On the nineteenth day of the fourth month in the 466th year of the Bai Cang Calendar, it was a day impossible to forget. On that day, the entire family of the Yan Bei Garrison Western King was brutally slaughtered, except for the heir Yan Xun who had been held as a hostage in the imperial capital for years. The spirits of the Yan family weren’t allowed to rest in peace even after death; they were subjected to flame punishment on the Nine Abyss Platform in front of the Sheng Jin Palace, their bodies and heads separated, and their ashes scattered across the nine heavens.
From that moment, the Yan Bei lion flag that once intimidated the northern frontier began its long silence. While the imperial nobles who coveted Yan Bei’s lands clapped and cheered together, a grand celebration was held on the vast grasslands of the northwest. Eleven Dog Rong tribes gathered together under the leadership of Great Khan Wang Na Yan Ming Lie to celebrate the downfall of the Yan Bei lion clan, celebrate Yan Shi Cheng’s miserable death, and celebrate how the emperor of the Great Xia Dynasty had selflessly opened up a fertile northern frontier for their Dog Rong tribe. The great Dog Rong sky god had blessed this fierce race, and from then on, they firmly believed that no one could withstand the blade of the grassland men anymore.
At this moment, in a remote narrow room inside the dilapidated Qian Gate compound, the cold wind howled. Snow seeped through the roof. There was no fire basin, no heating, only a tattered quilt, black and dirty, emitting a foul smell.
Outside the door came the shouting of soldiers drinking and playing finger-guessing games. The rich aroma of meat wafted into the room from afar. The young man’s face was pale blue, but his forehead was burning hot. His lips were cracked, showing unhealthy white skin. His sword-like eyebrows were tightly furrowed, and large drops of cold sweat slid down from his temples. His black hair was already soaked through.
Banging sounds repeatedly echoed in the room. The eight-year-old child laboriously lifted a chair and then smashed it heavily on the ground, again and again, finally breaking the chair into a pile of scattered firewood. She let out a long breath, wiped away her sweat, and then lit a fire in the middle of the room. The firewood crackled, and the room instantly became warmer. She carefully boiled a bowl of water, climbed onto the cold bed, supported the young man’s head, and called softly: “Yan Xun, wake up, drink some water.”
The young man could no longer hear any sound and showed no reaction to her words. The child frowned, took a rough chopstick from the bowl on the table, and directly pried open Yan Xun’s teeth to pour in the hot water.
The sound of “cough, cough” immediately rang out, Yan Xun’s chest violently shook, and he began to cough loudly. The water that had just been fed to him was completely spat out. Chu Qiao looked carefully and saw that there were traces of blood swirling in the water. Her chest suddenly felt tight. She pressed her lips together, sniffled, then climbed down from the bed and continued to boil water.
“Yan Xun?” As night fell, the room grew increasingly cold, becoming unbearable. The child had placed the fur coat and cotton quilt over the young man, while she wore only a thin outer garment. She curled up beside Yan Xun like a small animal, holding a white porcelain bowl, and said softly: “I’ve added water to the rice to make porridge. Get up and drink a little.”
The young man didn’t speak, as if he were already asleep. In the moonlight, his face was as white as paper, but there were signs of movement under his tightly closed eyelids. Chu Qiao knew he wasn’t sleeping; he was awake all along but just unwilling to open his eyes.
Chu Qiao sighed slowly. She put down the bowl, hugged her knees, and sat down against the wall. Outside the door, heavy snow was falling. Through the broken doors and windows, one could still see the deathly white snow-covered branches in the moonlight. The child’s voice was very low as she slowly said: “Yan Xun, I am a slave. I have no power, no authority, no relatives, no family. All my family members were killed. Some were beheaded, some were banished, some were beaten to death, some had their arms cut off and were thrown into the lake to feed the fish, and some, at a very young age, were raped, their bodies loaded onto a cart like broken garbage. This world should be fair. Even slaves, even those with low bloodlines, should have the right to survive. I don’t understand why people are divided into different classes from birth, and why wolves are destined to eat rabbits while rabbits cannot fight back. But now I understand—it’s because rabbits aren’t strong enough, they don’t have sharp claws and teeth. If you don’t want to be looked down upon, you must first stand up for yourself. Yan Xun, I am very young, but I have patience and time. Those people from the Zhuge family who owe a debt—none of them can escape. I must live to see them pay for what they’ve done; otherwise, even if I die, I won’t rest in peace.”
The young man’s eyelashes trembled slightly, his lips pressed together. Outside the window, heavy snow was falling, and a cold wind blew in through the window, making a howling sound.
The child’s voice became increasingly solemn: “Yan Xun, do you remember what your mother told you before she died? She said you must live on, even if it means living without dying because you still have many things to do. Do you know what those things are? It’s to endure humiliation, to sleep on firewood and taste gall, to wait for the right moment, to kill everyone who murdered your family with your sword! On your shoulders rests too many people’s hopes, too many people’s blood, too many eyes watching you from heaven. Can you bear to disappoint them? Can you bear for them to die without rest? Are you willing to die on this broken bedboard? Can you tolerate those who killed your parents and relatives living well and enjoying themselves without worry?”
