Summer weather was always unpredictable — a brilliant sun hung high in the morning sky, yet by midday a heavy rain had arrived, drumming against jade-green tiles and dripping into the lotus pond, washing clean the emerald leaves and rinsing away the floral fragrance. A veil of rain mist hung in the air, blurring the distant mountains and nearby waters, so that the Xihua Palace on the shores of Wanxi Lake resembled the Ruizhu Palace atop the isle of Penglai — dreamlike and ethereal.

“The bamboo cove is free of dust, the water railings clear, Longing stretches endlessly, divided by layered city walls. Autumn clouds linger, frost arrives late, Yet withered lotuses remain to hear the song of rain.”

A soft, barely audible murmur drifted from within Xihua Palace. Before the window overlooking the water, Xiyun stood slender and graceful, gazing at the delicate blue lotuses and purple water lilies swaying weakly in the rain, a faint note of wistfulness in her expression. “When autumn frost comes late and withered lotuses listen to the rain — I wonder how that kind of scene compares to this view of wind-stirred lotuses in the rain?”

“Why wait for withered lotuses to hear the rain? Green leaves bearing pearl-like droplets, purple lotuses hiding dew — is that not far more beautiful?” Lanxi walked over and stood beside her before the window, gazing at the pond full of lotus blossoms in the rain. “As the verse goes, ‘The water’s surface clear and round, one by one the wind-borne lotuses rise’ — each scene has its own realm of beauty.”

“None of that beauty can compare to the taste of Jiuwei’s ‘Moon-Dew Chill,’ made from lotus roots pulled straight from the mud — that is far more delightful!”

Two people side by side, admiring flowers in the rain, reciting poetry — it was the sort of thing that ought to have been unbearably romantic and poetic. Yet she had to go and say something like that.

“Ah, will you ever stop thinking about food?” Lanxi shook his head with a soft sigh and looked at Xiyun beside him. She wore a purple-red royal robe embroidered with gold, a royal crown upon her head, her hair swept elegantly upward, pearl hairpins slanted at an angle — the very picture of regal magnificence. And yet the words that came out of her mouth… Ah!

“Never!” Xiyun answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Food is the heaven of the common people! The greatest pleasure in this world is being able to eat the most delicious food every single day! Fortunately, from now on I’ll be able to eat Jiuwei’s cooking every day, so I won’t ever have to beg you, you black fox!”

“The master of Luori Tower — a person like that is truly willing to become your personal cook?” Lanxi smiled faintly. He thought of Luori Tower by the banks of Wuyun River that day, the place that had drawn equal admiration from both him and Yu Wuyuan, and found it difficult to believe its master was the seemingly unremarkable Jiuwei. But was that person truly so plain and simple?

“Jiuwei…” Xiyun glanced at Lanxi, and then her words stopped abruptly. Her eyes suddenly turned bright and sharp.

“What about him?” Lanxi looked at Xiyun, the corner of his mouth curving in a half-smile, the depths of his dark eyes glimmering.

“Black fox…” Xiyun suddenly broke into a radiant smile. She leaned closer to him, her slender hand reaching out, ten fingers gently caressing Lanxi’s face, her breath carrying the faint sweetness of orchid, her expression soft and tender — yet the words she spoke carried a slight chill. “No matter how many schemes and stratagems you possess, no matter what reasons you may have… you are not to touch him. Even if I die, he must live peacefully until the age of ninety. Do you understand?” At the very end, her ten fingers suddenly tightened their grip and seized that face, sculpted like beautiful jade.

“Heh… just what kind of person is he, that you would say such words to me? Even back in the days of Yan Yingzhou…” Lanxi’s words came to an abrupt stop — whether from the pain of having his face grabbed or some other reason was unclear. He raised his hand and seized the pair of claws on his face, rescuing his now-misshapen features from their grip.

“It doesn’t matter who he is. You only need to remember: he must never be touched. If you…” Xiyun said nothing more. Only her two eyes, cold and still as a deep pool, spoke — while her two hands rested quietly on Lanxi’s shoulders, her fingertips like ice.

“Is he… the equivalent of Yu Wuyuan to you?” Lanxi still wore that smile, his eyes like dark jade, black and deep as a boundless night sky.

“Yu Wuyuan?” Xiyun paused slightly, then turned her head to look out the window. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the misty curtain of rain, through the vast expanse of space, and fall somewhere very, very far away. After a long moment, she turned back. A faint smile rested on her face — a smile like the rain threads drifting outside the window, one that would break with a breath of wind.

“There is only one Yu Wuyuan in all the world. And Jiuwei — he is simply Jiuwei.”

“Is that so?” Lanxi said lightly with a smile. He lowered his gaze to the face before him — unmarred by a trace of powder, long brows, clear eyes, skin like jade, pale red lips… that expression that was half a smile and half a sneer, half mocking and half indifferent… His hands suddenly exerted their strength, and that slender figure was in his arms. With one sweep of a long arm, he had encircled her completely.

