The sky gradually darkened, and the north wind howled, cold and biting, cutting to the bone. The gale whirled the swirling white snow, moaning across the sky like a crazed monster.

The servants of the Zhuge family were cleaning the enclosure. They scooped up the small corpses with shovels and then tossed them onto the cart. Not far away, a small pit had already been dug. Artemisia grass burned with crackling sounds, emitting thick black smoke. It was meant for burying these children, along with those bloodthirsty beasts. These lives, as insignificant as weeds, were like mere balls that the wealthy owners had grown tired of after a single play, and so, were all thrown away.

Jing Yue’er wore a tattered sackcloth, quietly hanging her head, and sitting silently against the cage. She was severely wounded—even an adult might not have been able to endure such pain silently. The Zhuge family’s servants thought she might be dying, but after checking many times, they still saw the child’s chest rising and falling slightly. They knew she was breathing; some strange power was sustaining this child who seemed on the verge of death. So, they didn’t throw her into the burial pit, but instead, when leaving, placed her back in the cage.

The cage that had previously seemed cramped now looked somewhat empty. All the children had died, and only one remained. While the servants marveled at this child’s luck, they couldn’t help but secretly peek at her, carefully examining her.

Even if they couldn’t articulate it, they keenly sensed that this child was somehow different from when she had first arrived.

The gates of Zhenhuang City opened wide. The Zhuge family held immense power and status in Great Xia. The city guards respectfully checked their waist tokens, then bowed and saw them off.

Jing Yue’er had no idea how much time had passed. The cart kept swaying, but she didn’t raise her head, completely numb. Today’s sun was bright, but the wind was cold, howling through the gaps of the cage, striking her thin clothes like knife blades.

After turning past Nine Wai Main Street came the Purple Wisteria Square of the inner city, named after Purple Wisteria Empress, the mother of the founding emperor of Great Xia. For four hundred years, it had subtly become a sacred place in Great Xia. Common people passing by were required to bow three times and kowtow nine times toward the Purple Wisteria Palace in the center of the square as a sign of reverence.

The Zhuge family’s servants all got off the cart and meticulously kowtowed to the palace.

At this moment, a clear horse’s neigh suddenly sounded, and a light voice slowly said from ahead, “Whose servants are you, blocking the middle of the road?”

Zhu Shun quickly got up, saw who had arrived, and immediately lost his arrogant air. He respectfully lowered his gaze and said, “So it’s Young Master Shu Ye. We’ll make way for you right away.”

The Zhuge family’s caravan hurriedly cleared a path. The sound of hooves drew closer, and as the rider passed by Jing Yue’er, he suddenly made a sound of surprise and stopped.

“Were you attacked by wolves?”

Zhu Shun was startled, and hurriedly replied, “In response to Young Master, no, this is just a slave, nothing of concern.”

Shu Ye ignored Zhu Shun, only staring at Yue’er in the cage. He slowly bent down and said kindly, “Child, lift your head.”

With a whoosh, a whip suddenly lashed out, passing through the cage and striking Jing Yue’er’s body hard. Jing Yue’er’s whole body trembled, and she immediately raised her head, looking toward where the whip had come from.

“What are you doing?” Shu Ye raised an eyebrow and turned his head to say sternly.

Zhu Shun immediately became somewhat afraid and hurriedly explained, “I, I saw this slave being audacious, daring not to answer Young Master’s question…”

“Your name is Zhu Shun, right?”

A soft voice suddenly spoke, though childish, it carried an undeniable calmness and tranquility. Zhu Shun and Shu Ye both turned their heads curiously, looking at the child who had just been beaten. Zhu Shun stared in astonishment, stammering, “Y-you, what did you say?”

Jing Yue’er had a small face, entirely covered in blood stains, with large eyes divided between black and white, appearing even more spirited. She calmly repeated, “I just heard others calling you Zhu Shun. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Zhu Shun slowly frowned, “Yes, what about it?”

“Nothing,” the child shook her head, extended a small black hand and gently covered the arm that had just been whipped. She nodded and said, “I’ve remembered it.”

