The Winds and Clouds of the Desert

Loving someone deeply is not wrong, but alas, desire is not the entirety of life. Qingyun, Huang Beishuang, and Nazhan, born in the political turmoil, all understood this truth. Because of it, none of them could live as carefree and wild as Ruowen.

Now, look at Fentian: the regime is well established, Ruowen commands five thousand fearless soldiers and has built an army of a hundred thousand. He stands spirited in Heiyan Palace, gazing towards an unseen Yunpei. No one knows what he is thinking.

"Your Majesty, the great general Manhu seeks an audience!" A slender maid bowed before him, yet before Ruowen could respond, a rough voice boomed into the hall, "Chief! Chief!" The boisterous call was unmistakably Manhu.

Ruowen waved his hand, and the maid hastily retreated.

In Fentian, only those from the Huangtian Corps continued to call him "Chief." This was a special privilege, its purpose unknown, but it deeply touched the four thousand who followed him. In this world of survival of the fittest, joining the Huangtian Corps became a supreme honor.

"Chief, we’ve got something good for you; you'll love it!" Manhu’s excitement was palpable, his eager face awaiting a reward. Looking at his broad shoulders and sturdy frame, one couldn’t help but compare him to Zhanbie—both had powerful arms perfect for wielding bows.

"What kind of nonsense?" Ruowen asked lazily.

"A woman! A fine woman!" Manhu's voice almost cracked with excitement.

Ruowen laughed aloud, and just then, two stunning beauties emerged from behind him. Their bodies were covered in bruises, hinting at the torment they had endured. Yet, Manhu seemed unsurprised, even indifferent, merely chuckling dryly.

Those two beauties were none other than Ruo Lan and Fei Wen. They lazily gathered their scattered clothes from the floor, Fei Wen playfully teasing, "Brother Manhu! What kind of woman has you so thrilled? Better than us?"

Manhu smirked and clapped his large hand, "Bring her in!"

Soon, four guards escorted three ragged women into the hall. They were filthy, their faces covered in grime, blackened scars marking their bodies. Ruowen raised an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback. He stepped forward, grabbing the chin of the woman in the middle, and asked in a low voice, "Where did you find them?"

Manhu, seeing Ruowen’s reaction, became even more excited. "This morning, when Wolftou and I were digging for treasures in the tombs behind Heiyan Mountain, we stumbled upon these three women—survivors from a cremation. Don’t they look familiar? Just like Huang Beishuang!"

Ruowen smiled and let go of the girl's chin. "What is your name?"

The girl, looking to be about eighteen or nineteen, bore an uncanny resemblance to Huang Beishuang. Her gray-blue eyes stared fearlessly at Ruowen, her voice unwavering, "I am Ge Xinwei!"

Once, in the former Ma Sui Kingdom, the royal surname of the Rain Tribe was Mukge. The forty-first king, Ge'er Jinqin, was childless, so he reluctantly listed his thirteen siblings as heirs. Among them was the thirteenth Princess Ge Xinwei, who ranked last in the succession order. At nineteen, she was born of a concubine, often looked down upon by her sisters and bullied by her brothers. In the year 331, the Yellow Plague swept through, wiping out the Rain Tribe. Fire burned the nobles’ tombs for thirteen days, and Fentian rose. A month later, the only surviving Princess Ge Xinwei and her two maids were captured and offered to Ruowen, the Bloody King of Fentian. They were not executed, for reasons unknown.

The vast desert was a world of red—sand, clouds—once the fierce sun rose, it turned everything red like burning wood, distorting the air with invisible fumes, making it impossible to breathe. Yet the world was also blue—sand, clouds—under the cool moon, it turned blue like a frozen blade, reflecting a heart-penetrating coldness, where breathing was still impossible.

That night, in Guanghan Palace, coldness seemed to grow sharper.

