“She still chose to consider the greater good, after all!”

Watching that solitary figure gradually disappear into the cold wind, Duanmu Wensheng let out a quiet breath of relief, and the hand that had been gripping the sword hilt slowly slid away.

“Feng Wang…” He Qishu opened his mouth as though to say something, yet suddenly every thought vanished from his mind. He gazed into the distance — white robes tumbling endlessly in the wind, long black hair streaming and intertwined, the figure so slight it seemed it might be carried away by the breeze at any moment. After a long while, everything dissolved into one long, drawn-out sigh.

Duanmu Wensheng turned his gaze toward the orderly encampment of the Fengyun Cavalry — soldiers standing still as stone, yet radiating a sharpness that pierced the sky: “Fifty thousand Fengyun Cavalry… and yet beyond those fifty thousand, there are fifty thousand more!”

“Given Feng Guo’s national strength, possessing one hundred thousand elite cavalry is no great feat. However…” He Qishu paused slightly, a trace of worry in his voice, “these fifty thousand elite cavalry of Feng Wang’s — not only does the world know nothing of them, but even the King… appears to know nothing of them either!”

“Even the King does not know. Ah…” Duanmu Wensheng left his words unfinished, his gaze suddenly caught by something. “Qishu, have you noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“Those four men — the four standing guard just outside Feng Wang’s royal tent. I just caught a glimpse of their bearing. Their martial skill surpasses yours and mine!”

“Mm.” He Qishu nodded. “Feng Wang’s hidden strength is truly not to be underestimated. One can only wonder why she would make such a move. And as for what comes next… truly, one cannot know what kind of situation lies ahead! No wonder Chuanyun tried so hard…”

“Though Chuanyun did everything to stop him, the King came regardless — which shows just how much weight Feng Wang carries in his heart!” Duanmu Wensheng’s gaze shifted toward their King, and deep feeling spread across his face. “What a pity… we arrived too late. But regardless of how things unfold between the two kings hereafter, we need only act in accordance with the King’s wishes.”

“Indeed.”

He Qishu turned to look. Everyone else had gone, yet their King stood alone in the wind, hands clasped behind his back, face tilted toward the heavens — in what state of mind, with what kind of expression, no one could say. Yet that solitary silhouette against the wind stirred in He Qishu, for the very first time, a feeling of aching, desolate loneliness.

“Dreaming into Jiangnan’s mist-laden waterways, I walked the length of Jiangnan, yet never found the one I longed for.

In slumber, the soul wastes away — nowhere to speak of it; Waking, melancholy misleads the lost spirit.

Wishing to pour this feeling into words set down on paper, the wild geese float, the fish sink — in the end, nothing to prove it by.

Leaning instead on the slow strings to sing of parting’s grief, heartbroken, I shift the bridge of the Qin zither, column by column.”

A soft, low murmur, a faint sigh — hands pressed together, the book gently closed. The ancient verse carried a cold, secluded fragrance, yet it twisted and wrung at the heart! She lifted a cup of warm tea, drawing in a trace of warmth against the cold of the night, and without thinking, raised her eyes — only to find her gaze fall upon the red candle, burned halfway down, mounted on the lotus candlestick.

“The red candle, pitying itself with no recourse, weeps through the cold night on behalf of another.”

One murmured sigh accompanied by a self-pitying, bitter smile. She rose, gathered the pipa resting on the sandalwood side table, and plucked a string with her fingertip. A clear, delicate note floated softly through the room. But in these sounds woven between the strings — was there anyone who could truly understand them? Had that person ever let them reach his heart? So long as they reached his heart, that would be enough…

“Miss Feng, Military Advisor Ren requests an audience.” Xiao’er lifted the curtain and slipped lightly inside.

“Military Advisor Ren?” The fingertip Feng Qiwu had been plucking across the strings stilled. “What business does he have with me?”

“If Miss sees him, you’ll know soon enough.” Xiao’er’s face was as bright and clever as ever.

“Send him away on my behalf.” Feng Qiwu’s tone was cool and indifferent. “I am nothing more than an insignificant entertainer. There is nothing I could possibly discuss with the Military Advisor.”

“But the Military Advisor says it is a matter of great importance — something concerning the King.” Xiao’er watched Feng Qiwu carefully, and sure enough, her expression shifted.

“Very well.” Feng Qiwu considered for a moment, then set down the pipa.

In the small reception hall, Ren Chuanyun sat upright.

