“After you break through the encirclement, at the Mo Yu cavalry’s speed, they should have arrived by then. After our repeated strikes within Mount Luoying, the Imperial Guards will have suffered losses of between ten thousand and twenty thousand men, and will have been greatly weakened both physically and in spirit, their morale low. Once you rendezvous with the Mo Yu cavalry, surround and eliminate them from the outside — with the combined strength of both armies, our forces will far outnumber theirs, and we can destroy them all in a single decisive blow!”

Within the entire battle plan, this was the fourth step Xiyun had laid out — and the final step to secure the ultimate victory. Yet in the last moment before Lin Ji departed, Xiyun had given him one additional order: “If the Mo Yu cavalry has still not arrived by the end of the hour of Chou, you must under no circumstances act rashly. You must wait until the third quarter of the hour of Yin before you may move!”

Feng Xiyun. Feng Lanxi. They were among the three great kings of a turbulent age — among the most dazzling and commanding figures who stood at the very summit of the chaos of that final era of the Eastern realm. And their marriage vow added the most extraordinary and remarkable brushstroke to their already legendary lives, sung in admiration by all generations that followed. They were universally recognized as the most perfect union of a turbulent world — compared to Huang Chao and Hua Chunran, the pairing of a hero and beauty, they were the supreme match of a dragon and phoenix among humankind.

Yet that final order — that one night on Mount Luoying — cast a shadow over their perfection. In later generations, those who revered them without reservation and held them as sacred and inviolable often quietly glossed over this passage. But the historians were impartial and unflinching in raising the question: Were the Feng King and Shizi Lanxi truly as deeply devoted to one another as legend held? In that order given on Mount Luoying — in that battle on Mount Luoying — there were clearly, between the two parties, elements of testing, suspicion, and distrust.

Historians would not spend time and energy examining the feelings between the Feng King and Shizi Lanxi. What concerned them was only the two kings’ achievements and contributions to the age. And so this remained a shadowed and somewhat chilling mystery — yet it did nothing to diminish the reverence later generations held for them. If anything, it made them seem all the more mysterious, and inspired countless doubts and beautiful speculations to bloom around this enigma, giving rise to one work of “Dragon and Phoenix Legend” after another.

Though Xiyun had already devised every manner of calculation and arrangement for the battle of Mount Luoying, there was one thing she had not factored into her plan — and that was the devotion her subordinates, the Fengyun cavalry she had built with her own hands, held for her. Because of this, countless brave souls were buried on Mount Luoying, and she carried that grief and regret for the rest of her life.

Many of the Fengyun cavalry’s warriors were orphans — children Xiyun had brought back over more than a decade from disasters across different kingdoms and lands, carried back from cold streets and broken-down roadside shrines, snatched back from under iron fists that beat them down. They had no family. No home. No country. In their hearts there was only one person — their Queen. They did not fight for a kingdom. They did not fight for the people of the world. They fought for Feng Xiyun, and for her alone.

When the blazing scarlet firelight burst skyward from Luoying Peak, the Fengyun cavalry who had just broken through the encirclement below the mountain turned as one in disbelief to stare up at the peak above. When they came back to their senses, every gaze shifted as one toward their commanding general, Lin Ji — and General Lin, who was ordinarily so swift and agile, was staring up at the flaming peak with an expression of utter shock and stupor, the long bow already fallen from his hand to the ground.

“General…” The Fengyun cavalry’s warriors called their general back to them.

Lin Ji snapped back. He swept his gaze left and right. Every warrior’s eyes were blazing with fierce, urgent fire.

His hand rose high. His voice rang out with the weight and resolve of stone: “Men — we go to save our Queen!”

“Ha!” Tens of thousands of powerful voices answered as one.

“Go!”

Countless silver-white figures surged toward the petals of Mount Luoying at a speed no ordinary person could hope to match.

My Queen — forgive Lin Ji for defying your orders. Even if it means your punishment. Even if it costs me my life — Lin Ji will bring you out. In Lin Ji’s heart, in the hearts of every last warrior of our Fengyun cavalry, you matter more than this entire world.

“Rivers and mountains like a painting, battle-smoke dims their colors. Iron-shod horses, clashing kingdoms, rise and fall. A ten-thousand-li sky calls for a long sword. Dancing at midnight, I swear to mend the heavens! Heavenly steeds come from the west, all to overturn clouds. Gripping the tiger tally, embracing the jade dragon, Arrows of feathers shatter, the peaks of Cangmang crack! They say a true man’s heart is iron until death. Rivers washed in blood, white bones blanketed in grass, Unafraid to be buried in dust, a loyal heart shines against the blue sky!”