Nazhan lay in Zhenqu Youjia's embrace, allowing her soft silk to envelop his weary body, savoring the motherly warmth she provided. Finally, he no longer thought about the unanswered parting in Huaiyue Pavilion. Youjia smiled at the sleeping king, her gaze infinitely tender. Even someone as rational as Nazhan couldn't comprehend that if a woman loves you, she can be your wife; if a woman loves you, she can also be your mother, giving you what you need, and thinking of you with all her heart.

Though he didn’t understand, he cherished it nonetheless.

On Huaiyue Pavilion, there was no sound of the xiao. Huang Beishuang sat by the pavilion, watching as Qingyun carefully put on a pair of pearl earrings for her. His touch was gentle, but her heart was heavy.

"Snow’s color suits you well," Qingyun said.

Huang Beishuang smiled and turned to sit beside him.

"What does silence mean?" Not getting the expected passionate response, Qingyun's expression turned cold. He leaned against the pavilion column with his sword in hand, asking in a low voice.

"I'm not leaving," Huang Beishuang replied with difficulty.

"Say it again?" Qingyun's voice was icy.

"I won’t repeat it!" she answered. There was no need to say it twice, for they had both heard it clearly the first time.

"Do you know who I am?" He looked at her.

"I just found out."

"Why won’t you leave?" Qingyun asked.

"If I leave Nazhan, he will wage war on Enaci!" She thought for a moment before answering.

Qingyun’s lips curled in disdain. "Nonsense, Beimo is my territory. No matter how strong Yunpei is, they can’t act against me! Besides…" He paused before continuing, "He was already one step too late. Guhe has pledged allegiance to Tiandu! In this situation, launching a war across the desert to deal with a tribe of just over seven thousand is impossible!"

Huang Beishuang was startled before replying, "Even with your protection, Enaci would find no peace. I cannot leave."

Qingyun’s pride couldn't tolerate her repeated refusals. "Swear to me—tell me your only reason for staying is this." He stared into her eyes, which were free of any hesitation. "I swear," she said.

Three short words, followed by an hour-long silence.

"You've hurt me," Qingyun said as he stood, looking at the woman unwilling to meet his gaze. "You've hurt me. I thought our feelings were genuine, but I was wrong. Are all women like this? Does tenderness alone earn nothing but neglect?"

He said nothing more, but pulled her into his arms, forcing her to look at him. "Look at me—don't think you can forget this face, Huang Beishuang. I have never spared you tenderness, but if force will conquer you, then I won't hesitate." As he spoke, he gripped her face firmly, his thumb and finger seizing the pearl earrings he had placed. With a slight twist, she cried out in pain, silver blood staining her ear, shimmering beneath the moonlight.

Leaving a heavy kiss, Qingyun gave a low growl, "I will not let you go." Then, resolutely, he turned and left.

That night, the moon hid behind clouds, leaving only the shadow of a lone figure in the dim four-cornered pavilion.

Was it right or wrong? Greed or sorrow? No one knew.

After that, a month passed.

It was peaceful; nothing happened. There was no invasion of Tiandu—in fact, it was impossible. As the largest nation in the desert, Yunpei held forty-two major oases, arranged in a fish-like pattern, each separated by no more than ten miles. The national army numbered 170,000, guarding three fortresses as impenetrable as iron walls.

Nazhan fulfilled his promise, sending three thousand troops to bring the Enaci tribe to safety in Beimo. Seventeen days passed, but there was still no news.

In Guanghan Palace, the sound of a xiao still often rose, but whenever someone intruded, it would abruptly stop. The slender figure playing would pace the courtyard, smiling or crying as they watched the growing Jiema trees.

That day was ordinary, yet not quite.

Nazhan stood by Huang Beishuang’s bedroom window, hesitation on his face. “Tiandu has detained my men and your entire tribe. They’ve written demanding that you personally negotiate for peace.”

Huang Beishuang squatted by a Jiema sapling, smiling calmly. “Your Majesty, this is a direct provocation. Why have you not yet retaliated?”

Nazhan sighed, troubled. “If you can bring back your people, I will fulfill my promise.”