“Miss Feng.” Seeing Feng Qiwu approach, Ren Chuanyun rose with courteous propriety.

“I wonder what brings the Military Advisor to call at this late hour?” Feng Qiwu swept a cool glance over Ren Chuanyun and sat down across from him.

Faced with Feng Qiwu’s direct question, Ren Chuanyun showed no haste in answering. Instead, he fixed his gaze upon her — a gaze that seemed to analyze and assess, bright as a mirror and sharp as a needle, as though he meant to see through every part of her before him: from her heart to her mind, from her present to her future, as if those eyes of his could perceive it all.

After a moment, when Ren Chuanyun still had not spoken, Feng Qiwu rose to her feet. “If the Military Advisor has no business, the night is already deep, and Qiwu must rest.” With that, she turned and walked toward the inner chamber.

“Qiwu… Qiwu… naturally means for a phoenix to perch upon a parasol tree! And casting one’s eyes across all the realm, only the imperial capital is worthy to be the parasol tree upon which the phoenix may rest!”

Ren Chuanyun’s words nailed Feng Qiwu’s moving feet to the ground. She turned, and a flash of cold, sharp light crossed her eyes. “What does the Military Advisor mean by those words?”

“Miss Feng, whether in talent or in appearance, you are one in ten thousand. Could you truly intend to spend your entire life confined to the station of an entertainer?” Ren Chuanyun wore an expression of warm, friendly amiability, as though hoping to melt the icy light that shot from Feng Qiwu’s eyes. “When our King one day ascends to the throne as Emperor, does Miss Feng not wish to restore the Feng family’s honor and prestige — to revive the legend of the Feng family?”

Feng Qiwu regarded Ren Chuanyun for a long moment. Then the frost on her face gradually began to thaw, and at last, most unexpectedly, a faint smile surfaced — a rare sight that caused the entire hall to suddenly bloom with a radiant glow, and Ren Chuanyun’s heart secretly leapt with delight at the sight of it. So it was as he had suspected!

“Military Advisor, Qiwu is not a clever person. From childhood I was foolish and rigid, unable to climb high or reach for the moon, and instead fell to this wandering life. It is truly a disgrace to the Feng family’s ancestors.” Feng Qiwu smiled faintly and settled back into her chair. “Whereas Military Advisor Ren Chuan possesses wisdom unmatched among the finest, with a sharp and perceptive mind and a singular insight. One imagines there is nothing in this world that can slip through the Military Advisor’s grasp, no person who can escape the Military Advisor’s keen eye.”

“Is Miss praising Chuanyun, or subtly insulting him?” Ren Chuanyun raised a hand to stroke his chin and smiled with mild warmth.

“Neither.” Feng Qiwu shook her head slowly. “Qiwu only wishes to tell the Military Advisor one thing.”

“Chuanyun is all ears.”

The smile on Feng Qiwu’s beautiful face vanished in an instant. A layer of frost descended over it at once, and she looked at Ren Chuanyun with cold, faintly contemptuous eyes. “No matter how flawlessly the Military Advisor may calculate — you have misjudged me, Feng Qiwu!”

The mild smile on Ren Chuanyun’s face was swept clean away by that single cold remark. The hand stroking his chin froze mid-motion. He stared blankly at Feng Qiwu, genuinely unable to comprehend that this could be her response.

“Miss…”

“The night is late. Military Advisor, please take your leave.” Feng Qiwu had no inclination to continue the conversation. She rose to see the guest out.

“Miss is indeed a person of unyielding integrity — yet Chuanyun did not come here to belittle you.” Ren Chuanyun stood up, and the warm and genial smile on his face was swept away entirely, replaced by an expression of grave solemnity. “Chuanyun knows that Miss holds deep feelings for our King. If Miss could remain always at the King’s side, it would truly be our King’s great fortune!”

Hearing this, Feng Qiwu only gave the faintest of smiles. “The Military Advisor’s loyalty, even a fool like Qiwu knows well enough. However…” Feng Qiwu moved, walking slowly away. But just as her hand reached the door curtain, she turned her head back for one final look. “Those two… how could any outsider possibly intervene!”

Ren Chuanyun stared at the figure that had vanished beyond the doorway. Only after a long while did he murmur with a sigh: “The Feng family’s people… what a pity… what a pity indeed!”

The light was somewhat dim. White tent, white candles, white curtains, white robes… an expanse of white in every direction, like a vast and desolate snowfield — wide open, empty, and cold.

