Breaking the embankment to flood the city couldn’t be done in broad daylight. For the entire day, to prevent those in the city from guessing their intentions, Xiliang forces took turns continuing their attacks, harassing the city’s defenders until they were exhausted.

The golden crow gradually sank westward, the brilliant sunset colors slowly turning dim. As darkness fell layer by layer, the elite Xiliang troops carefully selected by Chu Feihuan were already prepared and equipped.

These two thousand soldiers included five hundred Phoenix Alliance guards. Of the one thousand finest Phoenix Alliance guards that Qin Chang Ge had brought this time, half were used to intercept enemy forces while the remainder were all committed to tonight’s mission. The rest were the elite troops that Chu Feihuan had selected and personally trained during the great maneuvers in the capital suburbs – truly a sharp blade force of brave warriors.

Troops mattered not in quantity but quality. For night raids to break embankments, too many people would actually cause problems.

When Qin Chang Ge appeared before the soldiers with swift steps and commanding presence, everyone opened their eyes wide in surprise.

The Grand Tutor had always been leisurely and relaxed, gracefully composed, even going to battle in scholarly robes with feather fan and silk headband, yellow robes fluttering elegantly. The soldiers had long grown accustomed to the Grand Tutor’s casual elegance, but today His Lordship was completely different – dressed in tight black clothing. His lips seemed somewhat inflamed and pursed – what was wrong? Just because they hadn’t taken Yunzhou quickly, was the usually jovial Grand Tutor this anxious?

And beside him was His Majesty, whose expression… was indescribable.

The soldiers stared wide-eyed at Xiliang’s highest rulers. Qin Chang Ge coldly waved her hand, the white light in her hand cutting an arc through the night.

“Sons and brothers,” her voice was low and powerful, carrying solemn killing intent, “we’ve just received news – all of Yunzhou City has been massacred, four hundred thousand elders dead.”

The two thousand men all froze, then erupted with a thunderous roar. Everyone’s face turned pale as they let out low cries, gazing toward Yunzhou’s direction. There, four hundred thousand people had died? Four hundred thousand of our Xiliang people had died?

Some in the crowd began weeping – those soldiers who had relatives and friends in Yunzhou couldn’t suppress their shocked grief.

More men roared furiously: “Devils! Beasts!”

“Kill them, kill them!”

“Four hundred thousand lives – make them pay with four million!”

“Kill them all!”

The crowd’s anger flared. Some hot-tempered soldiers could no longer contain themselves, their eyes burning with rage as they gazed urgently at Xiao Jue and Qin Chang Ge. Their armor and war blades rang softly from trembling with excitement and fury.

Qin Chang Ge raised both hands in a forceful pressing gesture, and the uproar immediately ceased.

“Just last night, four hundred thousand lives in Yunzhou City – including elderly, adults, women, even innocent infants – were all killed. Hundreds of thousands of Yunzhou sisters were violated, Yunzhou’s babies crying in their mothers’ arms were stabbed through, Yunzhou’s elderly were dismembered, Yunzhou’s young men were buried alive. The fresh blood of four hundred thousand souls accumulated into rivers on Chengtian Street, higher than boot tops.”

Her tone was heavy and slow, echoing in the vast cold night, sounding hollow and distant. Everyone opened their mouths as she slowly described last night’s hellish scene in Yunzhou. In a trance, fires, wails, fresh blood, corpses, babies crying on blade points, mothers struggling with outstretched hands in pools of blood, women on long streets dragged out and violated by dozens in turns… flashed like lightning.

Everyone’s breathing tightened, hearts aching as if cut by knives.

The night was silent except for the crackling of burning torches. The wind somehow carried a faint strange smell that felt like blood. Everyone’s hearts tightened, thinking of the fresh blood that flowed from four hundred thousand lives in Yunzhou City that night. That smell hung like heavy clouds over the city – how long before it would disperse? And how long before Yunzhou could be reborn from ruins?

“Four hundred thousand people, one city, a hundred years of inheritance – all annihilated.” Qin Chang Ge said slowly: “Our Yunzhou elders, subjects under Xiliang’s rule, in their most desperate and tragic moment, didn’t receive rescue from national forces. This is the responsibility of the state’s chief minister, a sin I can never repay in this lifetime.”