This was a troublesome matter. Tiandu was far away, and there was a vassal state, Guhe, in between. It was impossible for Yunpei to intervene in Beimo’s internal strife unless absolutely necessary. The outcome was expected from the start.

Huang Beishuang said nothing more. She simply looked down at the paper slipped to her by a shadow agent that morning. The crude characters were arranged in four columns:

"Tiandu withholds grain, fourteen tribes on the continent isolated, only Enaci, four hundred starved in nine days."

Qingyun, your heart is ruthless indeed.

Breaking off a tender yellow leaf from the Jiema tree, Huang Beishuang’s gaze turned cold.

“Your Majesty, please send two thousand men with me tomorrow to bring my people into the border.”

“To bring them in?”

“Yes.”

“From King Jingtian?”

“Yes.”

“If you surrender, I will not hesitate to wage war!” Nazhan said in a low voice.

Huang Beishuang smiled. “If not for that, why would I stay here?” With a helpless sigh, she watched Nazhan leave. Touching her still-throbbing ear, she felt that the wound remained.

The wine had run dry; the heart was intoxicated.

The wine had grown stale; the body weary.

The wine had dulled; the spirit tired.

Do you know? Do you know?

Three thousand tears of longing, but yearning never followed.

Do you know? Do you know...

There was still cold dew on the vegetables in the fields. It was dusk, and rows of wooden houses along the farm were lit with dim orange lights, shadows moving wearily across the windowpanes. Winter was survived by diligent labor, for the fields passed down through generations were the means to sustain the future. Knowing the hardships of their ancestors, they would continue working tirelessly. For them, a plot of land was as precious as a nation.

The next day, Huang Beishuang donned her wedding robes. Elaborate golden embroidery adorned her sleeves and hem, phoenix blossoms and snow pearls lined the collar, shimmering faintly. The dress was tailored exquisitely, the cinched waist highlighting her graceful figure. Her bare skin beneath the red gauze seemed to flow like water, ambiguously alluring, accented with a dark gray jade, making her appear enchanting beyond compare.

Finally, Yepei set a red bridal crown upon her head, a row of sparkling gems hanging from her brow.

“Let’s go!” Huang Beishuang stared at her reflection for a long time before the three maids opened the doors of her chambers. Outside, eight guards stood solemnly in armor, clearing the way as their mistress stepped forth.

In the parade ground outside Guanghan Palace, two thousand elite soldiers stood ready. Huang Beishuang’s entourage moved with resolute steps, paying no mind to the astonished stares cast upon them. Consort Shuang had not shown such beauty since her arrival at the palace, yet today she outshone all others. When she reached the command stage, Lianhuan shouted, "Two thousand comrades, divide into two columns, sound the drums!"

As the deafening drums grew louder and faster, the two thousand soldiers followed Huang Beishuang out of the city, tens of thousands of eyes watching in awe.

North of the snowfield, south of Guhe, stood King Jingtian, Huo Qingyun, wearing black brocade embroidered with dragons, leading ten thousand men on horseback atop the dunes. For a moment, he watched the approaching red figure, his eyes darkening.

She made him angry. Her easy surrender, and the moment his forces intercepted the three thousand soldiers sent by Nazhan, he understood why she refused to leave Nazhan. Indeed, it was something Tiandu could not accomplish, which made him all the more unwilling to accept it. Yet when he received her letter, "Tomorrow, as before," just four short words, he couldn't help but smile, still wearing the icy jade bracelet that had entwined with hers. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

Huang Beishuang's group arrived at the opposite dune, and the presence of two thousand men did her proud dignity justice. She smiled softly, indeed as she had before. On the day she had given herself to him at Ten Waters, she wore her red bridal gown, and he wore his black armor.

"Did you come for me?" Her voice was still clear and melodious.

Qingyun couldn’t help but smile as he nudged his horse, the white stallion bolting forward, stopping before Huang Beishuang. Before all eyes, he pulled her onto the saddle with him.

