The fragrance of roses dissipated in the night wind. All sounds had ceased. She stood on the high city wall, her gaze penetrating through layers of cold armor, resting on him. The torrent of years rushed past her ears, making a whistling sound like a hurricane in the wilderness, howling like an eagle at the mountain peak.

The black battle flag fluttered in the wind above Yan Xun’s head. The pitch-black night was like thick ink. The sky pressed low without stars or moonlight. Thousands of torches burned fiercely, casting a blood-red glow on faces. Yan Xun stood on his golden war chariot, holding a golden bow, dressed in an ink-colored python robe. His eyebrows were like swords, slanting into his temples. With his head slightly raised and eyes long and narrow, he quietly gazed at the familiar figure from his memories.

The entire battlefield was deathly silent. Everyone held their breath. Only the war drums, like the heart of the earth, beat down on people’s spines one by one, making the blood in their veins boil thread by thread.

Time froze. They silently looked at each other, their gazes intersecting and converging in midair.

Finally, the army surged forward like a tide. A life-and-death battle had begun.

In an instant, mounted archers raised their bows in unison. In the sharp whistling of the wind, arrows filled the sky, pouring down like raindrops on the soldiers’ heads. Countless people charged forward. From the very beginning, the battle displayed a terrifying cruelty that sent chills down one’s spine.

Screams, wailing, and command shouts mixed.

War horses stomped frantically. Rolling stones thundered. Battle sabers gleamed like snow. Dark clouds covered the cold moon. Even heaven and earth closed their eyes to this cruel battle.

After a day and night of fighting, the eastern city gate suddenly opened wide. The Elegant Army, which had fought bitterly through the night, seized the opportunity as the Yan Bei army was changing formations and rode out of the city. They charged to the banks of the Iron Line River. The road here was narrow, unable to withstand the impact of a large army. The Yan Bei forces had to abandon their horses to pursue. But when they reached the riverbank, they saw Elegant Army soldiers raising sheepskin rafts, crossing the river at its most rapid point.

“Be careful, sir!”

“Your Majesty, take care!”

Almost simultaneously, Yan Xun and Chu Qiao each raised their crossbows. Arrows pierced through the void, flying toward each other. Two clanging sounds rang out simultaneously—the arrows had not missed their targets, drawing exclamations of alarm from the surrounding guards.

On the great river, Chu Qiao stood on a raft, gazing at Yan Xun from afar.

She knew this battle was just for show; Yan Xun would not truly block her.

Yan Xun and Princess Jingan were allies. He had to guard Han River for her, but once Princess Jingan truly attacked the Tang capital and put the descendants of Prince Jingan on the throne, his retreat would be cut off. Thus, he could not win this battle, but he also could not lose badly.

He still needed her to hold up this civil war in Bian Tang, to keep the doorway to Tang Gate open for him.

Rows of torches spread across the river’s surface. The darkness before dawn was like a fierce demon, inserting blood-thirsty claws into people’s eyes. Everything between heaven and earth was blood-red. The wind blew fiercely, raising flames into the sky.

Yan Xun sat astride his horse. The war horse pawed the ground uneasily. His back remained straight, his entire being filled with imperial dignity, like a god of the dark world. His gaze was sharp and distant, crossing the wide river to rest on that figure—though thin, always strong. The night wind blew, lifting the hair at her temples. Her blood-stained armor flickered with brilliant light in the fire. She sat on her warhorse, separated by the surging river and raging flames, silently looking at him.

At that moment, the ice of Yan Xun’s memories suddenly cracked open. He could even hear the faint sound, as jumbled images emerged from the surging water with a series of cracks.

How long ago was it? Too long, like something from a previous life, so long that he could barely remember.

It was a night just like this, with the same deathly silence after slaughter, and the same pair of eyes gazing at him quietly across the flowing river. The fires of Zhen Huang City were raging, with endless battle cries echoing across the wilderness. The young versions of themselves had each resolutely turned away, going in their directions to do what they believed was right.

Perhaps, long, long ago, everything had already been determined. They were like two meteors traveling in opposite directions—though they had briefly crossed paths for various reasons, they were ultimately destined to separate, following their orbits and growing farther apart.

Chu Qiao stood on the riverbank with her sword, watching the last troops cross the Han River. The vast river was like a heavenly moat, separating them on the eastern and western sides. Thousands of lives and souls sank into the great river. Heaven and earth were the furnace, all things were fuel, and what burned in the fire were the blood and hopes of countless common people, along with their opposite beliefs. She looked at Yan Xun, and at that moment, a thousand thoughts turned to dust. The hundred thousand armored soldiers vanished from her sight, leaving only that man in black robes standing proudly between heaven and earth, with wolf-like eyes, just as he had climbed up from the Nine Abyss Platform years ago, leaving bloody footprints with each step. Though no one stood behind him, he possessed killing intent enough to destroy heaven and earth.

“Sir!”

Ping An, covered in blood and dirt, ran up with reddened eyes, looking up and saying, “In this battle, we lost more than six thousand brothers.”

Chu Qiao lowered her head and saw the young man’s face still had undried blood. The child who had lived in a peaceful environment for many years had grown up. After this baptism of blood, his eyes were no longer pure.