Beside her, Xiao Jue opened his mouth to stop her, but it ultimately became a heavy sigh.

“The grave sin is done, powerless to change heaven’s will. Grass and trees bow low, mountains and rivers grieve together.”

“Now, all I can do is avenge them!”

Qin Chang Ge suddenly turned around, pointing toward Queshang River’s direction and shouting: “Heaven above! Four hundred thousand elders’ wronged souls above! Open your eyes and watch – if I don’t destroy Northern Wei and Eastern Yan, don’t kill Bai Yuan and Wanyan, heaven won’t tolerate me! Heaven will surely punish me!”

“Vow to destroy Wei and Yan, vow to kill enemy chiefs!”

Angry roars shook heaven and earth. Firelight reflected the soldiers’ faces red and purple with rage, hands gripping sword hilts showing prominent blue veins.

“Follow me! Break Queshang embankment, flood Yunzhou City, drown all those conscienceless butchers!”

“Go!”

Almost immediately, the squad leaders carefully chosen by Chu Feihuan darted forward, grabbing pieces of black cloth and tearing them savagely while shouting: “The Grand Tutor wears mourning for Yunzhou’s elders – we can’t all wear bright white cloth. Brothers, those who want revenge, who want to kill, come forward. Everyone bind a piece on your sleeve – we’ll all wear this mourning together!”

Soldiers immediately formed lines to pass by. Each person passing the squad leader viciously tore a strip from the black cloth in his hands and bound it on their sleeves.

Distant battle cries carried to the rear of the camp as only faint rhythms. In the silence, only the sound of cloth being continuously torn could be heard – monotonous yet filled with deadly intent.

Those straight backs departing, black cloth strips fluttering on their arms in the wind, waved desolately yet heroically in the midnight cold wind.

From somewhere came the mournful cries of night owls, one after another.

After the troops passed, Qin Chang Ge pivoted on her heel to follow, but Xiao Jue grabbed her hand: “I’ll go!”

His gaze was determined, gripping Qin Chang Ge’s fingers very tightly. Everyone knew tonight would definitely not be as simple as just breaking an embankment. Bai Yuan was deep and clever with extraordinary strategies – how could he not consider the deadly stratagem of flooding with diverted water? The embankment would certainly have heavy troop guards. This mission would definitely be fraught with danger, otherwise Qin Chang Ge wouldn’t have announced the news of Yunzhou elders’ massacre just now, using that tragic fact and solemn vows to inspire the death squad’s brave bloodlust and united hatred.

But Qin Chang Ge gently brushed away his hand: “Xiao Jue, you can’t go. You need to appear on the main battlefield to relax their vigilance. As long as you’re attacking the city, Wanyan and Bai Yuan must leave one to deal with you. Only one of them can go, making it much easier for us.”

Xiao Jue remained silent, but his grip loosened slightly.

“A’Jue, let me go. That’s Yunzhou – my Yunzhou elders!” Qin Chang Ge said gently: “I can’t not go, otherwise I’ll never rest easy in this lifetime.”

Xiao Jue’s gaze dimmed. He silently released his hand, paused for a moment, then said to the silently standing Chu Feihuan: “Master Chu…”

“Rest assured.” Chu Feihuan’s eyes under his mask were firm and sharp – one word worth a thousand pounds.

When the siege’s gunpowder smoke drifted over the prefectural residence, it had already become so faint it carried no trace of iron and blood. In the quietly heavily guarded prefectural residence, zither music arose clearly, each note clean and ethereal, as if the hands plucking the strings had never been stained with the fresh blood of those four hundred thousand corpses, as if that elegant instrument had never been shaken by that lingering resentment and sorrow.

In the center of the water was an exquisite artificial mountain with verdant decorative touches. Delicate stone steps led up to a pavilion that stood gracefully, with verdant vines and ancient elegant charm. The pavilion was named: Lingering Void.

Bai Yuan leaned casually against the pavilion railing, his pale gold robes scattered in the wind, a jade flute in his palm hanging down with deep blue silk tassels, strand by strand like willow threads.

