A thin mist drifted over the autumn grass, casting an ethereal haze in the morning sunlight. Birds with outstretched wings skimmed low over the ponds, their toes barely touching the duckweed, stirring ripples across the surface. Verdant horseback riders disappeared into the vast expanse of green grass, while the distant sound of a shepherd’s flute floated gently through the air, as melodious as willow branches in spring.

Autumn had now arrived, with cool temperatures in the early mornings and evenings. The Hui people’s autumn was always extremely short; it seemed the tail end of summer had barely passed before winter eagerly arrived. The shepherds had begun wearing autumn clothes, vests, and tall boots. The girls wore red skirts that blazed like fire—when they twirled, they resembled flaming flowers, so beautiful it dazzled the eyes.

Ping An and Duo Ji were driving a herd of horses, racing wildly across the Qiulan Plain. Jing Jing followed behind on her little red horse, shouting, “Duo Ji! Go, go!”

Ping An was now fifteen years old and had grown into a strong young man with gleaming, sinewy muscles like a robust young leopard. After one lap, he was left far behind by Duo Ji. Angrily flicking his whip, he charged toward Jing Jing, shouting, “You brat! Who’s your brother? Why are you taking sides against me?”

Jing Jing giggled, her large eyes curved like crescent moons. She made a face at Ping An, slapped her little red horse on the rump, and rode behind Duo Ji.

Duo Ji was the son of a Hui herder from the foothills, though he looked like the child of an Eastern Land scholar—fair-skinned with a high, straight nose and gentle eyes. Now sixteen years old, when he saw Jing Jing approaching, he merely halted his horse and smiled gently, saying, “Run quickly, Jing Jing. I’ll hold him back.”

“Duo Ji—” A long, drawn-out call came from the distance. Hearing it, Duo Ji stood up in his stirrups and waved, saying, “My mother is calling me. Come, let’s go to my home.”

“Duo Ji’s mother must have made buttercakes. Quick, let’s go! Sister mentioned just a few days ago how delicious Duo Ji’s mother’s butter cakes are,” Jing Jing said happily.

Hearing this, Duo Ji smiled and replied, “Is that so? Then remember to bring some back for the adults when you leave.”

“As if you needed to tell me that. I already mentioned it to your mother,” Ping An laughed heartily, cracking his whip and galloping ahead.

“Du Ping An! You’re cheating!” Jing Jing shouted, also raising her whip. Though her little red horse appeared small, it ran extremely fast, and in a moment, she had caught up.

Duo Ji smiled as he slowly rode behind, herding the horses. The sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the rich scent of wheat wafted from the distance. It was almost harvest time—the best season of the year for the Hui people had arrived.

When they returned in the evening, the villagers had loaded Ping An and Jing Jing’s ponies with food—freshly caught game, home-brewed mare’s milk wine, and Duo Ji’s mother’s butter cakes. The little red horse shook its head desperately under the weight. Seeing this, Duo Ji harnessed up a horse and cart, offering to take them home. When Jing Jing heard this, she clapped her hands and jumped with joy.

“Ping An, has the master been sleeping well these days? Has Uncle Da Lie’s medicine been helpful?” Duo Ji asked.

Du Ping An shook his head and replied, “Still the same. Last night I woke up in the middle of the night and saw Mei Xiang brewing tea, so I guess the master still wasn’t sleeping.”

“Sister has been much better these past few days. She hasn’t coughed for several days now,” Jing Jing interjected enthusiastically, smiling. “Duo Ji, your medicine is excellent. I took some too and slept until dawn.”

“You would sleep until dawn even without medicine,” Ping An scoffed, exposing his sister. “Everything Duo Ji brings is good to you. You’d even fight for his medicine. Only thirteen and already eager to get married—truly shameless.”

Jing Jing stuck out her tongue and said, “What’s there to be ashamed of? Sister told me that if you like someone, you should say it early to avoid regret later. When I grow up, I want to marry Duo Ji. What’s there to fear?”

These words were spoken with such crisp clarity that they made the handsome Duo Ji blush deeply. The boy coughed awkwardly and said, “Then I’ll bring two more doses tomorrow. Make sure the master takes them.”

Then, turning to Jing Jing, he added, “Jing Jing, medicine shouldn’t be taken carelessly. The master has an old ailment and caught a chill from soaking in ice water, which is why she needs medicine. You’re perfectly healthy—taking medicine would be harmful. Don’t take it randomly in the future.”