“All of you, withdraw.”

“Yes!”

The attendants and palace servants retreated without a sound. In the tent, only the Queen remained, white-robed as snow.

The wide tent held two coffins, one to the left, one to the right.

She moved her legs — each step felt as though it bore a thousand catties of weight. Slowly, one step at a time, she drew closer. Her vacant gaze drifted gradually toward the person lying still inside the coffin. In that single instant, tears surged beyond all control. Every ounce of strength seemed to drain from her body, and she collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap. She raised her hands to cover her face, her shoulders convulsing violently and uncontrollably, and from time to time a stifled, muffled sob escaped from her lips.

Jiurong… Lin Ji…

They had met in their youth — and in the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed. Growing up together, studying literature and martial arts together, playing and squabbling together. Orphans who had been strangers to one another, yet in those years, they had been a warm and harmonious family… She had once believed they would accompany each other through their entire lives, until their hair turned silver with age… The earnest, taciturn Bao Cheng… the easily-flustered Jiurong… the sharp-tongued, mocking Lin Ji… No matter how long or how far the river of time might flow, those people, those smiles, those tears, that laughter, those quarrels… it seemed one needed only to turn one’s head, and she could reach out and hold them, and they would never be gone.

Crack!

Something fell from her sleeve. She picked it up — it was a small, pure white silk pouch.

My Queen, this was found in Jiurong’s embrace, kept in excellent condition. It must have been something of the utmost importance. Qi Shu’s voice echoed in her ears.

With trembling hands she opened it. Inside the pouch lay a small piece of jade from the grey mountain snow, and at the heart of the jade, a single dot of red that was startling to the eye. Pale blue crystal beads — still unstrung — were scattered around the jade, one by one, as if they had dripped from the heart of the jade itself… like teardrops.

Jiurong… Jiurong…

She clutched the silk pouch tightly. Tears, like pearls freed from a broken string, rolled down one drop at a time — onto the jade’s heart, into the pouch below.

Jiurong… The restrained weeping at last broke open into deep, heartbroken sobs. The dim, flickering candlelight seemed to respond in kind, swaying and dancing, and the entire tent rose and fell within a pale, eerie play of light and shadow.

Jiurong… Wuuu… Wuuu…

Time passed quietly. The white candle wept alongside her, dripping in silence.

At last the weeping stilled. She rose, walked forward, reached out — and placed the silk pouch into that cold, still hand, gently pressing the fingers closed around it.

Her gaze moved softly from left to right. With her left hand, she drew up the white cloth… with her right hand, she drew up the white cloth… covering the body… covering the shoulder… covering the neck… covering the jaw… covering the lips… covering the nose…

Jiurong… Lin Ji…

She squeezed her eyes shut. A flick of the wrist — and just like that, they were sealed away.

“My Queen.”

Qi Shu, Xu Yuan, Cheng Zhi, and the four silver-robed warriors stepped silently into the tent.

“You should also say your farewells to Lin Ji and Jiurong.”

“Yes!”

The seven men bowed respectfully to bid farewell to their brothers of former days. As they pressed their foreheads to the ground, a few drops of water fell, soaking into the white cloth in spreading rings. When they raised their heads, seven faces looked back — solemn and fearless.

“As the sovereign of a nation and the commander of an army, there are things one must never say aloud. Yet to you few, I find I must speak them all the same.”

Xiyun’s voice rang through the tent, calm and without a ripple. Hands clasped behind her back, she turned away from the seven, her white robes trailing along the ground, long hair cascading down her back. Somehow, that silhouette radiated a quiet, solemn, and majestic dignity.

“Your servants listen respectfully!” The seven men bowed their heads.

“Ha…” At their solemnity, Xiyun seemed to give a gentle laugh. She raised a hand slowly and pressed it to her forehead, fingertips pressing hard against the space between her brows. “In the future… whatever foe you may face, when you have determined that victory is beyond your reach, you… may flee, or surrender.”

“My Queen…” All seven spoke at once, staring at their Queen in shock.

“Because… only if you still live can I save you, can I find you again!” Xiyun paid no heed to their expressions and continued in the same calm, unhurried voice. The hand at her forehead gently fell, settling quietly at her side. “In this King’s heart, you… are worth more than all the realm.”

“My Queen!” The seven men bowed their heads and knelt to the ground. Only the trembling of their shoulders betrayed the turmoil of emotion within.

