Early the next morning, when Luoshen rose early to see Li Mu off to court, she learned some news.

Just last night, her father had left, quietly departing the Gao residence through a side gate. Apart from the gatekeeper, he hadn’t disturbed any of the servants.

Only Gao Qi accompanied him.

She rushed to her parents’ bedroom and pushed open the door – indeed, there was no sign of him inside. She ran to the study, which was also empty, leaving only room full of books neatly stacked on book boxes, as if waiting for their master’s next return at some unknown time.

Though she knew father was determined to leave and would depart Jiankang soon, when this moment actually arrived so quickly, Luoshen still felt immense sadness. For her mother whose fate remained unknown and who very likely was no longer in this world, for her father who might spend the rest of his life searching with steps that could never stop despite knowing it was hopeless, and also for Li Mu.

No one understood better than she how much he had rejected this imperial city.

Yet because of his decision to marry her in the past, even if he had once harbored ambitious aspirations incompatible with her father, Luoshen now knew he had folded away his sharp edges and had no choice but to shoulder the heavy responsibility of maintaining this court’s safety.

But from beginning to end, he had never shown her the slightest complaint or helplessness.

His depth and magnanimity only made Luoshen feel doubly guilty.

Sometimes, thinking too much, she even felt a bit afraid – afraid he might develop regrets about marrying her.

If not for her constraints, born in such chaotic times, with his abilities he could have been much more free to act as he pleased and take bold risks.

But she lacked the courage to ask him this.

She knew he had never truly had relaxed moments.

Even more so now.

Though he showed nothing, she could sense that the Grand Marshal glory that countless people looked up to brought him no joy whatsoever.

Facing his concerned gaze, she suppressed her sadness until he left, watching his gradually departing figure in the early dawn before silently shedding tears, then quickly wiping them away.

From today forth, the Southern Dynasty court’s structure would be completely different from before.

The aristocratic families had declined. The enormous burden now pressed on Li Mu’s shoulders – he who had risen from humble origins.

She couldn’t share even half his burden.

From now on, all she could do was try her best to be his wife, ensuring he wouldn’t be distracted by her.

…

During this past year, while the Xiao Southern Dynasty experienced tremendous upheaval that nearly brought destruction, at the same time, the northern Central Plains a thousand li away had never ceased warfare and strife.

When Li Mu was blocked on his return journey, he had used the pretext that Murong Xi would attack Luoyang to deceive and divert Beixia royal troops.

That letter of his, rather than being fabricated from nothing, was more like a prophecy.

His prophecy soon became reality thereafter.

While the Southern Dynasty was busy quelling the Celestial Master rebellion and Xu Mi’s revolt, Murong Xi led troops south from Yan Commandery, launching a war of revenge against Beixia.

The long-standing grudge between the Xianbei and Jie Xia tribes began with conquest and plunder. Similarly, it concluded with warfare of conquest and plunder.

Just half a month ago, after several major battles, the Northern Yan army finally broke through Gaoliang, Beixia’s secondary capital located only several hundred li from Luoyang.

This battle concerned Luoyang’s safety. The Beixia emperor, who had won the realm on horseback, personally led troops to Gaoliang for battle. Defeated, he fled with remaining forces, hoping to catch his breath and regroup when Murong Ti arrived with his army.

Past humiliation burned like fire. Murong Ti personally donned armor for battle, wielding his sword with one arm, fierce beyond measure. He led his troops to surround from all sides, launching vicious attacks on his enemy. The Jie emperor was wounded and, under his trusted guards’ protection, finally broke through the encirclement. But during his second escape, he still couldn’t evade Murong Ti’s almost maddened pursuit and was shot down from his horse by arrows.

After capturing the Xia emperor, Murong Ti didn’t kill him immediately. Instead, he personally wielded a blade, cutting him piece by piece in lingchi torture, slowly tormenting him. When his enemy had only one breath left, he ordered cavalry to trample him repeatedly in horse formations until the body was crushed into bloody pulp by iron-shod hooves, bones shattered to fragments and embedded in mud. Nothing human-shaped remained on the ground – only a dirty, blurred pool of blood before he finally stopped.