“Since he is not Yu Wuyuan, then I promise you.”

The voice was low, like a whisper. The warm breath fell against her cheek — warm and ticklish. Something seemed to lightly scratch at her heart. A strange sensation rose within her; her limbs, for no reason she could name, turned soft and could not muster their strength. Her face burned. She wanted very much to break free — yet she was also somewhat reluctant to, as though it were immensely comfortable, yet also a little unsettling… She could not see that face, nor those dark eyes. And yet… she knew that handsome face was right at her temple, that those dark eyes were blinking and the long lashes were nearly brushing the strands of hair at her ear, that faint orchid fragrance curling around her nose as though it were a rope winding the two of them together…

The slender figure in his arms shifted from faint rigidity to softness and closeness. Those delicate hands found their way around his waist at some point she couldn’t quite say. That fine head gradually drew nearer… and nearer… A faint smile rose unbidden to the corner of his lips — but before that smile had time to fully bloom, a sound cut through the moment.

A drowsy, utterly exhausted yawn.

“Black fox, I’m going to sleep… ahh… I don’t mind sleeping like this with you holding me… it’s just that if people outside see… your lifelong… reputa… repu-tation will be ruined… then I’d like to see… how you’d still go about… conquering the realm…” The sentence trailed off, her head drooping, and she slumped entirely against Lanxi’s chest and fell peacefully, deeply asleep.

“You…” Lanxi stared at the beauty who had fallen asleep in his arms, caught somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. At a moment like this… she had actually fallen asleep?!

“Ah, this woman…” Lanxi shook his head with a helpless sigh, one arm around her and the other pressed to his forehead. “How did I end up… how did I end up choosing this woman?!”

Sadly, the beauty in his arms could offer him no answer. He picked her up, carried her to the daybed, and set her gently down, removed her royal crown, let down her long hair, placed a jade pillow beneath her head, then stepped back and sat on the brocade stool beside the bed, watching her as she slept.

Outside the window, the rain suddenly softened and fell in a gentle drizzle. Fine rain like a beaded curtain hung before the window; a mild, cool breeze drifted inside, carrying with it a faint trace of lotus fragrance. All at once, the world was utterly quiet — the heavens and the earth were still, Xihua Palace was still, the Rain-Listening Pavilion was still, and this heart… was still as well. A stillness unlike anything he had known before, and woven through this quiet was something he had never possessed in all his life… This feeling… as if one were to reach the end of the road just like this… even so, there seemed to be nothing to regret.

The beauty on the daybed stirred suddenly. She raised a hand and groped about. When her fingers found the jade pillow, she pushed it aside without hesitation, then continued to reach and search… Until at last, her hand found something considerably softer. She tucked it beneath her head and fell peacefully back to sleep.

Lanxi looked at the arm now being used as her pillow. He looked at the person lying on the daybed. A trance-like haze came over him. He reached out and lightly touched that jade-smooth face, gently stroked the long, soft, dark hair, and let the feelings in his heart rise and settle as they wished… He leaned slightly forward. Right beneath his lips were those pale red cherry lips, that faint spot of red tempting him…

Then a palm came down on top of his head without warning. Immediately, his head was seized and held fast. Xiyun’s murmured sleep-talking reached his ears: “What is this… so round…” Her two hands, oblivious, kept patting and kneading and investigating. At last she seemed to lose interest and pushed it away again.

Lanxi raised a hand to smooth his now-disheveled topknot — undone by Xiyun’s unconscious hands — and smiled silently and helplessly. He removed the royal crown from his head, and a cascade of dark hair fell loose. He set the two royal crowns side by side, looked at them… and suddenly, a voice resounded in his mind: Can two kings walk in step?

His heart gave a sharp lurch, as though struck by a cold wind, and his thoughts cleared. He gazed at the person on the daybed, the light in his eyes shifting — bright then dim, cold then warm — hidden and unreadable… Until at last, it settled into perfect calm. Eyes black as lacquer. An expression of serene indifference. Like the sea after a storm: still and deep.

He raised his hand and pressed a fingertip lightly against Xiyun’s waist. After ten years, it was time for her to understand certain things.

Sure enough, the person on the bed gave a sudden jolt. One hand flew to her waist. A pair of eyes, hazy with sleep, looked over at him through drowsy lashes. Her long hair had come loose and spread all around her; she was half-propped, boneless and languid on the daybed, and that lazy, bewildered expression of hers was — somehow — unbearably alluring.

“You black fox, why did you wake me up?” A clear, bright voice rang out, shattering the silence of the room — but the shattering was cheerful and lively, like a string of pearls a child had yanked loose while at play.

“When do you think we should hold our wedding?” Lanxi asked with an easy, casual smile.

“Hm?” Xiyun seemed to have trouble processing what she had just heard, and stared at him wide-eyed.

“When do you think we should hold our wedding?” Lanxi repeated, unhurried as before.