“This King truly is not a qualified ruler!” Xiyun laughed at herself softly. “To have said such things aloud — in the histories of future generations, I will likely become a figure of eternal mockery!”

In the generations that followed, these words were not recorded as a mockery in the histories — but as a lament that echoed for a thousand years.

The historian wrote: That Feng Wang could speak such words shows the depth of a benevolent heart. That she could treat those beneath her in such a manner shows the breadth of her magnanimous character. For one who rules — to extend benevolence across all the realm, to win the hearts of the people, to trust those one employs without doubt, to honor only those of virtue and ability — this is the conduct of an enlightened sovereign. Surveying the whole of Feng Wang’s life, in talent, wisdom, and achievement, few in all of history ancient or modern compare. She may rightly be called an enlightened ruler. And yet — knowing what must not be said, she said it; knowing what must not be done, she did it. Such a ruler — what more can be said! What more can be said!

“My Queen, no matter what others may say, no matter how you may act, you are our Feng Guo’s King! The one and only King to whom we of the Fengyun Cavalry will ever pledge our loyalty! The one and only King in our hearts!” The seven men pressed their foreheads to the ground.

“Rise.” Xiyun turned to face them, regarding them with a calm and steady gaze. “Shu, send someone to escort Lin Ji’s and Jiurong’s coffins back to Feng Guo. It is time for us to set out as well.”

“Yes.”

Xiyun’s gaze swept over the four silver-robed warriors in turn. After a moment, she gave her orders: “Wuhan, effective immediately, you will serve as Qi Shu’s deputy commander.”

“Yes!” Wuhan bowed and accepted the command.

“Xiaozhan, you will serve as Xu Yuan’s deputy commander.”

“Yes!” Xiaozhan acknowledged.

“Zhanlou, you will serve as Cheng Zhi’s deputy commander.”

“Yes!” Zhanlou accepted the command.

“Xiao Mian, from now on you will remain at the side of Elder Jiu Wei, to guard and protect him.”

“Yes!” Xiao Mian accepted the order.

These four men were each around twenty-four or twenty-five years of age. Though their features differed, their height, build, and manner of dress were identical, such that at first glance one might take them for blood brothers. Their bearing was cold and austere, and each radiated a razor-sharp sword energy — a single look was enough to tell they were supreme masters of martial arts.

Xiyun looked back one final time at the coffins. Then she slowly closed her eyes. Tilting her head back, she spoke in a voice calm and spare: “Let us go and bring this age of chaos to an end. The blood of Bao Cheng, Lin Ji, and Jiurong must not flow in vain!”

“Yes!” The response that rang through the tent was resolute and clear as iron.

On the twenty-eighth day of the tenth month, Qiao Jin led the Mo Yu Cavalry and seized Jiaocheng.

On the twenty-ninth day of the tenth month, Feng Wang and Xi Wang led their great armies and advanced upon the imperial capital.

When the army passed through Luoying Shan, Feng Wang stood gazing at the mountain for a long while. At last she said: Luoying… Luoying… Fallen are countless heroic souls. Let this mountain henceforth be known as Ying Shan.

And so Luoying Shan, in that very moment, was renamed Ying Shan.

In the same year, toward the end of the tenth month, Hua Guo’s Military Advisor Liu Yusheng escorted the Marquis of Nancheng and his party to Huang Guo’s imperial capital.

After reporting to the Second Prince Huang Jiong, who was serving as regent, Liu Yusheng requested an audience with Princess Chunran — now Hua Chunran, Queen of Huang Guo. The Second Prince graciously consented.

In the solemn and imposing Royal Palace, when Liu Yusheng informed Hua Chunran that the three princes had fallen in battle at Ze Cheng, he quietly stole a glance upward, wishing to see how the Princess would react to news of her three elder brothers’ deaths. Brief as the glance was, it was enough for him to see clearly the figure seated on the brocade throne — a face of breathtaking beauty, weeping with grief for her lost brothers yet never losing a single measure of its dignified, graceful composure.

This was a natural human response. And yet it was precisely in that moment that Liu Yusheng’s long-held ambitions — to serve a brilliant sovereign, to usher in a prosperous age, to make a name for himself as a great statesman — dissolved entirely into smoke and faded away. In that single instant, he understood clearly his own growing age and the limitations of his own mind. This realm — no matter how the winds and clouds of fortune might shift and swirl hereafter, no matter how the thunder might roar and the lightning flash — none of it would have anything to do with him anymore. This world had long since become their world!

