”

Chu Qiao shouted coldly, and over twenty grappling hooks were immediately thrown out like arrows leaving their bowstrings, hooking onto the tent with a whoosh. The soldiers whipped their horses, which neighed loudly as they reared up and galloped in all directions. In the next second, the massive tent was torn to shreds. Cheng Yuan, with his clothes not fully on, still stood tall in the middle of the tent, sword in hand. Seeing Chu Qiao, he shouted angrily, “Commander Chu! What is the meaning of this?”

“General Cheng, you falsely transmitted military orders, colluded with the enemy and used others to do your killing. Such ruthless methods!” He Xiao shouted angrily, his hand gripping his sword making his bones crack.

Cheng Yuan frowned, pretending not to know as he asked, “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

As He Xiao was about to speak again, Chu Qiao extended her hand to stop him and said coldly, “No need to waste words with him.”

“Commander Chu, I think this is a misunderstanding. Perhaps we could—”

But before he could finish, Chu Qiao suddenly drew the long sword from her waist and shouted coldly, “Kill him!”

At these words, the Southwestern Garrison soldiers immediately swarmed forward. Cheng Yuan’s guards hurriedly came to meet them, their armor not yet donned, standing in the cold northern wind with pale faces and blue lips. They raised their sabers but could only stab at the warhorses. Before the blood could spurt out, their heads were already sliced off by a blade. Sharp screams shattered the silence of the entire army. Cheng Yuan shouted, “Reinforcements! Reinforcements! The Southwestern Garrison has rebelled again!”

The nearest guard squad was already rushing at full speed, their footsteps like raging floods, pounding heavily on everyone’s hearts.

The captain of the Third Guard Squad of the Second Army, Jiang Chong, brought his troops forward, about to charge into the battle, when he saw Chu Qiao standing tall amid the chaos, shouting, “Soldiers of the Second Army, do you wish to make me, Chu Qiao, your enemy?”

Jiang Chong was stunned. How could he not know who Chu Qiao was? After the Battle of Beishuo, Chu Qiao had become a household name, and he had proudly considered it a lifetime honor to have once fought alongside her. Now seeing her standing before the Southwestern Garrison, he was immediately stunned. He quickly organized his guard squad and shouted, “Commander Chu, what is happening here?”

“I am dealing with traitors. You all should not act rashly for now. Once this matter is settled, I will give everyone an explanation.”

On one side was the Southwestern Garrison, accused of betrayal, and on the other was Cheng Yuan, who had fled during the Battle of Beishuo. Both were sensitive topics in the army. Jiang Chong thought silently for a moment, then immediately ordered, “Seal off the battle area! If either side tries to escape or spread the fighting, kill without mercy!”

Seeing that Jiang Chong was no longer attempting to charge in, Chu Qiao immediately felt relieved. As the commotion grew, she raised her sword and said to He Xiao, “Let’s go. If we can’t resolve this within the time it takes to burn an incense stick, it will be harder to have such a good opportunity again.”

With that, the last guard squad of the Southwestern Garrison also rushed into the battle. In an instant, killing cries rose, hooves thundered, and people surged like waves. Cheng Yuan’s guards let out desperate screams, with nowhere to hide. Jiang Teng held his sword to protect Cheng Yuan, shouting, “Protect the general! Protect the general!”

As soon as he finished speaking, an arrow suddenly shot over, piercing through him and leaving a clear hole.

The guard squad of less than a hundred people fell to the ground in unison, trampled into bloody foam by horse hooves. The tremendous uproar and the sound of clashing weapons mingled together, deafening. The Southwestern Garrison surrounded Cheng Yuan and his men, arrows shooting in rows, and corpses falling in pools of blood. A dense array of metal was like a forest, neatly inserted into those corpses.

Shouting was no longer effective. Cheng Yuan’s eyes reddened. In his imagination, the Southwestern Garrison should have ceased to exist by now, and Chu Qiao, no matter how angry, was just a toothless tiger. A little over a hundred guards should have been more than enough to deal with this troublesome woman. But he hadn’t expected that not only was the Southwestern Garrison not dead, but they dared to directly attack his tent. This woman was truly too crazy. Was he going to die here today?

“His Highness orders all to cease immediately! Anyone who continues to fight will be dealt with according to military law!” The voice of the messenger rose from the periphery, and Cheng Yuan was immediately overjoyed. However, Chu Qiao seemed not to hear, thrusting her sword into a soldier’s chest, and jumping down from her horse. As she pulled out her treasured sword, blood immediately splattered, demonstrating her resolve to eliminate him.

