“My lord, the sky grows dark — do not pursue a desperate enemy. We have already chased them for nearly two hundred li, and on top of the grueling consecutive sieges, the soldiers are utterly exhausted. If the Southern Army turns around to strike us, with their twenty thousand men against our mere eight thousand cavalry, both geography and numbers would be gravely against us. It would be better to return to Sheng City first, then pursue once we have assembled the full army — it is not too late!”

The last rays of the setting sun had gradually dimmed, and the dark of dusk soaked into the earth. Across the boundless wilderness, amid tens of thousands of iron cavalrymen surging forward like purple clouds, a young general chased after the single rider who galloped at the very front.

But that lone rider, as though he had heard nothing, continued to drive his horse at full speed, and all the soldiers behind him cracked their whips and charged after him in equal urgency.

“My lord—” The young general managed only that single call before he was swallowed by the cavalry thundering past him, his voice swallowed whole by the rumble of hooves like rolling thunder.

“Halt!” Suddenly, the rider at the very front reined in his horse and gave the order.

In an instant, all eight thousand cavalry stopped as one, and the warhorses’ whinnying shook the surrounding fields.

Standing before the thousand riders was a magnificent horse, red as a raging flame, upon whose back sat a grand and imposing man clad in purple-gold armor. Tall and handsome, he sat atop his horse as though enthroned high above ten thousand li of rivers and mountains in the golden hall of a palace — without need of word or gesture, he carried a sovereign arrogance that looked down upon all beneath heaven. There was only one man in this age who possessed such an aura that crushed the world — Huang Chao, King of Huangguo!

“My lord!” The young general rode up to Huang Chao’s side. “Shall we return to the city?”

Huang Chao tilted his head slightly, as though listening to news carried by the evening wind. After a moment, he smiled faintly — a smile of confidence and pride.

“So this General Ding of the Southern Kingdom could only rise to this level? When he could no longer hold the city, he fled with his remnant troops, then feigned weakness to lure this king into a reckless pursuit, planning to strike back with a sudden reversal when the pursuers were spent — trying to capture or defeat this king by exploiting the numerical advantage of far outnumbering us? Is that the best he can do? What a thoroughly uninteresting opponent!” These words of Huang Chao were less addressed to the lieutenant beside him, Li Xu, and more a matter of talking to himself.

Just two hours prior, Huangguo’s Contending Heaven Cavalry had broken through the Southern Kingdom’s Sheng City. When the city fell, its commanding general, Ding Xi, had led twenty thousand remnant troops in flight straight toward the Southern Kingdom’s royal capital. Upon learning of this, Huang Chao had not waited for the full army to enter the city, and immediately led eight thousand iron cavalrymen in hot pursuit.

“My lord, is the Southern Army truly turning back to attack us? But at this moment… we only have eight thousand cavalry, and they… My lord, perhaps we should retreat to Ze City?” Li Xu furrowed his brow in alarm upon hearing this.

Huang Chao glanced at the young lieutenant of only nineteen years at his side, then turned his gaze to look ahead into the distance. “Lieutenant Li, numbers do not always determine the odds of victory.”

“My lord…” Lieutenant Li racked his brain trying to find words persuasive enough to convince his king not to place himself in danger. But his mind seemed to lack the kind of rational and heartfelt eloquence one found in poets and scholars. After a long while of thinking, all he could manage was: “My lord, I ask that you please return to Sheng City. It is not too late to pursue and annihilate the Southern Army once we have joined with the main force.”

Hearing this, Huang Chao gave a faint smile. It was not a smile of approval or agreement, nor one of cold mockery — it was the smile of a masterful chess player who had already secured total victory, looking down with lofty composure at an onlooker who lacked skill and had been confused by the state of the board.

Surveying his surroundings, the dusk had deepened and transformed into night, draped over the earth. Through the murky darkness, he could dimly make out that they stood on a flat wasteland, and stretching as far as the eye could see, only ten zhang ahead stood a tall hill.

“This king has never once driven his army backward to flee from an enemy — there has never been such a principle!” Huang Chao raised his hand and pointed toward the hill ten zhang ahead. “We go there!” With those words, he spurred his horse and charged forward, and eight thousand iron cavalrymen followed close behind.