The stirring, magnificent song rang out across Mount Luoying — a spirit so bold and sweeping that even the night sky seemed to shudder with it, sending wave after wave of echoes rolling through the air, waking all things in heaven and earth, jolting the Imperial Guards from their frozen stupor.

“That a woman’s hand could write a song of such fierce and heroic power — admirable! Remarkable!” Dong Shufang listened as that song grew closer and closer. Even his furrowed brows could not help but rise; a surge of valiant spirit flooded his chest. “Since you do not fear ‘white bones blanketed in grass,’ then this general shall answer in kind with a loyal heart against the blue sky!”

“Grand General — the Fengyun cavalry are attacking up the mountain!” Le Yuan came in frantic haste to report.

“Having barely broken out of the encirclement, instead of making a run for their lives, they turn around and launch a full-scale assault up the mountain.” Dong Shufang stood atop the second petal, looking down from his height at the Fengyun cavalry surging up the mountain like a silver tide. “All of this — just to save the one person on that burning peak? Truly foolish.”

“Grand General, we…” Le Yuan had long since lost every shred of his earlier ambition. The string of setbacks within Mount Luoying had drained him of all fighting spirit; he only wanted to be far away from this place. “Why not concentrate our forces and break out from the southwest too — we would certainly be able to punch through.”

“General Le — are you afraid?” Dong Shufang looked at him, his gaze sharp as a blade’s edge as it fixed on that terrified, ashen face. “Feng Xiyun is willing to risk her life to climb this mountain to save her subordinates — is this general so craven and useless as to flee at the very sight of them? Thirty thousand Fengyun cavalry dare mount a full-scale assault — could it be that our seventy thousand Imperial Guards have not even the courage to meet them head-on?”

“No… no, that’s not it…” Le Yuan mumbled.

“Pass the order!” Dong Shufang looked away from him; his bold, resonant voice rang out atop the petal and carried across the entirety of Mount Luoying. “Full army — engage! On Mount Luoying, between myself and the Fengyun cavalry, only one side shall remain standing!”

“Ha!”

The brown torrent surged down from the top of the petal, rushing to meet the silver tide that was sweeping upward. In the dim and hazy moonlight, atop that reddish-brown fallen flower, countless blood-red roses bloomed — transforming into wave after wave of vivid, saturated rose-rain that fell upon the petals, staining them a brilliant, blazing red. In the moonlight, that red shimmered with a soul-shaking, breathtaking brilliance.

Atop the petals, across the petal walls, within the petal channels — countless sabers and swords clashed, countless spears and lances struck, countless arrows met countless shields…

The Imperial Guards charging down from the petal top — when the Grand General’s order came, they had no retreat. They had only to charge forward with everything they had. They had to break through, and they had to destroy the enemy entirely. Only by cutting down every enemy before them, only by treading across mountains of enemy bodies and seas of blood, could they find a single path to survival.

The Fengyun cavalry surging up from below the mountain — their Queen was still on the mountain. Their Queen was still in the fire. They had to save their Queen. That was their only purpose. That was the only reason they fought. That was the force that drove them to charge and kill without any thought for themselves. The fire was still burning — and with every grain of sand that slipped through the hourglass, the blade in every Fengyun warrior’s hand struck with one more ounce of ferocity. Cut down every enemy before them. Sweep away every obstacle in their path. They were going to save their Queen.

In fighting strength, the Fengyun cavalry surpassed the Imperial Guards — yet the Imperial Guards vastly outnumbered the Fengyun cavalry. This was a battle of wildly unequal forces. Yet one side fought for their lives, the other fought to save their lord. Both sides’ wills had been driven to the absolute brink. Both surged forward with reckless abandon, throwing every last ounce of strength into every swing of their blades. Severed limbs hung across the petal walls. Heads rolled from the petal tops. Bodies piled in the petal channels. This was a desperate, harrowing, magnificent battle. Blood flowed into rivers; rivers pooled into seas. Countless lives were extinguished amid screams and roars — Imperial Guard and Fengyun cavalry alike. Silver tide and brown torrent had merged and dissolved into one another, becoming a single surging crimson current that flooded every inch of Mount Luoying.

“Grand… Grand General… this… this…” Le Yuan, standing at the top of the petal, was trembling as he looked at the battle below — a scene of carnage the likes of which he, who had been stationed in the imperial capital his whole life, had never witnessed. In the blink of an eye, so many people went down. The blood that sprayed out seemed as though it might reach him at any moment, making him involuntarily squeeze his eyes shut.

Dong Shufang glanced at Le Yuan; that gaze carried contempt and a deep, sorrowful weight.

“General Le — this is what battlefields have always been, since the dawn of time! Every victory is forged from blood and from lives!” He drew his long saber. A crack of the wrist. “Men — follow this general and fight our way through!”