“My three brothers died in the battle for Wangyu Ze Cheng, falling to the enemy general Dong Tao — is that correct?”

Hua Chunran’s voice still carried a faint undercurrent of weeping, yet her beautiful eyes looked toward Liu Yusheng with crystalline clarity.

“That is correct.” Liu Yusheng lowered his head in reply.

“Though my three brothers met with misfortune, for men of courage, to fall in battle on horseback is also a kind of honor — is it not?”

Her voice was so soft it sounded like every gentle, unworldly woman who had ever grieved for a lost brother and sought every kind of glory to place upon him in consolation.

“That is so.” Liu Yusheng answered.

“Then… please relay those same words to my royal father on my behalf.” Hua Chunran’s voice, in that single instant, rang out like an ice bead striking the ground — clear and resonant, yet carrying a chill that swept across the face.

“As you command.” Liu Yusheng lowered his head further. Yet the corner of his mouth curved into a faint, self-mocking smile. All his life he had prided himself on his intelligence — yet before this Princess, how utterly naive he was!

Then for a moment the great hall fell silent. After a long pause, Hua Chunran’s voice rang out again, clear as a crystal bell, her gaze fixed directly on Liu Yusheng. Though his head was bowed low, Liu Yusheng could feel a tingling prickling sensation crawl across his scalp.

“Please ask Military Advisor Liu to convey this to my royal father on Chunran’s behalf: though three brothers have departed, the remaining brothers and royal nephews will surely bring him joy and comfort at his side in his old age. Therefore, please ask that my royal father take care of his health and not grieve excessively.”

“Understood.” Liu Yusheng replied concisely.

“Furthermore, please allow this consort to trouble the Military Advisor with carrying this handkerchief to my royal father.” Hua Chunran untied the silk handkerchief bound at her wrist and extended it to Liu Yusheng. “Please say that Chunran has been unable to fulfill her filial duties at her royal father’s side, and feels deep guilt and remorse in her heart. This handkerchief was embroidered by Chunran’s own hand — may it serve in her place to convey a small measure of her filial devotion.”

“Yes, your servant will convey every word faithfully to the Great King.” Liu Yusheng bowed as he received the silk handkerchief.

Hua Chunran’s gaze fell one final time upon the handkerchief, and a flash of something like wistful sorrow passed through her eyes — only to vanish almost immediately. “When does the Military Advisor depart to return to his country?”

“Your servant sets out tomorrow.”

“I see.” Hua Chunran nodded, then turned to address the chamberlain attending nearby. “Chief Steward Xie, please bestow upon Military Advisor Liu the White Mountain Celestial Ginseng gifted yesterday by the Queen Dowager. The Military Advisor has journeyed long and suffered many hardships — let this ginseng restore his vitality.”

“Yes.” Chief Steward Xie received the command.

“Your servant thanks the Princess for her gracious gift.” Liu Yusheng knelt to express his gratitude. “Upon returning to my country, your servant intends to withdraw to Yu Shan to spend my remaining years in retirement, and fear there will no longer be an opportunity to serve the Princess. With this, I take my leave of the Princess.” He pressed his forehead to the ground in a deep bow.

Hua Chunran looked at Liu Yusheng kneeling on the ground, pondered for a long moment, and then spoke as though with a faint trace of feeling: “Very well.”

“Your servant takes his leave. Your servant wishes the Princess good health and a long life!” Liu Yusheng’s final words carried a meaning that ran deeper than the words themselves.

“Mm, go then.” Hua Chunran waved a light dismissal.

After Liu Yusheng withdrew, Hua Chunran dismissed all the palace servants and sat alone, gazing at the silent, empty hall. She lowered her eyes and looked at her own two hands, lost in thought. Though she held the honored station of Queen of a nation, those snow-white and delicately fine jade hands bore not a single ornament — empty, smooth, and bare. Even the last silk handkerchief at her wrist had been removed…

“They are all gone… the Hua family line will now be at peace from this point forward…” A soft, murmured voice drifted through the vast and silent hall. Her gaze passed through the string of pearl curtains hanging across the corridor, seeing nothing beyond a single corner of glazed emerald tiles. “And besides… I still have yours…” She raised a hand and gently placed it upon the slight, gentle swell of her abdomen. “I still have the Huang King. I am the Queen of Huang Guo, and what is more… in the days to come, I shall also be the Empress of a new dynasty!”

