——【I love you, I will love you forever.】

“Is that the Prince of Qinghai ahead?”

A Jing spurred his horse forward, shouting his question, but heard no response from the opposite side. He only saw the Quanrong army’s formation split apart like a sliced melon. A man wearing cyan-colored battle armor wielded his sword fiercely. Because of the distance, his face wasn’t clear, but his swordsmanship was exquisite and his martial skills extraordinary. With just one man and one sword, he cut through enemy lines as if entering unoccupied territory, slashing his way forward and shattering the Quanrong army into pieces.

“Your Majesty, the person approaching may be Zhuge Yue, the Prince of Qinghai’s army.”

Yan Xun’s eyebrows raised slightly as he watched this old rival who had opposed him throughout his life. A youthful vigor that had disappeared long ago suddenly arose within him. With a hearty laugh, he rode forward, declaring loudly: “Then let’s go meet him.”

The battlefield was now in complete chaos. The Quanrong people, driven to desperation, fought like madmen without any strategy. The generals of Qinghai and Great Yan watched in shock as their commanders shot forward like arrows released from bows, nearly falling off their horses in astonishment.

What, what, what, what is happening?

The Emperor (Prince) had never behaved like this before! So disregarding his safety, so inconsiderate of the overall situation, so rashly charging forward, so, so…

These men couldn’t think of any more words and could only desperately follow behind, yet still unable to catch up to that unstoppable figure ahead.

Both men were highly skilled warriors with proud and arrogant temperaments, each believing themselves invincible under heaven. Lifelong rivals, neither could afford to lose face before their old adversary.

Blood and corpses covered the ground, blood flowing freely, staining the vast snowy plain red. Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun charged toward each other, galloping like two lords of hell. Wherever they went, devastation followed, and no one could withstand even a single strike from them. The Quanrong people were terrified. Initially, they had attempted to surround and kill these two high-ranking officials who seemed not to fear death, but gradually, the situation reversed—the two men were chasing while thousands fled before them.

Time ticked away. Reinforcements gradually arrived. The Quanrong people, unable to resist, fled northward in panic. Seeing this, Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun immediately spurred their horses forward, leading their troops in fierce pursuit, neither willing to miss the opportunity to capture Quanrong Khan.

They fought from midnight until dawn, from dawn until dusk, and from dusk until deep night again. The earth resembled a ferocious beast; horse hooves trampled upon it, creating thunderous sounds. Everyone fought with bloodshot eyes, relentlessly pursuing the defeated Quanrong under the leadership of those two godlike men.

The vast snowy plain was silver-white. The Quanrong people were finally trapped on a narrow small hillock. The Yan cavalry remaining at Yan Xun’s side numbered less than twenty; the rest had joined Zhuge Yue’s forces to surround the hill. Yan Xun, having fought through the night with multiple wounds to his arms and legs, exhausted and bleeding, had no choice but to dismount and rest.

Zhuge Yue wasn’t faring much better, but as always, he was stubborn and willful, refusing treatment and merely sitting on his horse, breathing heavily.

After a while, the sound of hoofbeats approached from behind, and Yan Xun’s cold face suddenly came into view.

Zhuge Yue examined him with sidelong glances. For some reason, he suddenly untied the wine flask from his waist and offered it.

Yan Xun frowned slightly. He didn’t accept the wine but merely gazed at him coolly, saying nothing.

Zhuge Yue sneered: “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll poison you?”

Yan Xun nodded honestly: “Yes.”

“Hmph.”

Zhuge Yue snorted coldly and took back the flask, about to remove its wooden stopper. But Yan Xun, with his long reach, snatched the flask, opened it, and took a swig. After drinking, he wiped his mouth and scornfully mocked: “Qinghai is truly a remote and desolate place; even its wine is extremely unpalatable.”

Zhuge Yue immediately retorted: “Do you know how to appreciate wine? I suppose in your mind, the best wine is just Yan Bei moonshine.”

And so, beginning with this exchange, the two most powerful men in the world started bickering in the night like children, trading words back and forth.

They stared at each other, finding everything about the other person disagreeable, feeling that there wasn’t a single part of the other that looked pleasing.

A Jing stood behind Yan Xun, his heart nearly jumping out of his throat, thinking silently: My lord, we’re in someone else’s territory right now, couldn’t you say a bit less?

The battle continued fiercely. At midnight, the Quanrong attempted to break through from the northwest. Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun again led their troops in hot pursuit.