The snow-white camp seemed like a giant meat grinder, with blood and mud mixed, a mess everywhere. The sounds of killing and chopping echoed in the black sky. The suppression and anger of recent days finally erupted. The Southwestern Garrison soldiers charged with swords, and in a moment, had cleared away all obstacles.

“His Highness orders all to cease immediately!” The messenger continued to shout.

Chu Qiao kicked Cheng Yuan to the ground. Blood wound its way down the ancient long sword, forming drops that fell onto the snow-white ground. At this moment, the faces of so many people flashed before her eyes one by one—Xue Zhiyuan’s handsome face, the young soldier who died to save her at the foot of Beishuo City, the soldiers who died in the Battle of Beishuo because the Northern Army fled, and Yan Xun’s eyes gradually filling with doubt…

She raised her long sword, not bothering with any high-sounding words. Her eyes suddenly turned cold, and she swung down fiercely at the man’s neck!

Cheng Yuan’s pupils instantly dilated, and his mouth opened wide in terror, but no sound came out. Under such a sword strike, he had no chance of escape, especially since he had been hit by several arrows and had already lost his fighting strength.

Just as the long sword was about to pierce his throat, an arrow suddenly broke through the air, so fast it almost struck sparks in midair. A sharp scream suddenly sounded, and Chu Qiao felt a burning numbness in her wrist. The sword deviated and stabbed firmly into the snow, only leaving a bright red gash on Cheng Yuan’s neck.

“Your Highness! Your Highness, save me!”

Chu Qiao’s eyes almost shot fire. She pulled out the sword and stabbed again, but before the blade could move, another arrow came. This time, it wasn’t aimed at the sword in her hand, but at He Xiao standing beside her. He Xiao blocked it with his blade, the great force pushing him back seven or eight steps continuously. Before he could steady himself, another arrow had already reached his face!

Chu Qiao swung her sword to deflect it but saw that the arrows before her eyes were tricky, with strange angles, coming in continuous waves. She held her sword in defense, her movements flowing and agile, like an elegant dance in the wind. In a trance, she seemed to return to many years ago, in the deep palace, where two children—one bending a bow, the other blocking—except that back then, the arrowheads were broken off, unlike today, where the arrowheads flashed, bone-chillingly cold, their cold light dazzling.

When everything returned to calm, Cheng Yuan had long since fled far away. Yan Xun, dressed in a black fur coat, sat high on horseback, one hand holding a golden crossbow, the other still gripping a sharp arrow. Behind him were the guards of the Black Hawk Army, each in cold armor, looking at this messy battlefield with icy gazes.

A strong wind blew through their midst, picking up snow from the ground and swirling it upward, making a whooshing sound.

“A-Chu, what are you doing?”

Yan Xun’s voice was very calm, so calm that one couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His expression was extremely cold as if standing before his eyes were not the childhood sweetheart who had lived with him for eight years. A drop of blood rolled down Chu Qiao’s cheek, sliding into her snow-white neck. She looked up at him, seeing Cheng Yuan standing respectfully by his side, distorting the facts with his outrageous words, while he did not rebuke or refute. She only felt her heart being covered inch by inch with snow, her lips moved, but she couldn’t speak a word.

She had always believed that there were no misunderstandings between them and no need for verbal embellishment. But now she suddenly realized that if she didn’t defend or explain herself, she would truly become a rebel with ulterior motives. This was truly an exquisite irony.

He Xiao stepped forward, explaining the ins and outs of the matter one by one, only concealing the fact that the Xia army had intentionally let them go, saying instead that they had discovered the situation early and fought their way out.

Yan Xun listened quietly all along, listening to He Xiao and Cheng Yuan attack each other, listening to the angry curses of the Southwestern Garrison soldiers, without saying a word. More and more soldiers gathered around, and the night wind grew stronger. The weather was so cold that Chu Qiao stood still, her hands and feet numb with cold. The sounds around her gradually faded away, and she seemed unable to hear them anymore. She could only see Yan Xun’s eyes, so black, so bright, but why were they covered with a layer of frost, no longer clear?

“A-Chu,” Yan Xun’s deep voice slowly rose, not particularly loud, but all the noisy sounds around immediately stopped. He looked deeply at Chu Qiao and asked in a calm tone, “Is it true?”