Xiyun was finally fully awake. The drowsiness in her eyes vanished at once, replaced by something quiet and deep, and she looked steadily at the man before her.

A black royal robe embroidered with a golden dragon in dark thread. Unbound hair as black as lacquer. A face of surpassing elegance and refinement… The wind drifted in through the window, lifting those long strands of hair, half-veiling eyes like a night sky. Through the sifting darkness of those black strands, those eyes were bewildering and dreamlike…

She sat up, stepped down from the daybed, crossed the floor, and came to stand before the window. Fine rain threads, carried on the wind, struck her face — cold and damp. On this rainy summer day, she felt a chill.

“When you ascend the throne as Emperor —” Xiyun’s voice rang out clearly, “— take me as your Empress. How does that sound?” It was phrased as a question, but her tone left no room for doubt.

“Very well.” After a moment, Lanxi’s voice came, without hesitation, as flat and calm as still water.

Yet the moment that “very well” was spoken, both of them recalled the words they had once exchanged on the walls of Li City.

Do the women of your Feng clan truly all disdain this position that every woman under heaven dreams of? You should know — this would be to stand as mother to the entire realm.

The women of the Feng clan carry the blood of the phoenix in their veins. We are phoenixes who soar freely through the nine heavens. Why should we humble ourselves and bow before any man?

Yet neither of them said anything more.

“When do you plan to march?” On the Wuyi Terrace in the Imperial Capital, Yu Wuyuan asked Huang Chao in an unhurried tone.

Compared to the storms buffeting the Feng Kingdom, the Imperial Kingdom basked in radiant sunshine.

“The Hua King’s Golden Robes Army will arrive within the next few days. Once the two armies converge, we march at once!”

Gazing down from Wuyi Terrace at the army of conquest below — their armor gleaming, their spirits soaring — Huang Chao spoke with sweeping confidence. The light in those golden eyes burned more fiercely than the blazing sun in the nine heavens above, and that face, as handsome as it was noble, was full of high-spirited pride.

“I hear the Hua army is being led by three young masters.”

Yu Wuyuan’s gaze drifted to Huang Yu, who stood among the three generals at the very end of the row — too daunted by Huang Chao’s presence to move freely, standing just a touch rigidly. He was clearly not at peace; his eyes kept shooting furious glares toward Qiu Jiushuang and Xiao Xuekong ahead of him, and his lips moved now and then as though muttering something under his breath.

Watching the emotions playing openly across that young face, Yu Wuyuan could not help but smile faintly.

“As for them… I have my own way of handling them. It’s the Feng Kingdom that will be the truly thorny enemy.” The thought of those two made Huang Chao’s brow furrow.

“The Feng Kingdom… Lanxi and Xiyun…” Yu Wuyuan withdrew his gaze and tilted his head back to look up at the sky. The blinding sunlight made him narrow his eyes slightly. “In the nine heavens, there is room for only one sun. How can two kings ever walk in step?”

Huang Chao turned sharply to look at him at those words. He saw Yu Wuyuan raise a hand to shield his eyes, as though he could not bear the fierce glare of the sun.

“They…”

But before he could finish, Yu Wuyuan’s gaze shifted toward Huang Yu, and he said offhandedly: “Huang Yu is excellent in both literary and martial arts. Having a helper like him is like adding wings to a tiger.”

“That boy manages well enough in front of others, I suppose. But whenever he’s in front of me…” Huang Chao shook his head, unable to fathom why his younger brother became so foolish and dull the moment he appeared.

“The brilliance of a brother like you leaves him feeling hopelessly outshone. He worships you wholeheartedly, reveres you deeply, and is devoted to obeying you.” Yu Wuyuan turned to look at him, those eyes like a still lake reflecting all things in the world.

Huang Chao suddenly understood the meaning beneath his words. He looked at his younger brother — sometimes seeming a complete fool, other times astonishingly shrewd, yet never once going against his wishes — and let out a quiet sigh. “It’s only a pity… for her.”

“As for her… Lanxi is a different sort of man from you. In all this world, only she can stand at his side. And yet… two people that brilliant…” Yu Wuyuan turned his gaze back to Wuyi Terrace, to the banners unfurling and streaming in the wind above. “This realm… Huang Chao, fight for it with everything you have.”

“This realm… at the summit of Changmang Shan, I will win that final game.” Huang Chao raised his head and declared it without equivocation, his voice neither loud nor soft, yet carrying within it the self-assurance and pride of one born to rule.

At those words, Yu Wuyuan smiled faintly and without sound.

Three paces behind them stood the three generals — Xiao Xuekong’s eyes looking straight ahead, his snow-pale face and snow-pale hair still and motionless, standing like a beautiful statue but for the occasional blink of those two eyes.

A smile drifted to the corner of Qiu Jiushuang’s lips. He tilted his head back to look up at the boundless clear sky, then brought his gaze back to rest on that towering figure in violet ahead. A surge of fierce pride rose between his brows, and his hand moved almost of its own accord to close around the cluster of feathered arrows hanging at his waist.