Jing Jing nodded with a smile, seeming to find whatever Duo Ji said extremely correct. She replied cheerfully, “I understand!”

Ping An snorted disdainfully, apparently looking down on his sister’s spinelessness.

After walking for over an hour, they finally reached the mountain. At the top of the Hui Mountain was the Nada Palace, built by Prince Yan Shicheng for Princess White Zither, but now vacant. The master lived in a residence halfway up the mountain. Looking from afar, the gray bricks and pale tiles were nestled among layers of emerald pines, giving it a serene and ancient appearance. However, one should not mistake this for an ordinary residence, as the unwary might easily lose their lives here.

“Who goes there?” a voice suddenly inquired sternly from ahead.

Ping An immediately jumped down from the cart, ran forward a few steps, and called out, “Brother He, is that you? It’s Ping An.”

“Ah, Ping An, why are you back so late?” A man in his thirties emerged from the grove, followed by several ordinary-looking men armed with steel forks, one of whom carried a wild rabbit.

“The master has asked about you several times. It looks like there will be a mountain storm tonight. If you hadn’t returned soon, I was going to head down to find you.”

Brother He walked over cheerfully, and upon seeing Duo Ji, smiled and said, “Duo Ji is here too! How is your father’s injury?”

“Thanks to Brother He’s excellent bone-setting, his arm can move now.”

“Old Mu Tuo just won’t listen to reason. I told him early on that the bear with cubs couldn’t be approached,” Brother He said.

They chatted as they walked inward, encountering several patrols of sentries along the way. These men were former warriors of the Xiuli Army who had now returned to civilian life. Most had settled with families at the foot of the mountain but still took turns coming up to stand guard. This past year had been much more peaceful on the mountain, with fewer assassins from the Zhuge family—they were no longer as fanatical as they had been initially.

“The master just finished dinner and is resting in the back courtyard. You should go over immediately to let her know you’re back, so she won’t worry,” Brother He said.

“We know. Brother He, you’re becoming more and more like Duo Ji’s mother,” Jing Jing pouted. Brother He laughed and patted her head before leaving with his men.

At the entrance to the courtyard, they unsurprisingly saw He Xiao. Since the master had been injured a year ago, he had moved in from outside and lived right at her doorway, watching day and night. Jing Jing had told Duo Ji that she had never seen He Xiao sleep. Once, when she came looking for the master, she saw He Xiao leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and tried to sneak in, but before she could step into the courtyard, He Xiao grabbed her and told her the master was sleeping and to come back in the morning.

Duo Ji hadn’t believed it at first, but after visiting more frequently, he realized it seemed true that He Xiao was never seen dozing. Even if he was sleeping, he would immediately wake up if anyone approached.

“Commander He!” Seeing He Xiao, Ping An became much more disciplined and called out respectfully.

He Xiao nodded, and upon seeing Duo Ji, revealed a rare smile, asking, “Duo Ji, how is your father’s injury?”

“He can move now. Thank you for your concern, Commander He,” Duo Ji answered respectfully.

He Xiao spoke kindly, “That’s good to hear. The master asked about him today and instructed me to tell your father not to risk his life hunting bears for gallbladders anymore. The master’s illness is much better, and the medicine you sent last time was very effective.”

“Yes, I’ll tell my father when I return,” Duo Ji replied.

He Xiao nodded and said, “Go on in. You two rascals, you never come back early when you go out. The master has asked about you several times.”

Jing Jing made a face and pushed open the gate, running inside. Ping An and Duo Ji followed behind. Night had fallen, and the moon hung coolly in the sky, perfectly round. The mountain was chilly, several degrees colder than below. A white plum tree stood in the center of the courtyard, blooming early though it had not yet snowed. The plum fragrance permeated the air, creating a serene atmosphere. Under the moonlight, the white blossoms resembled a tree full of snow.

“Sister!” Before entering the room, Jing Jing was already running and shouting.

The door opened, and Mei Xiang peeked her head out. Seeing them, she deliberately put on a stern face, extending her slender finger to firmly tap Jing Jing’s forehead, scolding, “You naughty girl, not knowing to come home until this late—you’ve truly become a wild child. Who will marry you at this rate?”

“Hehe, I guarantee I’ll get married before Sister Mei!” Jing Jing covered her forehead and giggled. Mei Xiang laughed and scolded, “You clever-tongued little thief!”