“Attendants!”

The words had barely fallen when dozens of palace servants rushed in at once.

“Issue this consort’s decree: at the Hour of Shen, a welcoming banquet is to be held in the Youqing Garden for the ladies and Madams of the Marquis of Nancheng’s party, to welcome them after their long journey.”

“Yes.” An attendant immediately conveyed the instructions.

Hua Chunran rose and walked to stand before the bronze mirror, regarding the peerless, breathtaking face that looked back at her from within it. In a calm and unhurried voice she said: “For guests who have traveled so far, this consort cannot afford to be remiss in courtesy. Qi’er, bring out the Scarlet Flame Phoenix Robe and the Phoenix Crown. This consort shall receive her guests in full, splendid adornment — for only in this way can this consort properly demonstrate the respect due to her guests!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

In mid-eleventh month, as the season’s first snow fell softly through the air, Liu Yusheng returned to Hua Guo’s royal capital, escorting the coffins of the three princes.

“Your servant pays respects to the Great King!”

Before Hua Wang’s sickbed, Liu Yusheng sank down in sorrowful obeisance.

“Yusheng need not stand on ceremony — rise and speak.”

“Your servant thanks the Great King!” Liu Yusheng rose to his feet. Looking upon the frail, aged Hua Wang lying in his sickbed, he truly could not believe it — only a few months ago, that same man had stood strong and commanding, rallying his armies to campaign against Feng Guo. And now…

“That my beloved subject has returned safely fills this King’s heart with true comfort.” A faint, shallow smile drifted across Hua Wang’s pallid face.

“Your servant deserves death! Your servant failed to protect the three princes, your servant… your servant truly deserves a thousand deaths!” Liu Yusheng prostrated himself on the ground, his voice broken and choked. “Your servant was truly without ability — please let the Great King mete out punishment!”

“This… this King already knows.” Hua Wang’s voice was weak and trembling. He closed his eyes, and a murky tear fell upon the pillow. “Yusheng, rise.”

“Great King… this is what the Princess entrusted to your servant to deliver to the Great King.” Liu Yusheng drew the silk handkerchief from his breast and held it up above his head in both hands.

A chamberlain received it and presented it to Hua Wang.

Stroking the soft silk handkerchief, as though caressing his most beloved daughter, a glimmer of light kindled in Hua Wang’s clouded eyes. “Did Chun’er have any words for this King?”

“The Princess bid your servant relay to the Great King: ‘Though three brothers have departed, the remaining brothers and royal nephews will surely bring Father joy and comfort at his side — and so please ask that Father take care of his health and not grieve excessively.'” Liu Yusheng answered respectfully.

“Oh.” Hua Wang sighed. “Did Chun’er say only this?”

“The Princess added at last: ‘Chunran has been unable to fulfill her filial duties at Father’s side, and feels deep guilt and remorse in her heart. This handkerchief was embroidered by Chunran’s own hand — may it serve in her place to convey a small measure of her filial devotion.'” Liu Yusheng continued.

Hua Wang stroked the handkerchief again and again, his gaze coming to rest on the pattern embroidered upon it. After a long while, he gave a faint nod. “This is the qiongqiong and the juxu — the legendary inseparable, magical beasts. Is this what Chun’er means?”

“Great King…” Liu Yusheng looked at Hua Wang in surprise, watching the smile that appeared on his face — a smile in which grief and joy were inextricably mingled.

“The qiongqiong and the juxu, inseparable from each other’s side? So the Hua family and the Huang family shall be the same? From this day forward, never to part, sharing together in a new realm under heaven — Chun’er, is this what you wished to tell your father? Ha ha ha… cough cough… cough cough…”

“Great King… Great King…”

On the royal sickbed, Hua Wang was seized by a fit of violent coughing. The attendants and palace servants fell instantly into a frantic rush.

“Quickly… quickly, summon the royal physicians!”

On the fourteenth day of the eleventh month of the eighteenth year of Ren Yi, at the Hour of Hai, Hua Wang passed away. His final edict bequeathed the nation to his son-in-law, the King of Huang Guo, Huang Chao.

On the fifteenth day of the eleventh month, Bai Wang broke through the gates of the imperial capital. The siege had lasted nine days.