The crimson battle cape billowed out behind him. The crescent-bladed saber blazed before him. The commander of the Imperial Guards had personally entered the fray. In that instant, the ten thousand loyal soldiers at his back let out a thunderous battle cry and hurled themselves forward into the thick of the battle, clashing with the Fengyun cavalry locked in fierce combat.

As countless Imperial Guards charged down the mountain, a long, piercing howl suddenly rang out from within the sea of fire on Luoying Peak — clear and bright and long-sustained, cutting through the tide of battle cries that filled the mountain and reaching straight up to the nine heavens above.

“It’s the Queen! It’s the Queen! The Queen is alive!”

That one cry gave new life to the Fengyun cavalry laboring through the bitter fight. They wiped the blood from their faces, swung the great sabers in their hands, and called to one another: “Brothers — we go to save the Queen!”

And in the moment that the long howl fell away, a scarlet shadow suddenly burst from the flaming peak — like a phoenix born of fire itself, its entire body streaming with blazing, vivid brilliance. It plunged out of the sea of fire and into the sky, sweeping across the surface of the lake… The Imperial Guards at the lakeside were still staring in stupefied amazement when, within that blazing crimson radiance, a silver rainbow with the force to split the sky and crack the earth plunged down from above. A head went flying into the air — in its last moment it could see a white dragon howling wildly through the sky, coiling and sweeping in great arcing passes, sending countless figures hurling through the air only to fall back down in silence…

Clop, clop, clop, clop…

Dense, rapid hoofbeats seemed to arrive from the edge of the world — trampling through the overwhelming battle cries like rolling thunder, one wave after another, jolting both armies from the depths of their desperate fighting. Sabers kept swinging; feet kept moving forward — yet the same thought rose simultaneously in every mind: could it be the Mo Yu cavalry arriving at last?

This thought made the Fengyun cavalry fight with even fiercer momentum — and made the Imperial Guards’ hearts go cold with dread.

The hoofbeats grew closer, coming from the southwest of the plain. In the dim morning light, accompanying the rhythm of the hooves, silver cavalry seemed to ride in from the very horizon — their armor reflecting brilliant light in the night, and a streamer of flying cloud rippling in the dark sky above. That was… that was the Fengyun cavalry’s insignia — the Feiyun banner! Then… then this was… this… could this be the Fengyun cavalry? But why would there be yet another force of Fengyun cavalry? Yet this was no time to think about that.

Some of those fighting on the first petal top and petal walls could not help but turn their heads to glance at the cavalry bearing down on them at speed. When the distance had closed enough to make out the figure at the very front, a Fengyun cavalry soldier cried out in spite of himself: “It’s General Qi! It’s General Qi Shu! General Qi Shu has come to reinforce us!”

The cry spread across the entirety of Mount Luoying in an instant. “General Qi Shu has come to reinforce us!” — those words poured into the bodies of the Fengyun cavalry within the mountain like an enormous infusion of force, lifting their spirits and making their momentum fierce and unstoppable beyond all measure. The Imperial Guards locked in bitter fighting felt a chill pierce their hearts and a tremor run through their bodies; in the split second their hands faltered, their heads were cut from their shoulders by Feng Kingdom warriors.

The rider at the very front was indeed Feng Kingdom’s great general Qi Shu. Riding abreast of him were four young men of similar age, all dressed in silver close-fitting combat garb. When they drew close to the foot of the mountain, the four leapt directly from their horses into the air and flew toward Mount Luoying. With only a few bounding strides, they were already at the top of the petal — a feat alone sufficient to show that their martial arts far surpassed any first-rate master in the jianghu. And they did not pause for even a breath, flying straight toward Luoying Peak above. Any Imperial Guards who attempted to block their path along the way were turned into souls beneath their blades.

The newly arrived fifty thousand Fengyun cavalry, under Qi Shu’s command, drove straight at Mount Luoying. The deadlock between the two armies that had been holding was instantly broken — the Imperial Guards found themselves locked in desperate, struggling peril, while the Fengyun cavalry’s fighting spirit blazed even fiercer and their attacks grew even more savage. Those falling in greater numbers now were the soldiers in brown armor.

The fighting within the mountain continued without pause. Neither the silver-armored nor the brown-armored warriors showed any sign of stopping. From the very start of this battle, it seemed both sides had reached an unspoken understanding — the last one standing would be the victor. And so no matter how many comrades had fallen, no matter how many enemies had been cut down, those still alive could only keep pressing forward — either to break through the encirclement or to cut down every last enemy. There was no other path.

No one knew how long it had been. The moonlight had grown gradually fainter. Heaven and earth seemed to have sunk into a murky, dark curtain — and then, from the northwest and northeast, the sound of hoofbeats came once more. Closer, closer — and those were… all silver-armored warriors. It was Xu Yuan and Cheng Zhi.