Huang Yu’s light-brown eyes — carrying a faint resemblance to Huang Chao’s — were filled with boundless admiration as he watched his elder brother. In the bright sunlight, his brother stood like a rainbow arching across the sky, and Huang Yu was in silent, heartfelt awe. The Royal Brother truly is extraordinary. Is there anyone in this world who could match his bearing and manner, his ambitions and spirit? Is there anyone who could stand on equal footing with the Royal Brother? There is no one. The Royal Brother is invincible under heaven.

“Stop staring — you’re drooling all over the ground!” A thin, light voice sounded at his ear. “You could stare for a thousand years and drool for ten thousand, and you still wouldn’t amount to a ten-thousandth of the King.”

“You! You insufferable woman! You — even if you chased for ten thousand years, you still wouldn’t be a ten-thousandth of the Feng King’s glory!” Huang Yu shot back without hesitation. He had no idea what the Feng King actually looked like, but if it would deflate this arrogant, insufferable woman beside him, he would praise even a plain and unremarkable face.

On the twentieth day of the sixth month, fifty thousand Wind-Cloud Cavalry from the Feng Kingdom arrived in the Feng State.

The twenty-second day of the sixth month. Clear skies.

On Wulin Terrace in Feng Capital, banners and flags streamed in the wind. Soldiers stood in rows up and down the long stone steps, their spears gleaming. In the vast square below, ten thousand troops were arrayed in perfect formation, waiting in silence — to the left, the Mo Yu Cavalry in black armor; to the right, the Wind-Cloud Cavalry in white. Though tens of thousands stood gathered, there was not a sound — an air of solemn, imposing stillness.

Today, the Xi King and the Feng King would review their troops and confer their commands here, and at the same time, the covenant ceremony would take place on this very ground.

The rulers of two kingdoms joining in marriage — something that had never occurred in all the hundreds of years of Dong Chao. Because of this, the outer edges of the square were packed with countless common people, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the two kings in their glory, to witness with their own eyes this once-in-a-century royal union.

“Wuu — wuu — wuu —”

Three blasts of the horn, and the court ministers in purple and deep red robes, along with the generals in silver-helmed armor, ascended Wulin Terrace one by one in swift succession, taking their places according to rank and position, waiting in silence for the arrival of the two kings.

“May I ask, Grand Ceremonial Minister, what is the meaning of this?”

A calm, measured voice suddenly rang out across the hushed terrace. Everyone turned to look, and there was Xu Yuan, Commander of the Wind-Cloud forces, stepping forward from among the crowd, pointing at the two royal thrones on the uppermost level of Wulin Terrace as he addressed the Feng Kingdom’s Grand Ceremonial Minister.

“These are the thrones of the Great King and the Feng King. I fail to understand the purpose of the general’s question.” The Grand Ceremonial Minister of the Feng Kingdom also stepped forward from the crowd, looking somewhat puzzled as he replied.

“I only wish to ask, Minister, why these two thrones have been arranged in this particular manner.” Xu Yuan’s tone remained perfectly composed; only his eyes shone with a keenly focused light as he fixed them unwaveringly on the Grand Ceremonial Minister of the Feng Kingdom.

For the two thrones, though identical in style and size, were positioned with one perfectly centered and the other placed slightly to the lower right — and set slightly forward.

“The Feng King has an engagement with the Great King and is therefore our kingdom’s future queen. I arranged the seating according to the proper positions for a king and his consort. What, may I ask, is improper about that?” The Grand Ceremonial Minister replied as though the matter were entirely self-evident.

“Minister, please do not forget that the Feng King is the ruler of the Feng Kingdom! Even with her engagement to the Xi King, her status will never change — she remains the sovereign of a nation, equal in standing to the Xi King.” Xiu Jiurong, who had been standing at the very end of the four generals, suddenly stepped forward with a sharp, rapid voice. His face had flushed red — whether from embarrassment or anger was hard to say.

“Man is heaven and woman is earth — this is the order of rites established since ancient times. If the Feng King is to wed the Great King as his wife, she ought to naturally observe the rites of husband and wife.” The Grand Minister of Rites of the Feng Kingdom stepped forward.

“The Feng King and the Xi King have not yet held their wedding ceremony. For this occasion, she is an honored guest of the Feng Kingdom. Is it really your Feng Kingdom’s way of treating guests to exalt the host and demean the guest?” Lin Ji stepped forward as well, eyes fixed steadily on the Grand Ceremonial Minister.

“The Feng King is a woman, and…” the Grand Minister of Rites of the Feng Kingdom began, but before he could finish, a rough, booming voice cut him off.

“So what if our King is a woman?” Cheng Zhi stepped forward. His broad, towering frame was easily twice the size of the Grand Minister of Rites, and the minister instinctively retreated a step. “Her literary talents and martial skill — how many men in this world can compare? You’re a man yourself — can you claim to be even a ten-thousandth of what she is?”