The clip-clop of hooves rang out. Across the great avenue blanketed in thin snow, iron cavalry swept past like the wind, sending splashes of melt-water flying a zhang into the air. In the slanting light of the sun, they glimmered into arcs of seven-colored radiance — yet none of it could match the vivid, eye-catching brilliance of those blood-red plum blossoms scattered across the snow, those streaks of blood-red crimson slashing across the white like scarlet rainbows!

Houses reduced to rubble by the fires of war… commoners cut down by soldiers’ blades… broken beams and shattered tiles, mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, wide-staring eyes that could not close in death, twisted fingers clawing outward, cries of pain and anguish, screams of despair and terror… none of it could halt the galloping hooves of Bai Wang.

From the day of the capital’s abandonment until now — months upon months of seizing cities, abandoning them, fleeing, then seizing again, abandoning again, fleeing again… an endless, futile cycle. Exhaustion, tedium, hatred, fear — all manner of emotions had entangled themselves around him, blinding his eyes, draining away his reason, grinding down every last shred of his will to fight.

The nation had long since fallen. The household had long since been shattered. The subjects had long since scattered. The armies had long since been spent. And yet he had finally reached the imperial capital — this great beast that for more than three hundred years had perched above their heads and looked down upon them. He would cut its throat with his own hands. This was the reward he had endured every hardship and exhausted every resource to claim. In the historical records, Bai Jingyao, too, would leave behind the most resplendent chapter!

He cracked the whip down hard. The horse cried out in pain and broke into a full gallop, lunging forward at an ever-greater speed. Specks of blood already dotted the horse’s back, and ahead — at last he could see it: those brilliant yellow glazed roof tiles, those deep red palace walls, those stone lions standing tall… the imperial palace! That was the imperial palace where the Son of Heaven resided!

He was no more than five or six zhang from the palace gates when suddenly, from the heavens above, a vast black cloud descended — dense and absolute, blocking all vision before him. The black cloud came with such abruptness, with such speed, like a great wall, yet so hazy and phantasmal, so uncanny and impossible to read, that the sight of it involuntarily stirred dread within.

What was this? Human beings? But could human beings exude a chill like this — a chill that seemed to emanate from the depths of the underworld?

Even the horse had sensed it long before — it balked and would not move. He looked back over his shoulder, and saw that only a little over a hundred riders had kept pace with him. Could they break through this black wall ahead?

“Great King!”

He was still locked in a daze when a sharp cry rang in his ear, jolting him instantly awake. He turned his head — a court official knelt on both knees, a sword pressed to his own throat, eyes wide open and staring, fixed with unwavering intensity upon him.

“Your servant, Grand Censor Chang You, respectfully sends off the Great King!”

Grand Censor? Neither fled nor died? So there was still one subject who had followed along!

Respectfully sends off… The cold wind blew full into his face. The sword at the official’s throat shot forth a blinding, icy gleam that pierced his eyes and pierced through the fog in his mind. He turned his gaze outward and around him…

As far as the eye could see — soldiers clad in dark armor, ringing him on all sides, their blades and swords gleaming cold.

In that instant, a despair of utter and absolute annihilation descended upon him from above, binding him completely and tightly. And it was also in that very instant that he suddenly became clear-eyed — everything, from beginning to end, came into sharp, transparent focus all at once.

“Feng Lanxi… Feng Lanxi… Well done! Well done! Well done!”

Bai Wang tilted his head back toward the sky and let out a long, mournful cry. He raised his arm and swung his sword. A spray of fresh blood flew forth and splashed upon the snow.

More magnificent and imposing, more sumptuous and lavishly adorned than the palaces of the six kingdoms — the imperial palace sat at the very center of the imperial capital. And within the palace, the most solemn and dignified hall was the Hall of the Gathering Dragon — this was the place where the Emperor received the lords of the various kingdoms. Not even a first-rank Grand Steward might enter without being summoned.

Forged of gold, nine dragons soaring in flight, blazing with precious gems — the dragon throne sat high atop the great hall’s uppermost position. And at this moment, seated upon that dragon throne was the reigning Emperor of the Dong Chao Empire — Qí Di.

The broad dragon table was spread with the imperial family’s exclusive jade-silk paper. Qí Di was bent over it in concentration — yet not composing any imperial edict or decree, but painting with undivided, absorbed attention.

“Though swords and blades stand arrayed at the gates, you sit at ease and unshaken as a mountain — Your Majesty is truly what one would call a person of courage!”