“Grand General… Feng forces… Feng forces… so many reinforcements… we… we’re surrounded!” Le Yuan stared at Dong Shufang, who was drenched from head to foot in blood, then at the mountain covered in bodies, then at the thinning ranks of the Imperial Guards, then at the Fengyun cavalry growing ever closer. His voice was hoarse and broken — the voice of a fear that had reached its absolute limit. “Grand… Grand General, we… let us flee!”

“General Le — are you very frightened?” Dong Shufang looked at Le Yuan with calm eyes.

“Yes… yes, I am…” Le Yuan swallowed hard. In this moment, he had no more thought to spare for how shameful the admission was. “We… we never should have come to subdue the Feng King in the first place. We were never a match for the Fengyun cavalry at all. This was a mistaken decision by His Imperial Majesty… we…”

Dong Shufang listened in silence. The long saber in his hand hung at his side, touching the ground. He spoke in an unhurried, mild voice: “Since you are so frightened, this general will do you a kindness.”

Before Le Yuan had any time to understand what these words meant, a flash of blade-light came — a sharp pain at his throat — and then his head seemed to grow strangely light. And then, with perfect clarity, he watched his own body topple over.

“His Imperial Majesty has no need of a subject like you.” Dong Shufang spoke these words in a quiet, even tone.

He gripped the long saber in his hand. His gaze blazed like a torch, sweeping across the Fengyun cavalry before him. He strode forward with great, unhurried steps. A Fengyun cavalry warrior swung a sword at him — a crack of the wrist, and that warrior’s head was already separated from its body. Without so much as a glance, he continued walking forward. No matter who came at him from ahead, when the long saber rose, a spray of blood followed without fail — and then a body fell. No one knew how far he walked. No one knew how many he had killed. He only knew that he kept walking forward, kept swinging the saber — and gradually, the sounds around him grew sparse, grew quiet…

Were the Fengyun cavalry all dead? Or had all his own side been killed by the Fengyun cavalry? None of that seemed to matter. He needed only to keep walking forward — cut down everyone who stood in his way, then take Feng Xiyun’s head back to the capital, back to His Majesty’s side.

Ahead, something was gleaming. A blinding flash of light flew through the air like lightning, accompanied by the tearing howl of air being split apart. In that moment, with a vague and hazy clarity, he understood — and in that moment, he suddenly smiled. To be a military man and die like this — that was exactly as it should be. A crack of the wrist; the long saber became a rainbow and drove straight forward… then his consciousness suddenly sharpened, suddenly clear, and he saw it with perfect precision — in the air, the long saber and the silver arrow streaked toward each other at the speed of lightning, and crossed paths in the middle…

Thud. His ears heard the sound with perfect clarity — but his body seemed to have lost all sensation. Something flowed from his brow into his eyes. He raised his hand to wipe it away — and his fingers struck the shaft of a long arrow driven deep into his forehead.

His body was tilting backward. All his strength seemed to be slowly draining away. His eyes looked up at a sky vast and boundless — so wide, so black. He had a dim, hazy awareness that somewhere ahead, something else had also fallen — but that was no longer anything to do with him. His hand searched within his robe and drew out a folded document — the letter of surrender, which His Majesty had instructed him to deliver to the Feng King. He had never had the chance to see her, never had the chance to grant her His Majesty’s grace in person — but she still needed to know. She needed to know that His Majesty was a compassionate and magnanimous sovereign.

His fingers went limp and opened. A gust of wind came and lifted the letter of surrender from the ground. It unfurled in midair — two chi of white paper, and on it, one single large character: Pardon.

Pardon. The corners of his mouth curved upward with what little strength remained. And in this moment, he understood at last. Only… it seemed he had let down His Majesty’s great and careful intention.

Pardon. Your Majesty — whether your servant is defeated by Feng Xiyun or surrenders to Feng Xiyun, you have pardoned your servant of all guilt.

Your Majesty — was this your decree? But your servant has no need of it. You alone are my only sovereign.

“They say a true man’s heart is iron until death. Rivers washed in blood, white bones blanketed in grass, Unafraid to be buried in dust, a loyal heart shines against the blue sky!”

The murmured recitation. The voice growing gradually lower. And it seemed Mount Luoying too had fallen still.

“Your Majesty… Taoye…”

Dong Shufang, the last great general of the Eastern Dynasty, closed his eyes at the end of the third quarter of the hour of Yin on the twenty-sixth day of the tenth month of the eighteenth year of Ren. His final words were: Your Majesty. Taoye.

And at that very moment, the Qi Emperor sat in vigil through the night within Dingtao Palace — while Dong Taoye was locked in battle with Huang Chao.

Posterity’s verdict on this final-era general was that he was “narrow-sighted, out of touch with the times, inflexible, and blind to the greater picture.” Yet the historians left behind one single word: loyal. And on this, no one disputed.