The dust on the hilltop had barely settled when the faint sound of hoofbeats began drifting in from ahead.

“Spears!” Huang Chao’s voice was extremely low, yet it carried clearly into every soldier’s ear. In an instant, the long spears of all eight thousand cavalrymen leveled simultaneously, thrusting forward.

Ahead, the hoofbeats dense as driving rain, accompanied by waves of battle cries, drew steadily closer. When they reached the foot of the hill, the Southern Army charging in formation suddenly halted.

“General?” A figure who appeared to be a deputy general looked with confusion toward the commander who had ordered the halt — Ding Xi, the garrison commander of Sheng City. The army had barely mustered the courage to turn and strike the enemy again, and this should have been the perfect moment to catch them off guard — so why had the order to stop come before they had even caught sight of the Contending Heaven Cavalry?

This General Ding of the Southern Kingdom was a veteran commander with thirty years of military service, known throughout the world for his cautious style of warfare. He had led three campaigns to invade and seize Wangyu, capturing a city in each engagement. Yet this time, he had been utterly powerless against Huang Chao’s relentless assault, forced to watch helplessly as the gates of Sheng City were smashed open by the Contending Heaven Cavalry. A lifetime of glory had crumbled to ash beneath Huang Chao’s overwhelming might. The only thing left to do was lead his remnant troops and run. Yet he could not bring himself to simply accept that — he had to leave Huang Chao some lesson to remember before departing, otherwise how could he face his king upon reaching the royal capital?

“General…” the deputy general at his side called out to him.

Ding Xi raised a hand to cut him off and leapt from his horse, his movements still agile and nimble. He crouched down and studied the ground carefully, but in the starless night, it was difficult to make out the markings on the earth.

“Light torches, quickly!” The deputy general ordered the soldiers, and soon countless torches blazed to life, floating a layer of pale red firelight across the wasteland.

By torchlight, Ding Xi carefully examined the marks on the ground. The moment he confirmed they were iron cavalry hoof prints, some inexplicable panic suddenly welled up within him, causing him to snap to his feet.

“General, what is it?” the deputy general asked upon seeing his expression.

“They came this way, yet they’re nowhere to be seen. Could it be that—” Ding Xi muttered.

But before he could finish his words, a voice as bright and clear as the sun rang out across the dark wasteland: “General Ding, you have not disappointed this king after all!”

At that voice, every soldier in the Southern Army turned to look. There, upon the tall hill, the dim firelight reflected off a broad expanse of silver. While all were still staring in stunned silence, that voice rang out once more, carrying a matchless arrogance and absolute resolve: “Men — charge! Level every obstacle that stands between this king and Changmang Shan!”

The moment those words fell, a thunderous battle roar erupted in unison. Accompanied by hoofbeats like rolling thunder, eight thousand Contending Heaven Cavalrymen surged forward like a purple tide, sweeping across heaven and earth!

“Mount up — quickly!” Ding Xi, upon seeing this, cried out in alarm. He had already witnessed firsthand the ferocity of the Contending Heaven Cavalry. Now, with the advantage of the hill’s high ground, charging down from above, the force of their assault would be something no iron wall or copper fortress could withstand!

But the purple tide came fast, sweeping in within the blink of an eye. The Southern soldiers who had dismounted had no time to climb back onto their horses before they were swallowed beneath the wave. As for those who remained mounted — the sharp silver spears at the front of the purple tide pierced through every barrier in their path! Iron hooves like thunderbolts trampled flat every obstacle standing in the way of the surging tide… In an instant, amid the purple waves, faint rivers of red began to bleed through!

“Retreat!” Ding Xi issued the decisive order. It was not that he lacked the courage to face the enemy — he simply understood clearly that against the razor-sharp, overwhelming momentum of the Contending Heaven Cavalry, meeting them head-on would only cost more of his soldiers’ lives for nothing!