“That is not the matter under discussion right now…” the Grand Ceremonial Minister of the Feng Kingdom began, stepping forward when he saw the Grand Minister of Rites appeared rattled, but he too was interrupted before he could finish.

“Then what exactly do you wish to discuss, Minister? Standing? Reputation? National power? Military strength? Wealth? Or is it bearing and conduct? In which of these does our Queen fall short of standing equal to your Xi King?” Xu Yuan asked, as unhurried as ever, his tone of cool composure more devastating than any sharp rebuke.

“Well, this…” The Grand Ceremonial Minister glanced over his shoulder, hoping someone would come to his aid.

Yet the four generals of the Mo Yu Cavalry stood perfectly still, not even a flicker of their eyes toward him — as though they had neither seen nor heard any of this. The head of all the officials, the Marquis of Xun’an, had his eyes closed as though resting, the picture of someone entirely uninvolved. The other ministers looked at the Grand Ceremonial Minister with a faint air of bewilderment, as though they could not understand why this man, so thoroughly versed in the rules of ceremony, had committed such a blunder of protocol today.

“Honorable generals.” Just as the standoff was growing rigid, Ren Chuanyu suddenly stepped forward, giving a polite and courteous bow to the four Wind-Cloud generals, his voice exceedingly gentle. “Our Grand Ceremonial Minister’s arrangements were made in accordance with the proper protocol for a king and his consort. It is our sincere wish that the Feng King and the Xi King become one in wedlock, and that the two kingdoms of Baifeng and Heifeng, united through this royal union, might merge as one — sharing the same glory and the same hardship, inseparable. Therefore…” At this point, he paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the four generals standing before him, a faint, barely perceptible smile rising on his face. “Therefore, the Grand Ceremonial Minister could not have anticipated that the honorable generals would take such an outsider’s view of things, assuming that our Feng Kingdom has failed to show the Feng King proper respect — which would truly wound the friendship between our two nations, and wound the heartfelt blessings of our kingdom’s people for the lifelong union of the Feng King and the Xi King.”

“You… you…” Cheng Zhi was incensed at these words, but try as he might, he couldn’t get another syllable out after sputtering “you” several times. He was so furious he kept jabbing his finger at the slight, scholarly-looking man before him, itching to strike him flat with one palm. A few sentences from this man, and somehow his own side had been made to look like the unreasonable party!

“Cheng Zhi!” Xu Yuan stepped forward and pulled Cheng Zhi back before his hot temper could lead to an impulsive act, studying the seemingly harmless, ordinary-looking civil official before him with a quiet, rising wariness in his heart.

“This humble one, Jiuwei, would like to pose a question to the Grand Ceremonial Minister.” Jiuwei, who had been standing behind the four generals, suddenly stepped forward and gave a slight bow toward the Grand Ceremonial Minister of the Feng Kingdom.

“Please, there is no need for such formality — go ahead.” The Grand Ceremonial Minister replied with a modestly gracious counter-bow, looking rather pleased with himself.

“May I ask, Minister, who holds the highest position in the Imperial Court of Dong Chao?” Jiuwei asked politely.

“The Emperor, of course!” The Grand Ceremonial Minister answered without even a moment’s thought, unable to make sense of why this person was asking a question that any three-year-old already knew.

“And who stands below the Emperor?” Jiuwei pressed on.

“The Empress, naturally,” replied the Grand Ceremonial Minister.

“And who stands below the Empress?” Jiuwei asked again.

“The imperial princes, imperial princesses, the Princes of First Rank, and the vassal kings,” answered the Grand Ceremonial Minister.

“Then may I also ask: in years past, what was the rank of Princess Yige, who wed into the Feng Kingdom, relative to the former Feng King?”

“Princess Yige was an imperial princess of the Emperor — a rank higher than the princesses of any vassal kingdom. She and the former King stood as equals.” The Grand Ceremonial Minister answered swiftly — but the moment the words left his mouth, he felt a vague and creeping unease.

“Then I would like to ask one more question, Minister: what are the respective titles and positions of the Feng King and the Xi King, and how do they differ from the status of Princess Yige in those former days?” Jiuwei looked at the Grand Ceremonial Minister steadily.

“This… they…” the Grand Ceremonial Minister faltered.

“The Grand Ceremonial Minister is the official entrusted with overseeing all ceremony and protocol for an entire kingdom — surely no one is better acquainted with the rules of rites. Could it truly be that you do not know the rank and standing of the Feng King and the Xi King?” Jiuwei pressed on unhurriedly.

“The Feng King…” The Grand Ceremonial Minister raised his hand and dabbed the sweat from his forehead, stealing a sideways glance at Ren Chuanyu — who offered him not a single hint — and then, gritting his teeth, he said: “The Feng King and the Xi King are both vassal rulers. They stand below the Emperor and Empress, above all court officials, and share the same rank as the imperial princes, imperial princesses, and the Princes of First Rank.”