Behind Qingyun, General Liao Zhen, commanding ten thousand soldiers, found himself greatly surprised; never had anyone else ridden on the king's white horse. Who was this woman?

Huang Beishuang leaned against his chest, her eyes misted. Qingyun lowered his head, "Why are you crying?" he asked, wiping her tears. At that moment, Lianhuan drew his bow and shot an arrow at Qingyun—perhaps intentionally missing—forcing him off the horse. Qingyun evaded, landing smoothly, and with a wave of his hand, Liao Zhen's soldiers lined up, arrows poised to fire.

"Hold your fire!" Huang Beishuang suddenly rode a hundred paces away from Qingyun. "Lower your bows!" she ordered Liao Zhen.

Qingyun stood there, supporting his sword, looking at her in bewilderment.

Huang Beishuang bit her lip, holding a glistening dagger in one hand. She shouted at him, "Release the Enaci people and my comrades, or I will kill Feita!" With that, she pressed the dagger against Feita’s forehead, ready to pierce at any moment. The white horse, as if understanding her kindness from the past, stood unusually still. Stroking its mane, Huang Beishuang whispered, "Good horse, I am sorry!" Then she raised her head to meet Qingyun's gaze.

He stood there, fury the only emotion left in his eyes.

People shouldn’t be too lonely, so they make friends.

People shouldn’t be too foolish, so they seek true hearts.

Yet, true hearts are elusive, varying from person to person, sometimes even surprising...

Like now. To many, trading a horse for people seemed like child's play.

But somehow, it had struck the lonely heart of this man.

"Release them!" Qingyun ordered. Liao Zhen obeyed, his ten thousand soldiers parting to reveal the Enaci people and Nazhan's comrades behind them.

Qingyun stared darkly at Huang Beishuang. The wounds she inflicted on him now went beyond mere pride and dignity. Today, he would forever remember her actions—dressed in the attire from their first encounter, smiling as she promised him the same devotion, only to catch him unguarded and make a fool of him. A hero may conquer mountains and rivers, yet is defeated at the hands of a beauty!

Huang Beishuang looked at him, truly struggling to hold back her tears. She wouldn’t cry—not now, at least.

Qingyun let out a roar, drawing his sword with his left hand and raising his right. In a flash, the icy jade bracelet shattered into two pieces, falling to the dusty ground. Crimson blood dripped from his hand, mirroring the night she had bled from her earlobe.

Huang Beishuang watched the bracelet gradually buried by the desert winds. Her face turned pale, but she remained silent as she led over seven thousand tribesmen and five thousand soldiers, retreating in a steady, orderly manner.

She left, her back to the ten thousand soldiers, leaving behind a wounded and angry Prince Qingyun.

It wasn't until deep into the night that Huang Beishuang and her group crossed the snowy plains, arriving at Guangping, Yunpei's frontier city. She asked Lianhuan and Yepei to arrange for everyone's rest. Without meeting her brother, Eshou, she rode alone to the border. She gently stroked Feita, whispering, "I'm sorry." Then, she let go of the reins, allowing the horse to gallop away.

Feita ran, returning to that solitary figure still standing alone in the desert.

The white horse exchanged for 7,300 lives, one sword severing the jade bracelet.

From this day onward, no one owed anyone anything.

After that day, Huang Beishuang often drifted in and out of sleep, always appearing detached, scarcely eating, as if unwilling to speak to anyone. On the third day, she, along with eleven others and five thousand soldiers, returned to Guanghan Palace, while the Enaci tribe of seven thousand remained stationed in Guangping temporarily.

Her triumphant return had spread throughout the palace. Upon her arrival, many concubines gathered to gossip, mocking the ruler of Tiandu for being bound by a horse, assuming that the Prince of Northern Jing must be some monstrous fool, hideous beyond measure.

Indeed, this time, Qingyun’s reputation had truly suffered, becoming the laughingstock of the world in just a few days.