After a full two hours of pursuit, Yan Xun’s left shoulder was struck by an arrow again, and Zhuge Yue was also wounded in the shoulder. Just then, from the southwest, the sound of galloping hooves suddenly rolled in. Before they could send scouts to investigate, that group had already engaged the Quanrong in fierce combat.

Surrounded from all sides, the Quanrong army was finally annihilated, their central camp destroyed by the suddenly appearing cavalry. Zhuge Yue cursed loudly, no longer paying attention to Yan Xun, and rushed forward urgently, wanting to see who this despicable person stealing his achievement was. To his surprise, he saw a capable female military officer standing at the front of the formation taking inventory of the spoils. Upon seeing him, she calmly said: “This is the Quanrong Khan. He had already committed suicide when I arrived.”

Zhuge Yue was stunned, covered in blood, awkwardly looking at his wife, saying somewhat unnaturally: “Why have you come?”

Chu Qiao raised her eyebrows slightly, looking at him with composure, and said: “Liang Shaoqing escaped in the middle of the night to inform me. How could I not come?”

Just then, the sound of hoofbeats slowly arose from behind, and Yan Xun’s figure gradually emerged from the darkness, his black armor damaged in multiple places, his complexion somewhat pale, yet still standing straight. He stood beside Zhuge Yue as countless torches lit up around them, yet they seemed unable to penetrate the darkness surrounding him. He just gazed quietly at Chu Qiao, his expression calm, showing no fluctuation, but his eyes were like the sea under the night sky, pitch-black, rolling with deep vortices.

Compared to Zhuge Yue, who was guarded by a massive army, Yan Xun, who had brought only three thousand elite soldiers, had suffered much more severe injuries. Now, he had numerous wounds all over his body, and his shoulder was pierced by a broken arrow, bleeding profusely, but he seemed not to feel it at all.

Chaotic sounds filled their ears—the angry shouts of soldiers, the groans of the wounded, the crackling of burning torches, the howling of the north wind—but they seemed to hear nothing. Their profound gazes met, like flames burning in the night, sparking one by one, gradually growing into a prairie fire.

“Xing’er.”

Zhuge Yue suddenly said in a deep voice. He dismounted and said very calmly: “I’ll go check on the casualties. The Yan Emperor is wounded; find someone to treat him.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving his wife standing with this man of complex and unfathomable relationship on the pitch-black snowy plain.

For a long time, Chu Qiao didn’t know what to say. This was their first reunion since the Battle of Huolei Yuan ten years ago. Not separated by armies slaughtering each other, not by massive formations of troops, not by the vast flowing Chang Lang River, but face to face, eye to eye, just by raising their heads, they could see each other’s eyebrows and eyes, and even hear the beating hearts beneath their chests.

For a moment, mountains and rivers roared through their minds, and all language seemed pale and shallow at this moment. The desolation of changed circumstances rose like a great fire, making this pair, who should have been the most familiar to each other, become strangers as if they had never known each other. Time and changing situations, it seems, were truly the cruelest words in this world.

Yan Xun sat on horseback, looking down at her, his eyes like a calm sea. Many people moved around them, the crimson torches flickering, making their faces alternately bright and dim.

Still those eyebrows, still those eyes, still that face so familiar it couldn’t be more familiar, but that person was no longer the one who had promised to walk side by side for life.

Can one comprehend the melancholy of that moment?

Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Language had already become weak and powerless. Just like red leaves, no matter how brilliantly they shine, they cannot avoid the fate of withering. The sky was dark, the earth was white, still the same sky, still the same land, still the place they had dreamed of thousands upon thousands of times, but why had even said a word become so difficult?

Yan Xun looked at Chu Qiao. Roaring fires burned behind her, making her entire being like a deity of light, possessing a warmth he could never reach in this lifetime. Suddenly, he remembered that snowy night many years ago, in that dark prison cell, where they had struggled to extend their hands through the cracks in the wall, holding tightly together.

Perhaps they were like two seeds, able to huddle together for warmth in the ice and snow, leaning on each other, waiting for spring to come. But when spring truly arrived, when they supported each other to break through the soil, they discovered that the nutrients in the soil were far from enough to sustain both of them together. Thus, they gradually drifted apart, going their separate ways.

Yan Xun suddenly felt tired, his heart as vast and desolate as the snow on Goddess Peak. In all these years, no matter when, no matter in what difficult environment, he had never felt as tired as he did now. He told himself, I should leave, and so he turned, slowly spurring his horse, about to depart.