He wore a slightly intoxicated smile, listening to the zither music coming from the warm chamber ahead. There, a jade-green gauze window was shut tight without a gap, with only a faint shadow reflected on the window – an extremely graceful silhouette.

The jade flute in Bai Yuan’s palm tapped lightly, on and off.

The zither music continued melodiously.

He had listened like this for many years.

Many years ago, this zither music wasn’t so smooth, graceful, and ethereal. At first, it was somewhat clumsy, occasionally producing broken notes.

When such zither music came from Jingyang Palace, nearby commoners would show knowing smiles and say: “The little princess is practicing zither again.”

Groups of two or three would stand at a distance beyond the palace walls, judging the little princess’s physical condition by the continuity of the zither music.

He also listened while selling rice cakes.

The rice cakes were made by his mother – the family’s only means of survival was income from selling cakes. Mother rose at the fourth watch every day, soaking her hands in ice-cold water to wash glutinous rice. Her hands, once slender and white like a lady’s, had long become like ten radishes.

Money was very hard to earn, barely enough to fill their bellies. His three-year-old sister, following them in their wandering, caught typhoid with no money for treatment and died in mother’s arms on a miserable winter night of bitter wind and rain.

He would never forget that night – the bean-sized light in the broken lamp illuminating mottled black walls, his sister’s pale face, his mother’s expressionless yet more heartbreaking look. Mother held sister tightly while their thin shadows swayed gently on the wind-torn broken walls – shadows so thin, like crescent moon petals.

Wind made the door bang constantly, each sound striking his heart. He stared blankly at mother, who just held sister in bewilderment, singing softly:

“Good baby girl, go well, be reborn, become a blessed person.”

That tune was vaguely their hometown’s ancient melody, sung by mourners at the door when someone died. But they were poor outsiders – where would mourners come from? They could only sing it themselves.

Wind lifted mother’s disheveled hair, revealing her pale face. The lady who once moved the capital with her fame was now haggard beyond recognition. Her voice once praised by nobles now sang mournful funeral songs.

She sang all night until finally no sound came out, yet still singing. By dawn, he felt if he listened any longer he’d surely go mad. He rushed over, snatched sister from mother’s arms, dug a pit in the courtyard, and buried that ice-cold little body.

Mother tried to snatch her back, crying as she took off her own clothes to dress sister for burial, crying that they couldn’t let her be buried naked and cold forever. He bit his lips and pushed mother away – between the two of them, they only had the clothes on their backs, already insufficient against cold. If she took those off, how would they survive?

Frozen earth was dug up, shovelful by shovelful falling on the wax-white little corpse. He watched through gritted teeth as sister disappeared forever under frozen earth, swearing repeatedly in his heart:

Qing’er… someday I’ll burn many, many clothes for you, just like when I used to have many clothes too. You just… endure a few more years.

That night’s wind was truly cold, that courtyard’s earth truly hard. Only after burying sister did he discover his hands were covered with blood blisters. He slowly squeezed out those blood blisters one by one. Amid the bloody water, he coldly smiled once.

After sister’s death, mother, who wasn’t good at household management, finally learned from neighbors to make rice cakes to support him. Mother held him in her arms, saying repeatedly: “I must support you, can’t let you die too.”

He hugged mother back: “Good, neither of us will die.”

From then on he became the rice cake selling child. When the basket was too heavy to carry he hugged it, weaving through crowds, constantly receiving scolding because he was an outsider. In Eastern Yan, this nation with fierce folk customs and natural hostility to foreigners, outsiders equaled enemies.

He most loved the moments when the princess played zither. If she played for over half an hour, Eastern Yan people felt the little princess raised in the palace was in good health today and would happily buy more of his cakes. If she played particularly briefly, he had to hide early with his basket or he’d inevitably get kicked.

That day the little princess seemed especially spirited, playing for a full hour. His rice cakes, blessed by this, sold out early.

Usually he had to sell until dark to return home. That day his basket was empty by afternoon. Unaccustomed to such leisure, he sat dazedly at the palace wall’s base sunning himself.

