Chapter 1: Atop Fury Peak

Rumble… rumble… In the black night, iron hooves churned as a yellow horse broke through the dust and smoke, galloping urgently forward.

“Giddyup! Giddyup!” With no starlight or moonlight, the road ahead was pitch black, ready to trip the galloping horse at any moment. However, the rider showed no signs of slowing down. He whipped the horse relentlessly, crying out continuously, beating the yellow horse until it whinnied pitifully and panted heavily. The more it hurt, the more it panted; the more it panted, the more it stumbled. Just as it was about to collapse from exhaustion and lose its footing, the road ahead finally blazed with light.

“Giddyup! Giddyup! Giddyup!”

The yellow horse crossed the finish line. This thirty-li night journey was finally complete. Countless soldiers held torches high, lining both sides of the road, already guiding the horse’s path. However, the rider knew he couldn’t stop yet—he still had to complete his final mission.

Clop, clop-clop, clop-clop-clop… Clear hoofbeats came from ahead. At the end of the road stood a white horse with a knight mounted upon it. The knight looked impatient, leaning forward with his left arm stretched straight back, apparently waiting for something.

“Faster! Faster! Catch up!” The soldiers along the road shouted encouragement, urging the yellow horse to push harder in pursuit.

The white horse began to trot tentatively. This horse had four long, graceful legs and was in perfect condition—a “Great Food Heavenly Horse” from the Western Regions. Even this light exercise showed its potential to break free from restraints. How could the poor yellow horse, having already galloped thirty li through the night and now foaming at the mouth, exhausted and panting, possibly catch up to this renowned thousand-li steed?

“Giddyup! Giddyup! Giddyup!” The rider didn’t care about anything else. He raised his whip and beat frantically, determined to make the yellow horse catch up.

The two horses rode one after the other. The white horse grew faster while the yellow horse panted loudly. The gap between them widened. Suddenly, a sharp blade swung out, stabbing the yellow horse’s hindquarters. With a piercing whinny of pain, the yellow horse leaped more than a zhang high. Just as it was about to crash to the ground, the rider stretched out his arm and shouted: “Catch it!”

As the two riders made their exchange and the item was passed over, the yellow horse’s front legs gave out and it collapsed. The white horse neighed joyfully, then with a powerful kick of its hind legs, leaped up as if riding clouds and mist, immediately galloping northward.

Rumble! Rumble! The “Great Food Heavenly Horse’s” four hooves churned up a thick cloud of dust from the ground. The rider on its back immediately bent down low, first hiding the object in his hands in a secret pouch beneath the horse’s belly, then raising a suona horn toward the sky to blow.

“Woo… woo… woo… woo…!” The piercing sound cut through the night sky and awakened the dark earth. Wherever the suona’s call reached, lights appeared along the road. Thousands of torches arranged like a wall resembled a brilliant galaxy, guiding the white horse toward the endless north.

North, north, all the way north… Iron hooves rumbled and roared, firelight retreated past them, li after li, stretch after stretch. In the lightning-fast journey, the northern grasslands rushed toward them only to be thrown behind in an instant. Suddenly, the firelight along the roadside flickered out, and at the end of the grasslands appeared a massive structure—a towering city wall stretching endlessly, standing upon a vast plain. The rider again raised the suona and blew with full force.

“Woo… woo! Woo… woo!” In the dark night, the suona resounded through the clouds. The northern city wall also opened its great mouth, creaking and groaning as a drawbridge slowly lowered before them, swallowing the white horse into its belly.

“Giddyup! Giddyup! Giddyup!” Deep into the Lantern Festival night, hooves thundered across the ground as a fast horse passed through the capital’s southernmost gate. It came with great urgency, first passing “Yongding Gate,” then entering “Zhengyang Gate,” then reaching “Chengtian Gate,” and finally turning right toward “Dongzhi Gate” in a mad dash.

“Battle report! Battle report! Frontline battle… report!”

In the eleventh year of the Zhengtong reign, on the sixteenth day of the first month, at the third watch of midnight, a white horse arrived on Dongzhi Gate Street. The horse reared up, and the rider tumbled from the saddle, frantically pounding on a vermillion gate while shouting anxiously: “Military intelligence from Bazhou… frontline battle report!”

The moment “Bazhou” was mentioned, there was immediate activity within the gate. Footsteps could be heard scrambling, then with a tremendous “boom,” the vermillion gate opened. Dozens of officials rushed out, with attendants flanking the rider as they rushed into the compound, shouting continuously: “Lord Ma! Lord Ma! The great battle at Bazhou has a result!”

This urgent dispatch had traveled three hundred li to arrive. The document was personally sealed by “Prince De” Zhu Ji, Right Commander of the “Loyalist Army, Cavalry Battalion.” After traveling three hundred li through the night via ten relay stations, it had finally reached the capital and would soon be personally delivered to “Minister of War” Ma Renjie.

The vermillion gate before them was the most important military headquarters of the current court—the Ministry of War. As for the horse, this “Great Food Heavenly Horse” was the finest swift horse in all the relay stations, cared for and fed by the “Garrison Army” of North Zhili.

The street suddenly fell quiet. The courier, surrounded by a large group of officials, had already rushed into the Ministry of War. The white horse stood dumbly at the gate. Seeing its master enter through the vermillion gate, it wanted to follow, but the gate slammed shut with a boom, as if it wasn’t welcome.

The white horse whinnied softly, looking quite sad. It wandered the street, wanting to find its own way home, when suddenly there was another loud “boom” as the Ministry of War reopened. War horses were led out one after another—bay ones, yellow ones, spotted ones. Bronze gongs rang out loudly as dozens of officials rushed from the gate, each mounting a horse and shouting sternly: “Go!”

Clang-clang-clang! Clang-clang-clang! Bronze gongs rang throughout Dongzhi Gate Street. Fast horses could be seen galloping in all directions—east, west, south, and north of the city. What excitement! The white horse was both startled and jealous, wanting to join in the running and playing. But its master was nowhere to be seen. Just as it whinnied in frustration, someone suddenly mounted its back, and a familiar voice urged in its ear: “Run fast!”

The white horse neighed joyfully, looking spirited, and under its master’s urging, headed straight for “Anding Gate” in the north.

Rumble! Rumble! The capital’s southernmost gate was “Yongding Gate,” while the northernmost gate was “Anding Gate.” Beyond this gate lay Huairou County, where there was a temple called “Hongluo Temple.” In that temple slept a man surnamed Zhu with the given name “Yan”—the one called “Emperor Zhengtong.”

Half an hour later, the white horse would arrive at Hongluo Temple. At that time, “Emperor Zhengtong” would rub his sleepy eyes and be shaken awake from his dreams. After that, all the officials of the Five Auxiliaries and Six Ministries, the Five Courts and Temple Ministers, would crawl out of their warm beds and rush to Hongluo Temple to face the wall in waiting. When they finished facing the wall, dawn would nearly break. At that time, whether beggars at Dongzhi Gate or noble ladies in the Forbidden City, everyone regardless of wealth or poverty would spontaneously exclaim “Oh!” and feel that something was different about the world.

Clang-clang-clang-clang… “Go!” “Giddyup!” “Faster!” Dongzhi Gate Street rang with gongs and drums, voices rising in clamor. But two streets away, all was quiet—the common people still slept soundly, completely unaware that great disaster was about to befall the realm.

In the dead silence, there was suddenly a sound. The scraping of flint could be heard as a window lit up in the northwest corner. Finally, someone had been awakened. A figure sat up on the second floor there—a commoner who pushed open the window and looked out toward Dongzhi Gate Street to investigate.

What virtuous policy was the court implementing in the middle of the night that so disturbed people’s peaceful sleep? The man yawned greatly, then went back inside to fetch an oil lamp, placing it on the windowsill.

The lamplight illuminated his face. This commoner appeared to be about fifty years old, wearing a tavern keeper’s clothes. His neck was quite short and his build squat and fat, rather like a turtle. The man rubbed his eyes, took a ledger from beside the window, flipped through it casually, his lips moving silently. Then he turned the oil lamp to face west and took out a container. Black powder fell from it—who knows what was inside, perhaps peppercorns or chili peppers. In any case, it all drifted onto the lamp wick as if to add seasoning. After the oil lamp consumed the black powder, the flame burned ever brighter and the light grew more brilliant. The old turtle quickly stepped back and raised his sleeve to shield his eyes.