However, at that moment, an extremely warm voice suddenly called from behind: “Yan Xun!”

Yes, it was warm, a feeling that had disappeared for many, many years, like plunging a frozen hand into boiling springs, a warmth that made one tremble.

“Yan Xun,” she persistently called from behind him. “Cheng Yuan and his men are right behind me, they should arrive soon.”

Yan Xun didn’t nod, nor did he speak, but merely reined in his horse, standing silently there.

“You’re wounded. Let’s treat it first, alright?”

She slowly walked over from behind, passed by his side, came in front of him, and then reached out to hold his reins, stubbornly asking: “Alright?”

Yan Xun suddenly felt a bitterness; it seemed that from childhood to adulthood, she had always been the braver one. Several medical officials ran up with medicine boxes, standing with bowed heads behind her. Without a word, he dismounted, allowing them to treat his wounds, apply medicine, and bandage him. When the arrow was pulled out, he didn’t even grunt. After about half an hour of busy work, the medical officials withdrew, sweating profusely, and she approached, handing him that blood-soaked broken arrow.

At that moment, Yan Xun’s heart suddenly ached. His brows furrowed slightly, but in the end, he did not reach out to take it, saying coldly: “The enemy is dead; there’s no need to keep it.”

Indeed, not a single Quanrong soldier had escaped, even the Khan was dead—what enemies remained?

This had been his habit for many years, to keep all weapons that had harmed him until he had avenged himself, and only then would he destroy the weapon.

So, he had not completely forgotten. Even if he deliberately tried not to think about it, some things, some years, had still passed through his life, leaving indelible marks.

They stood there for who knows how long. The distant wind blew over, carrying the unique scent of the Yan Bei plateau.

Yan Xun quietly raised his head, looking at Chu Qiao standing before him. They were so close as if with just a slight reach, they could touch each other. But across this short distance, he would never have the chance to cross it again. He could make the entire world prostrate at his feet, his blade could conquer every inch of land that refused to submit to him, and if he wished, he could exert all his strength to destroy everything he disliked. But facing her alone, he was powerless.

Something called self-mockery gradually rose from the depths of his heart.

Yan Xun pulled at the corners of his mouth, wanting to smile, but only managed a cold curve.

He suddenly turned his back, his silhouette like a towering pine, straight and proud, yet strong as if able to hold up heaven and earth. And so he walked away step by step, his stride heavy, yet faster and faster.

“Yan Xun, take care of yourself!”

Someone called softly from behind. Who was speaking? Who was she calling?

Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun…

In a blur, it seemed like that night many years ago when Wei Shuyou cut off his little finger, and she cried sorrowfully and suppressively in the night, calling his name over and over again.

Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun…

But ultimately, no one would call him like that anymore. He was His Majesty, he was the Emperor, he was the Son of Heaven, he was the royal “We,” he was the sovereign, he was the ruler of this world, yet he had lost his name.

Yan Xun, Yan Xun, are you still there, are you still well, you’ve gained everything, yet what have you lost, are you truly happy?

Unknown, and he didn’t want to know. A person lives one lifetime, not just for happiness. For some things, doing them might not bring happiness, but not doing them would certainly not bring happiness. At least, I’ve gotten what I wished for, haven’t I?

He walked faster and faster, his steps firm, his back straight. His hand was strong, gripping the reins tightly as he mounted his horse.

He didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to see anything. The iron defense in his heart had been forcibly torn open, and he needed to leave! Immediately! Must! Now!

Memories surged up like an avalanche; those things sealed away for many, many years were like decayed dead trees, struggling to climb onto his heart. He wanted to suppress them, to get rid of them, to throw away everything that disgusted him!

Weakness, sadness, remorse, hesitation…

All of it should not exist within him!

But when everything else had gone, two words spread so clearly, so distinctly through his heart, his lungs, his throat, the corners of his mouth. Those two words knocked against his vocal cords, nearly jumping out several times. He frowned tightly and gritted his teeth like a blood-thirsty wolf, his eyes glowing red.

But despite this, that voice still crashed back and forth inside his chest, and all the echoes gradually converged into those two words:

A Chu, A Chu, A Chu, A Chu, A Chu!

No one could experience it, no one could know, only him, only him, only him alone.

He breathed deeply and slowly as if swallowing those things bit by bit.

Alright, it’s all over, don’t think anymore, don’t look anymore, don’t linger anymore.

Go, leave, it’s long over. Everything will dissipate with your determination, all memories will turn to ash with time, and all the past will be forgotten by you, becoming inconsequential dust.