With the commander’s order given, the Southern soldiers — already struck cold with terror by the enemy’s sudden appearance, their courage shattered and their souls scattered by that unstoppable killing force — immediately broke apart and fled in all directions. They had no mind for whether their swords had fallen, no care for whether their helmets were askew, no thought for whether their comrades had been unhorsed… All they knew was to run forward, to flee to where that purple tide could no longer reach them…

“Flee? Once this king sets his sights on his prey, not one has ever slipped the net!” Huang Chao raised his sword high. “Men! Win this battle, and this king rewards each of you three jars of fine wine!”

“Hah!” A roar that shook the heavens swallowed the wasteland.

Within that thunderous battle cry, the tallest and mightiest rider of all — in the dark of night, blazing with the brilliance of a scorching sun and the surging might of a rainbow cleaving the sky — flew down from that tall hill. As he charged through, the cold gleam of his treasured sword “Snowless” swept level in a single horizontal arc, and a quiet river of blood slowly opened in its wake!

“General, hurry — go!” the deputy general called out to the commanding officer, who had given the order to retreat yet stood unmoved himself.

“Deputy General Yao, this general has no road left to retreat.” Ding Xi turned his head to look at the deputy general urging him on. In this moment, his expression was one of utter, absolute calm.

“General…” Deputy General Yao looked at his commander’s expression, and a foreboding feeling quietly rose in his chest — a feeling that seemed even more terrifying than the overwhelming enemy before him.

Ding Xi quietly drew the saber hanging at his waist. He gently stroked this treasured blade that had fought alongside him for decades, and his expression was one of tender, warm affection.

“This general has no wife, no children, no family, no home. All I have is this one blade…” He tightened his grip on the hilt, turned his head to look at the deputy general who had followed him for three years, and said, “Deputy General Yao — in a moment, this general will personally ride out to engage the King of Huang. His attention will be drawn to me. At that moment, you will lead the Thunder Crossbow unit… fire all one hundred bolts at once! Remember — there must not be even a moment’s hesitation. Regardless of who stands before the bolts, whether they be Southern soldiers or… this general himself!”

“General!” Deputy General Yao cried out in shock upon hearing these words.

Ding Xi waved his hand dismissively and shifted his gaze forward. Amid the thousands of riders, one lone figure towered above all others — that unyielding silhouette, that aura of one who seemed to hold heaven itself in a single hand. In the dim firelight, that man’s radiance was dazzling and blazing, as though the bright sun itself had descended from the nine heavens.

“To die alongside a man like this — that is an honor!”

The eyes of Ding Xi, which had already taken on the weary look of age, now burned with the fierce and fervent light of youth. “After the hundred bolts are fired, regardless of victory or defeat, life or death ahead, you are to immediately lead the unit away — bring away as many men as you can! Do not return to the royal capital; the king will never forgive you. Go to Yacheng and find General Tuoba — there, you may yet preserve your lives!” The moment his words fell, he raised his saber high, struck his warhorse hard, and the horse reared with a cry, extended its four hooves, and galloped forward.

“Thunder Crossbow unit — prepare!” Watching the back of the old general charging away to his end, Deputy General Yao gently closed his eyes and gave the resolute order.

On the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month, the Fengyun Cavalry broke through Yu City of the Bai Kingdom.

And at the same time, the Mo Yu Cavalry, which had long stood encamped in stillness outside the Bai capital, was at last ready to act.

“My lord, according to the intelligence we have gathered, the Bai capital currently holds only fifty thousand Bai troops. With our military strength, taking this city would require no effort at all.” Inside the command tent, Ren Chuanyun lightly traced a circle with his fingertip on the map, as though the Bai capital had already been tucked into his sleeve.

“The reason the Bai capital currently holds only fifty thousand troops is because the two princes of the Bai Kingdom each command large armies stationed at Wan City, Yu City, Yuan City, and Juan City in Wangyu. If they were to lead their armies back to relieve the capital, things would not be so easy for us.” He Qishu immediately poured cold water on the idea.

“Heh… Those two princes absolutely will not — and absolutely dare not — lead their armies back at this time.” Ren Chuanyun merely smiled with unconcerned ease, his smile thoroughly sly.

Duanmu Wensheng glanced at Ren Chuanyun, his brow faintly creasing — he had never cared for the expression on that man’s face. He shifted his gaze toward Lanxi, seated upon the throne: “My lord, this time — do we assault by force or encircle and annihilate?”