With a whoosh, a white light shot out, heading straight toward the distant western sky. In an instant, the entire capital blazed with light, as if lightning had crossed the sky, illuminating every detail of the street scene clearly.

For a long, long time, the firelight gradually dimmed. The old turtle lowered his sleeve and found another bamboo tube, sprinkling more powder onto the lamp wick. With a soft “hiss,” this time there was no lightning in the sky, but a dark fire projected from the window, casting the night sky in deep red. Soon after, another beam of light flashed from the window, bright as if heaven had opened its eyes, too dazzling to look at directly.

The lamplight flashed, first bright then dark, dark then bright again. In sequence it showed “bright-dark-bright-bright-dark,” then “two dark, three bright,” then “three bright, two dark,” illuminating the night sky with fantastic radiance of extraordinary beauty. Had any citizens opened their windows to see this, they surely would have been amazed.

After a full incense stick’s worth of time, the lamp was extinguished, the window closed, and the old turtle packed up his things and went to bed.

It was deep night, and the street’s residents were all resting, so no one noticed these strange happenings. In the universal silence, the west side of the city suddenly lit up again, once more illuminating the capital. A bright lamp hung at Fucheng Gate, its radiance flickering toward the west—now bright, now dark, now long, now short. In sequence it showed “bright-dark-bright-bright-dark,” “two dark, three bright,” “three bright, two dark”—the order was exactly correct.

Soon the west side of the city darkened, and before long, a more distant place lit up. This time the firelight appeared in the western suburban mountain forests outside the city, where a bright lamp was hidden, flashing the same clear radiance, the same dark-then-bright, bright-then-dark pattern, illuminating the even more distant west.

Like a relay, lamp after lamp lit up in succession, light after light extinguished in turn. They flashed their radiance ceaselessly, stage after stage, station after station, straight toward the distant western sky.

West… west… all the way west… Soon the firelight left Hebei and entered Shaanxi. After another moment it would pass through “Tongguan,” and that tiny point of clear radiance would transform into a raging inferno, shaking the entire west.

“General! General Zhao!” Footsteps clattered chaotically in the tower as a large group of soldiers burst into the commander’s quarters, shouting: “Fury Peak is transmitting!”

Clang-clang-clang… clang-clang-clang… Deep in the night, warning bells rang at Tongguan. The tower was in complete chaos as “Tongguan General” Zhao Renyong quickly threw off his bedding and followed the messenger straight up.

Reaching the top of the wall, a dark mass of people had already gathered—all the generals were assembled there. Everyone was silent, all gazing toward the distant western horizon. Zhao Renyong took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd to look toward the skyline.

At midnight, the night sky was like a fire, illuminating everyone’s faces blood red. Looking west from the wall, this red glow originated from one hundred li ahead of “Tongguan,” at the first town of Fury Peak’s eastern border: “Yima Pass.” Demonic flames shot up from the pass, lighting the surrounding hundred li. Needless to say, the Fury bandits were transmitting a message across a thousand li.

“Report! ‘Bright-dark-bright-bright-dark, long-short-long-long-short’! Report! ‘Dark-dark-bright-bright-bright, short-long-short-short-long!'” The messengers on the wall called out their reports loudly. Dozens of staff officers with brushes and ink were transcribing the signals at full speed, hoping to crack the enemy’s code.

The great war in the northwest had lasted ten years. Both the court and Fury Peak had their own secret codes and cipher methods for transmitting military intelligence, incredibly complex. Seeing the staff officers sweating profusely, each holding cipher books for comparison and decoding, Zhao Renyong paced anxiously, waiting for his subordinates to report the military intelligence.

The court’s first line of defense against Fury Peak was “Tongguan,” while Fury Peak’s eastern front line was the so-called “Outer Three Passes”: “Tianshui,” “Pingliang,” and “Yima Pass.” Each of these three places had built a massive beacon tower, supporting each other in mutual aid. Once “Yima Pass” made any movement, “Tianshui” and “Pingliang” would follow up, able to engulf the entire western frontier in flames at any time. Just as he was burning with anxiety, the top of the wall suddenly plunged into darkness. The beacon fire at distant “Yima Pass” abruptly extinguished, but soon the even more distant “Pingliang Pass” lit up, another hundred li closer to Fury Peak’s main camp.

Fury Peak’s foundation was massive. Once the beacon fire passed through “Yima Pass,” it had unobstructed passage, able to send messages back to the main camp in moments. Hearing his subordinates shouting themselves hoarse about bright this and dark that, long and short, but still seeing no one translate it, Zhao Renyong couldn’t help but let out a thunderous roar: “Speak! What exactly does this beacon fire mean? Has anyone figured it out?”

The situation was urgent—the enemy’s troop movements needed to be identified early. But despite the commander’s repeated questions, the staff officers only mumbled and hesitated, none daring to speak. Zhao Renyong raged: “Straw soldiers! Speak up!” Once the threat was issued, finally a timid voice came: “Re-reporting to the General… Fury Peak’s lamp signals have four colors—red, white, gold, and blue. Each color has four variations of bright, dark, long, and short. The enemy uses three signals as one character, yielding 4,096 different combinations…”

“Straw soldiers!” Zhao Renyong exploded in fury: “How many years have I guarded the western frontier? Do you think I don’t know these things? Speak quickly! What message are the Fury bandits transmitting?” Just as he was getting agitated, he suddenly heard a staff officer say: “Go screw your damn mutt! Say two fewer words if you don’t mind the noise.”

“What?” Hearing his subordinate’s insolent words, Zhao Renyong was naturally stunned. He stared in amazement, then his mouth twisted as he raised his fan-sized hand and roared: “Go screw your damn mutt! Say two fewer words if you don’t mind the noise!” Just as he was about to slap the man to death, staff officers on both sides were alarmed and rushed forward, saying hurriedly: “General, calm your anger! Those two sentences weren’t cursing you!”

“What?” Zhao Renyong was trembling with rage, panting: “If those two sentences weren’t cursing me, were they cursing you instead?” In his anger he swung his fist to strike, but an old general quickly embraced him and advised: “General, don’t you understand yet? According to the cipher book given by the Ministry of War, these two sentences are what we decoded!”

“What!” Zhao Renyong finally understood, saying in a trembling voice: “Go screw your damn mutt, say two fewer words if you don’t mind the noise? This is what Fury Peak transmitted across a thousand li?” The generals nodded timidly. Everyone wanted to speak, but remembering the commander’s violent temper, no one dared make a sound.

Fury Peak had burned beacon fires through the night, expending countless manpower and resources, only to transmit two meaningless sentences? It was clear the enemy had once again changed their code, thoroughly making fools of the Tongguan generals. Zhao Renyong sighed and slowly looked toward the western night sky. The beacon fire had already left “Pingliang” and reached “Tianshui.” In moments it would return to the enemy’s main camp: “Fury Peak Mountain.”

Seeing Zhao Renyong’s grave expression, a staff officer whispered in his ear: “General, please rest easy. The devil is one chi tall, but righteousness is one zhang tall. Even if the enemy changes their cipher again, we still have Lord Ma as our backbone.”

The current Minister of War was “Ma Renjie.” This man was a great scholar of the Zhengtong era, learned and knowledgeable, versed in mystical arts and divination, specially able to match wits with Fury Peak’s large group of strategists. But no matter how capable Ma Renjie was, he was currently in Beijing—how could this distant water save the nearby fire?

Zhao Renyong rubbed his face and sighed, knowing these subordinates were all worthless. He called over his personal guards and said quietly: “Go find my second brother. Tell him I have something to ask.” The soldiers hurriedly acknowledged the order. Before they could go down from the wall to find someone, they heard a voice say: “Big brother, don’t worry. Rentong is already here.” A Guangnan accent rang out from the wall. The staff officers hurriedly turned to look and saw a man approaching, wearing military dress and with a heroic bearing. It was the second son of the Zhao family, “Zhao Rentong.”

Among the Four Great Families of Fuyuan, the Lingnan Zhao Awakening Lions—the Zhao family had seven siblings in total. Except for “Bell Sixth” Zhao Renzong who had gone mad for some reason, the rest all had successful careers. Among them, the eldest and second sons had joined the military, each serving in the “Garrison Army.” The difference was that big brother Zhao Renyong guarded Tongguan with the rank of general, while second brother Zhao Rentong was stationed at Bazhou, where he had served for ten years.