“Ping An, achieving any goal requires paying a price.”

The general of the Elegant Army sat on horseback, silently watching the dragon of torches for a long time before saying in a low voice, “True peace can only be attained through war.”

Ping An frowned, not fully understanding, and murmured, “True peace?”

“Yes, I cannot see it, and perhaps you cannot either, but eventually, someone will.”

Chu Qiao raised her head and looked one last time toward the other side of Han River. The fire had gradually died down, with layers of smoke rolling on the river’s surface. In the far distance at the eastern horizon, there was a faint golden light. That man wore black battle armor, his cloak fluttering in the night wind. Though she couldn’t make out his features, she could imagine his expression and profile, just like that afternoon many years ago when he shot an arrow at her from horseback. With that, he saved her life, and she accompanied him for ten years.

She reached to grip her right arm, where there was an armed guard made of dark iron that even a crossbow arrow couldn’t penetrate.

It was a gift from Zhao Song, a matching pair—she had given one to him.

She resolutely turned away, disappearing into the surging army, raising her whip and spurring her horse, never looking back at the path behind.

West of Han River, Yan Xun turned his horse around. A subordinate commander ran up and asked, “Your Majesty, aren’t we pursuing?”

Yan Xun said nothing, walking straight past him. After going some distance, he finally said faintly, “Retreat.”

The army ebbed away like the tide. The sun rose at the horizon, casting a quiet glow upon the earth. The two armies traveling in opposite directions gradually moved farther and farther apart.

In the empty tent, an armor-clad general knelt on the ground. He had been kneeling there for a long time. The sun gradually set, night fell, and the tent was pitch black, with only the gold-yellow fur inlaid with pearls giving off a faint light, vaguely illuminating that person’s silhouette, like a mountain peak.

The man had not spoken. Since returning from Iron Line River, he had sat there as if forgetting everything around him. Outside the tent, the green grass swayed gently, spreading a hopeful scent in the night wind. By the fifth month, Bian Tang was already in the height of summer. At night there was the clear and pleasant chirping of cicadas. The grass in the wilderness grew half as tall as a person. Unknown insects glided through the air, their wings giving off a faint phosphorescent light, twinkling like stars.

The tent was too quiet. The armor-clad general dared not move or even breathe heavily, nor dared to light a lamp. He was not among the original veterans of the Yan Bei army, nor was he an old subordinate of the Yan Emperor. Very few of those who had originally followed the Yan Emperor in his uprising remained. The current batch of people in the army had all fought their way up with swords and spears. Though His Majesty was gloomy and unpredictable, he was clear in his rewards and punishments and placed great importance on military achievements. As long as you dared to fight and kill, you needn’t fear having no opportunity to rise.

The general’s surname was Mu. His ancestors had been scholars, but by his generation, the family had declined. Still, he was literate and somewhat versed in military strategy. With this knowledge, he had risen step by step, and in just a few short years, had become one of the foremost commanders in the Yan Bei army.

Unlike others, the general felt that His Majesty was not as savage as rumors claimed. Yes, he had killed his teacher, killed his sister, killed a group of people from the Great Unity Association who had assisted him for many years, but so what? Perhaps those involved would think His Majesty was ungrateful and curse him for his wolf-like ambition, but ordinary people like themselves saw clearly that the Great Unity Association knew nothing of military affairs or governance. They were internally entangled, fighting for power and profit among themselves, with extremely serious factional infighting. They had occupied Yan Bei for so many years yet achieved nothing. To the north, the Quanrong invaded; to the east, Great Xia controlled them. They were powerless to protect Yan Bei citizens, yet they insisted on interfering in court politics. Such people, if His Majesty had not suppressed them with thunderous methods, it would only have fostered another Great Unity regime with chaotic factions in the land of Yan Bei.

For those who accomplish great things, what does killing a few people matter?

Since ancient times, in the power struggle, when has it not been a river of blood?

The difference between a successful emperor and ordinary people is the perspective from which they view problems—whether to consider the overall situation or personal feelings.

Therefore, General Mu had no good feelings toward the former Elegant General. According to his thinking, a woman simply could not achieve great undertakings.

“Mu Lang,” a deep voice suddenly sounded, echoing in the spacious tent. Hearing this, Mu Lang immediately straightened up and heard the person above continue, “Send a message to Cheng Yuan, tell him to divide his forces at Songyuan Ferry and maintain strict guard. Since the Elegant Army is so eager to enter, let them in—Prince Jingan’s army is still waiting inside.”

“Yes.”

“Also, tell him not to attack Zhao Yang’s army but to focus all effort on attacking Zhao Che. He must destroy Zhao Che’s supplies at all costs.”

“Yes.”

Mu Lang promptly answered, “This subordinate will immediately send someone to White Iris Pass to deliver the message.”

Yan Xun shook his head, his face indiscernible in the darkness. “No need, going tomorrow morning will be fine, there’s no rush.”

Mu Lang was slightly startled—military matters were urgent, how could there be no rush? But since Yan Xun had said so, he dared not contradict and simply knelt there silently, not speaking.

“Come, drink with me.”