Mei Xiang was a slave the master had purchased from Yuegong City over a year ago. She had fled to avoid becoming a concubine to an old nobleman and was about to be beaten to death when the master saved her. She followed the master up to the Hui mountain afterward. Though she was quite spirited, she was extremely loyal. Despite not having been with the master for long, being a woman with a good temperament, she had become the closest person to the master after He Xiao.

“Come in. The master has been waiting for you for a long time,” Mei Xiang said.

After closing the door, Mei Xiang led them inside. The house was built with red bricks, which kept out the wind and retained warmth well. The rooms were neat, without luxurious decorations but with several pots of orchids. Duo Ji’s uncle had previously been a soldier under Master Wu and had returned to his hometown after being wounded. He was a knowledgeable man, and Duo Ji had learned Eastern poetry and literature from him, gaining some understanding of flowers. However, after carefully examining these flowers, he didn’t recognize many of them and found himself staring in confusion.

Seeing this, Mei Xiang chuckled and said, “You probably haven’t seen these before. They were all collected by the master from Da Xia. Usually, they’re kept in the greenhouse, but now that the weather is cold, they’ve been brought inside. The master calls it ‘grafting’—these aren’t flowers that would normally bloom together.”

When they opened the door to the study, a pair of clear eyes looked over calmly. Chu Qiao wore a soft white cotton top with a linen-colored silk skirt, and newly pinned in her hair was an artificial white lotus flower—clearly Mei Xiang’s handiwork. Seeing that Chu Qiao dressed every day, Mei Xiang was always trying to come up with original decorations. Chu Qiao was kind-hearted and, not wanting to refuse Mei Xiang’s good intentions, allowed her to do as she pleased.

“You’re back,” Chu Qiao said, putting down the book in her hand and smiling faintly as she extended her arm. Jing Jing quickly ran over, took Chu Qiao’s hand, and leaned against her chest, whining coquettishly, “Sister, Jing Jing missed you so much!”

“Oh? Is that so? I thought you were too happy seeing Duo Ji to think of anything else,” Chu Qiao teased lightly. In front of others, no matter what was said about Jing Jing, she always maintained that smiling face. Only in front of Chu Qiao could a casual remark make the little girl blush deeply.

Ping An laughed and said, “The master is the only one who can discipline her.”

After Chu Qiao left the military, Ping An brought his sister up the mountain with him, but he still insisted on maintaining the formal address, calling her “master” just like He Xiao and the others.

Duo Ji stood to the side, somewhat dazed. Ordinarily, he was considered a very clever young man—knowledgeable, well-spoken—but in front of Chu Qiao, he always unconsciously lowered his head, as if even looking at her directly felt like a form of blasphemy. Yet he couldn’t help finding excuses to come up and see her every few days, feeling that even glimpsing her house from afar was worthwhile.

After chatting and joking with Jing Jing for a while, Chu Qiao looked up at Duo Ji and asked kindly, “How is your father doing?”

Duo Ji answered respectfully, “He’s much better now. Thank you for your concern, master.”

“The harvest is approaching, and your mother has been busy with all the household matters these days. I’ve already told He Xiao that we’ll send people to help with the harvest. Go tell your mother to let us know when it’s time to harvest the wheat,” Chu Qiao said.

“Yes, thank you for your concern, master.”

“It looks like there will be a mountain storm tonight, so don’t go back down. Stay with Ping An for the night. Mei Xiang has heated food for you all. Go eat first.”

Everyone nodded and clattered out the door.

Within half an hour, it indeed began to rain. With each autumn rain, the temperature dropped noticeably. Mei Xiang gave them an extra quilt and added a brazier to the room. Ping An was fond of sleep and soon was snoring deeply. Duo Ji lay on the bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Late in the night, he put on his clothes and quietly got up, opening the door and slipping out.

Ping An’s room was next to Jing Jing’s. As Duo Ji passed by, he could hear the little girl mumbling incoherently in her dreams, though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Further ahead was a waterside pavilion, one of many hot springs on the Hui mountain. Above it was an exquisite pavilion, veiled in moonlight, appearing misty and ethereal. Across from the water pavilion was the master’s bedchamber. Several weathered old plum trees were sheltered under the covered walkway, spared from the beating rain, their fragrance permeating the air.

Duo Ji loved this place. Each time he visited, he liked to come very late so the master would ask him to stay overnight. Then, after Ping An fell asleep, he could sneak out and watch for a while.