There were not many in the world who could read Fury Peak’s secret codes besides Ma Renjie. The “Zhao Rentong” before them was also capable of deciphering them. In outsiders’ eyes, this second son of the Zhao family was merely a lowly lieutenant, insignificant and worthless. However, Zhao Renyong knew in his heart that his second brother was no ordinary person. Openly he was a lieutenant, but secretly he had another identity of great importance.

In the dark night with universal silence, seeing his second brother standing quietly before him, Zhao Renyong actually became inexplicably nervous. He swallowed and secretly glanced at his second brother’s right arm, then quickly looked away, saying softly: “Ren… Rentong, this… what message did this Fury Peak beacon fire transmit? Can you decode it?”

“Bright-bright-dark, white-red-blue…” Zhao Rentong crossed his arms and gazed toward the west of Tongguan: “This should be the character ‘go’.”

“Go…” Everyone whispered among themselves, some surprised, some doubtful. A staff officer hurriedly inquired: “Then… what’s the next character?”

Zhao Rentong pondered: “Three bright, three short, three white… this should be the character ‘you’.” The staff officers were overjoyed, looking at each other and saying: “First ‘go’ then ‘you’! Indeed it’s ‘go screw your damn mutt, say two fewer words if you don’t mind the noise’.”

Zhao Renyong had a violent temper and immediately swung his fist, frightening his subordinates into quickly backing away. He panted heavily and said: “Second brother, are you… are you certain? This… does this secret order really mean this?”

Zhao Rentong remained calmly silent, indicating he was quite confident. But it was also strange—these two sentences involved no military secrets, so why go to such great lengths to transmit them to the northwest? Could there be a hidden second code within? Or was this deceptive false information? If the Fury bandits wanted to deceive the enemy, why make it so absurd? Zhao Renyong wasn’t particularly clever and didn’t have the capacity to guess. He rubbed his face and said quietly: “So be it. Second brother, this… where did this beacon fire originate? Can you tell?”

The vast night sky was quiet again; the beacon fire had long since been extinguished. Zhao Rentong looked up at the Big Dipper and said softly: “Beijing.”

“Beijing?” His second brother’s concise words naturally stunned everyone. Zhao Renyong’s teeth chattered: “Fury Peak… Fury Peak has spies in Beijing?” Zhao Rentong glanced at him and said flatly: “Shajin.”

The four words “Beijing Shajin” made all the generals feel as if struck by lightning. Everyone instinctively stepped back a pace, hands on their sword hilts.

When Fury Peak followed the first generation mountain lord to establish the stronghold, there were two great elders: one was Lu Guzhan, and the other was “Shi Gang,” nicknamed “Shajin” (Killing Gold) and “Qizhong Saibei” (Seven Heavy North of the Passes). This man was utterly loyal and most skilled in cavalry field battles. For the past ten years, he had closely followed the Fury King, never leaving his side. If he had left the main mountain and advanced to the eastern border, what could he be planning?

In the silence, Zhao Rentong lowered his head and said gloomily: “Big brother, enjoy life while you can.”

The generals looked at each other, remembering the burn marks on Tongguan’s iron gate, and suddenly burst out with a wail: “They’re coming! They’re coming! The Fury bandits are going to attack Tongguan again!”

For the past ten years, “Shajin Shi Gang” rarely left the mountain stronghold. Once this man mobilized, it meant the Fury King had also departed from the main camp. Either of these two great demons appearing would be extremely troublesome for the court, let alone both demons joining forces for a combined expedition this time?

The more the generals thought about it, the more frightened they became. They hurried forward to offer advice: “Reporting to the commander! With Fury Peak’s army approaching and Tongguan’s fall imminent, to preserve our military strength, please order an immediate retreat of eight hundred li to avoid unnecessary deaths and injuries.” Seeing his subordinates defeated before the battle even began, Zhao Renyong was naturally furious, his eyes turning red with rage: “Retreat eight hundred li? Do you want to retreat all the way to Beijing?”

The subordinates looked ashamed and said quietly: “There’s no choice! The enemy force is massive. We… we can’t win.”

“Even if we can’t win, we must fight!” Zhao Renyong pointed toward the area below Tongguan and roared: “Look clearly! We still have troops outside the pass! If our army retreats, who will support them?” Hearing this, the generals couldn’t help but exclaim “Ah!” as they finally remembered there was still a force at the Tongguan front line. Everyone took a deep breath and turned to look outside the city. They could see campfires dotting the wilderness, military camps scattered like stars, with a fortified position visible every thirty li. This was the first elite force under the Zhengtong Army: the “Six Garrisons of Tongguan.”

Tongguan’s forces were divided into inner and outer sides. The inner forces were responsible for defending the city and were stationed by the “Garrison Army.” As for the hundred-li wilderness outside the city, it was held by the “Six Garrisons of Tongguan” under the “Zhengtong Army.” This force had a massive organization—each garrison comprised six great guard units, totaling 200,000 soldiers across the entire army. Once the bandits approached, they would deploy to meet the enemy and fight to the bitter end.

Thinking of their allies’ usual bravery, the staff officers’ morale greatly improved, and they came forward to speak: “Reporting to the commander! We are determined to serve the court loyally, defend Tongguan to the death, and absolutely not let the Fury bandits cross the line…” Just as they were speaking, Zhao Renyong said coldly: “Straw soldiers.”

Remembering the common people’s usual mockery, the group of “straw soldiers” blushed and dispersed to go chase sparrows.

“Garrison Army, straw soldiers—eat, drink, gather intelligence, get scared when they see sparrows.”

This children’s rhyme circulated in the northwest, well-crafted and tuneful, but it also pointed out the various specialties of the “Garrison Army.” As for the famous “Loyalist Army,” since it had never been deployed to the northwest battlefield, the common people had never seen it and thus didn’t include it in their songs.

Unlike the recruited “Garrison Army” and unlike the “Loyalist Army” with its hereditary stipends, the 700,000-strong Zhengtong Army were all volunteers for the battlefield. These people were all former wandering knights who frequently violated official laws and caused trouble in their communities. Whenever they saw powerful officials oppressing the good or wealthy forcibly taking people’s daughters, they would rise up in anger and hurt people. The court, seeing these people were hot-blooded and prone to fighting injustice, also feared they might go astray, so they invited the “Grand Commander Longshou” to come forward and enlighten them about righteousness. Later, the knights understood—it turned out that the court’s lack of benevolence and the powerful officials’ shamelessness had nothing to do with the emperor’s virtuous governance but were all due to Fury Peak’s slander and frame-ups! So they hurriedly packed their belongings and followed in the Grand Commander’s footsteps, rushing to the northwest to fight desperately.

“Until the Fury bandits are eliminated, the world will not be at peace.” To sweep away corrupt officials completely and end the wealthy’s lack of benevolence, the “Zhengtong Army” could only break through Fury Peak and kill the Fury King—that was the one true path for the world! For ten years, they had repeatedly opened the passes and set out on expeditions—”Tongguan martyrs,” “Xiangyang heroes,” “Jingzhou brave soldiers,” “Tibetan border death warriors”… Thanks to their successive sacrifices and deaths in foreign lands over the years, the ministers’ lives grew better and better, and the emperor’s sleep became less and less disturbed. Such service to country and people truly lived up to the beautiful name of “chivalry.”

For a long, long time, all the staff officers went to chase sparrows, but Zhao Renyong still stood there in a daze. A staff officer came over and whispered: “Commander, should we report this Fury Peak beacon fire transmission to the Ministry of War?” Zhao Renyong snapped back to attention and hurriedly said: “Of course, of course.”

Recently, Fury Peak had been transmitting frequently, with beacon fires never resting, suggesting they were preparing for some great battle. With Ma Renjie’s intelligence, after receiving the military intelligence, he would surely be able to divine Fury Peak’s movements. Then, whatever schemes the Fury King had or whatever evil deeds Shajin planned would be within his grasp. He took the document, stamped it with the military seal, and added nine characters in grass script on the envelope: “Respectfully submitted to Minister of War Ma Renjie,” instructing: “This Fury Peak secret message is of utmost urgency—it must reach the capital within three days. Remember to personally deliver it to Lord Ma’s hands.”