Yan Xun, slightly hunched, lowered his head to pour wine, appearing somewhat dejected in the faint pearl light. Mu Lang was flattered, hurriedly rising and taking small steps forward to accept the wine cup, not daring to sit.

Yan Xun casually pointed to a seat nearby and said, “Sit down, don’t stand there.”

Mu Lang carefully sat down, drank in one gulp, and said, “Thank you, Your Majesty, for the wine.”

Yan Xun also threw back his head and drank. Mu Lang hurriedly poured more wine for him and heard him say with a light laugh, “It’s been a long time since anyone drank with me. Before, circumstances prevented me from drinking; now that circumstances are better, those who could drink with me are no longer here.”

Mu Lang’s hand trembled slightly. He was a clever man. Since last night when Yan Xun ordered the halt of pursuit against the Elegant Army, he had felt something was amiss. Now, hearing Yan Xun’s words, he increasingly felt he was hearing things he shouldn’t.

“Cheers.”

Yan Xun spoke casually and even lightly clinked his cup against Mu Lang’s. The rich red wine spilled onto his fingers, but he paid no heed. The wine vessel, as large as a fist, had a significant capacity, yet he always drank it in one go. Soon, more than half a pot of wine had been consumed.

Yan Xun spoke a lot tonight, perhaps more than in an entire month previously. He asked Mu Lang about the army’s meals, how many people were in his family, whether his parents were still alive and healthy, how many children he had, whether they had studied, how many wives he had taken, and even jokingly asked if the prostitutes in the military brothel were beautiful.

Mu Lang was deeply shocked. Previously, he had no opportunity to meet Yan Xun; everything he knew was hearsay. Now, seeing him so approachable, he increasingly felt his earlier choice had been correct. As for that woman who dared to betray His Majesty and join Bian Tang, she was even more ungrateful.

They chatted until deep into the night. The night watch drum had sounded three times. Yan Xun seemed somewhat drunk, half-lying on the couch, lazily making small talk, and gradually falling silent. Mu Lang thought he had fallen asleep, took a silk quilt nearby to cover him, and carefully withdrew from the tent.

The tent grew quiet again, so quiet one could hear the faint Yan Bei long songs softly hummed by soldiers in the distance, floating in the night sky with a sense of desolation, circling round and round. In the darkness, the man opened his eyes. Those pitch-black pupils were as clear as water, without a trace of intoxication.

Once again, he was left alone.

Everything around was vast and cold, without a single person. Outside, the wind howled—though it should have been warm when it blew into the tent, somehow it carried a chill. He lay alone on the wide soft couch, with brocade quilts and furs, jade pillows, and pearl curtains. The incense in the burner coiled upward, layer upon layer, filling the tent with a light, pleasant fragrance that entered the nostrils with a calming effect.

But in such a luxurious bed, on such a quiet, warm spring night, there was still only him. Just like that night many years ago when she was taken away, sailing south on a giant ship. He stood on the tower of North Shuo Pass, gazing at that white ribbon. The wilderness was covered in snow, the mountains and rivers like iron. She had finally escaped his grasp and left him.

Even when he was very young, he had already anticipated the future situation.

She had always been righteous and kind. No matter what crisis or predicament she faced, even covered in wounds, she never gave up her expectations and hope for the future. At first, he was the one constantly encouraging her, but gradually, it became she who supported him. She painted their future for him, told him her ideals and aspirations, and shared her political views and hopes. No matter what difficulties they encountered, she always found a way to solve them resolutely. She taught him knife techniques and archery, taught him military law and political strategy. Wu Daoya was nominally his teacher, but what he learned from her was far more than from anywhere else.

She was his good teacher and friend, his family and support, and moreover, the only woman he had ever loved in his life.

But the more this was true, the more uneasy he felt, the more worried and afraid. He didn’t know when it began, but he suddenly realized that perhaps one day they would go their separate ways, perhaps one day she would leave him.

When did it start?

Perhaps when she sympathized with the slaves, perhaps when her relationship with Zhao Song grew closer, perhaps when she explained to him the stability and prosperity of future society, perhaps even earlier—he couldn’t remember clearly. He just vaguely knew that perhaps someday in the future, he would ultimately disappoint her, ultimately hurt her, ultimately shatter that precious trust and dependence.

So he tried every means to marginalize her, wanting her to withdraw from military and political affairs, not wanting her to see his bloodstained hands, not wanting her to see the ferocity and cruelty of his ends-justify-the-means approach.

He was not a hunter who broke a white eagle’s wings, but an owl destined to walk in the night. When the long eternal night passed and the world began to have distinctions between black and white, he began to fear.

A low laugh sounded in the darkness. His eyes held a faint intoxication as he suddenly remembered his childhood when the insecure boy repeatedly asked:

“Will you stay with me forever?”

The girl smiled brightly, looking up and asking him, “Will you bully me?”

Will you bully me? Will you bully me? Will you…

Closing his eyes, that crisp voice seemed like rolling waves, surging from all directions.

I wanted to give you the best.

But the things I thought were best were not what you wanted.

In the darkness, a crisp sound suddenly rang out. Yan Xun unfastened the clasp on his right arm. The silver dark iron arm guard fell off, dropping to the ground. The faint pearl light shone upon it, giving it a glassy luster.