The master had been at Qiulan Plain for two years now. Since her arrival, Qiulan Plain had been exempted from military service and spring and autumn taxes. The Emperor had dispatched troops to sweep the surrounding areas multiple times, clearing out nearby mountain bandits and vagrants. Military camps had been established to the north and south, making Qiulan Plain even more peaceful and prosperous—one couldn’t even find a chicken thief. Originally, this area wasn’t a residential zone, with only a few herder households living here. Gradually, more people gathered, with a tenth of Shangsheng’s population relocating. The nearby Qiulan City grew increasingly bustling, and in just two short years, it had become one of the major cities in Yan Bei.

Everyone genuinely adored the master. In those years, she had led troops to defend Chidu and North Shuo, guided Shangsheng’s people in reclaiming wasteland, building roads, establishing trade, developing commerce, improving water conservancy, teaching agriculture and iron-smelting techniques, building armament factories, and opening schools and businesses—she had done many good deeds. Although she no longer held office, she still protected the people, allowing Shangsheng’s residents to live prosperous and peaceful lives. What was once the most chaotic prefecture in Yan Bei had now become the wealthiest region.

When speaking of the master, not a single person in all of Shangsheng would fail to give a thumbs up, saying she was a goddess incarnate, sent specifically to protect Yan Bei.

Only his mother, when speaking of the master’s illness that day, had sighed softly, shaking her head and saying, “When all is said and done, she’s still just a girl not yet twenty years old!”

Indeed! If his mother hadn’t mentioned it, he might have forgotten that the master was not yet twenty, only four years older than himself. He had heard that the master had entered the Da Xia imperial palace with the Emperor when she was just eight years old, and by sixteen, she was already leading troops in battles across the north and south. What was he doing at sixteen? Riding horses? Herding sheep? Milking goats?

Duo Ji felt somewhat disheartened and sighed very maturely. No sooner had the sound faded than he heard someone ask from ahead, “Is that Duo Ji?”

Duo Ji looked up to see the master standing beneath the plum trees, wearing a white cloak, her eyes as dark as ink, so dazzling that one dared not look directly into them.

“M-Master,” Duo Ji stammered, feeling embarrassed, his face turning bright red like a thief caught in the act.

What would the master think? Would she forbid him from coming again? He had been standing in front of her room, watching for so long—would she be angry?

The young man’s mind raced with confused thoughts as he heard Chu Qiao ask gently, “Can’t you sleep?”

“Ah?” Duo Ji stood dumbfounded, then quickly nodded. “Yes, can’t sleep.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Ah?”

“Come here.”

Duo Ji followed stupidly behind Chu Qiao, entering the water pavilion. Chu Qiao wore soft embroidered shoes, her figure was slender, and her features were as gentle as distant blue-green mountains. She extended her fair hand to close the other three windows, leaving only one open. In the center of the pavilion was a small table with several exquisite food boxes. When opened, they released a fragrant aroma, revealing delicate pastries and small dishes.

“Did Sister Mei Xiang make these?” Duo Ji asked nervously, trying to make conversation.

Chu Qiao slowly shook her head and smiled, saying, “I made them myself. Surprised?”

Duo Ji was momentarily stunned. He had never seen the master smile like this before. Although she was always gentle, he had always felt she wasn’t happy. Even when her face was smiling, there seemed to be an impenetrable mist in her eyes, hiding any true joy. His mother had said it was because she had too much sorrow in her heart, like an eagle with broken wings—even if alive, it would never be happy because it was no longer truly an eagle.

But now, with the master so close to him, he saw her genuine smile—mischievous, like a little fox, her eyes curved, with a playful light and a hint of proud satisfaction. He nodded foolishly, forgetting what she had asked, and could only follow her lead, exclaiming, “Really? Wow! That’s amazing!”

Chu Qiao was in a good mood. Seeing his expression, she extended her finger to tap his forehead and laughed, saying, “Silly boy.”

Duo Ji felt somewhat dejected. He was sixteen—at his age, his father had already married his mother. He was no longer a child.

“Sit down and try some.”

Duo Ji obediently sat down and picked up a pastry. He looked it over, reluctant to take a bite. The pastry was exquisitely made, resembling a plum blossom with white sugar cake forming the petals and red date threads decorating the center.

“Eat!” Chu Qiao urged him.

The nervous young man swallowed it in one gulp and immediately began choking. Chu Qiao quickly poured him a cup of tea. Duo Ji took a large sip and finally managed to swallow the pastry.

“Was it good?” Chu Qiao asked.