At these words, the other four men all turned their gazes toward the king, who had been sitting in silence without a word.

“No need for a direct assault.” Lanxi raised a single finger and gave it a faint wave — a motion so slight, yet so impossibly graceful, as though he were not merely moving a finger, but drawing aside with a delicate hand the stray tendrils of hair from a beauty’s brow, with such tenderness and warmth.

Beneath the gaze of his generals, Lanxi slowly curled his long finger back in, and those four pale, slender fingers settled like blossoms of snow orchid against a cheek carved from fine jade. His voice was soft, like the private whisper of an orchid first blooming in the valley — whatever words emerged from it were, without exception, fragrant and captivating.

“We besiege the city. And we leave one side open.”

Upon hearing this, Ren Chuanyun’s eyes lit up. He looked toward Lanxi, and in an instant understood perfectly.

“Besiege on three sides? Why leave one open? Are you not afraid the Bai King will escape?” Ren Chuanyun could not help but ask with curiosity.

“Ah… even a hunter setting a trap leaves three sides of the net open when catching prey — how could our army, an army of benevolence and righteousness, resort to driving men to utter ruin?” Lanxi sighed with what appeared to be deep feeling, his face full of sorrowful contemplation, enough to move anyone who looked upon it with admiration for his compassion. “And so, in this battle, if he chooses to flee, this king will not pursue.” He then cast a glance across his generals — the implication was plain: if this king himself would not pursue, you lot had best behave accordingly.

Duanmu Wensheng and Ren Chuanyun exchanged glances. They had followed the king for over ten years — they certainly did not believe that explanation.

He Qishu bowed his head with a faint smile and said nothing more. Qiao Jin slid the long sword he had been toying with back into its sheath and said, “And if he does not flee? If the Bai King holds the capital to the last, determined to fight to the death?”

“He will flee, of course.” The one who answered was Ren Chuanyun. That fair face of his was full of the smug, crafty look of a man who had successfully stolen grapes. “He must flee.”

Qiao Jin raised an eyebrow, looked at Ren Chuanyun, and after a moment, as though acknowledging the confidence behind those words, said nothing further.

Duanmu Wensheng, meanwhile, furrowed his thick brows again at Ren Chuanyun. Whenever that expression appeared on the man’s face, it meant another scheme of his had succeeded. Duanmu Wensheng was the most straightforward in character among the four generals — toward all of Ren Chuanyun’s stratagems and intrigues, he never openly reproached or opposed them, since they stood on the same side. But to say he liked these schemes was equally impossible.

As for Duanmu Wensheng’s gaze and the meaning plainly written within it, Ren Chuanyun simply gave an easy shrug and a smile.

“In this campaign, it is best that there be no great casualties — whether among our army or the Bai army.” Lanxi suddenly spoke again. His ink-dark eyes shifted toward Ren Chuanyun, and within that gaze, deep as a dark sea, something seemed to be concealed.

“My lord, please set your mind at ease — taking the Bai capital this time will be no brutal battle.” Ren Chuanyun rose and bowed his head toward his king with assurance. “Your subject will do everything in his power to fulfill your lord’s wish!”

“Mm.” Lanxi gave a faint nod, then added, “The grain, fodder, and weapons the army requires to secure victory must be without shortage — whether for the Mo Yu Cavalry or the Fengyun Cavalry.” This time, his gaze shifted toward He Qishu.

“Your subject understands, and will arrange everything properly.” He Qishu rose and replied.

“Good.” Lanxi waved his hand. “You may all withdraw and make your preparations.”

“Yes, your subjects take their leave.” All five men bowed and retreated.

At the very rear of the Feng army encampment, in a somewhat smaller tent, lodged Feng Lanxi’s court songstress, the young woman Feng Qiwu.

“Elder Sister Feng, will you sing for me?” A voice sweet and crisp, carrying a faint thread of fragile pleading.

Inside the tent, Feng Qiwu, dressed in pale green robes, sat upon a brocade couch, wiping down a pipa with a silk cloth. Lang Hua, dressed in a blazing red garment, sat on the floor leaning against the side of the couch, her head tilted back as she looked up at Feng Qiwu.