Although the “Garrison Army” wasn’t good at fighting, they were first-class at delivering official documents. The staff officer patted his chest in guarantee that he would never drink on the road. Just as he was getting excited, Zhao Renyong pulled him back and whispered in his ear: “Remember, don’t let Ma Renjie know about my second brother leaving Bazhou without permission, understand?” The staff officer understood and hurriedly said: “Understood, understood, understood. Brothers are like hands and feet, the court is like clothing. Everyone will definitely support the commander’s brotherly love.”

Hearing him say this, Zhao Renyong couldn’t help but blush all over. He quickly waved his hand: “Alright, go quickly now.” Watching the straw soldier depart with the wind, Zhao Renyong also breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he was about to order someone to bring red tea, he suddenly felt someone pat him on the back and heard a quiet voice say: “Big brother, thank you.”

Hearing this voice so eerily cold, Zhao Renyong was naturally startled and jumped up. He quickly turned around to look—it was his second brother.

He hurriedly wiped away cold sweat and said in a trembling voice: “You… don’t always pat me from behind like that. You nearly scared me to death.” Zhao Rentong’s expression was wooden as he said: “Sorry, I’ve gotten used to it.”

This second brother had been extremely clever in his youth, but in middle age had become eerily strange, making everyone fear him somewhat. Remembering that earlier phrase “enjoy life while you can,” Zhao Renyong couldn’t help but chuckle nervously and quickly pulled his second brother aside to scold him: “Rentong, I’m at least the General of Tongguan. How could you say something like ‘enjoy life while you can’ just now? Aren’t you afraid of shaking military morale and spreading alarmist talk?”

Zhao Rentong said woodenly: “Big brother, what comes after ‘enjoy life while you can’?” Thinking of the four words “not many days left,” Zhao Renyong couldn’t help but turn pale with shock: “What? This… was that phrase directed at me?” In his terror, he unconsciously looked toward his second brother’s right arm. Seeing that his brother was also scrutinizing him, he quickly forced a smile and pretended to be confused.

In the court’s view, Zhao Renyong commanded 80,000 straw soldiers. However, if one counted carefully, it would be “two plus one makes five”—there were actually only 50,000 straw soldiers, with the remaining 30,000 hidden in Zhao Renyong’s pocket, only appearing when collecting pay. Thus Zhao Renyong’s pockets were always bulging full. If not for his wife in Beijing’s love of precious ornaments, even ten pockets would have burst.

In the silence, his second brother’s gaze was dark and gloomy, as if he knew everything. Thinking of the four words “righteousness over family,” Zhao Renyong’s legs went weak and he said in a trembling voice: “Rentong, big brother… big brother has never asked you… weren’t you… weren’t you supposed to be stationed at Bazhou? Why… why did you come here?”

This question was indeed crucial. This Zhao Rentong was originally a lieutenant who guarded Bazhou together with General Zhong Siwen. Who would have thought that six days ago he suddenly appeared at Tongguan, nearly giving his big brother the shock of his life and almost making him burn his account books.

Zhao Rentong was no ordinary person. His mission guarding Bazhou wasn’t to “watch the city” but to “watch the accounts”—all the generals’ private lives and secrets were under his control. Thinking of the divine eagle on his second brother’s arm, Zhao Renyong looked even more mournful and was about to confess his crimes when he heard Zhao Rentong say quietly: “Big brother, you misunderstand. If I had official business, would I travel with my wife and children?”

These words were quite convincing and couldn’t help but put Zhao Renyong’s mind at ease. Looking at his second brother, he indeed hadn’t come alone on this trip to Tongguan—he had brought his wife and children along, and they were now settled in the city.

This matter became even more mysterious. His second brother had been stationed at Bazhou for ten years and would never abandon his post without permission. Thinking about it this way, he truly hadn’t come on official business. But strangely, if his second brother had no official duties, what was he doing at Tongguan? Could it be that he missed his big brother and had made a special trip to visit family? But why hadn’t he sent a letter beforehand to let his big brother prepare?

Could it be… could it be that he had encountered some trouble and violated military law, or offended some powerful person, resulting in losing his position and fleeing for his life? No… this wasn’t right either… His second brother bore a brand, and everyone in Bazhou feared him like a tiger. Even General Zhong Siwen had to be wary of him. What powerful person would dare provoke him?

For six whole days, Zhao Renyong had probed indirectly countless times to discover his second brother’s intentions, but he remained tight-lipped, not mentioning the inside story at all. Thinking of the four words “enjoy life while you can,” Zhao Renyong’s heart grew even more alarmed. Just as he was about to press further, he suddenly saw snow clouds scatter in the night sky. Under the moonlight’s reflection, a black mountain peak appeared at the junction of heaven and earth, frightening all the generals into crying out: “Fury Peak Mountain!”

Legend had it that when the moon shone at its zenith, one could have the chance to see Fury Peak’s main stronghold by standing on Tongguan’s tower. Tonight the sky was clear for ten thousand li with excellent visibility, actually fulfilling this legend. In an instant, the entire scene fell silent. From staff officers above to messengers below, everyone trembled slightly and hid behind the battlements, only peering at the legendary “Fury Peak Mountain.”

Silver-white moonlight fell upon that extremely cold and bitter land in the far west, where a hellish black mountain stood. That rebellious mountain, built up through two generations of management by father and son Qin Baxian and Qin Zhonghai, quietly appeared before their eyes.

This mountain was far more imposing than imagined. Its main peak soared skyward, piercing through clouds and pointing straight at the divine heavens. One could vaguely see defensive fortifications built layer upon layer on the eastern wall, solid as metal and stone. The western mountainside was full of steep precipices, extraordinarily treacherous. It was clear this place was of grand scale, incomparable to its initial rebellion ten years ago.

The demon army’s great headquarters housed 700,000 troops. Dimly, the “Fury Peak” before them seemed to have become a giant, bending down to monitor the movements of all living beings in the eastern realm. Though the generals knew this was an illusion, under the accumulated might of the Fury King, their souls were still seized and their spirits captured, as if bewitched.

All around was quietly silent, everyone speechless and mute. Just as they were trembling, they suddenly saw firelight faintly appear atop Fury Peak, as if something was stirring. Everyone rubbed their eyes and was about to look again when suddenly a red flame shot up into the sky, frightening everyone into crying out: “Fury Peak demon fire!”

Atop Fury Peak, demonic flames churned like thunder crashing down, like hellfire spewing forth, burning the night sky blood red. Suddenly the light was blindingly brilliant, and the beacon tower at Tianshui also lit up.

“Fury Peak is responding! Fury Peak is responding!” The staff officers spoke with weeping voices, all crouching below the battlements, trembling with fear.

“Shajin” Shi Gang transmitted messages in all directions, and Fury Peak’s main stronghold immediately responded. The beacon towers at “Tianshui,” “Pingliang,” “Fengxiang,” and “Sanyuan” lit up in succession. The firelight burned ever fiercer and moved ever faster. In just moments, the demon fire had reached “Yima Pass” and blazed with towering radiance right before the generals.

“Ah!” All the generals covered their eyes together. The Zhao brothers were also forced to turn their faces away, unable to look directly at this raging inferno.

Atop Fury Peak, anger burned in the fire, as if the Fury King was proclaiming to all the world’s people that Fury Peak’s entire army would cross eastward to restore justice to the human realm.

Seeing all his subordinates crying and wailing, Zhao Renyong was after all the army’s supreme commander. At this moment of military danger and battle crisis, he absolutely could not lose his composure. He tightly embraced his second brother’s arm, using that brand to steady himself. He took a deep breath and was about to speak to comfort the troops when suddenly “dong-dong” sounds rang out—someone below Tongguan was beating war drums ahead of schedule.

“Zhengtong Army…” A vast command came through the night: “Rise and prepare for battle!”

Eight thousand suona horns wailed, piercing through nine layers of clouds. Outside the pass, war drums thundered like thunder. The “Six Garrisons of Tongguan” had already formed ranks. Dong-dong-dong, dong-dong-dong—the war drums urged them on as dozens of war horses galloped back and forth in the military camps, carrying orders. The six garrisons of “Zhengwu,” “Renwu,” “Yiwu,” and others all opened their camp barriers. Column after column of soldiers marched out in formation with tremendous momentum.