However, that day in the council hall of Guanghan Palace, twenty-seven ministers and King Nazhan made an unthinkable decision, one that would surprise the entire populace of Yunpei.

“Your Majesty, Consort Shuang is resting!” Zaiping knelt by the door, blocking Nazhan’s way.

“Nonsense, I heard her playing the xiao!” Nazhan frowned. “Move aside!”

At that moment, Huang Beishuang was sitting at her bedside. Hearing the noise outside, she immediately put away her jade xiao. Nazhan strode in, sitting by the bed. “Since you returned, you’ve been sleeping all day—you’ll make yourself ill!” He looked at her gaunt face.

“Your concern honors me, Your Majesty.” Huang Beishuang replied, her voice tinged with emotion. Since the day she entered Guanghan Palace, he had treated her well. Smiling faintly, she asked, “Is it not time for Your Majesty to fulfill the promise you made?”

Seeing her bring it up, Nazhan obliged. “Of course, but there is something I must tell you first.”

“What is it?” Huang Beishuang asked calmly.

Nazhan looked at her intently. “I will make you my queen.”

The words took Zaiping and Yepei by complete surprise, nearly causing them to spill the night snack they carried.

“Is Your Majesty joking?” Huang Beishuang showed no reaction.

Nazhan snorted. “No.”

“Concubine Yu, the mother of the Crown Prince, and pregnant Consort Jia will never agree.”

“Only your consent matters.”

Huang Beishuang smiled. “Why are you so certain that I will agree?”

Nazhan picked up a piece of pastry, eating it with relish, before replying, “You are an ambitious woman, and your ambition encompasses your responsibility and compassion for your people. You are worthy of being queen.” He took another bite. “Besides, the desert will soon be aflame with war. Both forces involved are linked to you. Do you think you can avoid this?”

No one knew Huang Beishuang better than Nazhan. This king, with the world in his heart, deeply understood that feeling of being willing to sacrifice anything for governance and the people—just like her.

“Do you love me?” Huang Beishuang asked.

“No. You’re not my woman.” Nazhan answered, his voice without hesitation.

“You won’t touch me?” she asked again.

“Not unless you ask.” He smiled.

“…” She fell silent.

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

There was no tenderness, yet an understanding akin to a meeting of soulmates. A marriage proposal could be this plain, for there was no love involved. If there were love, one would be maddened by it. Huang Beishuang looked at Nazhan, a smile appearing—she had never been blank in his presence.

Awake, after so many days, I woke because I haven’t seen you. There was no you in my dreams, so I woke.

Drunk, after so many nights, I drank because I haven’t seen you. There was no you by my side, so I drank.

Cool wine touches my lips, I know your pain still remains, So much so, I dare not even think of you...

Huang Beishuang, of the Enaci tribe, title Na Xiu. In the autumn of 331, she married into Yunpei for alliance, and upon her first meeting with King Zhan, he was taken with her beauty, bestowing upon her the title Consort Shuang. Less than four months later, admiring her virtue, she was crowned queen in Guanghan Palace. She was given the title Guan Ying, and on the Day of Boar in the deep winter of 331, she was officially crowned, a proclamation announced to all, with amnesty granted to the Three Continents. Seven days later, to win her favor, King Zhan accepted more than seven thousand of the Enaci people into the borders, setting aside land for them, cultivating fields and establishing settlements, earning a smile from the queen.

The grand coronation ceremony heralded Huang Beishuang’s formal entrance onto the stage of desert history.

Give me long sleeves, and I shall dance well!

If, after hurting someone, one must hurt oneself to find peace, it only shows that there exists an emotional dependency between the two, and to maintain that bond, people will do things they themselves cannot understand—like Huang Beishuang now.

“Consort Shuang, do you really want to do this?” Yepei asked worriedly, “If anyone sees, you’ll become a laughingstock.”

Huang Beishuang smiled, her voice tinged with loneliness, “Then let them laugh.”

“Shall I truly begin?” Yepei anxiously confirmed.