When the Feng and Feng armies had split and marched separately, by rights, Lang Hua — as the betrothed of the Feng Kingdom’s general Xiu Jiurong — should have gone along with the Feng army. But the Feng King had instead sent her to Feng Qiwu’s tent, with only a single remark: it is better for her to be with Lady Feng.

Better? That remained an open question even now. Only this: whenever Lang Hua grew restless and agitated, full of anxious dread, the Feng Qiwu beside her would play a melody on the pipa or sing a clear song. And whenever that happened, Lang Hua would quietly lean against Feng Qiwu’s side, like a cat dozing by a lakeside in the midday hour — languid and drowsy.

The cool and reticent Feng Qiwu, the lively and warm-hearted Bai Lang Hua — these two beauties, who shared not the slightest resemblance in either appearance or temperament, and yet somehow, placed together, were the very image of a painting of jade-green water and crimson lotus: complementing and completing each other, at once clear and vivid, elegant and delicate.

“Elder Sister Feng, won’t you sing? Please?” Lang Hua tugged at the jade hand diligently wiping down the pipa strings.

“I sing for you every single day — it’s not as though you’re a child who cannot fall asleep.” Feng Qiwu replied with characteristic cool indifference.

“But… but my heart is in such a mess.” Lang Hua pressed her hands against her head in frustration. “I don’t even know why. My heart keeps jumping around, and I… I’m so frightened, Elder Sister Feng. My Father the King… my Father the King…”

The hand wiping the pipa strings finally stilled. The cool, rippling gaze shifted toward the white jade flower blooming in its crimson flame on the floor, and within her heart, a silent sigh.

“Elder Sister Feng, my Father the King… will he die?” The words trembled out at last, hesitant and fearful. The moment the word “die” left her lips, a string of tears slid down in its wake. Small, pale hands hurried up to wipe them away. Eyes made unnaturally bright by the tears looked with helpless anxiety at the cold beauty before her — a woman who would not be moved even if the blazing sun fell directly in front of her — “Elder Sister Feng, I am so afraid Father the King will die, but I… but I… there is nothing I can do… I…”

“Ah.” Feng Qiwu let out a soft, faint sigh and raised a hand to gently stroke the head resting on her knee. “Do not worry. Shizi Lanxi will never harm your father the king.”

“Mm.” Lang Hua gave a small nod, but her little face was still crumpled with worry. “Just now, Military Advisor Ren also told me not to worry. He said Shizi Lanxi’s heart is set on peace beneath the heavens — he is not a man who craves killing and warfare. So no matter how this battle ends, not a single soldier of the Feng Kingdom will show disrespect to Father the King, much less harm him… but still… my heart is still so tangled. So will Elder Sister please sing for me? As long as I can hear Elder Sister singing, I forget all my fears.”

Feng Qiwu looked at her, then bent her head back down to wipe the pipa strings. “Your heart is tangled because of General Xiu.”

“Wh… what… that is absolutely not it!” Lang Hua jerked her head up with a shriek, her face instantly the same blazing hue as her crimson garment — radiant as the morning clouds at the horizon.

The hand wiping the strings paused ever so slightly. Feng Qiwu turned her head and glanced at her, then said with quiet calm, “General Xiu is highly capable. You need not worry.”

“He… I am not worried about him at all! I am worried about Father the King! I am worried about the safety of my Bai Kingdom!” Lang Hua protested in a sharp voice. Yet that bright red face and those glistening, wavering eyes betrayed her true feelings entirely.

Looking at that bashful countenance, that expression caught between delight and mock-indignation, even the cold and lovely face of Feng Qiwu could not help but bloom with a faint, shallow smile — adding a touch of gentle beauty to her coolness.

“General Xiu will make a very good husband. You are very fortunate.” Within those cool, rippling eyes, a sliver of quiet warmth surfaced — and beneath it, a thread of… faint, veiled wistfulness.