With demon light illuminating the sky, the “Zhengtong Army” immediately responded. They feared nothing and seemed ready to break camp and march far away. Seeing that great battle was about to begin, Zhao Renyong panted heavily. He grabbed his second brother and asked in a gasping whisper: “Rentong, what… what exactly is happening? Is Fury Peak really going to fight?”

“Big brother…” Zhao Rentong sighed softly and shook his head: “It’s not that they’re going to fight—they’re already fighting.”

“Al-already fighting?” Even though Zhao Renyong had high martial skills, hearing this still made his legs go weak as he said sadly: “Who… who is leading the army? Is… is it that Shi Gang?” Zhao Rentong shook his head: “Big brother still doesn’t understand? This Shi Gang isn’t in the northwest at all. How could he lead troops here?” He had heard this before, but Zhao Renyong still couldn’t help exclaiming “Eh!” and muttering: “If it’s not Shi Gang, then… who is commanding the great army this time? Is… is it Lu Guzhan? Or Qin… Qin…”

Hearing his big brother’s hoarse voice showing extreme fear, Zhao Rentong comforted him: “Big brother, rest assured. Those two aren’t in the northwest either.”

Zhao Renyong was stunned. It seemed Fury Peak was mobilizing in full force, yet no one was holding down the northwest. This situation was unprecedented. The more Zhao Renyong heard, the more puzzled he became, muttering: “Second brother, where exactly… where exactly have those fellows gone?”

Zhao Rentong sighed. He put his arm around his elder brother’s shoulder and said quietly: “Big brother, have you forgotten? Where did I come from?” Zhao Renyong felt a chill in his heart and said in a trembling voice: “Don’t… don’t scare me. Bazhou is in the far rear. Don’t… don’t talk nonsense…”

“Big brother… trust me once…” Zhao Rentong leaned over and whispered: “Right now, the safest place in the world is the Tongguan front line. Get a good night’s sleep these few days. Don’t worry about anything, don’t think about anything. Most importantly, remember never to run toward the rear, or after you escape back there, you’ll have to charge toward the front line again.”

In the spinning confusion, the front line had become the rear, and the rear had become the front line. Zhao Renyong was still muttering to himself when he suddenly remembered his wife and children were still in Beijing. He immediately let out a wail and fell backward, losing consciousness.

Boom… boom…

The light from “Yima Pass” illuminated heaven and earth with limitless majesty, clearly visible within a radius of a hundred li in all directions. The beacon fire flickered bright and dark, lasting a full incense stick’s worth of time before the western night sky finally returned to quiet. However, a more distant place in the east lit up—on a mountain peak a hundred li away, a bright lamp also appeared.

A single spark can start a prairie fire. The demon fire hadn’t disappeared; it had just crossed Liang Pass and was silently advancing within imperial territory.

East, east… all the way east… The firelight began moving eastward. It crossed mountains and ridges, rivers and streams, leaving Gansu and entering Shaanxi. Soon the demon fire had traveled a thousand li and arrived at “North Zhili.”

The mountain peak blazed with light illuminating all directions. Looking north from the mountaintop, twenty li away was a city—the dragon-rising land of “Beijing.” Turning to look east, behind the mountain’s base was hidden a village. The common people there were all surnamed “Yang,” so it was called “Yang Family Village.” As for the area in front of the mountain base, there was a ruined temple. Coincidentally, this temple was also surnamed “Yang.”

The firelight on the mountaintop flickered on and off, and the golden plaque in front of the temple also flashed accordingly. By the lamplight, one could barely make out four golden characters: “Yang Wudi Temple.” Looking from the temple gate into the interior, a statue was placed in the center of the main hall. Though its face had been yellowed by incense smoke, one could still see its dignified appearance—it was the famous Northern Song general “Yang Ye” who had powerfully resisted the Liao.

Yang Ye was the master of “Tianbo Wunong Mansion,” known as Yang Wudi. This man’s original name was “Zhonggui,” also called “Jiye”—he was the first-generation ancestor of the Yang generals. Seeing this place enshrined his memorial, nearby there should be a Yang Family Village where people would come to build temples and offer worship.

The mountain above was brilliantly lit while below was pitch black. In comparison, the mountain peak appeared even more crystalline bright, as if thousands of fireflies were hiding there—now gold, now white, now red, now blue. The light not only changed through four colors but also differed in brightness and had ordered lengths, yielding sixteen variations.

“Bright-dark-bright, long-short-long, white-gold-red…” The firelight paused briefly, and suddenly a voice came from the darkness, reading out the distant lamp signals.

It was deep night, and there were neither Yang family descendants nor passing pilgrims in front of the ruined temple. No matter how glaring and conspicuous the firelight on the opposite mountaintop, there should be no one aware of it. Naturally, anyone who could read the lamp signals at this moment must have come prepared.

Sure enough, as soon as that voice paused, rustling sounds arose in the darkness—someone was taking notes with paper and brush, recording everything being said. No one could have imagined that there was actually someone at the entrance of “Yang Wudi Temple”—a silent black shadow with arms crossed, gazing at the distant mountaintop while reading out the secret codes.

As the firelight on the opposite mountaintop changed—now white, now gold, sometimes long, sometimes short—that voice also followed the lamp signals, word by word, without stopping. For a long, long time, the firelight finally extinguished completely. Looking into the distance, it seemed another more distant mountaintop had lit up, but that was no longer important—the desired message had already been obtained.

All around was dark and gloomy. With a “hiss,” someone lit a fire stick, also illuminating the “Yang Wudi Temple” behind them. Instantly, the three characters “Tie Sui Cheng” were reflected.

This temple had fallen into disrepair and had no abbot. Inside the hall, plaques hung high, and characters were inscribed on the pillars on both sides—left read “Sincerity Firm as Metal and Stone,” right read “Spirit Proud as Wind and Clouds.” Both screen walls were fully decorated with carved colored glazes, with additional poems describing the great achievements of the Yang generals.

“The Han flying general leads bears and tigers, fighting to the death at Yan Mountain to protect our division. His mighty reputation and vengeful spirit will never die, his shrine remains to this day.”

This was a poem from the “Yang Wudi Temple” at Gubei Pass, copied here. Looking at this temple’s solemn grandeur, it must have been glorious in the past. Unfortunately, the descendants were unworthy and unable to maintain it, letting it decay.

The “Yang Generals” passed down their legacy, and their struggle with foreign tribes never ceased. Legend had it that “Yang Ye,” in order to recover the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun, had killed himself by crashing into the Li Ling Monument while surrounded by heavy Liao troops. “Yang Yanzhao” inherited his legacy and was also a famous anti-Liao general. By his grandson “Yang Zongbao’s” generation, the opponents had changed to Western Xia people. By the fifth generation “Yang Huaiyu,” they were campaigning against southern barbarians.

Generation after generation, “Tianbo Wunong Mansion” fought one after another—men and women, old and young, each generation producing famous generals. Their opponents also changed along the way: from Khitan to Jurchen, then from Jurchen to Mongol. The court’s defense line also retreated step by step: from the Great Wall to the Yellow River, then from the Yellow River to defend the Yangtze River, finally jumping into the sea under the Mongol army’s approach.

The completely annihilated “Yang Generals” had finally returned. Now they advanced on the capital, recaptured the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun from foreign tribes, and restored the entire Great Wall line. The difference was that this generation of “Yang Generals” no longer used swords—they had switched to brushes. Their commander had also become a civil official, holding the rank of “Grand Secretary of Zhongji Hall,” with the great name “Yang Suguan.” As for his foreign enemies, they had been replaced by the group before them.

In the middle of the third watch, outside the temple in the snowy ground, about a hundred camels knelt and dozed peacefully. Suddenly there were two “clap, clap” sounds—someone clapped their hands in the darkness. In an instant, about a hundred people stood up in the snowy ground outside the temple. These were all white-robed warriors. They silently turned to look at their commander before them, who wore a long cloak, was tall with broad shoulders, and under the firelight, his clothes were bright as pure silver.

“General Mieli…” Footsteps sounded as someone presented a note: “Please review this.”

The speaker had a nasal accent with words running together—this was “Huihui language” from the western frontier.