Duo Ji was on the verge of tears, his mouth puckering with disappointment. “I didn’t get to taste it.”

“Haha,” Chu Qiao laughed, pushing the entire plate toward him. “These are all for you.”

Duo Ji began eating them one by one, occasionally exclaiming, “Master, you’re amazing! You can make such delicious things. Who taught you?”

“I learned from the master chefs in the imperial kitchen when I was in the palace. You’re quite fortunate, Duo Ji—even the Emperor of Da Xia eats these.”

“Ah?” Duo Ji was stunned. Tonight, he seemed much more foolish than usual, constantly dumbfounded.

Suddenly, the water pool outside made a bubbling sound. The wind blew in, pushing open another window. Chu Qiao stood up to close it but noticed that the old plum tree at the base of the house had grown as tall as the building. She froze, her hand suspended in mid-air as strips of moonlight fell across her wrist, creating a dappled, shadowy pattern.

In the blink of an eye, two years had passed. The newly planted plum trees had already grown as tall as the eaves.

Time truly is the most ruthless thing in the world. It never pauses for any joy or sorrow, and after it hastily departs, any once-intense emotions gradually cool under its grinding wheel.

That night, she left Yunbi City and traveled for half a month until she finally reached North Shuo. Then, one clear morning, as she walked along the deserted main street of North Shuo and out through the city gates, she saw thousands upon thousands of Yan Bei’s citizens.

There were native residents of North Shuo City and many more who had come from distant inland areas—Shangsheng, Sunset Mountain, Blue City, Chidu, Hui, and Meilin. The common people had heard the news of her departure and had come together in silence. Along the way, she encountered many such groups, but she didn’t know them, and they didn’t disturb her. They just quietly followed, until now, when they gathered at the North Shuo City gates, silently watching her, seeing her off on her final journey.

Among the crowd were elderly people with white hair, young and fragile children, blue-eyed foreigners from beyond the borders, Eastern Land merchants who had come to do business, Chidu militia who had once fought alongside her against the Da Xia army, North Shuo citizens who had escaped death under her protection, Shangsheng commoners who had participated in her road-building and commerce projects, and shepherds from the foot of Hui Mountain.

These people had come out early in the morning, quietly lining both sides of the road, leaving a clear path. When they saw her emerge, they all turned to look at her in unison.

Chu Qiao could still not forget those gazes. There was reluctance, sadness, hope that she would stay, heartbreak, worry, and fear. But they transformed these myriad emotions into silence. Even three and four-year-old children made no sound, just quietly watching her, quietly watching her.

At that moment, she felt so sad she wanted to cry.

She knew her responsibility. Over the past year, she had traveled across the lands of Yan Bei, spreading the ideology of peace to every corner. She had led them in building homes and worked hard to restore production in the aftermath of war. They trusted and supported her wholeheartedly. This ethnic group, oppressed for hundreds of years, had placed all their longing for freedom and hope for a better life on her shoulders. And now, she was leaving, abandoning her promises to them. She was leaving them, no longer concerning herself with the dream she had once fought for with all her might.

He Xiao stood at the front with nine thousand soldiers of the Xiuli Army, fully armed and packed, appearing ready to travel far with her.

Nothing more needed to be said. She could only stand there stunned, like a statue carved from stone.

Suddenly, a pair of small, soft hands wrapped around her waist. She looked down to see a girl of about ten years old, wordlessly looking up at her, stubbornly tilting her head, with tears welling in her eyes but refusing to fall. Ping An ran up from behind, trying to pull his sister away, but he couldn’t separate them.

Ping An was serving in the army at that time. When Yan Xun first sent him to the interior of Yan Bei, little Jing Jing had followed her, already living with her for over a year.

“Sister,” Jing Jing finally began to cry, tears streaming down her face. “Are you abandoning me? Are you abandoning me?”

As the child began to cry, gradually others started crying too. The people stood in rows, and someone was the first to kneel. Soon, large groups of citizens were kneeling on the ground. Elderly people in their seventies and eighties wept profusely, repeatedly asking, “Master, are you abandoning us?”

“Master, without you, I’ll be captured and made a slave again.”

“Master, where are you going? Can I go with you?”

…

The cold wind howled, blowing up the thick snow on the ground. The departing Chu Qiao released her horse’s reins, tilted her head back, and looked at the dazzling sun. Tears streamed down from the corners of her eyes, falling into her thick hair.