The princess’s zither music continued. He’d never listened carefully before – for a small child constantly hungry, carrying a heavy basket anxiously waiting for customers to buy rice cakes to exchange copper coins for rice to cook at home, thinking of appreciating zither music was really impossible.

These were idle luxuries for the well-fed and warmly clothed nobility, not for him.

But that day’s sun was truly good, warm and pleasant. Usually his thin clothes couldn’t resist the cold so he had to keep running around. That day he could actually sit quietly.

Perhaps everything was just to fulfill that meeting.

He leaned against the wall, quietly listening. Before age six he’d also heard zither, even learned it. The family’s music teacher had once praised his exceptional talent… but that was all in the past.

The zither music was clear like strings of jade beads rolling down, just slightly halting – the fingering wasn’t yet skilled. What were those hands plucking the strings like? How delicate, soft, refined, and white?

Perhaps like mother’s once were?

He supported his chin, listening to the zither, seeming to hear a flower slowly closing under moonlight, a crystal dewdrop in its heart.

Or a light yellow oriole, gracefully hopping on green branches, with soft, quick plumage and tender red beak.

That equally tender little princess, who was said to be sickly from childhood and often came to Jingyang Palace to recuperate – was her life also brilliant as dewdrops, beautiful as flowers?

Listening so peacefully, fatigue from long toil overcame him and he gradually dozed off.

“Where did this dirty little beggar come from?”

A sharp voice pierced his ears, followed by someone viciously kicking his leg.

“Drive him away, drive him away – don’t disturb the princess!”

He was pulled up in confusion, sleepy and unclear about what was happening. Opening his eyes hazily, he saw someone had kicked his basket to the roadside.

He lunged for it, cherishing that basket – it was the only intact one. If it broke from kicking, buying another would waste three days of cake sales.

He couldn’t imagine returning home with a broken basket to see mother’s worried expression.

Someone viciously grabbed him, wanting to throw him along with the basket away.

He opened his eyes wide, seeing where he was about to be thrown – there was a very large stone.

“Stop!”

An oriole’s cry in an empty valley, wind through crystal curtains, a flower quietly blooming.

Time’s most beautiful voice.

The hands about to throw him immediately stopped. In that guard’s grip he struggled to turn his head. In his inverted vision, he first saw a pair of small pink embroidered shoes.

Exquisite, delicate, embroidered with lily-of-the-valley flowers, leaves swaying, vivid as real.

Then pink skirt hems, openwork embroidery, the same lily-of-the-valley flowers. White skirt corners elegantly gathered at a delicate slender waist, becoming moon-white brocade sash set with crystal – a waist so thin it seemed wind might break it.

Suddenly he dared not look further, his gaze hurriedly jumping straight to her face.

This world had such beautiful brows, beautiful as the most lovely fairy goddess in distant Eastern Yan; had such misty eyes, misty as the jade lake under Goddess Mountain, forever wreathed in vapor and mist; had such an exquisite face, exquisite enough that for the first time in his life he understood what perfection meant.

She looked at him, and he suddenly lost his breath.

Her gaze was also like flowing lake water, unstable. Just that light glance, and her gaze slid over him like silk, falling on more distant places.

She didn’t even speak, didn’t inquire or pay attention as he’d imagined. She only used her gaze to signal the guard to put him down, then walked past without a sideways glance.

Her robes slowly swept over the white stone ground, leaving a trail of lily-of-the-valley fragrance.

Beneath her fragrant flowing skirts he shrank and curled up, pulling his bare feet back, afraid of soiling her exquisite clothes and shoes. For the first time in his life, he felt shame for his own filth and lowliness.

Her back figure departed so unreluctantly, like moonlight moving over high walls, illuminating darkness in poor rooms, then disappearing in a flash, leaving him in darkness again.

He stared blankly at her departing direction, for the first time feeling his heart was very cold – different from the angry, desolate coldness of the night sister died, but a coldness from gazing up at things too beautiful and exquisite, perceiving that insurmountable distance.

Such coldness shrouded his entire life.