Alright, it’s fine now, I am the Emperor of Great Yan, I am their king, I possess ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains, and I have obtained everything I wanted.

Horse hooves trampled on the cold snowy plain, making crisp clacking sounds. Tiny ice crystals splashed up, disappearing bit by bit with the receding figure into the boundless night. Ahead, light and shadows were blurred, golden battle flags flew high, and black eagles on the flags stretched their wings fiercely. That was his army, his men, his world. It was also a chain forged of gold, firmly locking his person, his heart, his everything in that highest position, allowing not even the slightest hesitation or wandering.

In the end, he was the Emperor of Great Yan, and on this throne built with conscience, blood, and white bones, he had no right to look back.

So he did walk away with a straight back, never turning his head, never once turning his head.

His steps were firm, his gaze like a blade, just like the man himself. Forever steel-strong and resilient, never to be defeated by any hardship.

At that moment, Chu Qiao stood in the swirling snow, watching Yan Xun’s back, and suddenly seemed to understand something. At his side were thousands upon thousands of torches, thousands upon thousands of subordinates, thousands upon thousands of followers prostrating on the ground, but for some reason, as she looked at him, she felt his figure was so lonely.

Perhaps, the past she truly could not understand.

That bone-deep hatred, that humiliation of falling from heaven to hell, that pain gnawing at my heart and lungs during those eight years. Even though she had always been by his side, she couldn’t bear his pain or hatred in his place. Looking back now, two people who once supported each other all the way and vowed never to abandon each other had come to this point—wasn’t there a reason of her own?

She had once said: no concealment, no deception, complete honesty, never doubt.

But had she truly done so? No, her tolerance, her indulgence, her retreat, and her coldness, ultimately let him go further and further down that path. To say that personality determines everything, to say that his becoming like this was fate—wasn’t that just absolving herself of responsibility? Honestly speaking, when he was gradually changing, when he was going further and further away bit by bit, had she tried her utmost to stop him? Had she done everything possible to bring him back? Had she formally protested to him, expressing her dissatisfaction?

She hadn’t. She only blamed and resented him when everything had already become a foregone conclusion, but hadn’t made any substantial effort before that.

She came from another world, so she took the ideals she believed in and admired as given, naively thinking others would think the same way. Yet she didn’t realize that some things are like river channels—without regular dredging and maintenance, there will be a day when the banks break.

In the end, they were simply too young. At that time, they understood little about love, not knowing how to express their feelings or how to protect this love. They stubbornly and simply decided what was good for the other person and did it without a word, not understanding that difficulties, poverty, desperate situations, and hatred are not love’s fatal wounds. The real killer that destroys love is when two people forget how to communicate.

Time passed. As Chu Qiao stood here now, already a wife and mother, she suddenly could understand everything Yan Xun had done. In her previous life, she had no family, had never witnessed loved ones die before her eyes, so she could never understand that kind of maddening hatred. If now someone were to harm Zhuge Yue, or harm Yunzhou and Zhenzhu, she feared her revenge would be no better than Yan Xun’s.

Because it wasn’t her own loved ones, she couldn’t empathize.

At this moment, she finally understood.

The world stretched vast and boundless, and the moon emerged from the clouds. Yan Xun’s figure disappeared below the horizon. Chu Qiao gazed in the direction he had vanished, and in her daze, seemed to see again that afternoon many years ago. The youth’s eyes sparkled with bright sunshine, and the corners of his mouth lifted proudly, filled with the spirit of an energetic young man. He bent his bow and nocked an arrow; the arrow shot toward her like a meteor, grazing her neck, and giving her a brilliantly sunny rebirth.

Then he raised his eyebrows slightly, his gaze shooting over, looking at her with interest.

That momentary connection of gazes seemed to forge a long lifetime; he on that end, she on this end. What was once a short distance now stood a towering mountain between them. Light and shadows surrounded her dreams, gradually becoming majestic and towering. In her daze, it was again that year of swaying green grass, ethereal and vague; looking up, the sky was still blue as a mirror, seemingly able to reflect the pure faces of their youth.

She could faintly see time flowing through her fingers; tracing upstream, it was again that year of growing grass and flying orioles. The sunlit youth sat in a dense tree, picked up a pine cone, and threw it at the girl’s hair bun. The girl turned back in anger, raised a middle finger, and made a gesture from afar. What was meant to be an insulting taunt, he thought was an apology. The years went from “I will always be by your side” to “We are finished from now on,” finally arriving at the endpoint where they could no longer continue. Occasionally, in midnight dreams, remembering that young, innocent face from years ago, it had already become blurred, the eyebrows and eyes unclear. Only that phrase floating in the wind continued to echo in her ears—”If I help you again, my name isn’t Yan!”

