It was a long, cold night, where darkness reigned supreme. Refugees, thinly clothed, huddled together at the small oasis, strangers leaning on one another for even a hint of warmth—that was enough for them. Not everyone, however, had such scant comfort. As for Huang Beishuang, she sat in her carriage, wrapped in warm furs, attended by three maids who clung to her, yet still she shivered uncontrollably, unable to draw warmth from others' bodies. Nightpei and the others were in tears of worry, while Wu Jihai dared not turn his head, wishing the horses could take flight and reach Mizhan in an instant. After a desperate journey of over four hours through the night, they finally arrived at the border town of Fuping in Mizhan.
Fuping, the largest fortress of Mizhan, shaped like a crescent moon, became part of Mizhan's territory in the year 101. Sparse in population and scarce in water, it was a place frequented by missionaries, the town's buildings laid out in a rectangular pattern. It was here that monks once chanted prayers for thirteen days to redeem souls lost in war, leading to its name: "Like floating duckweed, our hearts encompass the sea; pity the tormented souls of this world!"
"Open the gates! We are the delegation from Yunpei!" Wu Jihai shouted anxiously at the gates of Fuping, but the soldiers atop the walls remained indifferent. After a while, an official-looking man appeared, saying, "Oh dear, General, I must ask that you camp outside for the night. The Emperor's pass will not arrive until morning."
"Bastard! We're right at the gates, and you dare stop us? Do you not fear the ruin of relations between our King and your King of Youguang, who have always been close allies? Open the gate at once!" Wu Jihai, his veins bulging in anger, shouted as the official remained unyielding. The man replied, "General, please don't make it difficult for me. Without the Emperor's pass, my hands are tied."
"You...!" Wu Jihai, furious, was about to continue his demands but reconsidered—at least they needed to get the queen inside to rest. Just as he was about to negotiate, Huang Beishuang called out from within the carriage. Wu Jihai immediately rode up to her, suggesting, "Your Highness, why not enter the city to recover while we sort this out?"
Huang Beishuang patted the armor on his shoulder and softly ordered, "Form ranks. We will break through."
"Your Highness?" Wu Jihai was momentarily stunned.
"The Emperor wrote to inform Youguang ten days ago, yet they refuse us now. Likely, they wish to avoid getting embroiled in Ruowen's turmoil. Break through the gates and force them to take a stand," she said, her face pale as she leaned on Nightpei.
Wu Jihai finally understood. He turned to his men, shouting, "Form ranks! Break through!" In moments, a thousand men stood in eagle formation, arrows ready to fly, spears poised to throw. The foremost row brought down their black iron shields, and with thunderous cries, they advanced three steps. The imposing display made the guards atop the city walls tremble, hastily readying their bows. Seeing the dire situation, the official immediately tried to placate them, saying, "Please, General, there's no need for such aggression. Dawn is but a few hours away—why spoil the peace?"
Wu Jihai, holding back frustration throughout their journey, could no longer restrain himself. "Enough! I, Wu Jihai, have never lost in fifteen years on the battlefield. If I am to be stopped by the likes of you today, how could I ever lead troops again? Open the gate, now—decide quickly!"
Hearing Wu Jihai's name, the official nearly fell to his knees in terror. The famous commander under Zhan Wang, escorting the Queen on a mission here, surely indicated a significant move involving their famed Red Cavalry. Mizhan rarely saw war, and there was no comparison to the ferocity of these battle-hardened men. A fight here would mean Fuping's ruin.
At that moment, a sentry hurried over to the official, whispering something. The man's tense demeanor relaxed, and he shouted from the wall, "Open the gates! Welcome the delegation!"
"What?" Wu Jihai blinked, bewildered by the sudden change of heart. He quickly approached Huang Beishuang's side. "Your Highness, this..."
Huang Beishuang was already half-delirious with fever. Nightpei, anxious, urged, "No time to wonder—enter the city!"
Thus, the thousand men poured into the gates.
Meanwhile, not eight hundred li behind, Ruowen's force of one hundred thirty thousand marched across the desert, a dense swarm like ants under an ominous cloud of dust, steadily closing in.