“Do it.”

“I will!” Yepei picked up a brush, dipping it into a small shell box on the tea table, the bristles soaking in thick crimson ink, looking oddly sinister. After hesitating for some time, she finally painted a three-petaled hibiscus on Huang Beishuang’s pale, slender arm.

“It’s done. How does it feel?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Huang Beishuang carefully lowered her sleeve, answering softly, “Silly girl, it's not poison—what could it feel like?”

Yepei sighed in relief, “I can’t believe such a thing exists! I’m astonished!”

Huang Beishuang replied, “Apart from Mizan, women living amid the chaotic sands often have multiple husbands, brothers sharing one wife—it’s not unusual. Chastity isn’t very important, so no one bothers with keeping the cinnabar mark.”

“The king would be upset if he knew! A queen should be pure—if discovered, it would be disastrous.” Yepei worried.

“I’ll be careful not to let anyone find out. Don’t fret! Besides, not everyone knows about the cinnabar mark.” Huang Beishuang chuckled, turning to look at the Jiema tree outside the window—it had grown taller. Come spring, it would bloom with white flowers, wouldn’t it?

Why did she mark the cinnabar? Was she trying to prove something? She didn’t know—only that she felt a kind of indescribable falsehood and greed, a dislike for herself she had never experienced before.

“Zaiping, bring me my xiao,” Huang Beishuang walked to the window, lost in thought.

“The cold tune can drain your spirit—why not rest for tonight?” Zaiping replied.

Huang Beishuang sighed, “No, I can’t calm down!”

“Why can’t you calm down?”

Who would’ve thought, Nazhan had already been standing at the doorway, holding a chessboard. “If you can’t sleep, how about a game?” he said, setting the board on the tea table.

Huang Beishuang paused, “Your Majesty, I’m not skilled at chess.” Since her elevation to queen, they addressed each other as ‘you and I.’

Nazhan smiled, “Don’t aim to win! Just relax—I’ll give you three pieces.” With that, he arranged the board, waiting for her to sit down.

With no choice, Huang Beishuang took her seat, placing her first piece. “Is Your Majesty too confident? Giving me three pieces won’t be easy.”

Thus, they both fell silent, focused solely on the board.

The room was quiet, and an hour passed.

“Well?” Nazhan asked.

“I accept my defeat.” Huang Beishuang struggled to admit, having lost badly—worse than ever. “Your Majesty’s skill is exceptional—you must’ve never lost a match.”

Nazhan chuckled, “I have—once in a fair game, to a boy eight years my junior.”

He began collecting the pieces, casually adding, “Curious about the Prince of Jingtian? If you are, let’s play another round. However long you can hold out, I’ll tell you that much.”

Hearing that name, whispered countless times in her dreams, Huang Beishuang’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated, gently placing three pieces on the board.

“Not knowing who he is, yet liking him—why?” Nazhan placed a piece.

“Some people, you could spend a lifetime with and never fall for. Some, with just one glance, can hold you in the palm of their hand.” Huang Beishuang responded.

Nazhan gazed at the chessboard, his eyes distant. "The last time I saw him was at the King's Council in Jun City, the eastern desert fortress. He was eighteen then, a cold yet beautiful youth. That year was also the last time he personally attended a diplomatic meeting. What stood out the most was that he brought both of his queens with him!" As he spoke, Nazhan placed another piece on the board.

Huang Beishuang's hand trembled slightly as she placed her piece with a resolute clink.

"At fifteen, he had already crowned two queens of peerless beauty, took no concubines, yet had many women willing to serve him without title or status." Nazhan picked up a piece and placed it on the board. "Qingyun is such a man."

Huang Beishuang steadied herself, feeling as though the lotus flower etched on her arm burned like boiling water. After some time, she reluctantly made her move.

Nazhan smiled. "That day, I played chess against him and lost even worse than you did today!" With that, Nazhan moved his piece, decisively eliminating her flawed formation.