So that later when he fortuitously became a disciple, returned to Eastern Yan with calculated plans to meet her again, starting as her guard, step by step helping the delicate, fragile woman who couldn’t withstand court storms and power struggles to eliminate dissidents and seize the throne, step by step grasping Eastern Yan’s great power, becoming Eastern Yan’s National Teacher second only to one person, forever following at her side, still unable to dispel that bone-deep coldness.

He was above ten thousand people yet always beneath her.

He followed forever, but another already accompanied her side.

She was originally several years older than him. When he was studying martial arts, she had already married a noble consort. When he heard this news, he raced down Qingma Sacred Mountain, on the craggy shores of the surging Qingma River wielding his sword wildly, competing fiercely with rushing river waves, striking down giant waves repeatedly until finally collapsing from exhaustion, nearly swept away by river water.

He lay soaked on the riverbank as waves rose and fell, submerging his face then retreating, submerging again then retreating in endless cycles. He lost all strength, even hoping the tide would carry him into Qingma River’s depths, never needing to surface, never needing to face these forever-missed, never-retrievable mortal world matters.

In her life, he was one step too late, thus destined to forever be a passerby, that poor child cowering prostrate in dust beneath her skirts years ago.

…

Bai Yuan smiled faintly.

In a flash, so many years had passed.

Later he descended the mountain before completing his studies, only for that unwillingness in his heart. Not until walking to her side did he learn why she hadn’t paid attention to him then – she actually had speech difficulties.

Few in the world knew that Eastern Yan’s Queen Liu Wanlan, that woman whose beauty moved the world, whose nobility was unmatched under heaven, who with Xiliang’s Empress Qin Chang Ge was called the Twin Beauties – was someone with speech impediment.

She couldn’t freely use her tongue to speak, so always chose to express her thoughts through zither music. After listening so many years, he was familiar enough with her zither tones to know what each note struck at different times represented.

Usually in court, all documents first passed through his hands. He would provide handling suggestions for her review in the shortest time – she only needed to say one or two words. “Approve” or “disapprove.”

Within five words, she had no problems.

Thus Eastern Yan’s court constantly spread rumors that he monopolized power, that he harbored ambitions to usurp the throne, that he controlled government and made the queen a figurehead.

So what? Whether the world destroys or praises, insults or slanders me – none concerns me.

As long as she trusts me.

Bai Yuan’s eyes flickered in the deepening twilight… In a flash, over twenty years of mortal world upheaval had passed. He had failed everyone under heaven, but ultimately one person persisted in never failing him. These few years of fleeting time – every day was happiness, every day was torment. He watched her step by step ascend high position, step by step move farther from him. He watched her nestle like a small bird beside her royal husband, their marital love deep. Even when her zither music mentioned him, it was full of joy and tenderness.

How could his feelings bear this?

He was beside her – so close, so far.

…The zither music suddenly trembled.

Bai Yuan’s brows lifted – was she ill again?

Just as he was about to leap down from the pavilion to check, behind him vines rustled and fragrant wind wafted.

Frowning slightly, when he turned his expression was already normal. Bai Yuan smiled: “Your Ladyship comes out for a stroll?”

Wanyan Chunzhen sat down with a half-smile, tilting her head to look at Bai Yuan with expression actually showing some maiden shyness: “I came to watch a play.”

“Oh? What play?” Bai Yuan’s expression didn’t change. “Your Ladyship ordered a performance?”

“I’m watching a well-acted play of ‘Unaware lady lightly strums music in Jade Wave Pavilion, infatuated minister quietly listens to zither in Lingering Void Pavilion,'” Wanyan Chunzhen said with a smile. “I wonder if National Teacher Bai is interested?”

“Is that so? It truly sounds like a good play.” Bai Yuan smiled lightly. “Compared to ‘One song from Kuixing Pavilion moves the forbidden palace, two princes compete for one consort in Yiping Hall’ that I heard passing through Northern Wei last time, it seems even more exciting?”

Wanyan Chunzhen’s hand gently stroking the pavilion railing paused, then resumed normally. She smiled charmingly and flicked her finger – a returning bird in distant woods suddenly shrieked and fell as withered leaves rustled down.