"Look! There’s the fortress! Mán Hú, this time, let’s see who kills more! You kill ten, and I’ll kill twenty!" shouted Wolfhead, leading the vanguard of the Huangtian berserkers. Mán Hú retorted, "Mind your tongue, lest you bite it! You talk big, but last time, you were hardly impressive!" Wolfhead laughed loudly. "Why so timid now? Don’t turn soft like a eunuch—be careful, or the boss will have you serve him instead! Hahaha!" With that, he lashed his horse forward.
As those two raucously rode ahead, Ruowen’s eyes glowed with intensity, fixed on the approaching walls of Mizhan, his breath quickening. In the darkness of night, his desire surged—she was close, so very close.
The distinction between people can be described in many ways, one of which pertains to the quality of life. Some, like dogs, survive at any cost, perhaps even worse than dogs, their footsteps scattered and disorderly. Others, like the phoenix, turn their dignity into flames, leaving a legend behind even after rebirth, their footprints forming a straight path, deeply etched into the earth.
Between these two types of people lies an intriguing thought. A dog looks down on the phoenix, thinking it foolish—what is worth holding onto if it means losing your life? Meanwhile, the phoenix despises the dog, considering a life lived only for mere survival, without some innate belief, to be as dull as death itself.
Yet the marvel of this world lies in how well it assigns the destinies of both. If a god grants life, and the world has ten thousand dogs, there will be one phoenix among them. The poor dogs revere the phoenix's dignity, and the dignified are the ones who keep promises. The phoenix, in turn, finds affirmation of its value among the dogs, standing alone but ultimately leading and protecting them.
Thus, the dogs admire the phoenix, and the phoenix nurtures the dogs.
And in the end, it is the phoenix's reflections that become the spark of creation. The complexity of humanity begins there.
Atop the gate, a man in the garb of a general called out to the approaching Fengtian army, "I am Youlao, protector of the Fire Heng Sect of Mizhan, stationed here by royal decree. None with ill intent shall pass." With a wave of his hand, the first row of archers below loosed their arrows, though none hit their mark—clearly meant as a warning. Youlao focused his gaze, astonished at what he saw: not a single soldier had retreated. The Huangtian berserkers standing at Ruowen's side appeared oddly eager, as though they found the prospect of bloodshed exhilarating. A chill ran through Youlao's heart—rarely had Mizhan faced battle, but to encounter such madness, it seemed impossible to defend the land without shedding blood. No wonder the King had summoned all national forces to Fuping in haste—if these wolves and tigers breached the gates, it would surely be hell on earth.
Ruowen looked up at Youlao, his brow furrowing slightly. Thirty thousand men—breaking through wasn't an option. The King of Mizhan was no fool; he knew holding Fuping was key to blocking Fengtian. Moreover...
Bored with these thoughts, Ruowen flicked the whip in his hand. He cared nothing for Mizhan—its distant lands, scarce resources, and even its women were unappealing. Their devotion to the sun god had left the populace scorched, their skin as dark as charred wood. Though desert dwellers were often tanned, none were as dark as the people of Mizhan.
Poor, unattractive, and utterly ascetic—why would he bother to fight such people?
But the person he desired was here, wasn't she?
His eyes turned cold at the thought of that crimson figure. "Blast it open!" he ordered.
Immediately, Mán Hú and Wolfhead grew eager.
"Wait!" Just then, Ge Xinwei galloped forward, blocking his path. "My Lord! I have a plan!"
Ruowen waved his hand, stopping Mán Hú and the others from bringing the explosives. Ge Xinwei, gathering her resolve, spoke, "My Lord, let me go as an emissary to Mizhan. If Yunpei's delegation can negotiate, why not Fengtian?"
Ruowen narrowed his eyes at her. "Negotiate? Now that's a novel term."
"My Lord," Ge Xinwei said firmly, "I know you have no real interest in this battle. Let me go to Mizhan—I promise to bring you what you seek."
Ruowen laughed. "You think you can?"
Ge Xinwei's gaze darkened, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Or do you think I am no match for her?"
Ruowen put away his whip. "Mán Hú, take a thousand men with her. You have three hours."
Ge Xinwei nodded, turning her horse to ride with Mán Hú toward the city gate.
