The Lantern Festival had arrived again. The Sacred Golden Palace was hosting a grand banquet. Perhaps to dilute the unrest from earlier in the year, tonight’s feast was especially luxurious. Even Zhuge Yue, who had been confined for self-reflection as a disgraced official, received an invitation. Normally, he could have found some excuse to claim illness and not attend, but doing so now would inevitably lead to accusations and attacks from those with ulterior motives. At dusk, Zhuge Yue entered the palace wearing his court robes, with minimal escort and maintaining a very low profile.

Chu Qiao remained in her room. Recently, she had been constantly tired with a poor appetite. She spent her days eating and sleeping, which had given her a slightly fuller figure.

Suddenly, a series of chirping voices came from the entrance, then the door was pushed open. Mo’er entered, looking back repeatedly as he walked to Chu Qiao’s side, appearing somewhat nervous with his little nose reddened from the cold.

“Mo’er, what’s the matter?”

Mo’er hesitated for a moment, turning his head to look back at the doorway. After a good while, he asked in a small voice, “Mother, are we going out today?”

Counting the years, Chu Qiao was only about ten years older than this child. At first, she had felt uncomfortable hearing him call her “mother” all day long. But gradually she became accustomed to it and no longer minded.

She sat up straight and asked with furrowed brows, “Go out? Where to?”

“Today is the Lantern Festival. There are temple fairs and lantern exhibitions outside.”

Mo’er’s eyes sparkled with excitement. Chu Qiao turned her head and saw several figures peeking through the doorway.

These days, with Zhuge Yue under house arrest, few people in the household ventured outside. She pinched Mo’er’s cheek and said with a smile, “Alright, let’s go.”

The territory of Ximeng was vast. By modern counting methods, it spanned over four million square kilometers, equivalent to the size of five Chinas. This land had been passed down for many years and despite frequent warfare, its population had always flourished. Zhen Huang City, as the capital of Great Xia, had a particularly dense population.

As Chu Qiao’s group walked along the street, they saw bright lights all around, with colorful lanterns competing in beauty and catching everyone’s eye. The citizens of Zhen Huang City, regardless of gender, age, or social status, all came together to celebrate the festival. Various performances were taking place simultaneously, with music playing everywhere, creating a prosperous and lively scene.

This year’s Lantern Festival was more bustling than previous years, with thunderous voices and drums.

The children were having a great time, but after just over an hour, heavy snow suddenly began to fall. The north wind howled in, whipping up a blizzard on level ground, tearing apart the colorful lantern festival. Jing Jing and the others cursed as they boarded the carriage, with guards cracking their whips to hurry back to the estate. However, the wind grew increasingly stronger, and even the horses were reluctant to move forward. When they reached a secluded place, one horse suddenly lost control, broke free from its reins, and fled.

Yue Thirteen came running to report that the snowstorm was too severe and that they should find a place to take shelter first.

Chu Qiao nodded in agreement. Just then, she noticed what appeared to be a large mansion ahead. She ran up to knock on the door, but upon approaching, she discovered it was the Spirit Temple of the Lion King of Yan Bei.

Although Yan Shi Cheng was born into the royal family, because the empire had labeled him a traitor, his remains were not allowed in the ancestral temple. This mansion was nominally called the Spirit Temple, but in reality, it was a charitable cemetery. Not only did it house the coffins of Yan Shi Cheng and his children, but also those of ordinary citizens from nearby. Initially, Great Xia had dispatched troops to strictly guard it, but since Yan Xun returned to Yan Bei, no more assassins from the Da Tong Guild have attempted to seize it. Gradually, the place became increasingly desolate, and the empire was no longer willing to waste manpower guarding a pile of white bones.

Chu Qiao’s group entered a side room. The guards found candelabras and torches, and the room gradually brightened. They could see a dense array of memorial tablets in the gloomy hall, along with more than twenty coffins, shrouded in the pale candlelight, appearing eerie and frightening.

Jing Jing’s face turned pale, seemingly afraid. She hid tightly behind Duo Ji, clutching his sleeve, no longer displaying her usual cleverness.

Mei Xiang teased her, “I never thought our Miss Jing Jing would be afraid of anything. I thought you were a little demon king who feared no one in this world.”

Everyone laughed at her after hearing this, and the atmosphere momentarily lightened.