Huihui language, if subdivided, actually diverged widely—there were Uyghur, Southern Tianfang, Northern Tianfang, Persian, Bukhara languages, and others that couldn’t communicate with each other. However, there was one place that was an exception—it possessed the northern and southern Tian Mountains, occupied the entire Western Region, and was a land where Buddhism, Nestorianism, and Islam met. This was the Western Region’s greatest nation: the “Timurid Khanate.”

A hundred years ago, “Emperor Timur” raised troops to campaign westward, defeated the Turkic king “Thor,” struck at the million-man battle of Ankara, and also conquered the two great Mongol khanates, thus creating the “Timurid Empire.” Its territory was a hundred times larger than the great nation, its military power far exceeded the Khitan and Jurchen. Its borders reached Kipchak in the north, Tianzhu in the south, and Persia and the Great Food in the west. It was called the “Second Mongol Empire”—this was the new opponent of the “Yang Generals.”

The khanate’s grand marshal was a tall man called “Timur Mieli.” He picked up a torch and was the first to enter the ruined temple. He stood with his back to the “Yang Wudi statue,” his long hair falling to his shoulders, his bearing vast and desolate—truly a match for the famous generals of the Yang lineage.

Seeing their commander enter the temple, the other warriors also filed in and found places to sit. These warriors had curly hair, high noses, and deep-set eyes—some were Semu people, some were Tatars, their appearances quite different from each other.

The Timurid Khanate had many races—Tatars, Persians, Arabs, and even Indians, but mostly Uyghurs. Each ethnicity’s appearance differed greatly, rarely mistaken for another. However, this “General” was somewhat strange. His forehead was broad, his jaw square, and his long hair was thick, black, and straight. This appearance was neither like a Tatar nor a Turk, much less a Uyghur—he seemed to be of mixed blood.

To determine a person’s lineage, besides facial features, one could actually look at their surname. This “Timur Mieli” was born in Qarshi, took the nation as his name and called himself “Timur.” The two characters “Mieli” were his surname, derived from Turkic Kangli. Those familiar with Western Region histories knew this was the surname of the famous Khwarezmshah general “Iron King.” As for the three characters “Timur,” this was “Temur” in Mongolian—a great Mongol surname. Like Emperor Shun of Yuan’s beloved general Wang Baobao, who though Han Chinese, admired the Mongols and called himself “Kökö Temür.” Or like the Western Xia person Chaghan, who also served the Mongols loyally and called himself “Chaghan Temür.” Therefore, these five characters “Timur Mieli” were also forcibly put together and couldn’t reveal the master’s true bloodline at all.

From childhood, Timur Mieli had a problem—wherever he went, people would mistake his ethnic identity. In Uyghur eyes, his hair was very black and straight, exactly like a Tatar. But in Tatar eyes, his nose bridge was too high, so he must be a Turk. But among Turks, he was often mistaken for a Uyghur because his eyes were deep brown. Therefore, when Mieli was young, he was always his companions’ laughingstock. Everyone said he was a descendant of mixed Tatar, Uyghur, and Turkic blood—in short, a “mongrel.”

But those were all past matters, because the “mongrel” had gained a new name: “Shajin.” These two characters were ancient Yuezhi language, translated by Persians as “Rustem,” by Mongols as “Baatur,” by Jurchens as “Baturu”—meaning “hero” in Chinese. This title carried supreme authority, able to command warriors of all tribes. His subordinates, whether Turkic Kangli, Tatar, or Persian, all had to submit to the “Eighth Generation Shajin Khan” Timur Mieli.

All around was silent. Timur Mieli coldly stared with fierce eyes, holding the note and flipping through a ledger for comparison. This person could be still or active, could read and write—he was not the violent, rash type.

Fury Peak’s beacon fires used three signals as one character, with each signal having four colors and four variations, totaling 4,096 characters. Checking them naturally required mental effort. His subordinates sat quietly, not daring to disturb him. After a while, Mieli asked: “What about the note copied an hour ago? Has it been decoded?”

A subordinate brought over the note and handed it to his superior, saying quietly: “Yes, it’s been decoded correctly, but no one can understand it.” Timur Mieli took the note to look, remaining silent. The warriors exchanged glances and timidly asked quietly: “General, did we… did we copy it wrong? What does ‘dog-like bad people come looking for your mother, say two fewer words and it won’t be noisy’ mean?”

Hearing this, Mieli first froze, then looked up and laughed heartily, his voice shaking the roof tiles.

“Go screw your damn mutt, say two fewer words if you don’t mind the noise.” Looking at tonight’s thousand-li correspondence between Fury Peak, back and forth, the first beacon fire traveled from east to west, and this fourteen-character maxim naturally thundered across the world. It was just that the white-robed warriors’ Chinese was originally poor, and after translation it completely lost its meaning, inevitably leaving people completely confused.

Chinese was the world’s most ingenious language, especially delightful when cursing. The subtle and magical aspects within were absolutely incomprehensible to foreign peoples. Seeing Timur Mieli smile silently, the warriors became even more worried and hurried to say: “General, no one could understand the first beacon fire. What about the second beacon fire?”

Correspondence in the world went back and forth—here asking about mothers, there asking about fathers. The previous beacon fire was extremely crude—who knew how the next beacon fire would respond? In the midst of confusion, Timur Mieli repeatedly compared the note and said: “White-blue-gold-bright versus long-dark versus short-bright-long-dark-short-dark-short-bright-long… this should be the character ‘capture’.”

“Capture…” Everyone whispered among themselves. The white-robed warriors didn’t understand Chinese and were full of confusion. One asked: “Then… what’s the next character?” Mieli said softly: “The next signal—gold-red-blue-dark-long-bright-long… this is the character ‘king’.” The white-robed warriors lowered their heads and murmured: “The first character is ‘capture,’ the second character is ‘king’…”

Capture king… capture king… Everyone was greatly shocked and said in unison: “Loyalist?”

“Loyalist” referred to the Son of Heaven’s guard. Though the white-robed warriors’ Chinese wasn’t fluent, they knew this was the forbidden guard army protecting the imperial city. Since the establishment of the Zhengtong dynasty, they had expanded the garrison forces left by the Jingtai dynasty, dividing them into four battalions: “Vanguard,” “Wuxing,” “Cavalry,” and “Shenji,” commanding forty-eight divisions and 240 guard units, totaling over one million infantry, cavalry, and artillery forces. Hearing the return message involved the “Loyalist Army,” everyone naturally discussed it among themselves. Though this loyalist force was massive, it only hid deep beneath the Son of Heaven’s feet and had never clashed with Fury Peak’s main forces. Why would the enemy be concerned about their movements?

For a long, long time, no one could fathom the mystery. Mieli didn’t explain much either, only putting the note into his bosom. The warriors exchanged glances and asked quietly: “General, is the lame one hiding in Beijing?” Mieli said: “Yes. Someone saw him in Beijing city.” The master of Fury Peak’s full name was “Grand Duke Heavenly Way Impartial Loyal and Brave Fury King.” Because he was missing one leg, Western Region people secretly called him “the lame one.”

Everyone said quietly: “General, are you… are you still going to find the lame one?” Mieli said: “Of course. I’m under orders to deliver something to him.” Everyone’s gaze shifted to look at the baggage on the ground, where a scroll was kept bearing the khanate’s seal. So far, besides Mieli, no one had seen what that scroll contained—only knowing it was a gift for the lame one.

The warriors exchanged glances and said: “General, the lame one’s movements are elusive. How… how will you find him?” Mieli said: “Don’t worry. We still have an expert who can help.” Everyone looked puzzled: “Expert? General, you mean…” Mieli said: “The righteous brave man.”

Everyone exclaimed in surprise and were about to ask more when suddenly hoofbeats rumbled across the wilderness as if enemy cavalry were galloping toward them. The warriors’ hearts turned cold as they drew their curved sabers with a “swish” and rushed toward the temple gate. Mieli waved his hand: “It’s fine. They’re our own people.”

Amid horse whinnying, six or seven horses galloped swiftly from Beijing’s direction. The riders wore white clothes and robes with heavy beards—they were khanate subordinates arriving. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and put down their weapons.

The cavalry approached and dismounted together, then rushed into the temple to bow: “We pay respects to General Mieli.” Mieli sat motionless and said: “What about Prince Tang? Did he safely enter Beijing?”

A warrior knelt on one knee and said: “Please rest assured, General. Prince Tang has safely reached Beijing. The enemy did not succeed.”