“He… he…” Lang Hua very much wanted to say something cold and dismissive to prove that she did not care at all about that Xiu Jiurong. But the moment his face flashed through her mind, a sharp ache stabbed at her heart, and she could not help but raise her hand to press against her chest — as though soothing that faintly aching heart, or as though reaching across the vast distance of time and space to touch that face, to rest her hand upon the scar that caused her such pain.

Watching the parade of expressions crossing Lang Hua’s face, Feng Qiwu shook her head with a faint, envying smile, set down the silk cloth, and lightly plucked at the strings with her fingertips. The pipa gave out a soft, ringing “zhong.”

“What song do you want to hear?”

“Hm?” Lang Hua was momentarily blank, then seemed to catch herself with a start. “Sing… sing… yes, yes! That one you sang before — something about stealing the Dragon King’s cup and gathering ten-thousand-year ice!”

“That one…” Feng Qiwu bent her head toward the strings. “It is the Feng King’s ‘Song of Drunken Wine.'”

“The Feng King wrote it?” Apricot-bright eyes blazed with admiring light. “Then sing it quickly — it is so beautiful! Elder Sister, shall we drink while we sing? Pin Lin, hurry and bring the wine!”

“Tch!” Looking at the person before her who had burst back into cheerful animation in the blink of an eye, Feng Qiwu gave a soft laugh, said nothing more, raised her slender hand, and parted her lips in song:

“I hear you travel from the Western Regions with wine, And I open my brushwood gate to sweep the winding path. First I steal from the Dragon King his night-glowing cup, Then I gather from the Heavenly Mountain ten-thousand-year ice. Still like one gazing at the lotus reflected in the water, Black hair as it was, brows veiled in wisps of mist…”

The clear, bright pipa notes and the pure, flowing singing voice drifted through the tent. When Pin Lin carried in the fine wine and lifted the tent flap, the song quietly slipped out through the opening…

The Bai Royal Palace.

The tightly shut palace gates of Yidan Palace were gently pushed open, revealing the Bai King standing motionless inside the great hall, still as a carved statue.

“Your Majesty.” The chief steward of internal affairs, Ge Hong, padded softly into the great hall.

“Still no news?” the Bai King asked without turning his head.

“There has not yet been any news of the two princes returning to the capital.” Ge Hong replied with bowed head.

“Hmph!” the Bai King gave a cold snort. “I fear there will never be news of them again!”

“The eldest prince and the fourth prince may have been delayed by something on the road. Perhaps tomorrow, Your Majesty will see the princes leading their armies back to the capital.” Ge Hong replied, still with bowed head.

Upon hearing this, the Bai King gave a long, heavy sigh: “Ge Hong, you need not comfort this king. Those two unfilial sons will not lead their armies back to the capital. This king understands — in everyone’s eyes right now, the royal capital is no different from the gates of the underworld. Who would be willing to throw their life away and step through those gates?”

“Your Majesty…” Ge Hong lifted his head, only to find that the king before him had grown so gaunt and wasted — temples white as frost, eyes sunken deep, the royal robes that once fit him well now hanging loose and slack.

“Ah, the foundation my ancestors built… and I could not hold it…” The Bai King’s gaze drifted across the portraits of the Bai Kingdom’s successive rulers lining the hall. He raised a hand to cover his eyes and heaved a bitter, agonized sigh. “I cannot face them in the afterlife!”

Ge Hong looked at the Bai King, yet did not know how to offer comfort. Thinking of the state of affairs both inside and outside the city, his own heart was consumed with burning worry.

“Is there any news of the princess?” the Bai King suddenly asked.

“Not yet.” Ge Hong answered. Seeing the look of disappointment and anxiety in the Bai King’s eyes, he added, “Your Majesty need not worry too much. Shizi Lanxi seeks to build a name for benevolence — he would never casually harm a princess of the royal family. And the princess is so lovable; there is no one with the heart to harm her.”

“I can only hope… I can only hope heaven watches over my Lang’er!” the Bai King sighed helplessly. Then his gaze suddenly turned fierce and cold, and he spoke through clenched teeth in fury, “Those two useless, wretched sons — they only thought of saving their own lives, and abandoned their sister without a second thought! This king… this king… cough cough…” A sudden surge of acute pain seized him, and the Bai King fell into a fit of uncontrollable coughing.