That was a gift from Zhao Song, a matching pair. She had given one to him—they had worn them for more than a decade.

“When I decided to set out, I knew that in this life you could never belong to me. You were born for the light, while I had too many bloody ideals. So I wanted you to submit to me, obey me, follow me for life. Unfortunately, I ultimately failed.”

He laughed silently in the darkness.

Achieving any goal requires paying a price, and he had already paid.

“No one wants to live an ordinary life. The question is, when an opportunity presents itself, do you truly dare to take it?”

In the darkness, the man’s voice was deep and hoarse, like an elder who had experienced several cycles of reincarnation. He lay on the golden fur couch, the mellow wine spilling across the table, emitting an intoxicating fragrance. In his brocade robes and fine clothes, in the darkness, he silently parted his lips, his smile like that of a pure child.

“Zhuge Yue, do you dare to take it?”

“I cannot do it.”

Zhuge Yue looked at the man before him, his gaze resolute, his tone calm as he spoke.

Zhuge Mu Qing’s hair was completely white, his skin like a crane’s, wrinkled. In just a few short years, all the youth had been drained from this old man. He was like a dead, stagnant pond, without a trace of vitality, carrying only a final madness as he stared at his son with bloodshot eyes.

“Zhao Che has already been defeated, and Zhao Yang cannot hold out much longer. Right now, in all of Great Xia, only you can turn the situation around. If our Zhuge family abandons Zhao Yang now, he will surely collapse. When that happens, you can raise your voice, and the world will respond. Then you will be the first man of Great Xia, and in ten years, our Zhuge clan will defeat Yan Bei and ascend to supreme power!”

Zhuge Mu Qing’s eyes were red, like a wild beast gone mad, staring directly at his son. He gripped Zhuge Yue’s shoulders and shouted, “Yue, the future and fate of Great Xia, the future of our Zhuge clan, all hang on your single thought!”

Zhuge Yue silently looked at his father for a long time without speaking.

Father had grown old. He was no longer the family leader with great foresight and decisive action. He had become vain, foolish, and crazed.

In this life, he seemed never to have been close to his father. From a very young age, he had lost his mother. In his childhood days, he walked alone through the vast Zhuge mansion, quiet as a tree’s shadow. Only when he gradually grew up and stood out among his peers through his efforts did this father, who had too many women and too many sons, give him a few more glances.

But later, he fell, was injured, and survived countless brushes with death, yet the family mercilessly abandoned him.

Until he regained power and brought glory back to the family, but they still chose his elder brother, intending to bring about his death. This was his family, his relatives.

Yet, he still could not completely hate them.

As Wei Shu Ye had said, no matter how much disgust and rejection they felt, they were ultimately aristocratic children who had enjoyed all the glory that came with being part of a noble family from an early age. Similarly, they needed to bear the responsibilities of nobility.

He was still his father—the one who gave him life, taught him, rejoiced in his achievements, and was happy for his progress. Although he had once been ruthless, he still provided him with a peaceful and prosperous childhood. When he was too young to protect himself, his father stood before him, protecting him and the entire family.

“Father, I cannot do it.”

Zhuge Yue stepped back, bowed his head to his father, and made a deep salutation.

“A person’s hand is only so big; it cannot hold everything.”

The candlelight flickered, illuminating his face with a pale golden glow. He calmly looked at his elderly father and said quietly, “I am grateful for Father’s nurturing grace, but this matter, I cannot do.”

“Great Xia without me still has other generals; Father without me still has other sons; but if Xing’er loses me, she loses all hope.”

He bowed again to the father who had given him life, raised him, abandoned him, and tried to kill him, his gaze calm, his expression peaceful.

“Father, take care of yourself.”

Zhuge Yue turned and left, the candlelight illuminating his back, making him appear so straight and steadfast. Zhuge Mu Qing stared blankly at his son, his gaze like dead ashes, his lips half-open, his hands still in the position gripping his son’s shoulders.

At this moment, he suddenly realized that perhaps from today on, he would forever lose this son.

Lose this son whom he had favored, in whom he had placed great hopes, yet who had repeatedly failed to meet his expectations—the son he had whipped, abandoned, driven from home, and sent assassins to kill.

The wheels of time flowed between this father and son. The wind blew in from outside the tent, lifting his white hair, and blowing across his hunched back. Suddenly, he had grown so old, able only to stretch out his hand in vain, unable to pull back the mercilessly passing time.

Zhuge Yue walked step by step, very slowly. He knew that once he turned around, he could never go back. After passing through this door, everything would be plunged into flesh, bone, and fire. Families would be scattered, loved ones separated, homes destroyed, and empires toppled, but he would still walk forward without hesitation. He wanted to use the blood of all the common people in the world to tell her what he truly cared about.

Not imperial ambition, not a name in history, not standing at the pinnacle alone looking down on all creation.

What he wanted was simply for her to live, to live well where he could see her.

Because he had something he wanted to protect, he repeatedly told himself to become strong. But if the thing he wanted to protect was no longer there, what meaning would all his efforts have?

In this life, he would not do anything he would regret.

The tent curtain was lifted, and his feet stepped into the military camp bathed in moonlight. The cold wind blew on his face, giving him a clarity he had never felt before.