Rong’er was about to turn one year old now, babbling all day and walking with a wobble like a newborn duckling. He wore a bright red cotton jacket with blessing patterns. He yawned with his chubby little hands, then curled up in Chu Qiao’s arms, adjusting to a comfortable position to continue sleeping.

Chu Qiao stood up, handed Rong’er to Mei Xiang, and said quietly, “I’m going out for a while.”

“Miss, in this cold weather, where are you going?”

Chu Qiao picked up the food box that Mei Xiang had brought and a lantern, saying, “I’m just going next door to take a look. You don’t need to follow me.”

With that, she left the room.

The wind outside was terrifyingly strong. Chu Qiao had lived in Ximeng for fifteen years but had never seen such a powerful wind. The lantern in her hand was instantly blown apart. Her large fur coat was lifted by the strong wind, and the cold snow hit her face painfully, like pebbles. Chu Qiao tightly gripped the collar of her fur coat and struggled forward. After quite some time, she finally reached a dilapidated house, then reached out her hand and slowly pushed open the door with a creaking sound.

In an instant, the long wind rushed in, raising the thick dust on the ground. Chu Qiao coughed several times and quickly closed the door, pulling over a stool to block it.

The room was deathly quiet, seemingly even colder than outside. The roof had broken in several places, with the wind howling through. Everywhere was pitch-black darkness, but she seemed particularly familiar with the layout of this place. She took out a flint, tried several times, and finally lit all the surrounding candles one by one.

The dim candlelight slowly illuminated the room. Four black coffins were placed in the center, without memorial tablets, banners, or even markers. They were casually placed there, with weeds and garbage scattered everywhere, along with some cold, hard-steamed buns. This place had long been occupied by wandering beggars.

Chu Qiao placed the food box aside, rolled up her sleeves, and began to clean. She worked quickly, and despite not having the proper tools, she soon cleared away all the garbage on the ground. She made a simple broom from straw and swept away the spider webs visible on the surface. The room looked much cleaner and tidier. Then she took out the food items from the box one by one, arranged them on the ground, knelt, and bowed deeply several times.

Yes, these four coffins contained Yan Xun’s father, two elder brothers, and one elder sister. In those years, on every death anniversary of the Yan King, she would secretly come here with Yan Xun to pay respects. Back then, imperial soldiers still guarded this place, and they had to go to great lengths to visit. Now, even this place had fallen into desolation.

Since returning to Zhen Huang, she had never thought about coming here to pay respects. Unexpectedly, she had stumbled upon this place today—perhaps this was also a kind of fate.

Without incense, she substituted it with fragrant herbs. Without spirit money, she used silk cloth instead. Without fine wine, she only had a pot of sheep’s milk and two cups of clear tea.

Lord Yan, I’ve come to see you again.

She stood up, with a few specks of dust soiling her knees. Snowflakes fell through the roof, covering the coffin lids bit by bit. She quietly gazed at the coffins, trying hard to recall the blood-soaked heads she had seen long ago, feeling an immense desolation in her heart.

Even before the snowstorm in the Longxi region, Yan Bei had already fallen into great disaster. The homes of common people were destroyed, with the snowstorm being particularly severe in the Lan City area. In the Shang Shen regions, thousands upon thousands of cattle and sheep froze to death. People had nothing to eat, and Yan Bei was in a precarious situation.

However, just as the officials of Great Xia were clapping their hands in celebration, Yan Bei secretly mobilized 100,000 Dragon Chant Pass guards. They traveled on foot across the Lan River Plateau, entered the Great Tang territory through the 6,000-meter-high Wolf Peak, bypassed the Tang Hu Pass, and suddenly attacked Great Tang’s checkpoint. They seized more than 200,000 dan of grain, then returned to Yan Bei with lightning speed. The entire operation took less than four days. By the time the border war report reached Tang’s capital city, the Dragon Chant Pass guards had already returned to their post and fought two battles against the Xia army that had wanted to take advantage of Yan Bei’s disaster to launch an attack.

When this incident occurred, it was like a drop of water falling into boiling oil, stirring up tremendous waves.

Both Great Xia and Bian Tang were furious but could do nothing to Yan Xun. The scribes of Great Xia’s Imperial Censorate wrote vigorously, cursing Yan Bei as having bandit origins, naturally inclined to pillage and murder, violating the way of the sages. The old scholars of Bian Tang were even more enraged, shouting all over the world, cursing Yan Xun’s ancestors for eight generations, writing books to criticize him severely, so agitated they nearly fainted.