The heavy weight of responsibility pressed down on her shoulders, making it hard for her to breathe.

She knew who was manipulating everything, but she was powerless to escape. He understood her too well, and with just a small maneuver, he could trap her completely.

That day, she seemed to have shed all the tears of a lifetime. Standing in the vast snowy wilderness, she felt like a kite held tightly in someone’s hand, without even a string, not knowing where to flee even if she wanted to escape.

And so she stayed, pathetically, living halfway up Hui Mountain. She had been there for two years now.

During these two years, she had watched him with her own eyes—watched him conscript soldiers and collect taxes, attack cities and seize territories, implement military service systems even harsher than Da Xia’s, and systematically eliminate opposition to secure his iron rule over Yan Bei.

Sometimes she thought that life was a truly wondrous thing. It always gives you hope in moments of despair, allowing you to persevere, and then, just as you’re about to reach that hope, it douses all your dreams with a bucket of cold water.

Yan Xun had ultimately succeeded. Da Xia could not raise its head under his suppression.

After Zhuge Yue’s death, although the Zhuge clan hurriedly distanced themselves from him, expelling him from the family genealogy and refusing to bury his body in the family cemetery, they still suffered from the association. Their position in the Council of Elders greatly diminished. Zhuge Huai was demoted repeatedly, and though Zhuge Mu Qing still tried to salvage the situation by actively supporting collateral branches of the family, the results were unsatisfactory.

General Le Xing’s daughter, Le Wan Yi, also hurriedly withdrew from her engagement, personally writing a ten-thousand-word blood letter to petition the Emperor of Xia. She claimed that the Zhuge family was wealthy and powerful, using their influence to bully others and that Zhuge Yue was low, coveting her beauty. She said she had been unwilling but was forced into the engagement through threats from his family’s power. Now that he had committed such an unconscionable crime, being his widow would be disrespectful and insulting to the Empire and the Emperor. She would rather become a nun than marry such a base and shameless person.

Le Wan Yi’s sincere determination to devote herself to Buddhism was so earnest and her resolve so firm that it became the talk of the capital. Although she ultimately did not fulfill her wish to take the tonsure, she successfully distanced herself from the sinful official, maintaining her noble character.

Of course, as Zhuge Yue’s direct superior, Zhao Che could not escape the fate of demotion. This prince, who had risen and fallen several times, was once again banished to the northeastern frontier, sent to supervise an entirely unnecessary military construction project in a barren land, thus removing him from Da Xia’s political stage.

Most unimaginable was that the Fourteenth Prince, Zhao Yang, had allied with the Wei clan. With Wei Guang’s support, Zhao Yang leaped to become one of Da Xia’s foremost princes with real power, being enfeoffed as Prince Zhou. Wei Shu Ye also rose with the tide, taking command of the military authority at Yanming Pass.

Da Xia’s power structure had been reshuffled, but discerning people could easily see that the former dominance was gradually leaving Da Xia. Faced with Yan Bei’s iron cavalry and strong troops, they increasingly appeared powerless. Although Wei Shu Ye had considerable military talent, Yan Xun was a step ahead, and with domestic political interference, Da Xia gradually shifted from offense to defense. Over the past year, they had increasingly shown signs of fatigue.

Now, Xi Meng was divided into four parts. Li Ce of Bian Tang had secured the throne, Princess Huai Song Nalan Hong Ye ruled her domain, and Yan Xun held the Northwest, facing Da Xia across the river. No longer did anyone power dominate.

Despite this, Yan Xun still did not dare to easily break through Da Xia’s defenses, because to the southwest of the Helan Mountains, a new regime had suddenly appeared in everyone’s view. No one knew the origin of this regime, or even their actual numbers. Only through passing merchants and dispatched scouts did they vaguely know that the leader of this regime called himself the “King of Qinghai.”

Qinghai was located south of the Helan Mountains and west of the Cuiwei Mountains. According to legend, it was a desolate, extremely hot, and barren area with rampant wild beasts and not a blade of grass. More than two thousand years ago, it was a place where the various powers of the continent exiled criminals. It was said that hardly anyone sent there could survive—they either became food for wild beasts or died from various strange diseases. Thus, throughout history, exile to Qinghai had always been synonymous with death. Some people would rather die in Xi Meng than set foot in Qinghai. Over the years, the number of prisoners who had committed suicide at Cuiwei Pass was countless.

But it was precisely from such a place—infested with poisonous insects, prowling fierce beasts, and barren vegetation—that a regime had suddenly emerged like a shooting star.