But in the end, he had forgotten his angry oath. Just like the later promises, torn to pieces.

Hair disheveled, eyes clear, the scene ancient and worn, yet still pure and peaceful.

So, time had already gone so far, but those memories, hidden in the depths of the mind, had become lonely migratory birds, lingering without departure, always, always. Finally, time told them, everything had come full circle.

The strong wind blew, but she didn’t feel cold. Compared to this cold world, she had already gained too much. The hurts of youth gradually receded, covered by dust, gradually becoming a monument whose face could no longer be seen. The past was like the wind, chaotically dancing in mid-air, like a broken kite that had broken free of its string, never to return.

The sound of hoofbeats arose behind her, but she didn’t turn her head. Then, a strong arm suddenly encircled her waist, embracing her tightly without any reservation. The man’s jealous voice sounded sourly at her ear: “What? Finished reminiscing with your old lover?”

Chu Qiao turned around, looked at Zhuge Yue’s face that had obviously become thinner lately, and suddenly reached out to embrace his waist, burying her face in his chest, silently saying nothing.

Zhuge Yue immediately panicked. According to normal circumstances, at this moment, Chu Qiao should put on her Xiu Li Wang demeanor and argue with him. Now looking like this, wasn’t it too strange?

“What’s wrong?” Zhuge Yue pushed her shoulder, frowning, and suddenly said in a sinister, deep voice: “Did that Yan fellow bully you?”

Chu Qiao still didn’t speak, just leaning in his embrace. In the cold wind, her slender figure appeared particularly thin.

Someone suddenly became angry. Well, Yan Xun, I kindly lent my wife for you to see for a while, and you dare bully my person?

Zhuge Yue pushed Chu Qiao away and strode toward the warhorse, saying as he walked: “I’ll go teach him a lesson!”

“Don’t go.”

Chu Qiao suddenly held him back, embracing his waist from behind, her cheek pressed against his cold armor, like a small grass leaning on a big tree. The wind blew from afar, rolling up the dusty snow on the ground. Zhuge Yue turned around helplessly, embraced his wife, and whispered like soothing a child: “Xing’er, what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine.”

Chu Qiao shook her head: “Just missed you a bit.”

The moonlight was faint, but one could still see the smile gradually spreading across someone’s lips. Zhuge Yue tried his best to control his joy, not wanting to appear too obvious. He cleared his throat lightly and said: “I’ve only been gone a few days, why are you becoming more and more like a child?”

“Only a few days?” Chu Qiao leaned in his embrace, her voice muffled: “But why does it feel like it’s been so long, so long?”

Zhuge Yue smiled even more happily, lowered his head, and kissed Chu Qiao’s forehead: “Alright, it’s cold here, let’s go back.”

“Mm.”

Chu Qiao obediently followed him onto the horse. The two shared one mount, not even pulling the reins, just slowly walking toward the camp.

“Yue, don’t be so reckless and personally go into battle in the future. I’ll worry.”

Just one word, “Yue,” made Zhuge Yue’s bones half-melt. How could he pay attention to what she was saying? He immediately put on the appearance of a model husband, nodding: “Fine, I’ll listen to you.”

“If something happened to you, what would Yunzhou, Zhenzhu, and I do? Without you, how would I go on living?”

Chu Qiao had always been shy, with sweet words as rare as rain clouds in the desert. Such unusual behavior now made certain people forget all about those mood-dampening questions from earlier.

“Mm, I understand.”

“Ten thousand Yan Bei, ten thousand Qinghai, ten thousand Ximeng combined aren’t as important to me as one of you. In the future, whatever you do, you must think of me first. If something happened to you, I definitely wouldn’t live alone.”

Chu Qiao continued her tender offensive.

Finally, the Qinghai Prince’s defenses fell. The one who never apologized for breaking precedent lowered his head, and meekly acted like a little rabbit: “Xing’er, I know I was wrong, I shouldn’t have made you worry.”

“Mm, it’s good that you know.”

“I’ll remember.”

“Alright, let’s go back, I’m hungry.”

“Okay.”

……

If you love, you should boldly say it out loud.