“Ah.” Jiuwei gave a nod of apparent sudden understanding and offered a slight bow toward the Grand Ceremonial Minister. “Many thanks for the Minister’s guidance.”

He then turned to face all the ministers and generals of both kingdoms, offering a small, composed bow. “Honored ministers, I trust you have all heard what the Grand Ceremonial Minister just said quite clearly?”

“Heard it perfectly!” Before anyone else could respond, Cheng Zhi’s voice rang out loudly in affirmation.

Jiuwei smiled faintly. His gaze settled on Ren Chuanyu, and he spoke in a perfectly civil tone: “For all major state ceremonies, it is the Grand Ceremonial Minister of a kingdom who presides over the proceedings — and the Grand Ceremonial Minister must, by necessity, be thoroughly versed in all ceremonial protocols. One cannot help but wonder, then, how such an error could have been made today. This… truly leaves one with no choice but to suspect that someone may have done this deliberately, with the intent of obstructing the royal union of the two kings and driving a wedge between the two kingdoms.” His voice was neither loud nor soft, neither hurried nor slow — yet it was perfectly calibrated so that every person present could hear every word.

“Well said!” Cheng Zhi was again the first to shout his approval.

“Grand Ceremonial Minister, I must ask — you are not, by chance, opposed to the union of the two kings? You have no particular aversion to an alliance between the two kingdoms?” Xu Yuan fixed the Grand Ceremonial Minister with a direct and pressing gaze.

“No — that — of course not!” A charge that large was not something the Grand Ceremonial Minister dared accept, and he rushed to defend himself.

It was precisely at that moment that the sharp, high-pitched voice of an attendant rang out: “The royal procession arrives!”

Immediately, the sound of horns rang long and clear. Everyone on Wulin Terrace, high and low, fell to their knees in reverent welcome, and those who had been locked in confrontation hastily bowed their heads and knelt as well.

Up the long, grand staircase, beneath ceremonial banners and ornate canopies, Lanxi and Xiyun walked in step, ascending together, one step at a time, toward Wulin Terrace. But when they reached the uppermost level, they found that the ministers and generals — who should have knelt in two separate rows on either side — were all kneeling in the middle, blocking the way forward as though forming a deliberate obstruction.

The two exchanged a glance, then stopped and turned to face the tens of thousands of subjects and soldiers below. “Rise!”

Their voices rang out clearly in unison, rising and falling as one.

“We thank the Kings!” The subjects and soldiers below pressed their heads to the ground, and the sound of their answer shook the heavens.

The two turned back around, and found that the high-ranking ministers and generals were still kneeling on the ground, unwilling to rise. They spoke again: “All of you may rise as well.”

The ministers and generals of the Feng Kingdom all stood, but the Grand Ceremonial Minister, the Grand Minister of Rites, and the four Wind-Cloud generals of the Feng King’s retinue remained kneeling, unwilling to get up.

Lanxi glanced at Xiyun, looking somewhat puzzled. Xiyun returned the glance with an equally confused look.

“Xu Yuan.” Xiyun called his name lightly.

Xu Yuan raised his head and looked at Xiyun, his expression grave. “My King — a marriage is built on trust; an alliance, on sincerity. How has the Feng Kingdom wronged us?”

Xiyun was briefly taken aback. Then her gaze passed over them and settled on the two royal thrones on the uppermost level. All at once, she understood. A faint smile, inscrutable in its meaning, rose on her face. She turned to glance at Lanxi and then spoke — but her words were directed at Xu Yuan: “Xu Yuan, the ceremony is about to begin. Will you not return to your place?”

The words were mild, but they carried the natural weight of a ruler’s authority. The four Wind-Cloud generals and the others said nothing more and immediately rose and returned to their positions.

Lanxi’s gaze swept over the row of Feng Kingdom ministers and generals on the left. Every one of those officials had their heads lowered, eyes averted.

“Grand Ceremonial Minister.” Lanxi’s voice was perfectly gentle, and the customary refined smile remained on his face.

“Your minister is present.” The Grand Ceremonial Minister stepped forward at once, with a slight flutter of anxiety in his chest. He did not know whether what that person had said could be trusted — would the King truly not hold this against him?

“Remove one of the thrones.” Lanxi turned to look at Xiyun. “This throne is large enough. The Feng King and I shall share it.”

“As you command!” The Grand Ceremonial Minister exhaled with relief. The King had truly not pursued the matter — that person’s prediction had proven correct after all. He turned and directed the attendants to remove the throne.

The soldiers and common people below the terrace were unaware of what had transpired above. They simply waited, craning their necks in anticipation, eager for the covenant ceremony between the two kings to begin.

At last, the Grand Ceremonial Minister’s voice rose high and clear: “The ceremony begins!”