The world can be lost and then retaken, and armies can be scattered and then regrouped, but when people die, they cannot be brought back to life.

Zhao Che’s parting words echoed in his ears once more:

“Recognize what you truly want, and live for yourself once.”

His friend, after being betrayed by his brother, attacked from front and rear, retreating all the way, had still come thousands of miles to see him in such a situation, just to say these words that had nothing to do with the greater situation.

Outside the camp, the troops had already assembled. Everyone was ready to depart. Zhuge Yue took a deep breath, strode forward, and leaped onto his horse.

“Move out!”

The grass flew, hoofbeats sounded, and they swiftly headed toward the distant, ancient Bian Tang.

Thousands of miles of rivers and mountains, majestic imperial power—all lay before him.

It was not that he dared not, but that he did not want to.

At the final northern checkpoint, even though it was May, the area was still covered in vast snow. The bitter north wind blew intermittently, hitting one’s face like a cold knife.

“Let’s go.”

Zhao Che smiled slightly at Wei Shu Ye, still full of confident radiance even in such a predicament.

Wei Shu Ye was thin. He looked up at Zhao Che, who was still full of confidence and couldn’t help feeling puzzled.

Yan Xun had madly come to plunder supplies, using human wave tactics to frantically consume military strength. Zhao Yang, having expended little military power in the battle against Yan Bei, had instead—with his mind clouded like by lard—attacked Zhao Che’s rear forces and blocked Zhuge Yue’s supply route, causing Zhao Che to fall into a dangerous situation, suffer massive troop losses, and lose thirteen central provinces.

By the time they had gathered forces to counterattack, they were already surrounded, beyond recovery.

That day, Zhao Che stood silently among the ruins for a long time. The battle-hardened prince general despondently put down his battle saber, turned back, and said to him, “We have lost.”

That day, all the generals who followed him wept, and even he, the traditionally aloof young noble master, shed tears of anger.

It wasn’t that there was no chance for victory, no strength for restoration. They had fought all the way, battling across a land of decline and depression. They had the determination and courage to die gallantly at any time and place.

But they still lost.

Not on the battlefield against enemies, but in the schemes of internal strife.

They had encountered the strongest enemy in history but also faced the most declining homeland in a hundred years.

The young prince raised his head. His warhorse pawed the ground uneasily. The northern checkpoint was a sheet of silver, with heaven and earth covered in snow. Beyond this checkpoint, it was no longer the land of Great Xia. From there, rolling sand and vast expanses outside the pass would no longer fly the flag of Great Xia.

He looked at the sky and said quietly, “The Zhao clan will not perish. Wherever the sun rises, there will be descendants of the Zhao clan.”

He spurred his horse, with thousands of troops following. Mountains and passes stretched for thousands of miles, snow like silver.

Zhao Che’s fists were like iron, his eyes like knives. His lips moved slightly, saying silently but firmly: I will return—

“Sir!”

He Xiao suddenly shouted, his eyes red as he said, “This subordinate does not agree.”

“Commander He, this is an order.”

On the fortress of Tang Capital, Chu Qiao, dressed in armor, looked at her most trusted subordinate and spoke each word distinctly.

“Sir, go escort the Tang Emperor out of the city. Let me stay behind.”

The battle cries were just below them. The thunderous sound of hoofbeats rumbled. The forces led by Princess Jingan outnumbered them ten to one. Thousands of cavalry charged wildly, repeatedly attacking the Tang Capital. Like a mountain flood or sea surge, they were unstoppable.

Chu Qiao said coldly, “Can you do it?”

He Xiao frowned and immediately declared loudly, “This subordinate swears to die—”

“Even if you die, you cannot accomplish it.”

Chu Qiao suddenly said sharply. Hearing this, He Xiao’s face immediately turned ashen. Just as he was about to speak, Chu Qiao continued, “Now Tang Capital is surrounded, with Yan Xun’s hundreds of thousands of troops forming a second layer of blockade outside. Bian Tang’s army has already been frightened; no one will aid us. In the entire country, we are the only army of suppression. The enemy’s eyes will be on me. As long as I remain on this city tower, they will not dare to divide their forces to pursue. But once I leave, they will abandon their attack on Tang Capital and pursue with full force. At that time, we will have no city to defend, with Yan Bei’s army in front and Jingan’s army behind. We will die even more tragically!”

How could He Xiao not have thought of this? He listened with furrowed brows, biting his teeth, not saying a word.

“He Xiao, I beg you, take them and escape. In my life, I have received great kindness from Li Ce that I cannot repay. Today I cannot protect his country, but at least I can protect his bloodline and descendants.”

He Xiao’s expression was desolate, his eyes fixed on Chu Qiao. Suddenly he said, “Sir, let someone else go. Let me stay by your side to protect you.”

Chu Qiao shook her head and said softly, “Others, I cannot trust.”

He Xiao looked at Chu Qiao, his gaze burning like fire and lava.

So many years of life and death together, so many years side by side. The time they had spent together was far longer than with anyone else. And that once budding feeling had, with time, gradually transformed, becoming like family.