However, all they could do was just that. Dragon Chant Pass was as solid as gold, and the Yan Bei army was as fierce as tigers and wolves. In the current situation, they should burn incense in gratitude if Yan Bei didn’t come out to provoke a war. Who would dare to go and offend them?

When Chu Qiao heard this news, she couldn’t help but smirk coldly. Perhaps this was what they meant by “the soft fear the hard, and the hard fear those who don’t fear death.”

Zhuge Yue, however, still maintained an indifferent attitude, ignoring the unanimous voices from the court calling for war. Everyone knew that Great Xia was currently preoccupied with its problems. The princes’ struggle for the throne had reached a white-hot stage. Who had time to wage external wars at this moment? It was just talk. If he were to truly gather troops and march toward Yan Ming, those old fellows would probably do as they claimed in their memorials—spill blood three feet high and die to prove their integrity.

When he learned of the news, he was only slightly surprised, saying he hadn’t expected Yan Xun to do such a thing.

It wasn’t just him. Perhaps no one in the entire Ximeng continent would have anticipated this.

After all, there was a time when he had wagered the entire Yan Bei, using millions of soldiers and civilians as bait to lure the Xia army into the pass while he led troops eastward. Not long after, he eliminated dissenters and destroyed the Da Tong Guild that had supported his rise to power. Even his teacher’s head was severed.

Facing such a person, probably no one would imagine that he would take such a risk for the common people of Yan Bei.

Even Chu Qiao had not figured out the connections here.

Fortunately, the commander of Tang Hu Pass was the adopted son of Great Tang’s Prince Jing An. Although he had promptly surrendered and pledged loyalty after Prince Jing An’s downfall, he held military power and guarded an important checkpoint of the empire, which inevitably made people wary. In this instance, Yan Xun’s elimination of him could not be considered a loss for Great Tang.

As for the grain and fodder Great Tang lost…

Chu Qiao’s brows furrowed slightly as she once again recalled the Shang Shen Plateau and the Hui Hui Snow Mountain where she had lived for many years, along with the simple herdsmen and common people there…

Yan Xun’s tactics were becoming increasingly formidable—hiding a thousand miles away, acting swiftly, mobilizing tens of thousands of troops uniformly without leaking the slightest hint, striking unexpectedly and decisively. His precision, foresight, and courage were unparalleled, making him the foremost military talent of the age. As long as he remained, Great Xia would never break through Dragon Chant Pass, even if Zhao Che personally took command. He might have slight advantages in tactics, military strength, intelligence, weapons, and logistics, but in terms of ruthlessness of methods and firmness of resolve, he had no chance of surpassing Yan Xun.

The frightening aspect of Yan Xun on the battlefield was his ability to perfectly utilize everything around him as aids for victory in war. His understanding of human psychology had also reached an unparalleled level.

In this world, perhaps only Zhuge Yue could match him. Yan Xun’s advantage lay in his ruthlessness, while Zhuge Yue’s lay in his cunning. If these two men were to have a battlefield without rear concerns, they might truly create a legend in the history of warfare.

She shook her head slightly. Although she had grown weary of that life, when idle, her mind would involuntarily think of these matters. She would piece together the news she heard, gradually mapping out the general situation, then simulate, calculate, and arrange—like a chess lover who, even when not playing, would imagine various chess scenarios in their mind.

Only this time, she didn’t know which side she hoped would win this chess match.

Even if she and Yan Xun ultimately didn’t get along, she probably didn’t want to see him fall.

So, after learning that his sneak attack on Tang Hu Pass had succeeded, she felt a bit of secret joy, completely disregarding her identity as the Beautiful Princess of Great Tang.

She laughed at herself. Even she could not escape common sentiments. The so-called grievances and enmities, under the sedimentation of time, left only a blurry silhouette, a pair of cold eyes, and a strong hand.

Who betrayed whom, who owed whom—could it be calculated clearly?

Between them, even if they could not join hands, it didn’t necessarily mean they had to fight to the death.

The wind outside suddenly grew stronger. The door made a creaking sound, pushing the stool blocking it slightly ajar. Thinking it was the wind, she turned back to close the door. Just as she reached the doorway, the door was suddenly flung open. A person wearing a black cloak stood in the vast snow, with only one blue-robed attendant behind.

She couldn’t see his face. For a moment, she could only see a pair of eyes as black as an abyss, staring directly at her.