Oh, women—why do you cling to men?
Oh, women—why, even when your heart is shattered, do you still love that man?
Is it because his broad chest cradles your tender soul?
Or because his rough hands grasp your tenacious love?
Oh, women—when you cannot possess, and cannot leave;
When you can neither cry nor smile—
What will you become in the end? Will you even exist?
In Fuping's castle, Wu Jihai sat in the grand hall. Before him was a thin elderly man seated in the host's seat, a scroll in his hands. "General Wu, I must apologize for today. The King has strictly commanded that without the Fire Heng troops present, we cannot allow your delegation to enter. We were fortunate things turned out as they did."
Wu Jihai, still shaken, had no mind for anger. They had entered the city just moments before Fengtian's forces arrived—a moment's delay, and the consequences would have been unimaginable. He paused before speaking. "Master Nake, thank you for your hospitality. Our Queen has been injured and cannot leave Fuping for now. We will have to delay our journey to Youzhou."
Nake smiled. "Rest here, then. But as the lord of Fuping, I must make it clear that I will always put Mizhan's interests first. Should the Mad Blood King attack, we won't truly sacrifice our three hundred thousand soldiers. I hope you understand."
No matter how blunt Wu Jihai could be, he understood the meaning behind these words, clenching his fists tightly in silent frustration.
"Report, my Lord! A Fengtian envoy requests an audience!" an urgent shout broke the silence of the grand hall.
"What?" Both men were equally startled.
"A Fengtian envoy, Ge Xinwei, requests an audience!" the soldier repeated.
After a brief moment of thought, Nake nodded. "Two armies in conflict shall not harm an envoy. Let her in. General Wu, you needn't withdraw; this envoy most likely seeks an audience with your Queen."
Wu Jihai remained seated, his gaze fierce as he stared at the door. Before their departure, the King had spoken of Ruowen—despite his strength, he was merely a brute, reckless and without strategy. Why, then, was he acting so differently today?
Soon, Ge Xinwei entered, stepping gracefully over the threshold. She wore a flowing green gown and a fur cape, her hair in an elegant bun adorned with only two simple hairpins, yet she exuded regal grandeur, instantly brightening the solemn hall.
"Queen?" Wu Jihai exclaimed, startled, knocking over his teacup. On closer inspection, he realized it wasn't her. The Queen's eyes were a pale gray; this woman's were sapphire blue. But how could anyone bear such a striking resemblance? A sense of fear crept over him. "Who are you?"
Ignoring Wu Jihai, Ge Xinwei bowed to Nake, while Mán Hú, standing behind her, sneered dismissively. The stark difference in attitude left Nake momentarily stunned before he returned the bow.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Ge Xinwei, unperturbed, sat beside Wu Jihai, smiling. "Lord Nake, do you not remember Wei'er? During the last council at Zhuncheng, Wei'er was deeply impressed by you!"
Recognition dawned on Nake. "Princess Ge Xinwei of Yujie? You've truly grown into a fine young woman!"
He had once admired the talent and wit of the young princess, then only fifteen. Now she had blossomed into an elegant figure, radiating charisma. When he heard of the Rain Tribe's massacre, he had felt great pity for the innocent girl. Yet here she stood before him.
"I'm glad you remember me. I'll be brief," Ge Xinwei said with a faint smile. "I wish to see the Queen."
Nake hesitated. Though he had anticipated such a request, the directness of it boded ill.
Seeing his silence, Wu Jihai grew furious. "If you have anything to say, say it to me! The Queen will not meet you!"
Ge Xinwei turned her gaze to Wu Jihai. "General Wu, is it? I've heard of your reputation, but meeting you in person falls short of the tales. Go and report this. If your Queen truly refuses, we'll leave. I'll wait for fifteen minutes. The decision is yours." She spoke forcefully, unperturbed by Wu Jihai's anger.
Wu Jihai sat there, reluctant to move, unaware that Lian Huan, who had been standing quietly in the shadows, had already reported the matter to the Queen in full detail.
Ge Xinwei, sipping her tea calmly, said, "General Wu, time is running out. Have you decided?"
Wu Jihai hesitated for a long while before finally standing, seemingly ready to make the report.