The battle was drawing to a close. The Imperial Guards remaining on Mount Luoying could be counted on one hand. Yet Qi Shu, Xu Yuan, and Cheng Zhi — who had finally found their way to one another after so much — felt not the slightest trace of joy. The looks they exchanged carried nothing but gnawing, anxious unease. These generals who could remain calm and composed in the face of ten thousand enemies could not, in this moment, conceal the dread within their hearts no matter how they tried.

The fire on Luoying Peak had also gradually diminished, gradually gone out. But where was the Queen? Where was Jiurong? Where was Lin Ji? Why had there been no sign of any of them? Their gazes swept the ground — bodies everywhere. And among them, so many, many Fengyun cavalry warriors.

“Even if we have to level this mountain, we will find them!” Cheng Zhi’s voice was rough and hoarse. His eyes shifted away from the other two and swept ahead — yet the mountains of bodies and seas of blood made even those tiger’s eyes clamp shut.

Suddenly Xu Yuan’s gaze fixed on something. He walked quickly toward it — but halfway there, he stopped. It was as though something terrifying lay ahead, something that made him afraid to take another step.

Qi Shu and Cheng Zhi were behind him. Their own raised steps suddenly fell back, and they found themselves suddenly unable to walk toward him. After a long, heavy pause, both men lifted legs that felt weighted with a thousand catties each, moving closer one slow step at a time — as though walking slowly enough might make what lay ahead disappear. Yet the distance in this moment was so unbearably short — no matter how they delayed, there was no avoiding what had to be faced.

“Lin… Lin Ji…” Cheng Zhi’s rough, hoarse voice broke off mid-breath. His breathing turned suddenly labored and heavy; his shoulders shook with violent, uncontrollable tremors. Then that great, enormous body crumpled — he fell to his knees in the blood-soaked earth. Both hands rose to clutch his head, gripping it, gripping it tightly…

“Ahh…”

A devastating howl of grief rang out across the entirety of Mount Luoying, sending wave after wave of piercing, heartbreaking echoes reverberating through the mountain.

Qi Shu and Xu Yuan did not cry out. They only found their bodies no longer under their control — sinking helplessly to their knees on the ground.

“This can’t be Lin Ji. How could Lin Ji end up like this? Shu — this isn’t Lin Ji, is it?” Xu Yuan, who was always so calm and rational, only murmured to his companion over and over, hoping desperately to hear the answer he needed to hear.

But there was no answer. Qi Shu only moved his knees mechanically forward. When he reached the body, this man who was always so steady and composed could not help but collapse forward onto the ground, ten fingers clutching and clawing at the earth — letting the sharp mountain stones cut open his palms.

How could this person not be Lin Ji? Even though… even though he was soaked from head to foot in blood. Even though… his skull had been cleaved in two. Even though his entire body was a blur of blood and wounds. How could they not recognize this person? They had been brothers for more than ten years. Lin Ji…

The Fengyun cavalry’s master archer now lay quietly on the ground, resting in his own blood. His hands still gripped the long bow tightly — yet he would never draw that bow again. A long saber had struck squarely through his skull. And not far from him lay Grand General Dong Shufang — a silver arrow having pierced cleanly through his brow.

Clop, clop, clop… The hoofbeats came again. In moments, the black army swept in like a weightless feather — no force in this world moved with such speed except the Mo Yu cavalry. Yet not a single person on the mountain let out a cheer.

The battle was over. Comrades across the mountain. Bodies across the mountain. A chest full of loss. A heart full of grief. Mount Luoying had fallen suddenly into a silence so deep and different — no clashing of blades, no battle cries, no human voices. Tens of thousands of people stood here, and yet there was only a crushing, leaden stillness.

The warriors of the Mo Yu cavalry stared in stupefied disbelief at the sight before their eyes. They too were soldiers who had come through the forests of swords and storms of arrows on countless battlefields — yet the devastation before them struck their minds blank. What kind of ferocious, savage battle could have produced this?

“My King… we have come too late.”

Duanmu Wensheng and He Qishu looked in unison at the king standing before them, then shifted their gaze to the Fengyun cavalry standing everywhere across Mount Luoying — and in that moment, for reasons they could not explain, a chill rose in their hearts, making their entire bodies tremble with dread.

“It’s over…” Lanxi’s voice slipped out, as though without his conscious will.

Over… what was over? Was the battle over — or had something else come to an end?

The sparse sound of a single horse’s hoofbeats arrived. Every head turned. In the distance, a single rider was coming, a figure in pale blue clothing slumped sideways across the horse’s back.

“Shizi Lanxi — where is Xiyun?” Jiuwei clumsily dismounted from his horse, gasping as he asked Lanxi. He knew no martial arts and was not skilled in riding — which was why he had only just arrived now.

