Huang Beishuang looked at him and said softly, “I’ve always admired you. No other country has been as prosperous, wealthy, and peaceful as Yunpei under your rule!”
After hearing her words, Na Zhan raised his head. “My Queen, do you realize that once war breaks out between our nations, all of this will turn to ashes? All our efforts, years of hard work, those beautiful oases—they’ll vanish. Even if Huo Qingyun manages to invade Guanghan Palace, he’ll inherit a Yunpei that’s unrecognizable. Then he’ll have to walk the same path I’ve walked, spending the time I’ve spent, to rebuild everything that already exists!”
Hearing this, Huang Beishuang was stunned. The tree desires stillness, but the wind refuses to stop—this was Na Zhan’s current predicament. Since adopting Saman, she had truly understood the turmoil that Tiandu had brought to most of the desert world.
“Yunpei was founded 330 years ago, with 42 large oases covering a registered area of 169 million mu. Since I, King Zhan, began my rule, the registered area has increased to 234.22 million mu. Do you know how many people I’m supporting? Nearly 30 million, Huang Beishuang. My principle is to keep developing this country until we restore the prosperity of the Desert Celestial Dynasty!”
Na Zhan spoke as if talking to himself. “I’m reluctant to send you as an envoy to Mizan, and I worry that Wu Jihai won’t be a match for Ruo Wen, and you’ll be captured. Even if you weren’t my woman, I wouldn’t want to lose you. Don’t ask me why! But you must go to Mizan as an envoy to divert Ruo Wen’s attention. I’ll wait for you, under your Jiema tree!”
Huang Beishuang looked at Na Zhan. “Your Majesty…”
The vast desert stretched for thousands of miles, and the oases scattered throughout were like stars, sometimes full of life and sometimes helplessly engulfed by the dark sky.
General Wu Jihai of Yunpei led 10,000 elite cavalry to escort Huang Beishuang on her diplomatic mission to Mizan. The procession moved like a line of ants. Huang Beishuang didn’t bring Saman on this journey from Yunpei. Apart from Wu Jihai, she was guarded by the Eight Generals, including Lian Huanye Pei, and three maids.
Wu Jihai, riding in the middle of the formation, kept looking back at the Queen sitting in her carriage, his face full of curiosity. The King’s trust in her seemed unfounded, yet at this crucial moment, he had personally appointed Wu to escort her, indicating her importance. On this journey, their greatest enemy would be the Blood-Mad King Ruo Wen. Wu Jihai had heard much about him—reportedly very valiant, possibly the strongest warrior in the desert world. Thinking of this, Wu Jihai gripped his broadsword. Having fought for Yunpei for so many years, he had never met his match, winning countless one-on-one battles.
“General Wu!” Huang Beishuang’s voice interrupted his thoughts as she stopped her carriage.
Wu Jihai rode up and asked, “Queen, what are your orders?”
Huang Beishuang smiled slightly. “Tell the soldiers to slow down, change formation every half hour, sound the horn every three hours, and keep waving the banners!”
Wu Jihai was puzzled. “My Queen?”
Huang Beishuang turned back. “Just do as I say!” Then she leaned back in her carriage and closed her eyes, pretending to rest.
Wu Jihai turned and shouted to the soldiers, “Slow march! Wave the banners, sound the horns every three hours!”
A resounding response came from the troops, everyone raising their heads and shouting, their steps resonating, demonstrating how strictly General Wu usually commanded his army.
Mizan was far from Yunpei. Among the five great nations, Tiandu was in the far north, Yunpei in the south, Guhe in the west, equidistant from Yunpei and Tiandu, with Fengtian nearby, while the religious state of Mizan was far to the east, distant from all four other nations. The journey from Yunpei to Mizan took nine days on foot, or five days for a quick-marching army.
This was a fragmented distance, and within it, Huang Beishuang had to make it even more fragmented.
Manhu stood on a dune, his broad shoulders heaving, his ox-like eyes wide open, staring intently at a thin black line of troops in the distance. Soon, a soldier rode up.
“Well? Well?” Manhu asked excitedly, “Did you see clearly?”
“Yes, I did!” The soldier’s expression was equally excited. “It’s her!”
“How many troops do they have?” Manhu suppressed his excitement and asked in detail, “Who’s leading them?”
The young soldier hesitated. “General… I couldn’t count well. It seems like ten or twenty thousand!”
Manhu lashed out with his whip. “Fool! Is it ten thousand or twenty thousand? Can’t you even count?”
The soldier replied pitifully, “General, their formation is strange. It’s really hard to count!”
“Hmph! It must be that woman, no mistake. It’s heaven’s will! Just as our leader personally goes to Zhun City, this woman delivers herself to our doorstep.” Manhu kicked his horse’s belly hard. “Let’s go!”
Western Desert.
On the horizon, with a boom, a cloud of yellow smoke erupted from a vast crescent-shaped dune. As the smoke gradually dispersed, two rows of armies could be seen less than five li apart, with the banners of Tiandu and Yunpei dancing fiercely in the air, facing each other in opposition.
Ji Hua, the top military commander under King Jing, and Guang Zhaoyun, the versatile civil and military official under King Zhan, each commanded from the highest point, their cold eyes piercing through the hatred and anger floating in the air, already locked in an even match.
At this moment, the generals on both sides waved their hands, and the vanguards of both armies charged forward. It seemed to be a duel, with the two fighting evenly. Ji Hua smiled and shouted to Guang Zhaoyun, “Are your country’s strongest soldiers all here? Why don’t I see your strongest general leading the charge? You, little Zhaoyun, are not qualified to face me, Ji Hua!”
These words alluded to Wu Jihai. Ten years ago, Ji Hua had the chance to fight him but was defeated, leaving the only blemish on his record. Hearing his boast, Guang Zhaoyun thought to himself: General Wu had mentioned this man before. In terms of martial prowess, Zhaoyun was indeed no match for him. Sending him to face Ji Hua was merely to buy some time and attract Tiandu’s attention.
Thinking this, he waved his hand, signaling three drum beats. The troops surged forward, apparently planning to engage in battle before slowly retreating.
Behind him, King Zhan’s 100,000 red-armored cavalry were waiting.