At once, music rang out — stately and elegant, solemn and grand, carrying all the dignity and magnificence of the royal houses. To its strains, palace attendants and court servants carried forward gilded brushes and jade-white documents, advancing step by careful step.

Before the royal throne, a servant knelt and held up the document; an attendant presented the brush at the crown of their head. The two kings took up their brushes, swept them across the page, and together inscribed upon the unblemished surface two lines of vermilion writing.

The music fell silent. The voices of the Grand Ceremonial Ministers of both kingdoms rose simultaneously in solemn proclamation: “When the nation is divided, the people suffer — and how can there be a home? To sweep the nine provinces clean, to restore purity to the realm — that shall be our wedding day!”

As the ministers’ voices fell, Wulin Terrace — above and below — was utterly silent. Then, after a long moment, it erupted in thunderous applause.

To the sound of the applause, the two kings clasped hands and rose from the throne, descended the high steps, gazed out over the tens of thousands of soldiers and subjects below, and raised their hands in acknowledgment.

“Long live the Kings! May the two Kings live to old age together! May both kingdoms flourish and prosper for ten thousand generations!”

The moment those two figures appeared on the terrace, every soldier and subject of both kingdoms fell to their knees in joyful celebration. The cries of blessing and the roars of joy rose straight up to the nine heavens. In that moment, the hearts of the crowd surged as one; blood ran hot in every vein. In that moment, the people and soldiers of both kingdoms felt a deep and wholehearted reverence for the two kings’ great resolve — to put the nation before all personal matters. In that moment, every person present would have willingly walked into a mountain of blades or a sea of fire for rulers such as these.

None of those present could see — the thread of mockery woven into the Feng King’s graceful and composed smile; the thread of cold calculation hidden within the Xi King’s refined and serene expression. At the moment they clasped hands and rose together, their eyes met, and in that instant — both of their palms were ice-cold. Cold as ice from the deepest reaches of the nine underworlds.

“Long live the Kings! Long live the Kings!”

The mountain-shaking cries of reverence and loyalty were unceasing. And yet… for whom were these shouts that shook the very heavens truly meant?

The ministers and generals of both kingdoms wore expressions of every kind — some genuinely overjoyed at the union of the two kings and the alliance of the two nations; some with brows furrowed deep in hidden worry; some with faces calm and eyes full of quiet understanding; some smiling pleasantly with thoughts carefully concealed…

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Qiao Jin, leader of the four Mo Yu generals, kept his gaze fixed squarely ahead, his low voice carrying only as far as the four of them beside him.

“Yes, brother — what did you mean by all that?” Ren Chuanyun also turned to ask his older brother.

“I… was merely trying to make the King see something clearly.” Ren Chuanyu smiled faintly, a glint of calculated shrewdness flickering in his eyes.

Qiao Jin glanced at him at that and then said, mildly but with an unmistakable note of warning: “Be careful not to drop the stone on your own foot.”

“See what clearly?” Ren Chuanyun asked.

“It would not go so wrong. What I intended has already been achieved.” Ren Chuanyu smiled at Qiao Jin and reached over to pat his younger brother on the head. “You don’t need to know.” As the words left his mouth, a gaze shot toward him — sharp as an ice blade. It made his heart give a sudden, involuntary jolt. He turned to look, but the blade-like sharpness had already vanished. What he saw was only an ordinary face, and a pair of eyes that appeared calm but carried within them the quiet gleam of sharp intelligence.

And out ahead, the two kings were about to begin the ceremony of conferring commands and appointing generals — which would be yet another occasion to set the hearts of both nations’ subjects and soldiers ablaze.

Paper white as silk and snow. Brush long, made of purple bamboo. Ink faintly touched by fragrance.

Sleeves rolled back, brush lifted — a few faint strokes, a few light lines, a few gentle shadings, a few soft touches — flowing and fluid, free and unrestrained. In moments, a man clad in close-fitting short garments took shape on the page: a long sword at his waist, a frame straight and strong as young bamboo, his bearing high and heroic, rare in all the world — yet missing only a pair of handsome eyes.

The purple bamboo brush paused for a moment, then at last descended once more to the paper and, with painstaking care, traced out a pair of eyes… those eyes that always, in the midnight hours of dreams, made her heart twist with pain.

“Xier, do not draw eyes like those.” A low voice threaded through with a sigh came from behind. Then a slender hand, with the faintest hint of calluses, reached forward and clasped the purple bamboo brush.

Without a word, she extended her left hand and pushed the clasping hand aside. Her right hand tightened its grip on the purple bamboo brush, then eased, and the tip pressed resolutely against those handsome eyes, marking in that faint, dark pupil.

The moment the brush lifted away, those eyes seemed to come alive — looking forward at the person before them, as though they had something they dearly wished to say.

“Xier, why put yourself through this?” Jiuwei sighed deeply.

“I killed him with my own hands.” Xiyun gripped the brush tightly. Her voice was extremely faint — like a thread of silk in the wind, drifting and insubstantial, yet perfectly clear. She spoke each word slowly and deliberately. “I shot Yingzhou dead with my own hands. His eyes… the look in his eyes… I will remember them forever.”