Timur Mieli said: “Very good. How many people do you have left there?” The warrior said: “Besides a few of us, only His Highness’s ten serving maids remain.” Everyone was shocked: “What about the rest?” The warrior sighed: “On the night the Princess departed, ‘Yabulisi’s’ subordinates suddenly attacked and captured all our guards.”

Hearing this, all the warriors took deep breaths, feeling greatly uneasy.

This was the demon in the Quran. The khanate warriors didn’t understand Chinese, so the name “Zhenguo Iron Guards” was extremely awkward for them to pronounce. They used the familiar “Dark Devil” as a substitute.

Seeing all his subordinates looking at him, Timur Mieli was the commander and couldn’t show the slightest sign of alarm. He only asked flatly: “What about Samarkand? Any news from there?” The warrior said: “Since the Princess left the country, the Khan has written to the General three times but never received your reply. Now the Khan has dispatched Prince Karachi, who will arrive in Beijing soon. I heard the Khan… the Khan has also issued an order that if the General still can’t account for the Princess’s whereabouts, he will… he will…”

Hearing his subordinate’s hesitation, General Mieli continued for him: “He will kill me, right?” The warrior hurriedly prostrated himself on the ground, truly terrified to the extreme.

Since arriving in China, the khanate forces had split into two routes. One was led by this “Timur Mieli” with great fanfare, entering through “Jiayuguan” and making their presence known in every province and county. The other traveled light and secretly entered through “Juyongguan.” All this was to protect the most important person. If anything happened to her, this expedition would be equivalent to total annihilation.

The warriors looked worried and said quietly: “General, the Princess is the Khan’s precious treasure. The Khan would do anything for her. If he knew the Princess was missing… what should we do?”

Mieli said sternly: “Don’t panic.” The warriors were slightly startled: “We… shouldn’t we panic?”

Timur Mieli said quietly: “I am the great general of this expedition. All success and failure, honor and disgrace, I shoulder alone. If I don’t panic, no one is allowed to panic.”

Success or failure depended on Mieli. When decisive action was needed, one must be decisive, avoiding hesitation and following others’ opinions—this was a great general’s bearing. These words rang with authority, and the warriors naturally showed solemn respect, not daring to speak or move.

After some unknown time, a warrior said: “General… there’s something we… we must remind you of…” Mieli said flatly: “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t hesitate.” The warrior swallowed and said softly: “It’s rumored… rumored… that the Princess… she voluntarily went with ‘Yabulisi’… Do you know about this?”

The warriors fell silent, and no one dared continue. Because they knew in their hearts they were protecting a woman, so they had to protect not only her life but other things as well.

Since entering Chinese territory, the Princess’s behavior had become increasingly strange. All the tasks she assigned were inexplicable—now east, now west, completely irrelevant. First she ordered contact with “Prince Tang” and assigned a series of tasks, then ordered Mieli to go to Jiangnan to seek the “lame one.” Who knew that while various forces were still running around for her, she herself disappeared without notice, actually going with “Yabulisi.” All these actions were incomprehensible and impossible to fathom.

Seeing their superior fall silent, the warriors grew bolder and said quietly: “General, what exactly… what exactly does the Princess want to do? Why… why did she seek out that Prince Tang? And why did she have us come to this Yang Family Village?”

Mieli said quietly: “Her Highness once said that a curse circulated among the Chinese imperial family. Until it could be broken, she couldn’t eat or sleep peacefully.” The warriors exchanged glances and timidly asked: “Then… why did the Princess go with ‘Yabulisi’? Could it be… could these two matters be related?” Timur Mieli said nothing, because even he didn’t know.

For a long, long time, someone said quietly: “General, it’s not that we don’t trust you, it’s just… have you ever considered… perhaps the Princess having us run around everywhere actually just wants… just wants… wants…” The subordinates hesitated to speak. Mieli felt irritated and said sternly: “What exactly do you want to say? Speak up!”

The warriors looked at each other and finally pushed one person forward to say quietly: “Some say the Princess’s return to Chinese territory this time actually… actually isn’t to find her father at all… but to find her… her…”

Mieli closed his eyes and said quietly: “To find her lover, right?”

The warriors prostrated themselves on the ground, not daring to speak or move. Timur Mieli fell silent. After a while he said: “Listen well. We have traveled thousands of li, working diligently day and night without daring to slack off. Isn’t everything we’ve done for the Princess’s safety?” “If she’s really a whore who sleeps with people, then you and I are just a whore’s subordinates! There’s not a shred of glory to speak of!” The more he spoke, the angrier he became, saying sternly: “I want you all to remember—whoever among you insults her is equivalent to defiling your own martial reputation. Do you understand?”

“General, calm your anger! We know we were wrong!” The warriors hurriedly prostrated themselves, kowtowing repeatedly, feeling both ashamed and embarrassed.

A bright moon hung high in the sky. All the warriors prostrated themselves on the ground while Timur Mieli sat cross-legged in meditation. He gazed at the night sky for ten thousand li, his expression appearing calm but his heart extremely agitated.

Rumors were fearsome, but his subordinates’ worries weren’t groundless. The Princess indeed wasn’t captured but had voluntarily let “Yabulisi” take her away. Before marrying into the Western Region, she had truly had a romantic relationship. So once she disappeared, it inevitably made people suspicious, all thinking she had intentionally dismissed her subordinates to do unspeakable things.

Everyone in the world had their own desires, and Princess Yinchuan was naturally no exception. Mieli understood the Princess’s feelings. Living in the khanate’s deep palace for ten years was very stifling, and the Khan wasn’t any ideal lover. If she could return to her former lover’s embrace and live permanently in her homeland, even with simple food and drink, coarse tea and plain rice, it would be better than the khanate’s fine wine and jade delicacies, wealth for a lifetime.

Though the poor Princess’s wish was insignificant, it was still beyond her reach. She was destined to spend her life in the khanate’s harem, unable even to have her bones returned to the Central Plains. But now an opportunity had come. Looking at the entire world, the only person who could still help the Princess realize her wish was “Yabulisi”—he had powerful magic sufficient to protect the Princess, as long as she was willing to submit to him.

Would the Princess agree? She had a million reasons to consent. However, Mieli wasn’t worried. His reason was simple—the one facing this choice wasn’t someone else but Yinchuan. Even trapped in darkness, she could illuminate the earth like the silver moon in the sky. Mieli dared stake his life that the Princess would keep her original promise and complete this journey perfectly and flawlessly.

In the universal silence, everyone contemplated their own concerns. Suddenly, with a “chirp,” a black shadow flew toward them. The warriors, like startled birds, all sprang up, but Timur Mieli raised his hand and let the black shadow land gently in his palm. Everyone looked closely—it was indeed a small bird.

This bird was truly very, very small—only slightly larger than a bee. This was a “hummingbird” from the far west. On this expedition, the khanate’s various forces used these as messengers to communicate with each other.

The hummingbird had silk tied to its body and appeared exhausted from its long journey, only huddling in Mieli’s palm for warmth. Timur Mieli extended his index finger to stroke it. The hummingbird slowly spread its wings, revealing the silk tied to its body. Mieli carefully untied it and straightened the silk, immediately seeing the khanate’s royal emblem and a line of Chinese characters written above: “To Hongluo Temple.”

The warriors gathered around to look and were immediately overjoyed: “General, have you found the Princess?” Timur Mieli pondered for a long moment and was about to speak when suddenly there was a “dong” sound—roof tiles made a strange noise as something fell to the ground and shattered.

“Who’s there!” The warriors shouted and searched inside and outside but found no trace of assassins. Just as they were puzzled, Timur Mieli bent down and picked up a tile fragment—it had slid down from the eaves and made that loud sound.

The warriors became suspicious. Looking around, there were no outsiders hiding inside, nor any birds or small animals moving about. But how had this broken tile fallen? Could there be some expert spying nearby who had escaped everyone’s notice? Everyone looked around suspiciously. Suddenly they realized this temple was actually extremely decrepit, its roof tiles long ready to collapse at the slightest disturbance.

Everyone found the cause and breathed sighs of relief. Timur Mieli remained silently speechless. He turned around and saw the statue of “Yang Wudi” sitting high on the altar, looking solemn and dignified, as if asking him to help with repairs. Mieli quietly threw his hand, and the broken tile landed steadily back on the roof—a small repayment for their group’s temporary lodging here.