Huang Beishuang paused, "Were you angry about losing?"

Nazhan looked at her. "Angry enough to throw the entire board in his face." He chuckled softly, recalling that he was twenty-six then, with five princes and two princesses. A chess prodigy since childhood, it was his first time conceding in mid-game—utterly and completely defeated.

Huang Beishuang was taken aback. "What happened after?"

Nazhan took a leisurely sip of tea, "It's your move."

Huang Beishuang made her move.

"Afterward, he cleaved the board in two with a single stroke. Since then, I haven't seen him again. News of him comes mostly from Mangliu." Nazhan placed his piece.

"Mangliu?" Huang Beishuang scanned the board for some time before hurriedly placing another piece.

Nazhan eyed her move. "If you play so recklessly, you won't last much longer." He played a killing move. "Mangliu is a spy network, trading in political secrets across nations. No one knows how they get their information, but it’s always accurate."

"Is it linked to Tiandu?" Huang Beishuang made yet another blunder.

"I've long suspected Mangliu to be Tiandu's shadow. Since Ruowen established Fentian and disrupted the desert's balance, there's no doubt about it anymore." Nazhan moved his piece. "You're about to lose."

Huang Beishuang, hearing this, made a random move, "What is it that Your Majesty ultimately wants to tell me?"

Nazhan smiled. "Men have their pride, and you should understand that. Henceforth, Guanghan Palace will no longer be a place he can come and go as he pleases." With that, he made his final move and collected the pieces.

He was her husband, yet never heard her whispered words at night.

She was his wife, yet never saw the scars etched on his chest.

He knew her intent; she understood his heart.

They were like petals, blossoming north and south.

Growing on the same flower, tasting different dews.

The architecture of Guanghan Palace was vast and complex. Besides the main hall, consorts' courtyards, there were numerous hidden passages and secret chambers. One could only imagine how many secrets, burdens, and regrets a royal family of such long standing would have. Those who plotted, worried endlessly; those who pondered, often overthought. In those cold, unknown palace pathways, what anguish and regrets might have lingered? The strangest thing about those in power was their inability to let go of their worries. Ironically, the very places they used to protect their secrets inevitably became targets for prying eyes—like a goblet of clear, visible wine placed on a table.

If Nazhan troubled himself over this wine, then Qingyun was that elusive drinker.

On Zijian Day, in the year 332, Nazhan personally sealed seventy-eight secret chambers and passages of the Shadow Halls in Guanghan Palace and added seventeen new sentry posts, letting those secrets become dust that would fade away with time. During those days, the sounds of walls being demolished and passages being sealed echoed through Guanghan Palace every night, as if heralding a warning, sealing the unrest in everyone's hearts.

When the Jiema trees in the courtyard of Guan Ying Palace had grown past knee height, Yunpei sealed its borders.

No one could enter the city; no one could leave the realm.

The wind blew cold, stripping bare the once graceful swaying trees, but it could not dry the cold rain clinging to their trunks. That night, one could clearly see the long caravan heading north from Guhe. At the head of the convoy was Ji Hua, a famous general of Tiandu. His rugged face still bore droplets of rain, yet his gaze was deep as he looked ahead, toward his beloved homeland at the end of the endless road.

These past days, Guhe's border town Maka had become just as noisy as Yunpei's Guanghan Palace. After Prince Jingtian had confined King Gucha, he began funneling resources from Guhe into Tiandu, slowly hollowing out this mighty nation of 170 years.

Every day, Tiandu's Southern Suppression Army patrolled the streets of Maka, armed, armored, and solemn. Their rhythmic, resolute footsteps formed the harshest northern wind of that winter. The first order of the heavenly soldiers upon entering the city was: do not harm defenseless civilians; violators would be executed. Yet, to outsiders, this was but another form of hypocrisy. After all, if you strip a commoner of his wealth, how can you expect him not to resist? The blood-stained shoes of the world were all worn by those fighting desperately to survive.