“Your Majesty, please take care of your health.” Ge Hong hurried forward to gently rub the Bai King’s chest.

“Ah, when one grows old, the body is of no use.” When the coughing finally subsided, the Bai King said with weary exhaustion.

“Your Majesty…” Ge Hong opened his mouth as though to say something, but swallowed the words again.

The Bai King turned his head to look at him. “Ge Hong, speak your mind freely. Once tonight has passed, there may not be another chance.”

“Your Majesty — rumors now run rampant through the city, morale among the people has collapsed, and the hearts of the army are wavering. The royal capital… can truly no longer be held!” Ge Hong said it all in one breath, eyes fixed steadily on the Bai King, showing not the slightest fear that such words — tantamount to treason — might cost him his life.

Upon hearing this, a flash of anger indeed crossed the Bai King’s face, and the long beard beneath his chin stirred slightly, as though he were about to erupt. But in the end, he mastered his own emotions, and said in as measured a tone as he could manage, “And what exactly have you been hearing?”

“From the day the Feng and Feng armies raised their banners and set forth, they have taken seven cities as they came. Half of our Bai Kingdom has effectively fallen into their hands. Though they have gained cities through battle, they have also mastered the art of pacifying the people — the common folk do not see the fall of their nation as a disgrace, but find comfort and security in sheltering beneath the victors’ wings. Within the country, word of Shizi Lanxi’s benevolence and the Feng King’s great name spreads constantly; the people do not fear them — they yearn for them. At noon today, those at the western gate who desperately sought to leave the city and submit to Shizi Lanxi’s camp were threatened with execution by the garrison commander if they did not comply, which stirred popular outrage. Though order was later restored by force, this action has cost us greatly in the hearts of the people. What is more, with the city under siege for many days, our army is like a bowstring pulled to its limit — exhausted in body and spirit. If this continues, there will be no need for Shizi Lanxi to attack; we shall defeat ourselves.”

Ge Hong’s answer came out like a recitation — measured in cadence and delivered in a continuous flow.

“Who taught you to say this?” A sharp gleam flashed through the Bai King’s eyes, his expression severe.

“This servant deserves death.” Ge Hong dropped to his knees with a thud and withdrew a memorial from his sleeve, holding it up with both hands. “It is only because Your Majesty has not held court for three days that Grand Counselor Tai Lu entrusted this servant to convey these words to Your Majesty.”

The light in the Bai King’s eyes flickered between brightness and dark. He remained silent for a long time. In the great hall, a suffocating stillness settled over everything. The kneeling Ge Hong already had beads of sweat spread across his brow — whether from the heat or from anxiety, it was hard to say.

“Present it.” After a long silence, the Bai King’s low, hoarse voice sounded.

“Yes.” Ge Hong hastily shuffled forward on his knees until he was before the Bai King, then raised the memorial high above his head.

The Bai King took the memorial. The great hall fell into silence once more.

A long time passed — so long that Ge Hong’s knees had gone numb — before the Bai King’s voice came from above, utterly flat, devoid of any rise or fall: “Rise.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Ge Hong quickly kowtowed and got to his feet.

The Bai King’s gaze moved to the portraits of his ancestors, then fell back upon the memorial in his hand.

“Hold the Son of Heaven to command the nobles…” The murmured voice seemed to be speaking to no one at all.

Hearing this, Ge Hong quietly lifted his eyes to look at the Bai King, only to see him staring in a daze at the very center of the great hall wall — where hung the portrait of the Bai Kingdom’s first ruler, Bai Yima.

On the night of the twenty-sixth day of the eighth month, the Bai King led his fifty thousand troops and, taking with him all members of the royal clan and his ministers, slipped away under cover of darkness toward Zhen City.

On the twenty-seventh day of the eighth month, the people of the Bai capital threw open the city gates to welcome the peerless, gracious, and virtuous Shizi Lanxi.

And just like that, without shedding a single drop of blood, Shizi Lanxi took the Bai Kingdom’s royal capital into his hands. When news of this spread, all beneath heaven was struck with shock and astonishment.