At those words, Lanxi’s expression shifted in an instant. Something like a dark undertow surged through those fathomless, ocean-deep eyes. In the next breath, his body rose from the saddle like a feather and flew straight up the mountain — vanishing in a flash of darkness like a bolt of black lightning.

Duanmu Wensheng and He Qishu hurried to follow. Jiuwei ran up the mountain too — but with no knowledge of movement arts, he was left far behind.

Yet when they reached the first petal channel, the figures before them made them halt at once.

Qi Shu, Xu Yuan, and Cheng Zhi were kneeling on the ground with bowed heads. Between them, someone lay without sound or movement.

Could it be…? In that instant, a wave of icy dread seized Lanxi — his figure swayed, and for a moment he nearly lost his footing.

Thud. Thud. Into the absolute stillness of the mountain came the sound of footsteps — as though each step struck a slab of stone, rhythmic and measured, descending from above, coming from far away and drawing near…

Dawn light was beginning to rise in the east. The scene within Mount Luoying gradually became clear. The figure descending step by step from the top of the second petal slowly came into the sight of those gathered below — drawing nearer step by step, coming clearer inch by inch — and in the instant it became fully clear, every person present was stunned beyond breath.

That person… was a person made of blood. From head to foot, from every strand of hair to every inch of skin, all was vivid, saturated red. Even those eyes seemed to have been dyed through with blood — and yet the light they cast was like a cold flame: red as blood, and yet cold and sharp. They looked ahead with no expression on the face, as though what lay ahead was a vast void, unknown and unfelt. The right hand gripped a long sword — the sword had become a sword of blood, blood still falling from it drop by drop. The left hand gripped a long white silk ribbon — the ribbon had become blood-silk, trailing long and red in the wake. Behind her, four silver-clad warriors followed close.

Against the pale, faint light of morning behind her, this woman who had walked out of a lake of blood — in later years, because of this moment, she would be named “the Blood Phoenix.”

“My Queen!”

Qi Shu, Xu Yuan, and Cheng Zhi called out together, their voices carrying both grief and joy at once. They rose and moved toward her — and in that moment, tears broke free and could not be controlled. They wanted to say something, but their throats were sealed. They could only let the tears fall as they looked at their Queen. Their Queen, who had returned safely.

Xiyun’s gaze at last found them — and then her voice, clear and cold and entirely without cadence, rose into the air: “You have all come.”

“My Queen — you are unharmed! Thank heaven!” Cheng Zhi choked out the words, wiping the tears from his face.

“Yes, I am unharmed.” Xiyun gave a small nod, and seemed even to smile slightly — though the blood covering her face made her expression impossible to read. “I’m only a little tired. I would like very much to sleep.”

“My Queen…” Qi Shu and Xu Yuan stepped forward — but no sooner had either opened his mouth than neither could continue.

Xiyun’s gaze shifted and found Lin Ji on the ground. She gave a faint, unhurried nod. “Lin Ji is tired too. He has fallen asleep.”

Her gaze moved again and settled on Jiuwei. Then, in a quiet voice: “Jiuwei — Jiurong has also fallen asleep inside the mountain cave. Will you go and carry him down?”

“Xiyun…”

Xiyun did not wait for him to finish. She looked toward Cheng Zhi. “Cheng Zhi — I was afraid someone might go and disturb Jiurong, so I placed a boulder at the mouth of the cave. Will you go and move it aside for Jiuwei?”

“My Queen…” Cheng Zhi looked at her in stunned silence.

“Jiurong actually cares very much about being clean,” Xiyun continued, as though speaking only to herself. “He doesn’t like just anyone touching him. But if it is you, Jiuwei, who carries him, and Cheng Zhi who moves the stone — he will certainly be willing.”

Having said this, she walked on ahead and descended the mountain without looking back. From beginning to end, she did not glance even once at Lanxi. She did not glance once at the tens of thousands of Mo Yu cavalry standing before her.

The battle of Mount Luoying ended in the Feng King’s victory — but it was a victory purchased at an extraordinarily steep price. In this battle, she lost not only two beloved generals, but twelve thousand of the thirty thousand Fengyun cavalry warriors fell on this mountain. It was the most grueling battle the Fengyun cavalry had ever fought since its founding, and the battle with the greatest casualties since its first engagement. As for the Imperial Guards — they were annihilated to the last man.

In the eyes of later historians, this battle remained a brilliant testament to the Feng King as an outstanding military strategist. She had lured seventy thousand troops into the mountain with only thirty thousand, striking again and again to blunt their fighting edge and whittle away their forces, then combined her concealed fifty thousand to destroy the empire’s last elite army entirely. The overall strategic design was remarkably perfect, and the tactics employed were exquisite and extraordinary — truly deserving of the title “Phoenix King.”