Zhu Shun immediately became furious, but before he could speak, Shu Ye laughed first. He appeared to be seventeen or eighteen years old, with an upright posture, carefree and open-minded, wearing a moon-white long robe embroidered with layers of auspicious cloud patterns, both elegant and not ostentatious. He looked Jing Yue’er up and down and finally said with a smile, “Child, can you tell me your name?”

Yue’er looked at Shu Ye twice, then shook her head. Her voice still carried a childlike tone, but her gaze was extremely solemn, appearing somewhat comical. She said seriously, “When the day comes that I don’t have to look up at you from a cage, I’ll tell you then.”

Hearing this, Shu Ye’s eyes immediately curved into a smile. He turned back to Zhu Shun and said with a smile, “This little slave is now my friend. You must not bully her.”

Zhu Shun glanced sideways at Jing Yue’er and nodded in agreement.

“Little girl, I’ll wait for the day when you tell me your name. Until then, take care of yourself.”

Jing Yue’er nodded. Young Master Shu Ye smiled gently, spurred his horse, and left Purple Wisteria Square. With an unpleasant expression, Zhu Shun ordered everyone to continue moving. In half an hour, they arrived at the Zhuge residence.

The Zhuge family estate was extremely vast. Entering through the back door, Zhu Shun handed Jing Yue’er to two laborers, gave a few instructions, coldly glanced at Jing Yue’er once, and then turned to leave.

With a cracking sound, the lock of a room was opened, and Jing Yue’er was shoved inside. Before she could even get up, the door was tightly locked.

All around was pitch black. In the corner were piles of firewood, and she could hear the rustling sounds of rats scurrying about. The child did not panic or scream. She sat in the center of the room, took off the tattered sackcloth from her shoulders, bit it with her teeth, and then forcefully tore it into strips, carefully bandaging her wounds with a surprisingly skilled technique.

This much time was enough for a qualified special agent to stabilize and face any situation with normal thinking and emotions, even if what one faced was so inconceivable.

Indeed, the current Jing Yue’er was none other than Major Chu Qiao, the Deputy Commander of Department 11 who had sacrificed herself for her country. Fate, in many instances, is just that incredible. What lies beneath an abyss is not necessarily death; perhaps it might be the beginning of another life.

Chu Qiao raised her hand and, by the light from outside, looked at this tiny palm. A trace of sorrow slowly rose in her heart. Yet she didn’t know whether she was grieving for herself or this pitiful child.

“There’s no one here now. I can allow myself to be sad and afraid, but please, keep the time as short as possible.”

The child said slowly in a low voice. Tears gradually flowed down, tracing her thin, dark little face. She hugged her knees, slowly lowered her head, and buried her face between her arms, silently, but her back gradually began to tremble.

This was Chu Qiao’s first night in the Great Xia Dynasty, in the cold, drafty firewood room of the Zhuge residence. For the first time, due to weakness and fear, she lost her composure and shed tears. She gave herself one hour to curse fate, to reminisce, to worry about the future, and to adapt to her new life. After one hour, she would no longer be the super commander Chu Qiao of Department 11, but this helpless little slave girl with nothing to her name, struggling to survive in this inhumane, bloodthirsty, and chaotic iron-blooded dynasty.

Fate had pushed her into a quagmire, and she told herself she had to crawl out.

Her dire circumstances gave her no opportunity to wallow in self-pity and painful worry. If she didn’t pull herself together, she might not survive the night.

She extended her pitch-black little hand, picked up a small stick, and began to write characters on the ground, stroke by stroke.

Zhu Shun, Zhuge, Jing, Mu, Jue, Che.

Writing to this point, she slowly frowned. Outside, darkness had fallen. The sounds of string and bamboo instruments drifted from a distant courtyard, interspersed with the flirtatious laughter of singing and dancing courtesans. After silently recalling for a long time, she finally wrote down the last character: Yan.

In the Zhuge great hall, amid the clinking of wine cups, Yan Xun’s right eye suddenly twitched. He frowned his handsome brows and slowly turned his head, gazing deeply into the night.

The night buried the dead, and ravens flew high. This turbid, ugly dynasty was already rotting from within.

The old was destined to be destroyed, allowing a new order to be reborn from the ashes.