Chu Qiao looked at him quietly, and he looked at her too. Their gazes penetrated through the long years, tracing back to their past together. Everything else ceased to exist, leaving only his eyes. From the first glance at the Great Xia hunting grounds, the turbulent era had connected these two lives that should have had no intersection at all. Many times, Chu Qiao had wondered if she had crossed through thousands of years, traversed incalculable space, just to come for him. So, regardless of hardships and tribulations, regardless of adversity, they stood together, shoulder to shoulder, stumbling along the way, never betraying each other, firmly trusting each other.

She nodded deeply, her eyes still calm, but her heart gradually burning hot, like a gambler who had staked all his assets. Then she said, “It’s true.”

Everything around suddenly became so quiet, with only Yan Xun’s face remaining. He slowly narrowed his eyes, and his lips moved, saying something, but Chu Qiao seemed unable to hear. The sound was so loud, echoing in her ears. She heard it clearly, but those words seemed to have turned into meaningless symbols, making her unable to discern what they meant.

Yan Xun asked, “If that’s the case, why didn’t the Southwestern Garrison suffer major casualties? According to your account, the enemy mobilized over three thousand men received intelligence from General Cheng in advance, and prepared an encirclement. So why are your casualties so small?”

“Your Highness, I believe this might all be a misunderstanding. I offended Commander Chu in Beishuo before, was deceived by villains, and accidentally injured Commander Chu’s subordinates. General Xue was a good friend of Commander Chu’s, and I also bear responsibility for his death. Commander Chu would inevitably be biased against me.”

The young new generation of commanders from the First Army also raised their doubts: why did the Southwestern Garrison’s battle end so quickly? If the enemy had three thousand men and the advantage of surprise, they shouldn’t have failed to complete the encirclement and let them escape so easily.

The clamor grew louder, like a swarm of flies gathered around her ears. Chu Qiao found it hard to speak. Was she supposed to say that Zhuge Yue had let her go out of an old friendship? With so many people talking, if this were revealed, would Zhuge Yue be punished by Great Xia? Moreover, she had now lost the energy to argue. She looked at Yan Xun, her gaze finally dying inch by inch. Her voice was like misty clouds, as she laughed coldly and said with self-mockery, “You don’t believe me?”

Yan Xun said, “Give me a reasonable explanation.”

A reasonable explanation? Cheng Yuan’s troop mobilization order, the death of eight members of the Southwestern Garrison, and over twenty wounded—weren’t these reasonable explanations? Did they need to be annihilated to prove the truth of the matter? Chu Qiao laughed dryly, the enormous disappointment and bitterness in her heart cutting like sharp blades, one after another. She bit her lower lip, her heart almost bleeding, her smile bitter as she questioned, “Yan Xun, in all the years we’ve known each other, when have I ever done anything that wasn’t beneficial to you?”

Yan Xun frowned deeply, silent.

Chu Qiao continued to smile, the cold wind blowing on her face, her mouth corners seemingly stiffened. Her eyes were like a gradually cold pond, with clear shadows falling, finally transforming into decayed fallen plums. Her gaze swept over everyone, like the desolate cold wind of autumn. Doubt and suspicion had already arisen; everything had changed. Yan Xun had become the King of Yan, no longer the destitute prince of the past. Now, there were so many people standing by his side, and she was no longer the only one as before.

“Everything I’ve said, heaven can bear witness, the sun and moon can testify. If you don’t believe me, then kill me for the crime of rebellion.”

After saying this, she no longer looked at the expressions of those around her, but just wearily took steps forward, her body slightly staggering, almost falling. He Xiao and others rushed to support her but were pushed away by her. The girl’s figure was so thin and weak, her neck snow-white as if one could see the blood vessels inside. Night crows flew overhead, making sorrowful cries. She left everyone behind, walking quietly, as if forcing him to decide in this resolute manner—whether to call her back, to kill the traitor, or to simply catch up and hold her, telling her she was wrong, how could he not believe her?

But he did none of these. He just stood there quietly, surrounded by thousands of people, with the light of torches shining on his face, bright and dazzling. He looked at her, his gaze calm, not catching up, not speaking, not ordering executions. Time flowed quietly between them, snow falling profusely, the distance between them growing. Mountains and rivers rose from the ground, and in the blink of an eye, it seemed they had walked a journey of nearly ten years. From their first meeting to standing hand in hand, from leaning on each other to fighting side by side, yesterday’s words still lingered in her ears, but the once invaluable vows seemed so cheap when recalled today.