The woman before him was strong, brave, kind, and sincere. Of course, she could also be timid, confused, and fragile, weeping loudly in his arms. They were comrades, friends, family. She was both his master and his sister.

The blazing firelight illuminated their faces. He Xiao suddenly reached out and embraced her, his voice low, as if chewing blood: “Take care!”

“You take care too!”

The warrior leaped onto his horse. Li Xiuyi called out to Chu Qiao, “Aunt! Aunt!”

He Xiao protected the child in his arms, no longer looking at her, and led a group of elite troops through the south-side gate, charging out. At the same time, the east and west gates also opened, with each having a group of soldiers rushing out to engage the enemy in battle.

“Archers ready!”

He Qi shouted, “Release!”

The vast wilderness was like a meat grinder, mercilessly absorbing the lives of warriors. Spears and sabers flashed with bloodthirsty light. Thousands of hoofbeats thundered like muffled thunder, rolling through heaven and earth.

Chu Qiao stood on the city tower, watching this deadly battle. All her memories flashed through her mind one by one.

In her two lifetimes, she had done many things and met many people. Some things she had done right, some wrong. Some people she had missed, some she had failed. But regardless, no matter what circumstances, she had never betrayed her beliefs.

Life became clearer in this moment. She closed her eyes, and those figures from her past appeared one by one—those she had loved, hated, failed, and hurt. Finally, they coalesced into a handsome figure standing at the bow of a ship, clothes rustling, touched by cold rain, turning back faintly, eyes cold yet filled with deep affection.

“I love you.”

She said softly. The wind was so strong, blowing through her hair. Everything between heaven and earth was blood-red. Those troops surging like the tide howled as they came, repeatedly striking the ancient city gate, making a deafening noise.

She placed her hand on her abdomen, which was already slightly swollen, carrying the hope of life, always supporting her, giving her the courage to stand here, unafraid, not weak, strong as a mother.

The road was so long; that he surely couldn’t hear.

She smiled and raised her face, looking at the clear sky: “I love you—”

But I ultimately cannot accompany you.

The sky was so blue it made her eyes sting. A tear flowed from the corner of her eye, sinking into her cold helmet, soaking into her thick hair.

She drew her battle saber. All enemy troops charged toward her. He Xiao’s forces had already broken through the flank. The deafening battle cries were like rolling thunder. The white banner with red clouds fluttered overhead, its bright red especially eye-catching in the rolling yellow sand, like a hopeful red sun.

She turned back, her gaze sweeping over those young warriors one by one.

These were the world-renowned Elegant Army, but now it was almost impossible to see those original faces. Over the years, this iron-blooded army had followed her north and south across the entire Ximeng continent. They had followed her without retreat or fear.

The Battle of Zhen Huang, the Northwest Battle, the Red Crossing Battle, the North Shuo Battle, the Thousand Zhang Lake Battle, the Fire Thunder Plain Battle, the Dragon Roar Pass Battle, the Tang Capital Battle, the White Iris Pass Battle, the Iron Line River Battle…

For seven years, this army had proven their loyalty to the entire Ximeng continent with their valiant record. Regardless of country or faction, they fought not for anyone else, but for her, for their own conscience.

Batch after batch had fallen, yet more people strove forward. Even if they had no deep feelings for the country they were protecting, even if their homeland was thousands of miles away, even if they had no idea what fate awaited them ahead. But just one reason was enough, just one person’s order was enough. As long as that person stood ahead, their loyalty would be like cold iron under a thousand-fathom ice lake—even if mountains and rivers collapsed, blood turned to ash, they would not waver.

There was no need for rousing speeches or further morale-boosting. The young woman removed her helmet, her dark hair flying, her eyes like morning stars. She smiled slightly at her soldiers, then raised her battle saber.

“Fight for freedom!”

Two thousand soldiers of the Elegant Army shouted their slogan.

A dull “boom” sounded, like thunder striking the earth, followed by countless people’s frenzied cheers.

The gate of Tang Capital, which had stood for a thousand years, finally fell.

Enemies poured in like the tide.

The wind blew past, battle cries were within reach. Chu Qiao said clearly, “You all go first, I will follow soon.”

“Sir! This general will go first!”

A commander laughed as he leaped onto his horse, waving his battle saber and shouting, “Fight for freedom!”

He raised his horse saber high, striding forward. The warriors of the Elegant Army followed behind him, charging toward the enemy’s massive formation, like an infant under one year old challenging a towering giant.

“Kill!!!”

The piercing battle cries filled the entire world.

Sunset, wilderness, cavalry crisscrossing, swords piled like mountains. A desolate wind blew past as unyielding warriors raised their sabers, charging one after another into the surging torrent.

The entire Tang Capital was engulfed in endless warfires. A hundred years ago, Great Tang’s rose battle flags had covered all lands of the continent. The four seas were unified, the territory vast, and Great Tang’s will had once ruled this world. Today, however, Chu Qiao gazed at the tumultuous battlefield, the shattered armor, and the withering battle flags. Layers of gunpowder smoke shrouded the majestic palace. The scent of death had swallowed the magnificent streets, while her ears were filled with the neighing of war horses and the wailing of common people…

She raised her head, looking to the western horizon where a bright red setting sun slowly descended.