The child’s voice suddenly became hoarse, like a knife scraping over ice, raising tiny ice chips. She said, almost word by word: “Yan Xun, you must live, even if like a dog, you must live. Only by living do you have hope, do you have the ability to fulfill unfulfilled wishes, can you someday take back what belongs to you. In this world, you can never rely on others; you can only rely on yourself.”
Heavy breathing suddenly sounded. The child got up, picked up the bowl, and brought it to the face of the young man who had already opened his eyes. His eyes were bright and full of strength as if raging flames were burning wildly.
“Yan Xun, live on, kill them all!”
A flash of light suddenly shot from the young man’s eyes, carrying bloodthirsty hatred and world-destroying unwillingness. He nodded heavily and repeated in a nightmarish low voice: “Live on, kill them all!”
Outside the house, the cold wind howled. The two small children stood in a cold, broken room, tightly clenching their fists.
Many years later, when Yan Xun, grown to adulthood, recalled that night, he still felt apprehensive. He didn’t know if he hadn’t softened his heart and spared that disheveled little slave with the stubborn eyes if he hadn’t repeatedly helped that child out of momentary curiosity if he hadn’t impulsively wanted to say goodbye to that child on the night of their parting, would everything today have disappeared like flowers in a mirror or the moon’s reflection in water? Would that noble young man who had lived a life of luxury, when faced with the disaster of his family’s destruction, have been crushed by the catastrophe? Would he have died full of sorrow, lonely and weak?
But there aren’t so many “ifs” in this world. So, on that night, two children who had nothing made a secret vow in the ice and snow.
Live on, even if like a dog, live on!
The long night was about to pass. Before dawn, a messenger arrived from Sheng Jin Palace with a letter. For whatever reason—whether it was an uneven distribution of spoils or the realization that when the lips are gone, the teeth will be cold—under the joint pressure of other vassal kings of the empire, Yan Xun, the heir of Yan Bei who had committed no offense, would succeed the title of Yan Bei Garrison Western King. However, the time was pushed back until after his coming-of-age ceremony at twenty. Before he came of age, the Yan Bei territory would be managed in rotation by Sheng Jin Palace and various regional vassal kings, while Yan Xun would continue to stay in the imperial capital of Zhen Huang, under the care of the imperial family, until he grew up.
Before that, there were still eight years to go—just eight more years.
On the twenty-first day of the fourth month, Yan Xun moved out of the hostage residence and into Sheng Jin Palace, the most heavily guarded place in the Great Xia Dynasty. That morning, the wind howled and snow fell. Yan Xun wore a northern black sable fur coat, standing on the magnificent Purple Gold Square, looking at the Nine Abyss Platform and Purple Gold Gate not far ahead. Behind them was the northwestern part of the empire. That place was once his home, the land where he grew up, with his beloved family. Now, they had all left him, but he firmly believed they must be standing in the high heavens, quietly watching him with open eyes, waiting for his iron hooves to step into Yan Bei, into Shang Shen, to break through He Tong Mountain Pass!
That day marked four months since the empire’s western expedition forces had been deployed. Although the civilian unrest in Shang Shen had been handled poorly, they had resolutely found the ringleaders of the uprising. The Yan Bei Garrison Western King’s family was completely massacred, and the iron-blooded army of the Great Xia Dynasty once again maintained the empire’s dignity with thunderous measures. However, many years later, when future court historians reopened the scroll of history, they couldn’t help but lament that from this moment on, the Great Xia Dynasty had sown the seeds of its future destruction. A raging fire was reborn in the swamp of death—it was the resolute and cruel abandonment of everything that could burn everything. The blade of world destruction carved a bloody gash in the surviving young man’s heart. Blood would flow endlessly and eventually completely bury this corrupt dynasty.
“I thought this kind of life would never end, like the wind that roams year-round on the Yan Bei plateau, like the snow that never melts on Dragon Spine Mountain. But I was wrong. My eyes were blindfolded by golden shackles. I couldn’t see the ambition to swallow the world hidden behind the prosperity, the slaughter of millions, the unpredictable power struggles. Now, I am about to walk into the golden cage, carrying the blood of my father, my mother, my sisters, and my brothers. But I swear to the sky of Yan Bei, I am leaving now, but I will return one day.”
The young man turned around, held the hand of the eight-year-old child, and walked straight through the heavy palace gate. The gate closed with a rumble, swallowing all light. The wild wind howled outside but was blocked by the tall city walls. Only the eagle’s sharp eyes could look down from high in the sky and see those two figures. In the sunset as red as blood, amidst the magnificent palace towers, their figures appeared so small yet so tall and straight.
One day, they would stand shoulder to shoulder and fight their way out, emerging with heads held high from this vermillion-lacquered purple-gold gate!
Heaven firmly believed, there would come such a day!