Chu Qiao, who had just had this realization, demonstrated this principle thoroughly. Moreover, saying these things could make someone forget some unpleasant topics—why not?

The north wind swept the ground, snow fell heavily, the lone traveler walked solitary, the companions leaned on each other. In this world, power, status, money, and authority are open to all those with strong will and unyielding perseverance, but only love, only sincere people can obtain it.

At the foot of Sunset Mountain, Zhao Che and Zhao Yang stood under the Great Xia imperial banner, looking at the Yan Bei and Qinghai battle flags returning together, and couldn’t help but be stunned.

After a long while, Zhao Che’s lips twitched. After years of campaigning in the northern territories, eliminating countless northern countries, and establishing vast territories, Zhao Che smiled at Zhao Yang: “The world is so vast, with all kinds of wonders. If those three people can join forces, what’s the point of us two fighting?”

Zhao Yang turned away disdainfully and said coolly: “I wasn’t fighting with you; you’ve been the one chasing after me.”

Zhao Che frowned and said unthinkingly: “If you hadn’t come to attack me during the civil war, would I have been driven out of Ximeng by that kid Yan Xun? Hitting you a couple of times was letting you off lightly.”

Zhao Yang immediately retorted: “I fell into Yan Xun’s trap at that time, but if it were you, with such a good opportunity to eliminate me, wouldn’t you have acted?”

Zhao Che angrily said: “You dead boy, you’ve been like this since childhood. We’re brothers, why would I eliminate you?”

Zhao Yang made a face: “Brothers, hmph!”

Zhao Che: “I hate that yin-yang weird look of yours the most!”

Zhao Yang: “Same here, I can’t stand your fake benevolence and righteousness!”

Zhao Che: “Say that again, and don’t you believe I’ll hit you?”

Zhao Yang: “Come on then, who’s afraid of whom?”

……

Wei Shuye stood behind the two, sighing helplessly.

“Ah, they’re not young and impulsive anymore, but after so many years, they still can’t put down their pride. Who was it that, seeing Zhao Che struggling to fight against Xi Mo Ye, secretly disguised himself as a northern bandit and went to raid Xi Mo Ye’s city of Zibo? And who was it that, seeing heavy snow falling on the northern border and fearing Zhao Yang’s supplies wouldn’t arrive in time, deliberately sent twenty soldiers to escort two hundred carts of military provisions, only to have them ‘robbed’? These brothers, though not born of the same mother, have temperaments and characters that are remarkably similar.”

War eagles circled, their sharp cries rising. The great battle against the Quanrong was finally coming to an end.

The Quanrong came with great momentum, but under the attacks from various powers, they couldn’t even hold out for half a year. Three months later, most of the Quanrong people withdrew from Ximeng’s territory. Only small groups of bandits who couldn’t escape in time hid in the mountains and wilderness, sooner or later perished either in the mouths of wild beasts or at the hands of the angry Yan Bei people. Princess Zhao Chun’er of Jing’an had disappeared during the war. This result, although making the common people gnash their teeth in hatred, also set many minds at ease. After all, among the allied forces this time were also Great Xia’s troops. If this Xia princess of awkward status had been captured, they wouldn’t have known how to deal with her.

Yan Xun reorganized the Great Yan cavalry and joined Zhuge Yue’s three-way allied forces to pursue beyond Meilin Pass, driving the Quanrong people to flee in panic. It would be difficult for them to recover in thirty to fifty years.

In October, most of the troops responsible for pursuit and recovery returned. Captured Quanrong cavalry numbered over a hundred thousand, marching grandly across the Yan Bei plateau, with flags furled and drums silenced, no longer displaying their former formidable might.

On the third day of the eleventh month, the first snow cleared on the Yan Bei plateau, spreading a vast whiteness.

Officials from all directions gathered at Goddess Peak on Min Xi Mountain. The army stretched out, officials flowed like the tide, and various flags and battle armor covered the sky, extending for several miles.

At the summit, in front of a high temple, on a stone hall built of Xilan stone, the double-faced goddess looked down upon the world with compassionate eyes. Vermilion damask and dark prayer flags, the contrast of red and black fluttering high above the stone hall, just like the goddess’s swollen belly and sharp battle-axe, protection and slaughter coexisting.

The Emperor of Great Yan, Yan Xun; the Lord of Qinghai, Zhuge Yue; the Ruler of Great Xia, Zhao Che; the Commander-in-Chief of Great Xia, Zhao Yang; as well as the Xiu Li Wang of Bian Tang, Chu Qiao; and the Regent Grand Tutor, Sun Di, together signed the famous “Goddess Peak Treaty” here.