Historians tallied only final results. In their eyes, the twelve thousand Fengyun cavalry warriors who lost their lives were simply a necessary price paid for the ultimate great victory. They did not know what a devastating blow those twelve thousand lives represented to Xiyun. They did not know that the loss of those twelve thousand lives was the equivalent of twelve thousand wounds cut open across Xiyun’s body — bleeding and raw, cut down to the bone.

The twenty-sixth day of the tenth month. Near the end of the hour of Shen.

“Liu Yun — is the Queen well?”

In the Feng King’s royal tent, Wumei, one of the female officials in attendance, quietly asked the other, Liu Yun.

Liu Yun furrowed her willow brows in worry and shook her head. “The Queen returned and immediately bathed — but she has been soaking in the bath barrel for nearly two hours now. I have quietly changed the hot water to keep her from catching cold, yet soaking for such a long time is not good for her.”

“What?” Wumei let out a startled sound, then immediately pressed her hand to her own lips. “Still in the water — how can this be? I thought the Queen was sleeping!”

“The Queen appears to have fallen asleep inside the bath barrel.” That was how Liu Yun answered — because she herself was not entirely certain whether the Queen was truly asleep. Each time she had slipped in to change the water, the Queen’s eyes had been closed. And yet… the Queen…

Suddenly, the loud sound of splashing water came. Both women jolted upright.

“The Queen has woken?!” Liu Yun and Wumei hurried inside.

“My Queen — you have woken!”

“Yes.” Xiyun gave an expressionless nod.

Liu Yun and Wumei quickly helped her dry off and dress. But as the dressing proceeded, Xiyun’s gaze suddenly fixed on the garment in hand. It was an inner robe of heavy silk — light and soft in its texture, white and pure as snow. And that snow-white color, on this day, was startlingly, piercingly bright.

“Where is it?” Xiyun asked abruptly.

“Hmm?” Wumei blinked in confusion — were they not in the middle of putting it on?

“Where is my clothing?” Xiyun asked again. Her eyes had already grown sharp.

“Does the Queen mean the clothing worn earlier?” Liu Yun was the first to grasp the meaning. “Just now it was given to Shaoyan to wash—”

The words were not yet finished before a gaze like an ice sword swept across, and every remaining word jammed in Liu Yun’s throat.

“Who told her to wash it?!” The words came cold as ice, fast and cutting. Before the two terrified women could form a reply, a figure flashed before their eyes — and the Queen was gone.

“Ahh? My Queen — you haven’t finished dressing yet!” Liu Yun rushed out in a panic, the white royal robes still in her hands. But stepping through the tent entrance, there was not the slightest trace of Xiyun anywhere.

On that day, many warriors of the Fengyun cavalry and the Mo Yu cavalry witnessed with their own eyes the Feng King dressed in only a single thin long garment, flying past the tent encampments — so fast, and yet with such urgency and something that looked almost like panic, that every one of them assumed some great matter had arisen. The Fengyun cavalry hurried to report to Generals Qi, Xu, and Cheng; the Mo Yu cavalry rushed to report to Shizi Lanxi.

By the riverside, Shaoyan looked at the blood-soaked garment in her hands, its sharp, raw smell assaulting her nose, then looked at the ice-cold river water — and could not help but wrinkle her pretty brows and heave a long sigh.

If it were up to her, she would say this garment truly did not need washing. With this much blood soaked in, how could it ever come clean? And it was not as though the Queen was short of clothes — why not simply throw it away and spare herself all this trouble? But Liu Yun would not hear of it, saying the Queen would certainly want to keep this garment. Hmph! She did not believe it for a moment. Liu Yun must have thought up this task on purpose to make things difficult for her, as revenge for that time she had snuck a look at Shizi Lanxi!

Resigned to her fate, she gathered up the blood garment and moved to dip it in the river water. Before the cloth had even touched the surface, a chill stabbed through her skin — and she could not help but flinch and pull her hand back.

“Stop!”

A sudden sharp cry sliced through the air, so startling her that her hand jerked and the blood garment tumbled toward the river. Before she had time to cry out, a sharp gust swept past her ear, stinging her skin with a prickling numbness. Her vision blurred — then something thudded into the water, sending up a great white splash that blinded her completely.

“Who is this careless—!” Shaoyan raised her sleeve to wipe the water droplets from her face, muttering her displeasure — then looked up clearly at what was before her, and her tongue turned to stone. “My… My Queen…”

Xiyun stood in the river. Her breathing was rapid and uneven, as though she had just run a thousand li. Her long hair and single garment were splashed through with water. The icy river water reached her to the knee — yet she seemed to feel nothing at all. Her stare at Shaoyan was cold, even hateful — and the blood garment was clasped safely and completely in both her hands, held tightly to her chest.