On the seventeenth day of the seventh month of the year 778, Yan Xun personally commanded an army of seventy thousand to attack the south gate of Yanming Pass. Just as they were about to succeed, enemies suddenly appeared from the southwest rear. They were agile, fierce in battle, moved like the wind, and were as swift as wolves. Like a knife, they inserted themselves into the left flank of the Yan Bei army, shattering their offensive. However, just as Yan Xun hurriedly turned his horse to counterattack, they vanished like air.

It was much later when scouts finally found their traces at Cuiwei Pass, which was now occupied by someone known as the “King of Qinghai.”

This was truly devastating news for Yan Bei, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Because Cuiwei Pass was located near the Helan Mountains, west of the Red River, this meant that besides the Quanrong people beyond Meilin Pass, another enemy called the King of Qinghai had appeared in Yan Bei’s rear. And worse than the Quanrong people, Meilin Pass was controlled by Yan Bei, while Cuiwei Pass belonged to the King of Qinghai.

This meant that whenever the King of Qinghai wanted to take a stroll in Yan Bei, he could do so at will, and there was absolutely nothing Yan Bei could do about it. Moreover, Cuiwei Pass was located at the junction of the Helan and Cuiwei Mountains. To the east was a plain with no natural barriers, impossible to defend. To block enemies from Qinghai would require building a wall several thousand kilometers long along Cuiwei Pass.

This was an absolute joke.

Fortunately, since that one time, the King of Qinghai had not reappeared. It was as if he had just been taking a casual stroll that day, simply to inform Yan Xun of his existence as a neighbor. Nevertheless, Yan Xun did not dare to be complacent. He continuously sent people to Qinghai to gather intelligence and made several trips to Cuiwei Pass, hoping to establish contact with the King of Qinghai. Meanwhile, he set up defensive barriers in the southwest and arranged for troops to be stationed. This gave Da Xia a chance to catch its breath.

These matters were all gradually related to her by He Xiao and the others. In these two years, Chu Qiao had rarely descended the mountain. Since going out on business two years ago, she had never left again.

A bubbling sound suddenly came from nearby. Duo Ji curiously looked down to see a small pot simmering on a small stove. Seeing this, Chu Qiao hurried over, put on large gloves, and lifted the pot. Turning back, she said, “Go back to sleep after you finish eating. I’m leaving first.”

Duo Ji watched as Chu Qiao’s figure gradually disappeared, not toward her room but around the pine garden at the back. He didn’t follow but wrapped up the few remaining pastries, too cherished to eat, and held them in his hand.

The wind blew through the pine forest with a rustling sound. Walking along the path to a stone tablet, she set down the small pot. Opening it revealed a pot of hot oil spicy lamb.

In front of the stone tablet was a small stone table and stool, both polished smooth from frequent use. The tablet was simple and rustic, inscribed with just five large characters: “Tomb of Zhuge Yue.”

Yes, two years ago, she had led three hundred elite Xiuli soldiers to Da Xia to retrieve Zhuge Yue’s body.

At that time, she had received news that the Zhuge family had finally expelled Zhuge Yue and refused to bury his remains in the family cemetery. Instead, his body had been whipped as punishment and carelessly thrown into the chaotic burial grounds south of the city.

The process was quite smooth—no one was guarding the now-useless corpse. When Chu Qiao arrived, the body had already been torn apart by wild dogs, disfigured beyond recognition. If not for the whip marks inflicted after death, she could hardly have pieced together the broken remains. With no alternative, she had to cremate him and return to Yan Bei with his ashes.

While in the capital, she finally heard about Miss Wan Yi’s situation. For the first time in her life, she lost her composure, gritting her teeth in hatred for such a shameless person.

To fulfill her devotion to Buddhism, Miss Wan Yi had been traveling daily between the temple and her home during that period. Chu Qiao intercepted her carriage and personally shaved her head, vindictively making her completely bald. Afterward, watching her tearfully kneeling and begging for mercy, Chu Qiao suddenly felt her interest fade. It seemed that only at this moment did she truly realize that Zhuge Yue was gone, transformed into the ashes in the jar she held. He had been insulted and abused—anyone could trample on his dignity at will—and she could do nothing but beat the offender, unable to save him, unable to make his family recognize him, unable to restore his reputation, and even unable to preserve his body intact.