Whenever an innocent citizen of Guhe wailed in grief, Tiandu would gain one equally innocent citizen expressing gratitude.

At this moment, Qingyun sat in the grand hall of Maka Palace, dressed in his black brocade robe. His gray eyes held a languid, distant allure. Seated at the banquet were historians like Sou Ronghuo and generals like Liao Zhen. None had the heart to appreciate the gentle singing and dancing before them. Liao Zhen downed a cup of liquor, his parched voice filled with impatience, "Your Majesty, why do we still leave Guhe with so much?"

The question did not disturb Qingyun’s mood. He smiled, "Mr. Rong, what do you say?"

Ronghuo looked at the food and wine before him, nodded, and sighed, "If we take everything, the people of Guhe will revolt entirely. Leave them a meager ration, and it will keep that nerve in check."

Qingyun grunted, downing a sip of wine, "No one knows the world better than you, sir."

Ronghuo laughed wryly. "Rest assured, my lord. If I survive until the end, I will make sure to chronicle your deed of exchanging the white horse for people, ensuring that even after a thousand years, none shall forget." His words were tainted with mockery—Prince Jingtian, a man of romance, had now stumbled over affairs of the heart, much to everyone’s satisfaction. With that thought, he lifted his cup to drink.

"How dare you!" Liao Zhen, enraged, drew his blade, severing the topknot on Ronghuo’s head. Instantly, strands of silver hair fell into the dishes. Before Ronghuo could react, another vanguard general, Suo Zana, stepped forward and stripped him of his ornate robes. Handling someone like Ronghuo was child's play for them, toying with him until he had no strength left, leaving him sitting disheveled in the hall.

Heh! A low laugh escaped, as Qingyun, watching the spectacle from his chair, finally spoke, "Stand down." He took a small sip of wine, the moisture glistening coldly on his lips. "Mr. Rong, you seem to enjoy provoking trouble. Why seek death if you fear it?" Across the back of the hand that held the cup lay a scar—a reminder of a swift sword's bite.

Ronghuo climbed to his feet, disheveled, without a cloak, shivering against the bitter cold. He sneezed, saying, "Had my lord not tolerated provocations, I would've died long ago!" Knowing he had to appease the master before him, the scholar kept his head lowered, not daring to meet Qingyun's gaze.

"Do not worry, sir! In some ways, keeping someone like you close makes me think more clearly." Qingyun did not pursue the matter, smiling faintly. "Besides, I also want to see how you will record this in the annals of history." Saying this, he stood up. Immediately, all the generals rose, their eyes on him—a testament to their strict discipline. Qingyun looked back, "Make yourselves comfortable," and then turned to leave.

"Your Majesty!" One of the beauties seated beside his table called after him, "Tonight..."

Qingyun's gaze turned cold. "Get out!"

The icy tone startled everyone. The king had not favored any woman for quite some time.

It wasn't that Qingyun did not desire women, only that he wasn't willing to have one right now. He refused to seek out a woman when he still couldn't forget her, for that would only make him angrier, more restless, more unable to forget her cold cruelty and disdain. She wasn't some unattainable cluster of grapes on the vine, was she? Why should he seek other women as a substitute? Such pointless self-deception was never a principle in his conduct.

Neither Nazhan nor Huang Beishuang could stop him from sweeping across Ningguang's forty-two prefectures, uniting the realm beneath his iron hooves.

One day, in Guanghan Palace, he would repay her tenfold.

Whether awake or drunk no longer mattered. As long as that fierce fire still burned in his chest, he would never turn back.

I have a white steed named Feita, who comes with the wind to be my companion; You have a jade bracelet around your wrist, glowing in the moonlight's glance; Still, I recall Chang'e's exquisite form, entwined in dreams each night, Now the flower's scar marks my hand, making it difficult each time I clench my fist.

No longer sorrow after drunkenness, no joy left in the wine, Gave up the spring in my heart, tasted the chill of frost.

One day, this debt shall be repaid! One day, this debt shall be repaid!