Those warriors gallantly rushing to their deaths, that blood that would never congeal, those men whose names would never appear in history books even in death—they would now sleep forever in this vast land. Despite using all their strength, they still could not stop the empire’s decline.

The brilliance and magnificence of history, the glory and dreams of thousands of years—today, right here, she would witness with her own eyes the complete decline of this great empire, its thorough march toward extinction.

The sunset reflected on her pale face. She took a deep breath, slowly closed her eyes, and once again saw those fox-like eyes flash before her.

Li Ce, I’ve tried my best.

In this world, perhaps not everything you did was right, but at the time, you had no other choice.

Zhuge Yue, goodbye.

Another round of rope ladders was set up, and countless enemy soldiers climbed up like locusts. Chu Qiao threw away her scabbard and charged forward with her sword.

“Protect the commander!”

The soldiers of the Elegant Army rushed forward, shielding Chu Qiao.

Below the city, the Elegant Army wore black armor, holding cloud-like sabers level, forming attack formations, and fearlessly charging toward the enemy. The sky was dim, the sun gradually setting behind the mountains. A blood-red light enveloped the earth, reflecting an eerie glow on the warriors’ faces. Blood soaked the ground. Battle cries were deafening. Everyone’s eyes were wide open as they swung their blades with all their might.

Iron cavalry flooded the entire area below the city. The black mass of troops was like a collapsing mountain river. Hoofbeats thundered, the earth trembled, and the red-eyed warriors stood like towering mountains. They were an army skilled at creating miracles. Once, at North Shuo City, they had defeated a larger force, facing Great Xia’s million-strong allied army while still defending the city gates without retreating a step. At Dragon Roar Pass, they had stood shoulder to shoulder in a line, resisting Zhao Yang’s iron cavalry.

“Kill!”

The earth-shaking roar drowned out all other sounds—the screams of war horses, and the clang of weapons. People surged forward like a mountain landslide, entangled with these warriors who viewed death as a return home. Iron armor covered the ground, smoke rose to the sky, battle sabers chopped, and splattered flesh and limbs flew everywhere like a typhoon over the straw. Young bodies fell in large swathes. Hard iron armor was trampled by war horses, with thousands of hooves stepping over them, turning them into pulp.

A black rain of arrows covered the last ray of light. The enemy’s front-line soldiers had no time to even scream before being pierced through. Screams, blood, death, severed limbs, panicked crowds trampling each other. War horses shrieked miserably but could not escape the cold spears that were everywhere. Death, death was everywhere. Blood-thirsty sabers flashed with an eerie red glow. The warriors’ eyes were red with killing. They forgot everything, remembering only one action—to chop and chop again. Kill one to break even, kill two for profit. People screamed and wailed. The wounded fell to the ground, and before they could crawl up, they were trampled by the war horses behind, their skulls crushed, blood splashing, and brains flowing.

It was a terrible nightmare, trapping everyone in its web with no escape.

The city had fallen, yet the enemy still could not rush in. Intense fighting had broken out in front of the city gate. Bodies piled up, forming a natural gate. Chu Qiao stood among the crowd, holding her saber. Blood had stained her armor red. Her breathing was heavy, but her sword technique grew increasingly fierce.

Delay—each moment of delay allowed He Xiao to run farther.

The sky grew darker, night completely enveloped everything. Battle cries came from all directions. Chu Qiao suddenly felt so tired. Her movements were no longer agile, and even her attack power greatly decreased.

Yes, she was a mother now. Even knowing she would certainly die today when fighting, she still tried her utmost to protect her belly.

An enemy noticed her weakness and secretly approached from the side. Suddenly, in the firelight, he saw her delicate face and distinctive armor. The soldier was startled, then instantly recognized her identity. He opened his mouth wide, seemingly about to call out loudly.

“Ah—”

A long scream suddenly rang out. Blood splattered. Before the man could even make a dodging movement, the blade came down on his head. The speed and force were so great that one could hardly believe their eyes. The next second, the body fell heavily, split in two from the right shoulder, adding another brick to the human city gate.

The enemy outside the city gate was shocked. They stood there, staring blankly at Chu Qiao.

Chu Qiao stood there, one hand holding her battle saber. At this moment, her ears suddenly became so sensitive. She could hear the sound of the wind blowing, the sound of blood flowing, the sound of people’s fearful breathing, the sound of the earth trembling one beat after another.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

She was so tired, weary enough to close her eyes. Overwhelming darkness came from all directions.

Fall, stop forcing yourself.

He Xiao should have run far away by now. He would lead the Tang Emperor to find Sun Di, who had gone out to seek reinforcements and protect Li Ce’s bloodline.

It’s useless, stop persisting, and sleep for a while, it’s enough.

Her feet grew weak, her head began to feel dizzy.

However, at this moment, the enemy’s offensive suddenly receded like the tide. Urgent gong sounds came from the opposite military formation. Messengers were shouting something loudly, but it was too far away to hear clearly. Bright torches waved constantly, seemingly conveying some information.

Panic! Great panic!

“Sir?”

A surviving soldier looked questioningly at Chu Qiao. Chu Qiao was stunned for a moment, then suddenly seemed to understand something. Without a word, she turned and ran toward the city tower.