“My Queen… my Queen… I… I…” Shaoyan’s legs buckled and she dropped to her knees on the ground, trembling all over with fear. The Queen’s gaze was so cold and severe — as though she had committed some unforgivable crime. Yet she did not know what she had done to offend the Queen.

“Get up.”

A flat, indifferent voice. Shaoyan could not help but look up — and saw the Queen already stepping up onto the riverbank. Bare feet, treading on the earth, leaving behind wet, red prints.

“My Queen — your feet are injured!” Shaoyan cried out in alarm.

But Xiyun gave no sign of having heard. Ahead, warriors of the Fengyun cavalry and the Mo Yu cavalry were already arriving from all directions at the news. When they saw her standing safely by the river, they stopped in their tracks — and at the very front of them all, a dark figure stood in motionless silence.

Xiyun moved. One step at a time, walking forward. Closer — until at last, the two stood face to face.

Looking at the face before her — as elegant as ever, as composed as ever, as serene as ever — a flush of red surged suddenly across Xiyun’s blank, expressionless face. Both eyes stared fixed and unmoving. Bright — as though water could brim over from them. Burning — as though crimson flames could ignite within them. Yet the light that shot from those eyes was ice-cold, razor-sharp. Her lips trembled without ceasing; the light within her eyes shifted and changed through every hue… There was fury. There was rage. There was resentment. There was regret. There was bitterness. There was pain. There was grief. There was hatred. Her hand seemed to move in one instant, and Lanxi even felt it — a surge of ferocious killing intent. It was as though a blade had already been pressed to his throat…

And yet in the very same instant, all of it vanished. Xiyun’s hands crossed over her chest, the blood garment clasped within them. Her entire body was shaking violently. Her teeth clamped down on her lip until blood flowed. Her left hand seized hard onto that right palm that was on the verge of losing all control and striking out.

In that moment, her left hand and her right seemed to be under the control of two different souls — one screaming to strike out with everything she had, the other refusing to release its hold. And so that right hand trembled without stop; that left hand gripped the right wrist in an iron lock; fingernails drove deep into flesh; thread after thread of blood seeped out…

Xiyun… Lanxi reached out his hand — wanting to hold the person standing before him.

Dressed in a single thin garment, bare-footed, water droplets rolling ceaselessly from her hair and her body, trembling in the cold wind, holding tightly, tightly, to the blood garment at her chest… The person before him was so slight in this moment, so fragile — so alone, so full of sorrow, and yet so heartbreakingly, strikingly beautiful. Xiyun… Something trembled within his heart. But the hand he had stretched out halted mid-reach.

The figure before him suddenly stood straight. The trembling body suddenly went still. All emotion suddenly disappeared entirely. The right hand lowered. The left held the blood garment close to the chest. Those eyes looked straight ahead — flat and empty.

In that instant, Lanxi felt a sudden hollowness in his heart — as though something had flown away, so sudden, so fast. Then in the next instant, it was as though something had been scooped out of him — leaving behind a pain so acute his entire body shuddered.

In that moment, only one step separated the two of them. Yet Lanxi felt as though they had never been so far apart. Not the distance of the world’s farthest horizon. Not the distance of a thousand years of change. The person standing one step away was completely and utterly a stranger — not any version of Xiyun he had known across these ten years and more. The face before him was completely and utterly still — frozen, motionless. The eyes before him were completely and utterly empty — vacant, hollow. There was not even hatred, nor grief, nor despair. Like an ice sculpture sealed for ten thousand years at the peak of a glacier, sealing within it every thought, every feeling — and if it could, it would seal away life itself as well.

A long, silent holding of each other’s gaze. A quiet, still standing apart. Cold wind swept from all directions, lifting long robes and black hair. Yellow sand flew everywhere across the sky. Heaven and earth in this moment were turbulent and wild — yet also utterly, profoundly still and empty. In the boundless expanse, all things had passed away; all sound had gone silent. There was only the flying wind, the rolling sand.

She — had wanted to kill him. In that moment just now, she had hated him enough to wish him dead.

“The weather has grown very cold. The… the Feng King should not catch a chill.”

An extremely slow, extremely clear voice rose quietly into that open, boundless sky and earth.

“Yes. Thank you for your concern, Shizi Lanxi.” Xiyun gave a small nod. Her voice passed through the air like a smooth, calm river — without a ripple, without a trace. She clutched the blood garment tightly to her chest. She turned. And walked away.

“Winter seems to have come early this year…”

Watching that retreating figure — walking away so absolutely — Lanxi murmured quietly, his eyes falling to his own hand. It seemed to be trembling faintly, as though frozen stiff. This winter… seemed colder even than the year his mother had passed.