She couldn’t articulate her feelings at that time. It seemed as though the whole world had suddenly turned gray and white. She returned to Shangsheng with her people, never descending the mountain again, spending her days guarding this small courtyard, burying all her time here.

“Zhuge Yue, you must be feeling quite pleased down there now, right? I heard from He Xiao that Da Xia suffered another defeat at Yanming Pass. Wei Shu Ye is no match for Yan Xun at all. Without you, Da Xia has suffered greatly. You always pretended not to care about anything, but I know you’re the type to hold grudges. You must be thinking: ‘Serves those bastards right! Without me, you’re all doomed.'”

Chu Qiao stirred the lamb in the pot with her chopsticks as she spoke slowly. She kept her head lowered, her hair falling alongside her cheeks. Her skin was snow-white, and the moonlight filtering through the pine branches cast striped shadows upon it—a mottled, cold radiance.

“I didn’t dream of you again last night. Are you dead? How can you be so heartless, not even visiting my dreams? Are you still sulking? Angry that no one has avenged you? But your social skills were truly terrible. The few loyal people you had kept coming to try to kill me with their swords. Thankfully, they’re clumsy. If they went after Yan Xun instead, they’d probably have no chance of survival.”

The pot gradually cooled, the lamb fat solidifying. She continued to mutter, “I burned paper money for you again yesterday. Did you receive it? You were always good to me. I have no way to repay you except to burn some money for you to use after death. You were born into a wealthy family, spoiled from childhood, having everything handed to you. How would you survive in the afterlife without money? But it’s fine—you went with so many of your subordinates. Even in the netherworld, you can continue to live like a lord.”

“Zhuge Yue, do you know where Mo’er went? I’ve sent people to the capital several times but can’t find any trace of him. They say he’s missing. Your father didn’t kill him, did he? Mo’er is still so young and his background is so pitiful. Keep an eye out for him over there, and let me know if you see him, so I don’t have to search the whole world.”

A gust of wind blew, causing accumulated water on the trees to splash into the pot. Chu Qiao seemed oblivious. Her expression was calm, showing no visible sadness or heartbreak. She just spoke quietly, her voice very low, yet peculiarly clear in the silent night.

“Zhuge Yue, I actually couldn’t sleep last night. I lay awake staring at the ceiling all night. I kept replaying that day’s events in my mind. I should have had a chance to save you. First, I should have had He Xiao cover our retreat while you and I escaped together, then split our forces in twenty directions. We wouldn’t have left but secretly returned to Yuegong to wait for the situation to calm before finding a way to escape. Second, at Thousand Fathom Lake, I should have led troops to attack the right flank of the army from behind, where all the archers were stationed. A couple of cavalry charges could have scattered them, giving you the opportunity and time to leave the exposed center of the lake. Third, how could I have gone to beg Yan Xun? I should have taken him hostage. I could have approached him with a smile, and he wouldn’t have suspected anything. Was I out of my mind then? And lastly, how could you push me up? I had a dagger. We should have swum several hundred meters underwater, then broken through the ice to escape. Although the water was cold, it wouldn’t have killed us immediately. Jack in Titanic held on for quite a while, not to mention we were both trained fighters.”

Chu Qiao muttered with frustration, “Why didn’t I think of these things then?”

The night was very quiet. One could even hear dogs barking from households at the foot of the mountain. Everyone had gone to bed; only she sat here, rambling on. After talking for a long time, Chu Qiao suddenly stood up and knocked firmly on Zhuge Yue’s tombstone, saying loudly, “Hey, I’m talking to you! Can you hear me?”

The crisp echo reverberated through the pine forest. After speaking, Chu Qiao seemed somewhat dazed. She crouched in front of the tomb, her expression darkening. She lowered her head, her hair falling on both sides, hiding her face.

Her voice was muffled and soft as she said, “I had so many ways, but why couldn’t I save you?”

The night was as cool as water. A gentle breeze lifted her clothes. She leaned against the tombstone, motionless for a long time, as if frozen. The autumn pine needles had turned slightly yellow, rustling in the wind.

Just like many years before, they had leaned against each other like this. The night had been so dark, enemies all around, as they fought back-to-back, working together with such perfect coordination that they seemed like a single person.

“Zhuge Yue, this is our fate…”

Chu Qiao whispered. A flock of crows flew overhead, cawing like babies as they passed by and gradually disappeared into the distance.

Chu Qiao had thought that life would continue this way. However, early the next morning, the news struck like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, instantly shattering the last tranquility of her life.