The treaty had twenty-eight provisions, making relevant agreements in military, commercial, political, and diplomatic aspects. Bian Tang, Great Xia, and Qinghai also officially recognized Great Yan’s sovereignty over the Eighteen States of Hong Chuan and the territory of Huai Song for the first time. They also agreed not to wage war for thirty years, giving the people of Ximeng a peaceful land.

This treaty continued for more than seventy years, until the year 852 of the Bai Cang calendar when the feudal prince of Song territory, Nalan Tian He, rebelled and was eliminated by the second emperor of Great Yan, Emperor Zhao Wu. Bian Tang took the opportunity to attack Great Xia, triggering the famous Tang-Hu Second War on the border, which was considered the first armed conflict after the “Goddess Peak Treaty.”

During the seventy years, Ximeng’s economy developed rapidly, its customs became open, trade flourished, and politics was clear. Under Qinghai’s influence and Xiu Li Wang’s strong leadership, Bian Tang reformed its social system in the year 796, amended its laws, abandoned the original slave system, and changed to a feudal system.

Five years later, Great Yan experienced the shocking Shilin Reform. The Yan Emperor complied with public opinion, eliminated the slave system, and completed the transformation from the slave system to feudal centralization. Yan Xun thus gained unanimous support from the people. Officials presented memorials, honoring him as the “Northern Benevolent Emperor.” Yan Xun resolutely destroyed clan forces, vigorously selected officials from commoners, firmly controlled military power, and greatly consolidated the Great Yan regime. For three hundred years, Great Yan’s iron cavalry dominated Ximeng, invincible, with none daring to block them.

Under Zhao Che’s leadership, Great Xia eliminated the Northern Ross Empire and the Maro Empire, expanding northward for hundreds of thousands of miles, and establishing an unprecedentedly powerful Great Xia Dynasty. Its vast territory was beyond even Great Yan’s reach. However, after Zhao Che’s hundred years, his descendants were unable to maintain such a huge empire, and finally, the Xia Dynasty fell apart again. Fortunately, the fourteenth prince, Zhao Yang, had managed the northern border for decades, and in times of crisis, gathered Zhao Che’s remaining forces and the enormous wealth accumulated over many years, continuing to maintain the Xia family’s rule in the northern territories.

In the year 791, Qinghai declared independence, with the national name “Qing.” The national flag featured a star and moon shining together. The capital was established at Hai Qing. The Qinghai Prince Zhuge Yue ascended the throne, honored as Bai Yuan, and the year 791 was officially renamed as the first year of Great Qing Bai Yuan. After the Qinghai Prince took the throne, he abolished the imperial concubine system, discarded the position of empress, and established a single-wife system. Xiu Li Wang Chu Qiao became the mother of the Qinghai nation, participating in state affairs, and assisting the Qinghai Prince throughout her life. Her influence could be seen behind every policy of Qinghai.

Because of the Qinghai King’s monogamy system, similar to the imperial consort system of the Western Regions, Xiu Li Wang was also known as Qinghai’s First Imperial Consort or the Xiu Li Imperial Consort.

Due to the enlightened policies of Emperor Bai Yuan and the Xiu Li Imperial Consort, Qinghai became the most prosperous country on the continent after thirty years. Its economy was developed, and its technology was advanced. In the year 321 of Bai Yuan, Qinghai was the first to experience an industrial revolution. Its scientific and technological radiation spread throughout Ximeng, driving scientific development across the entire continent.

Fifty years later, a democratic party uprising occurred in Qinghai. When the royal family was unable to suppress it, civil and military officials, under the emperor’s leadership, opened the national crisis edict left by Emperor Bai Yuan and the Xiu Li Imperial Consort four hundred years earlier. After reading it, they took the initiative to reorganize the state power, and Qinghai thus embarked on a democratic republican social system. Compared to the Western countries across the great ocean, it was one thousand eight hundred years earlier.

Time flowed like a flood, surging away. In the third year after the defense of Ximeng, Chu Qiao gave birth to her third son, Zhuge Yunye. The whole country of Qinghai celebrated, and the Star Moon Palace was filled with joy.

At the hundred-day feast, Zhuge Yue held this son who was most friendly to him, his joy evident.

How could he not be happy? Chu Qiao had given birth to three children. The first was mischievous and naughty all day, glaring at him, fighting with all his might to compete for his wife’s attention. The second had been bewitched by Li’s son from birth, sticking to Li Qing Rong, not allowing any other man to hold him, not even his father.