“This is a perfectly natural outcome.” Beneath the starlit sky, Yu Wuyuan said calmly to Huang Yu, who had just arrived with his army to rendezvous and was still reeling from the news in amazement.

“To take a city without losing a single soldier — this kind of strategical brilliance, this king cannot help but admire.” As Huang Chao spoke these words, his hand came to rest on the arrow wound soaking through the purple armor over his chest.

Yet the four generals of the Fengyun Cavalry, upon receiving the news, did not share the same admiration for Shizi Lanxi that their rivals had expressed.

“Letting the Bai King escape — won’t that be an endless source of trouble?!” This was the united conviction of all four generals.

But the Feng King simply smiled and shook her head. “Have you all forgotten the proclamation we made to the world when we raised our army?”

At these words, all four generals were struck with sudden alarm.

“‘Strike down treacherous ministers to uphold righteous order; sweep away rebel brigands to secure the people’s lives’ — if there were no more ‘treacherous ministers and rebel brigands’ left beneath heaven, what justification would we still have to continue our campaign of striking and sweeping? And if the bridge to the imperial capital were broken, how would we ever reach it?” The Feng King gently enlightened her beloved generals.

“That the Bai King abandoned his city and fled is, in truth, both understandable and reasonable — he has his own calculations.” Xiyun continued, “On one side, the Mo Yu Cavalry — in both military strength and overall power — far surpasses his own forces, watching with hungry eyes from outside the gates; while on the inside, popular morale has crumbled and military hearts are unsettled. To fight would only bring a crushing defeat. Better to abandon the city, preserve his strength, and regroup with the two princes’ armies stationed in Wangyu. Together, they can advance on Wangyu step by step. The Feng armies may not be beatable, but the Wangyu armies are even weaker than the Bai forces — victory after victory becomes possible. If they can fight their way to the imperial capital and seize the Emperor, commanding the nobles of the world in his name…”

At this point, the Feng King paused suddenly, her gaze lifting toward the drifting clouds on the horizon. “Only, the imperial capital still has the great general Dong Shufang of the Eastern Dominion. The reason Dong Chao’s imperial dynasty can still hold its name, the reason the Emperor can still sit upon his golden throne in the imperial capital — all of that is entirely the merit of this great general! So the Bai King’s dream, in the end, is destined to come to nothing!”

Finally, the Feng King looked at her generals and said, “In the days ahead, you will witness a spectacle the likes of which has never appeared in all of history — and moreover, you will play a part in shaping this stretch of history yourselves. Only… whether that is fortune or misfortune, I cannot say. But whether the Bai King or Dong Shufang — in the end, they are merely pieces in another’s hands. And the one who controls these pieces, though he has never once ridden into battle or slain a man, cannot be overcome even by those brave generals who hold ten thousand at bay and pile the mountains with fallen enemies — not against the light touch of his single finger. That man, even without armor, is a peerless commander of this age!”

When these last words were spoken, an expression difficult to read drifted across the Feng King’s face — half smile, half sigh, half delight, half sorrow, half admiration, half reproach. It was hardly the reaction one would expect from a soon-to-be queen consort of the victorious Shizi Lanxi.

In later years, these final words of the Feng King, along with the words of Huang Wang and Yu Wuyuan, were all recorded in the annals of history.

Historians wrote in their commentary: The young master’s words reveal to the fullest extent the gift of discernment that is the hallmark of the Yu family’s wisdom; the Huang King’s words display his regal capacity to recognize and honor the worthy, the breadth of a true ruler; while the Feng King’s words lay bare the contradiction she expressed — whether “to participate in and shape history is fortune or misfortune” — as well as the razor-sharp vision of a ruler who sees clearly through the affairs and currents of the age. Thus, among the three kings of the turbulent era: Shizi Lanxi possessed in truth the quality of a benevolent sovereign who commands the reverence of all beneath heaven; Huang Wang possessed the spirit of a conqueror before whom the whole world bows; and the Feng King, though possessing the ability of a ruler, lacked wholly the heart and ambition for it — she was a solitary, pure melody drifting through an empty valley, sent into this world by heaven.

“Now that Shizi Lanxi has taken the Bai capital, let us take Luan City directly tomorrow!”