“The play National Teacher mentions, this palace indeed hasn’t heard. But if you and I continue discussing plays here, tonight we’ll likely perform a new legend of ‘Reckless Xiliang night raids Yunzhou, timid Wei-Yan fear battle and abandon city.'”

“Oh?” Bai Yuan raised his brows lightly. “Sneak attack?”

But Wanyan Chunzhen suddenly stopped talking, only looking at Bai Yuan with that half-smile.

Smiling lightly, Bai Yuan was already impatient with playing those roundabout games that high-ranking people loved with this viper woman. The zither music from the chamber just now – he hadn’t had time to check on it.

“If nothing unexpected happens tonight, Xiliang will very likely move against Queshang embankment. I’ve already stationed heavy troops there. I’ll personally go shortly.”

“Let me go instead. You stay to deal with Xiao Jue – he’s not easy to handle either.” Wanyan Chunzhen suddenly showed a cold smile. “Some people – I’ve long wanted to properly meet them.”

Bai Yuan hesitated. Instinctively he felt he should go, but that earlier trembling note scraped at his heartstrings like silk threads, or like fine threads wrapped around his heart tip, coiled and reluctant to break.

How was she? Long journeys were beyond what her body could bear – hopefully she hadn’t caught cold.

Wanyan Chunzhen was heir to the Wanyan clan, capable of scattering Northern Wei armies with one song – even he might not achieve that. Her going should be no problem.

Just, that person…

Just, Wanlan…

His thoughts wavered repeatedly before Bai Yuan finally nodded slowly: “Your Ladyship be careful.”

With a slightly wicked laugh, Wanyan Chunzhen spread her arms, gracefully turning to descend while saying coquettishly: “National Teacher, you’re wrong – you should tell them to be careful instead…”

Her alluring figure gradually receded. Bai Yuan frowned and turned, quickly entering the warm chamber.

Night was deep, wind sounds murderous.

When Xiliang forces reached Queshang embankment vicinity at top speed, they discovered scattered torches there. Both sides of the embankment had guard units with continuous rows of tents. Though late, squads of soldiers still patrolled up and down the embankment.

Qin Chang Ge waved her hand – five hundred Phoenix Alliance subordinates immediately silently separated from the main force, circling from another direction.

They wrapped their entire bodies tightly, efficiently windproof, heads bound with black cloth, faces painted with black mud, short daggers in mouths, fire mines at waists, carrying simple leather rafts made by Zhongchuan craftsmen, sharp spades, thunderbolt pellets and such. These Phoenix Alliance masters with internal energy and lightness skills were also the main force for breaking embankments – one could match dozens of ordinary soldiers.

Qin Chang Ge stood in darkness, slashing her hand forcefully downward.

Fifteen hundred elite troops immediately pounced soundlessly toward those patrol guards who hadn’t yet detected enemy approach.

A soldier was patrolling along the embankment with spear when suddenly a hand appeared like a ghost, swiftly covering his mouth!

The soldier was shocked, struggling desperately, but another hand silently wrapped around his waist.

The soldier kicked frantically, boot tips raising yellow earth and dust.

Suddenly – “Thud.”

The dull sound of blade point entering flesh.

The kicking legs trembled violently, shook a few times, then gradually stilled. The soldier made his final muffled groan trapped in his chest.

Someone suddenly released their grip. The corpse softly fell, eyes wide open, staring unwillingly yet bewilderedly at the dark sky.

Fine sounds arose as the corpse was dragged away, everything returning to quiet.

Only the air carried a faint bloody scent.

Under the embankment, beside paths, behind tall grass – such silent killings repeated again and again. The fierce elite troops personally trained by Chu Feihuan included assassination as essential curriculum. They handled it cleanly and efficiently. In mere moments, night patrol soldiers on the embankment were eliminated completely.

Qin Chang Ge and Chu Feihuan leaped up, gliding over those tents. Passing each tent, Qin Chang Ge silently cut the fabric and blew into the tent with a jar in her hand.

Strike while you sleep, take your life.

In moments, dozens of tents were dealt with.

Suddenly a great shout pierced the quiet night:

“Who’s there!”