When that clear and melodious voice rang through the hall, Qí Di was in the act of setting down his final brushstroke. As he lifted the brush, he found himself thinking with a private start: a voice this beautiful, if it belonged to a singer, would surely give rise to songs of unparalleled wonder. Not the bold and resounding songs of a great warrior, nor the lingering and tender melodies of a beauty in rosy silks — but something else entirely: the kind of song that drifts over a golden, glimmering river at the hour when the evening glow fills the sky, carried to the ear on a breath of evening breeze from a light boat gliding past, wispy and unhurried.

He set down his brush and looked up. Standing in the center of the hall was a figure robed in ink-black garments, with a face like carved snow jade. A single glance was enough to draw forth unstinting admiration — what a brilliantly refined and elegant young nobleman in this turbid world! Truly worthy of being a descendant of that man who had been called the Dong Chao Empire’s foremost beauty more than three hundred years ago — “The Black Snow Orchid King,” Feng Ji!

“Xi Wang?” Qí Di began without haste, framing the words as a question, yet his tone carried certainty.

“That is correct, Your Majesty.” Lanxi gave a slight bow — the full measure of a subject’s proper courtesy — while those fathomless dark eyes regarded the Emperor seated high above with perfect composure and calm.

“So you are the first to arrive here after all.” Qí Di smiled with equal composure and ease, rising from the throne and descending the steps slowly. “This Emperor had once wondered — among the Huang King, the Feng Wang, and yourself, who would be the first to come.”

“Did Your Majesty wish to see all three of us?”

A clear, cool voice rang out. He turned toward the sound, and at some point unknown, a white-robed woman had appeared silently at the entrance to the hall — clear eyes, an unadorned face, a bearing of surpassing grace and elegance. With a step as light and unhurried as though she walked upon clouds, she moved without a sound into the hall and came to stand beside Lanxi. Black and white set side by side — perfectly harmonious, like a living painting.

“Feng Wang has come as well.” Qí Di inclined his head with a smile. “Not only the two of you — if it were possible, this Emperor would wish to see all seven kings. This once and for all time, this Emperor would receive the kings of the seven kingdoms.”

“The seven kingdoms are no longer whole. Your Majesty’s wish would be difficult to fulfill.” Lanxi smiled with gentle, composed elegance.

“The Dong Chao Empire was founded together by Shi Di and the Seven Generals. It was in this very hall that kingdoms were bestowed and titles conferred, and an oath sealed in blood. And now is the final moment of the empire’s collapse. If the descendants of the eight who founded the nation — Dong, Huang, Ning, Feng, Bai, Hua, Feng, Nan — could gather here once more, would it not be a perfect and complete ending, a full circle from beginning to end?”

Qí Di continued to smile with the same light and unhurried ease, as though he were not speaking of the collapse of his own kingdom, but of the final outcome of some game.

Xiyun regarded Qí Di in silence for a long while. At last she spoke: “Your Majesty was born in the Taitong era.”

The Taitong era was the reign title of Yan Di — the most prosperous and peaceful period in the history of the Dong Chao Empire.

“This Emperor can only be a sovereign of peaceful times, and lacks the character of an overlord fit for an age of ruin?” Qí Di’s gaze shifted toward Xiyun.

Xiyun smiled faintly. “Every person has things they are capable of, and things they are not. It is no different for rulers of nations.”

Hearing this, Qí Di gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. He moved forward, and his gaze came to rest on the jade crescent moons at the brows of the two before him. After a moment, he spoke with something that sounded like quiet reflection: “The paired crescent moons that were separated in the Hall of the Gathering Dragon more than three hundred years ago have finally reunited here, today, three hundred years later!”

At his words, the two of them simultaneously raised their hands to touch the half-moon crescents at their brows. Their eyes met for a brief moment — then quietly moved apart.

“It was because of this pair of crescent moons that the seven kingdoms came to be. And it is because of them that this age of chaos exists today.” Qí Di turned quietly away from them to face the dragon throne above the great hall. His voice was low and still, solemn and composed. “Meeting and parting, gathering and scattering — the cycle of cause and effect. Ruins becoming towers, prosperity turning to decay… From nothing to something, from flourishing to sorrow… Life and death, rest and return — round and round, endlessly revolving. So it is with human lives. So it is with heaven and earth.”

He moved, stepping slowly up the stairs, one step at a time toward the dragon throne. He stood before the dragon table, reached out and lightly pressed the imperial seal upon it, then lifted it and pressed it gently onto a yellow silk cloth covered in vermilion script. “This is what you came for. Take it.”