Fortunately, now there was Yunye.

Zhuge Yue held the child, looking him over, and found him resembling himself in every way. Looking at those eyebrows and eyes, he was a perfect replica of himself.

“Son, smile for your father.”

Upon hearing this, the little one, regardless of whether he understood or not, immediately gave him a brilliant smile. Zhuge Yue was so pleased that he kept showing off to the people beside him: “Look, how smart my son is, so young yet he can understand what I’m saying.”

Most people responded with warm smiles, praising the young heir endlessly. Only Liang Shaoqing, that mood-dampener, sat aside drinking wine sourly, saying neither coldly nor warmly: “Yunye smiles at everyone like that, not just at you alone.”

Zhuge Yue raised an eyebrow, thinking this guy hadn’t been disciplined for a long time and was about to settle accounts with this person who repeatedly coveted his wife. Nearby, the Maolin Divine Physician Gao Qingzhu, who had recently become Liang Shaoqing’s father-in-law by accepting Mei Xiang as his adopted daughter, suddenly had a bright idea in his urgent situation. He jumped forward, ran to Zhuge Yue’s ear, and whispered something.

It must be said that old ginger is spicier. Master Qingzhu’s speech stopped Zhuge Yue in his tracks.

After a moment of silence, he resolutely handed Zhuge Yunye, whom he had just been treasuring immensely, to Mei Xiang, then turned and left the great hall, heading toward the inner palace.

Meng Feng was now pregnant too, and He Xiao stayed at home every day. Today was a rare outing, and seeing Zhuge Yue like this, he couldn’t help but be puzzled. He asked doubtfully: “Where is His Highness going?”

Master Qingzhu chuckled, and Yue Qi’s mind turned quickly, saying quite vulgarly: “We’re all men who have been fathers; this kind of thing, let’s not spell it out, shall we?”

He Xiao, hearing this, was briefly stunned, then suddenly understood and couldn’t help but laugh heartily.

Only Liang Shaoqing, like a tall monk who couldn’t figure things out, frowned and repeatedly asked: “What’s going on? What are you talking about?”

Mei Xiang, holding Yunye, seeing his expression, couldn’t help but blush. She pinched his thigh hard, and a pig-slaughtering scream immediately resounded throughout the great hall.

In the inner palace, Chu Qiao’s hairpins were already askew, her hair disheveled, panting softly. Her nails slid across Zhuge Yue’s back muscles, sweat flowing down her fragrant shoulders, falling drop by drop onto the crimson gauze curtains.

“…Yue…didn’t Master Gao say…my…my body…”

“Huh…he just said it’s fine now…”

The bedframe creaked, the warm curtains were scorching hot. Not until the feast in the front hall had dispersed did Zhuge Yue’s long-accumulated desire finally release. After the clouds dispersed and the rain ceased, the two embraced, lying down. Chu Qiao leaned in Zhuge Yue’s arms, quietly closing her eyes, her fingers unconsciously drawing circles on his chest.

Suddenly, this woman, acclaimed as Ximeng’s number one general, raised her coquettish eyebrows, bit her rouge-red lips, and asked: “Zhuge Yue, I’ve given birth to three children now, am I old? Will you despise me?”

Zhuge Yue looked at her with slanted phoenix eyes. Her hair was disheveled, and covered in fragrant sweat, and because of childbirth, her white breasts were particularly full. The flames that had just been extinguished ignited fiercely again.

“I’ll immediately show you through practical action whether I despise you or not.”

A bewitching voice suddenly sounded, and the second round of wind and rain arrived instantly.

After four consecutive battles, Chu Qiao was so tired she couldn’t open her eyes. Leaning in Zhuge Yue’s arms, she drifted off to sleep.

Zhuge Yue wiped the sweat from her brow, covered her with a blanket, and then held her in his arms, calling softly: “Xing’er?”

“…Mm…”

Chu Qiao, with her eyes closed, not sure if she heard, murmured a response.

Zhuge Yue’s eyes were as gentle as spring water. He lowered his head and kissed her brow. His lips were tender, lingering for a long time. Finally, in a deep voice, he slowly said: “I will love you forever.”

The red candles burned high, and the person in dreams had no idea what rare words her husband had said while she was asleep.

The long night stretched endlessly. This lifetime had experienced wind and rain, but fortunately, ahead lay countless such nights for them to sleep in each other’s arms.

“Sleep.”