Yan Xun, we once shared fortunes and misfortunes, life and death. We were together, through the most difficult days of our lives. We promised to return to our homeland together, we promised to rebuild Yan Bei together, we promised to avenge our grievances together, we promised to trust each other, never to leave or abandon… But things ultimately couldn’t proceed smoothly according to our plans. You once said I was the last person in this world you believed in. I know you weren’t lying, but at that time, you didn’t know that after all you had experienced, you had already forgotten how to trust. Except for yourself, you no longer trusted anything you couldn’t control. This included the Datong Guild, the popular Master Wu, the brilliant and gorgeous Lady Yu, Ah Jing who had followed you for many years and knew too much of your past, the Southwestern Garrison that was only loyal to me, and of course, me—Chu Qiao, who had repeatedly established military merits but also had countless intricate connections with you.

Tears flowed from Chu Qiao’s eyes one after another. She undid her heavy fur coat, letting this valuable cloak fall to the ground. At this moment, the commander who had shocked Western Mongolia and frightened the entire Great Xia Dynasty disappeared. She was just a lost and bewildered girl, her face pale, thin, and gaunt, her eye sockets deep, her once vigorous arms hanging weakly at her sides, her once bright and spirited eyes now dim and lusterless. Intense sorrow like the sea flowed out, tears rolling down her pale and thin cheeks, dried by the cold wind, painfully cold.

Only at this moment did she suddenly realize that her love for Yan Xun had become so deeply ingrained. Years of accumulation had made these feelings as penetrating as if she had inhaled hemp into her lungs. Before, when he and Zhao Chun’er got engaged, she hadn’t noticed; when she was forced to go to Bian Tang and they were separated, she hadn’t noticed; in life-and-death moments, she hadn’t noticed; standing alone on the wall of Beishuo City, she also hadn’t noticed. Because at those times, no matter how far apart they were, their hearts were together. She knew he loved her, loved her so deeply, even if he was forced to stay by someone else’s side, even if they were separated by mountains and rivers, even if death was imminent and they would never meet again in this life or the next.

But now, he stood behind her, watching her staggering figure walk alone, and she suddenly realized that principles, beliefs, ethics, and justice—none of these hurt as much as his doubt!

Her love and loyalty, like mountains and seas, should not have changed even if splashed with blood and turned to ashes. As long as trust remained, even if one day he stood against the world’s justice, she could forgive him without hesitation. Even if he fell into a sea of blood and mountains of hatred, even if he descended into the deepest hell, even if he committed the most heinous crimes and was rejected by the world, she would not betray him.

So, when he abandoned the Southwestern Garrison in Zhenhuang City, she didn’t feel even a trace of anger. When he abandoned Yan Bei again, she completely forgave him in an instant. Then, he killed He Lianxin, killed the officers and soldiers of the Southwestern Garrison, sheltered Cheng Yuan, and went further and further down this path. Whose fault was it? Was it those unbearable experiences? Was it that overwhelming blood feud? Was it years of suppression and madness? Or was it her—was it that she failed to hold him back?

A shadow flashed, walking into a silent and pitch-black tent. The snow-white tents stood tall, like white steamed buns. The soldiers had all gone to Cheng Yuan’s tent to watch the commotion, leaving this place as silent as a tomb.

Chu Qiao’s foot wavered, and she fell onto the snow. She stretched out her arms and pushed hard on the ground, but couldn’t get up.

A low, suppressed sobbing suddenly sounded like a whimpering small beast. She knelt on the ground, her hands gripping the snow, as painful as if she were holding a knife. Her shoulders trembled, and she could no longer contain the grief in her heart. Tears wound their way down, and she uncontrollably wept aloud in the vast snow.

Yan Xun, how could you not believe me? How could you doubt me?

The snow grew heavier, the woman in white clothes prostrate on the snow, covering her mouth as she sobbed. Snowflakes fell on her shoulders, gradually piling up so high.

The next day, Chu Qiao personally submitted a memorial to Yan Xun, requesting to leave the Eastern War Zone and take the Southwestern Garrison back to Yan Bei, heading to the Shangshen Hui area to build water conservancy and develop agriculture, implementing the post-war reconstruction work that had already been planned.

Yan Xun looked at that respectful and modest memorial for a long while, then silently signed a “Yes.” This character didn’t have many strokes, but he wrote for a long time. After he finished, the sunlight outside suddenly became very bright, radiating brilliantly, spilling over a vast expanse of snow, yet making the northern desolation more apparent.

On the day Chu Qiao left, the sky was cloudless, without the gloom of days before. Except for Ping An, no one from the army came to see her off, nor did Yan Xun. She sat on her horse, looking up at the azure sky. White eagles circled overhead, their cries mournful, echoing in the sky for a long time.

Yan Xun, I’m leaving. Take care of yourself.