“Sir! Reinforcements have arrived!”

Before she could run up the city wall, a messenger staggered down, falling to his knees before Chu Qiao, his face red with excitement, shouting, “Reinforcements have arrived!”

Chu Qiao didn’t bother with him and rushed up to the city tower in a few steps. The tower was in an uproar. Everyone was clapping and celebrating. They hugged each other, giving out thunderous cheers.

At the horizon, an iron-gray dragon appeared, like a faint stream. But in an instant, the stream expanded, rushed out from the horizon, converging into a vast ocean. Countless soldiers held wolf sabers, wearing cyan armor, surging forward with an overwhelming momentum, thousands upon thousands, like a storm.

“Kill!!!”

“It’s the Qinghai Army!”

Someone shouted first, followed by everyone crowding together. Countless soldiers wept with joy. Warriors who had escaped death cheered loudly at the distant reinforcements. The Qinghai Army responded with deafening charging sounds.

“Sir! We’re saved! Great Tang is saved!”

The Wolf Army commander, covered in blood, rushed up and excitedly shouted to Chu Qiao, “The King of Qinghai has come with his people!”

However, Chu Qiao did not respond to his words. In the firelight, the dust-covered woman stood silently, her battle saber hanging at her side, motionless. Only tears silently fell.

At the banks of the Han River.

Even from so far away, the Yan Bei warriors could still hear the continuous sounds of fighting coming from due east.

Mu Lang trotted forward and said to Yan Xun, who sat on horseback, “Your Majesty, we should depart.”

Yan Xun silently nodded but did not move. He gazed long at the eastern sky filled with towering flames, his expression mysteriously indecipherable.

He had come after all.

For some reason, the tightly strung string in his heart suddenly broke, with a quiet echo, empty.

Perhaps, subconsciously, he had not wanted her to die.

But he ultimately did not want him to come.

Empire and beauty—since ancient times, it had been an unsolvable choice.

What he could not let go of, others ultimately could.

“Your Majesty, after Zhuge Yue left, our army launched an attack on Yan Ming Pass. Commander Lu has now breached the pass.”

“Your Majesty, Zhao Che led his defeated troops out of the North Pass. General Cheng Yuan pursued the victory and has already occupied eighteen northeastern provinces.”

“Your Majesty, within Great Xia’s borders, only Zhao Yang’s army remains, currently near Fangcun Mountain.”

“Your Majesty…”

Suddenly, Yan Xun could hear nothing. In his ears repeatedly echoed a crisp voice from many years ago. The girl, with a smile like flowers, looked at him, stood on tiptoe, reached out with her tender white finger to lightly touch his chest, and asked with a smile, “Will you bully me?”

Will you bully me?

Will you?

A strong wind rose, and two war eagles circled overhead, emitting sharp cries.

He turned back, his mind clearing.

Others had already made their choices. He should also proceed along the path he had long determined. No matter what fate lay ahead, ultimately, it was the road Yan Xun himself had chosen.

Life’s hundred years pass like a white colt through a crack, allowing no room for romance, no room for hesitation, no room for lingering doubt, no room for regretful looking back…

He repeated the Yan family ancestral teachings in his heart over and over, thinking back to many years ago when his parents were expelled from the Zhao family genealogy, and his father and brothers were cruelly killed on the Yan Bei plateau.

From now on, the eight million territories of Great Xia would be planted with Yan Bei eagle flags. The world’s people would submit at his feet. His will would cover the entire land. He would be the new ruler of this land. Such illustrious achievements—how could they be compared to a woman? He did not regret it, absolutely did not regret it.

Yan Xun spurred his horse forward, walking at the very front of the army. Thousands of troops followed behind him like a surging ocean.

Mu Lang stood far behind, watching the gradually departing King of Yan Bei. Suddenly, this young general felt that their emperor was so lonely. Darkness had swallowed all the light around him, leaving only his straight back, like a sharp battle spear.

Inside Tang Capital, cheers and clamors filled the air.

Chu Qiao stood at the city gate, behind her were countless civilians and soldiers.

Zhuge Yue jumped down from his horse, covered in dust. His dark blue cloak was stained with blood, completely black.

“Why did you come?”

“To take back what belongs to me.”

Chu Qiao’s eyes gradually swelled red. She pursed her lips, holding back the sting in her eyes. She stepped forward, reached out her fist, and lightly knocked his chest, saying softly, “Fool.”

Zhuge Yue extended his arms and embraced her, saying with a smile, “Xing’er, come back to Qinghai with me.”

Chu Qiao lay in his arms, tears falling line by line, wetting his clothes.

The morning sun made one’s bones numb. He held her hand, warm and firm as if he would never let go for a lifetime.

Her tears flowed continuously. In his embrace, she nodded forcefully.

She stood on tiptoe, leaned to his ear, her voice so small, yet carrying so much, so much joy.

“Zhuge Yue, I’m pregnant.”

…

The world was so vast, time so urgent. What was meant to end had finally ended, while the future still shone with endless brilliance ahead. Though the road ahead was unpredictable, they leaned on each other at this moment. Their smiling faces were as warm as spring, bringing all things to life.