When Murong Zhe arrived, she saw her elder brother standing to the side, his rigid face splattered with drops of blood. His gaze fixed deadly on that pool of matter on the ground, the sinister light shooting from those purple eyes making even her feel somewhat horrified.

She hurried to her brother’s side and told him news: “Elder brother, uncle has already led troops into Gaoliang, allowing soldiers to massacre the city in celebration…”

Murong Xi was naturally also ruthless. But unlike ordinary Xianbei people, he had been deeply sinicized since youth. Unlike clansmen who would burn, kill and plunder wherever they conquered, attacking Gaoliang this time, his true intention was not to act this way. But considering the previous battles had been very difficult and Northern Yan soldiers had paid considerable cost to capture this city, after breaking through, the army coveted Gaoliang’s prosperity and demanded opportunities for profit according to custom.

Murong Xi originally didn’t want to agree, but seeing clansmen and generals all red-eyed with killing and emotionally charged, considering there was still Luoyang to attack and the regime remained unstable, if he didn’t give them substantial benefits, it might breed dissatisfaction and harm future military loyalty. So he agreed, allowing soldiers to celebrate for three days.

This so-called “celebration” meant allowing soldiers to rape and pillage in the city. Kill adult Han people including foreign men, rape their women, to cleanse bloodlines as much as possible for future Xianbei rule.

This was something all barbarian regimes occupying the Central Plains would do before establishing their states after Great Yu’s southern migration – everyone was accustomed to it.

So this wasn’t the main point Murong Zhe wanted to make.

The point was, she glanced at that pool of flesh mud on the ground.

“Elder brother, have you forgotten that uncle specifically instructed you to spare the Jie emperor’s life and capture him alive to bring before him?”

She had worried that her brother couldn’t resist killing his enemy, which was why she had hurried over.

Unexpectedly, she was still a step too late.

Her expression showed infinite worry.

Murong Ti remained expressionless, thrusting the blood-stained dagger in his hand into that pool of rotten mud on the ground before slowly turning his blood-splattered face. His eyes flickering, he said coolly: “Don’t you understand? He knew I had irreconcilable hatred with this person, yet allowed me to pursue him. Whether I kill or don’t kill – what difference does it make? Killing him is certainly disobeying orders. But not killing him shows tolerance and deep scheming. You’re intelligent – if you were him, would you hope I kill or not kill?”

Murong Zhe thought briefly before understanding.

If she were uncle Murong Xi, she would naturally prefer to see a Murong Ti who acted rashly on impulse rather than keep someone nearby who could tolerate even such tremendous humiliation.

Which type of person was more dangerous was obvious at a glance.

Her eyes brightened as she sighed in relief, saying happily: “I understand. Elder brother, you did right!”

She stared at that pool of flesh mud on the ground, full of hoof prints and no longer recognizable as human, and spat hatefully: “Pity I arrived late – otherwise I could have personally added a few more cuts!”

Murong Ti struggled to raise his left arm, slowly wiping the blood drops from his face with his sleeve, the movement appearing very labored.

Since this arm became disabled, some daily tasks like wiping blood traces from his face could easily be completed with his right hand, yet he habitually used this disabled arm.

Murong Zhe initially didn’t understand why he did this.

But now she was beginning to guess.

Elder brother probably used this method to repeatedly remind himself who had disabled this arm.

That man had now become the Southern Dynasty’s Grand Marshal, below one person and above ten thousand, achieving power and glory with high position and authority.

She unconsciously turned to look toward the distant south, a trace of complex emotion flashing in her eyes as she fell silent.

Murong Ti slowly lowered that arm, saying coolly: “Let’s return. You’ve brought Eldest Princess here for so long – now it’s time for her to appear and let uncle see her.”