The tile fragment flew onto the roof soundlessly. Timur Mieli turned around and was about to speak when suddenly another broken tile fell behind him and shattered.

Again? The warriors were greatly shocked. Everyone had investigated clearly—there was no one inside or outside the temple, no ghosts, no wind, no rain. How could the broken tile fall again? Could it be that “Yang Wudi’s” true spirit was manifesting?

Inside and outside the great hall, everyone was surprised and suspicious. Mieli suddenly raised his head and said: “Everyone listen to orders. Mount the camels.”

The warriors were stunned: “Are we… leaving?” Mieli didn’t reply, only clapped his hands twice. With a great commotion outside the temple gate, about a hundred bright camels stood up in the darkness. Orders had been given, and the warriors dared not ask more questions, only packing their belongings and preparing to depart.

Mieli walked before everyone and said: “Listen well. You will all head north now. No matter what you encounter on the road, you must not stop.” The warriors were stunned: “General, aren’t you… aren’t you coming with us?”

Mieli shook his head: “From here on, I must travel alone. Remember well—after reaching Beijing, absolutely don’t enter the city, and don’t linger in the suburbs either. In any case, continue north to Juyongguan and wait there for my orders.”

The warriors were stunned: “We can’t enter Beijing city? Why… why?” Timur Mieli said: “No need to ask. In any case, you must be careful after departing. No matter what strange things you encounter on the road, you must not look back. Do you understand?”

Hearing such strange orders, the subordinates were naturally full of suspicion and alarm. But when the master commanded, who dared disobey? They could only nod in agreement. Mieli turned around, waved his hand, and shouted: “Go!” The khanate forces had strict discipline. With a “huzzah” shout, the warriors immediately took up reins, and renowned camels and fine horses galloped out front and back, rushing north.

The moon was full in the sky, new snow covered the ground. His subordinates had all left, and in this vast heaven and earth, only he remained alone. Timur Mieli watched his subordinates depart, then silently opened the bamboo tube at his waist to let the hummingbird return to its nest to rest. Then he picked up the torch and coughed forcefully.

The empty cough echoed back and forth in the hall. All around was quiet and peaceful with no outsiders hiding. Seeing no one nearby to disturb him, Timur Mieli suddenly showed excitement, immediately rushing back into the temple as if someone were waiting for him inside.

Like a treasure-hunting youth, Mieli swallowed saliva, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he entered the hall. Suddenly seeing “Yang Wudi” sitting high on the altar with dignity, only glaring at him, Mieli didn’t want to pay attention. He came to a screen wall and slowly crouched down.

On the screen wall was painted a picture with mottled colored glaze depicting seven young generals. They stood in a row with imposing dignity—the heroic figures of “Yang Silang,” “Yang Wulang,” “Yang Liulang,” and others. At their feet was drawn a group of jumping clowns, each kowtowing and begging for mercy in extreme terror—these were the treacherous ministers like “Pan Mei” and “Pan Bao” who had caused the deaths of the Yang generals.

Song dynasty treacherous ministers, Song dynasty loyal generals. Mieli extended his index finger and gently pushed on a third group in the mural. Like “Pan Mei,” these people also knelt on the ground begging the Yang generals’ forgiveness. The difference was they wore foreign ethnic clothing, each with high noses, wide mouths, thick eyebrows, and large eyes. Compared to Tatars, their nose bridges were too prominent; compared to Turks, their hair was too black and bright. They looked exactly like mongrels of Tatar and Turkic blood, commonly called “Khitan.”

Mieli shed tears. He pressed his face against his ancestors’ mural and loudly cried out their names.

No one knew that Mieli wasn’t a mongrel. His homeland wasn’t in the Western Region at all but in this yellow earth beneath his feet. In truth, he was a genuine old Beijinger—older than Princess Yinchuan and the Chinese emperors of all dynasties. Because his ancestors were born and raised here, he was the last surviving “Khitan person” between heaven and earth. The Khitan had long been an extinct people. The once extremely prosperous Great Liao had been ravaged by Jurchen and Mongol invasions until nothing remained. If he hadn’t come to Yang Family Village tonight, he probably wouldn’t have encountered his ancestral enemy “Yang Wudi” or stumbled upon this relic. It was truly pitiful—looking at the entire world, the only place that still remembered the “Khitan people” was here alone.

Looking at the statue of “Yang Wudi,” the world’s last “Khitan person’s” shoulders trembled. He lowered his face, unwilling to let his eternal enemy see his tears. For a long, long time, he supported himself against the screen wall and struggled to stand, about to step away when suddenly there was another clang behind him as a broken tile fell to the ground, as if someone wanted Mieli to stay and was calling out to him.

Timur Mieli quietly turned around, as if to ask “Yang Wudi” what instruction he had.

Suddenly Mieli’s eyes widened. The statue of “Yang Wudi” began to shake, and more tile fragments fell to the ground like rain, all falling around Mieli and shattering on the ground.

Dong-dong-dong—even the ground began to shake. Timur Mieli planted his feet firmly on the ground. After a bout of earth-shaking, the ruined temple’s screen wall actually collapsed, and as the dust gradually settled, it revealed a large hole.

The bamboo tube at his waist had alarmed wing-flapping sounds—the hummingbird seemed to sense something and was greatly disturbed. Timur Mieli also took a deep breath and slowly approached the broken wall to observe the scene outside the hole.

Outside the hole was a wasteland. Coincidentally, this place was very close to “Yehu Ridge”—the very battlefield where the Great Jin dynasty had perished.

Khitan perished at Jurchen hands, Jurchen was destroyed by Mongols, and Mongols were kicked back to the northern desert by Han Chinese. It was as if karmic retribution never failed. Mieli gazed at the distant battlefield, lost in thought, when suddenly he heard sharp sounds from the distant forest as large flocks of birds cried mournfully and took wing. Only then did Mieli realize how many birds a forest could hide—their numbers were so vast they could block out stars and moon.

Stars and moon filled the sky, the earth was dark and heavy. Outside the temple, something seemed to be approaching.

Boom, boom—strange sounds reached his ears, one after another, as if thunder was rolling. But there was no lightning in the night sky, only the endless sound of roof tiles falling and breaking. Gradually, black smoke rose at the junction of heaven and earth, reaching nearly a hundred zhang high like a dark cloud rising from flat ground. It carried thunderous rumbling that shook the earth continuously.

The smoke grew higher and higher, the dark cloud drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly a fox rushed out from the grass, with several rabbits following beside it. Not far away there was even a tiger, but the various beasts seemed to have forgotten their eternal enmity and were unanimously fleeing together.

Heaven and earth, which had been in harmony for millions of years of mutual killing, stopped fighting at this moment. Mieli swallowed—he wanted to know what was coming that could make natural enemies flee together.

What was arriving? The ghost of Wanyan Aguda? Or Genghis Khan’s netherworld army?

Dimly, through the smoke and dust appeared a massive royal banner with the characters “Sun and Moon,” followed by another flag inscribed with “Loyalist.”

“Wuyu Inner Regiment Camp”—from the distant west came a long howl: “Cover the entire army!”

Rumble! Rumble! Someone was wailing mournfully, that cry so vast and desolate, yet clearly audible amid the thunderous roaring.

Timur Mieli broke out in cold sweat. He knew he should flee too, or if he delayed another step, he might not be able to leave. He hurriedly turned around and was about to step away when suddenly there was another “bang” as something fell to the ground behind him, making him stop.

The statue of “Yang Wudi” had fallen to the ground, as if asking Mieli to take him along in escape.

Mieli grinned, feeling somewhat pleased. He turned back and picked up his ancestral enemy, hurriedly fleeing to the back courtyard. Looking left and right, he suddenly saw an ancient well in the courtyard. Mieli was overjoyed and quickly placed the statue into the well, then picked up a large boulder from the ground and walked shakily forward. Suddenly he exhaled and threw the boulder upward while quickly leaping forward into the ancient well.

With a tremendous “boom,” the boulder fell and blocked the well opening. Instantly, the well became pitch black, sealing both him and “Yang Wudi” in the well together.

“Ha ha! Ha ha!” Laughter from the Khitan person echoed from the ancient well. He seemed to have found a good friend and was laughing with delight.