Jiuwei looked at the figure in the painting, at those eyes… Those eyes seemed filled with boundless release — and yet also boundless regret. Boundless relief — and yet also boundless sorrow. So riddled with contradiction and suffering, yet so full of longing and quiet joy as they gazed… gazed at the person before them.

“Xier, let it go.” Jiuwei sighed with a kind of helplessness and reached out to gently encircle Xiyun’s shoulders. “How can you move forward while carrying the weight of those eyes?”

“I will not forget.” Xiyun’s eyes, unwavering, remained fixed — fixed on the eyes in the painting, eyes that seemed to have said all there was to say in ten thousand lifetimes. “Only… there are certain things that must be set aside.” As the words fell, the brush returned to its stand without the slightest hesitation.

She turned and looked at Jiuwei — and at the trace of worry visible in his eyes. She smiled faintly, raised a hand and smoothed the furrow between his long brows. “Jiuwei, that expression truly doesn’t suit you.”

Jiuwei gave a quiet laugh at those words. In the moment the smile bloomed, all traces of worry and gentle sorrow dissolved away, leaving behind only that ordinary face with its hidden gleam of intelligence, and those eyes — not large, but seeming to hold the power to glimpse the secret workings of heaven and earth.

Xiyun looked at his smile and returned one of her own, just as faint. Then she turned her head, and reached for the half of a bronze mask resting beside the painting. Her fingers traced gently along the cracked edge, along the bloodstains that remained there still, never yet wiped away… Her gaze moved from the painting to the mask, from the mask back to the painting, then lifted toward the window — and traveled outward, scattering to some great and indefinite distance, so far that even someone standing right beside her could not hope to glimpse what she was thinking or feeling.

At last, Xiyun set the mask down. Then she rolled up the now-dry painting, bound it with a length of white silk, and locked it together with the mask inside a sandalwood box.

“Jiuwei — do you think two kings can walk in step?” The moment the lock clicked shut, Xiyun’s voice rose at the same instant — so light and offhand, as though it were merely a passing question.

“I don’t know.” A moment passed before Jiuwei answered, his voice very soft and gentle.

“Heh…” Xiyun let out a quiet laugh. She turned to look at Jiuwei. “I know.”

Her voice was cool and composed; her expression, calm and unhurried; her eyes, still and undisturbed as water with nothing to trouble its surface… This Xiyun — cold, collected, and self-possessed — was one that Jiuwei was seeing for the very first time. In this moment, Jiuwei understood, clearly and entirely: what was locked away in that sandalwood box was not only Yan Yingzhou’s portrait and mask. Locked away alongside them were certain other things. From this moment on, there existed in this world only the Queen of the Feng Kingdom — Xiyun.

“Jiuwei, you don’t need to worry.” Xiyun smiled — a smile as light and untroubled as a cloud drifting past a breeze. “Whatever the road ahead may bring, I — Feng Xiyun, a descendant of the Phoenix King — how could I possibly shrink from it?”

Jiuwei looked at her in silence, for a long, long time. On that ordinary face, a gradual change was taking place. The easy, scattered aimlessness of before seemed to be fading, replaced by a kind of resolve — as though some conviction deep within had been made firm. In those eyes blazed a penetrating brilliance and intelligence that could not be ignored.

“Xier — wherever you go, I will be there with you.”

“Mm.” Xiyun smiled and gave a gentle nod.

She reached forward and opened the long wooden box resting on the table — about three chi in length. Inside lay a precious sword. She took it up in her hands, fingers gliding over the guard. “When Shi Di bestowed a precious sword upon each of the Seven Generals, this was the sword given to my ancestor, the Phoenix King — the Fenghen Sword.”

“Magnificent rivers and mountains, war smoke and fading colors. Iron horses and golden spears, as the great ones rise and fall in contest…” Xiyun recited slowly, drawing the sword from its sheath section by section. “Ten thousand miles beneath a soaring sky demand a long sword — dance it in the dead of night, and swear to mend the heavens!”

At the word “heavens,” the blade flashed — cold as a flying rainbow, its sword-energy bristling like water from an icy pool. In that single instant, Jiuwei could not help but give an involuntary shudder.

The green sheath was carved with a phoenix with wings spread wide; each eye of the phoenix was set with a red gemstone — like a bloodthirsty phoenix, looking down upon all things in the world with cool, measuring eyes. The blade itself was like a pool of clear autumn water, yet through the center ran a faint, delicate thread of red. As it swept through the air, cold light flared and rippled, with flickers of red gleaming through.

“I had not originally intended to use the Fenghen Sword. But…” Xiyun held the sword, her fingertip flicking lightly against the blade. The steel rang out with a deep, resonant cry. “Amid iron horses and golden spears, a descendant of the Phoenix King — ought to wield the Fenghen Sword.”