He hadn't yet reached the door when, suddenly, Lian Huan and seven others filed into the hall, opening a path. From afar, faint coughing could be heard. Wu Jihai turned to see Nightpei and the others supporting Huang Beishuang as they approached.
Ge Xinwei's heart pounded, her jade-like hand clenching around the cup. Slowly, the Queen entered, her complexion pallid yet adorned with a gentle, sorrowful smile. Seeing the assembled people bow, she did not respond immediately, instead walking toward Ge Xinwei and sitting down. "No need for formalities," she said softly, her serene demeanor dissipating the tension in the hall.
All eyes shifted between the two women, so eerily alike.
"You look like you still have a fever," Ge Xinwei said simply.
Huang Beishuang smiled faintly. "Indeed, I don't feel well."
Sensing the agitation from Mán Hú behind her, Ge Xinwei's eyes turned cold as she mocked, "Are you so afraid of him that you can't even stop yourself from stabbing yourself twice?"
Huang Beishuang coughed and replied, "I am very afraid, but I must protect my people."
"Hmph!" Ge Xinwei sneered. "Saying that means there's room to negotiate?"
Huang Beishuang looked at her, smiling softly. "You're smart."
Ge Xinwei leaned back. "Likewise. Then I won't beat around the bush—he wants you. Come with me, and there will be no bloodshed. I promise."
"What gives you the right to promise that?"
"Because I am Ruowen's confidante!" Ge Xinwei couldn't help but provoke.
Huang Beishuang leaned back as well, her voice calm. "But your eyes tell me you fear him too." As she spoke, she couldn't help but cough up blood. She looked up at Ge Xinwei. "You can't control him."
Ge Xinwei's expression faltered, her gaze darkening. "If you have another option, feel free to offer it."
Huang Beishuang lowered her eyes, deliberating for a long while before speaking bitterly. "If I had another choice, why would I be doing this? My condition is that you can only take me—alone."
"Your Grace!" Lian Huan, Nightpei, and the others gasped, their swords drawn, blocking Huang Beishuang. "No one steps closer!" Lian Huan shouted. They had all been captured by Ruowen before—they knew what surrender meant.
"General Wu!" Huang Beishuang sat behind them, addressing Wu Jihai, who stood ready to defend her. "Once I leave, you must go back—take them with you. Tell His Majesty I've done all I can. He... need not wait for me."
She rose, her expression mournful, and walked toward Ge Xinwei.
"Your Grace!" All eight generals and the three maids knelt. "Let us go with you!"
"Wu Jihai, take them away!" Huang Beishuang commanded loudly as she approached Ge Xinwei, startling everyone. Before Wu Jihai could give the order, Nake had already summoned guards to take the eleven kneeling figures away.
Huang Beishuang drew up her fur cloak. "The horse-chestnut tree in my courtyard—it must be about to bloom. What a pity I won't see it." With that, she walked out with Ge Xinwei.
"Your Grace!" The grand hall echoed with anguished cries.
Two hours passed, and still no smoke rose over Fuping. At dawn, the pale light stretched over the still-imposing figures of the berserkers, whose fierce demeanor had not waned in the slightest. On the opposite side, many of the Mizhan soldiers, arranged layer upon layer, were yawning.
"They're coming out!" Wolfhead shouted excitedly as he saw figures slowly emerge from the other side.
Leading the group was Mán Hú, who kept glancing back. Following him was Ge Xinwei, supporting a small figure wrapped in a black cloak. Ruowen's eyes turned icy as he spurred his horse forward. He reached them, towering above, and pulled off the black cloak with a swift motion, revealing the face that had haunted his dreams.
She was his—finally!
"Your Majesty!" Ge Xinwei looked at Ruowen, who was standing before her, his breath growing rapid, his eyes devoid of any emotion but coldness.
Exposed to the bitter wind, Huang Beishuang looked anything but beautiful—her face pallid, her lips a bruised blue, her frail presence drained of all vitality. She was far from what he had imagined—no longer dressed in resplendent red, nor bearing eyes of fiery determination. She looked pitiful, fragile, on the verge of tears. She merely kept her head down, staring at the horse's hooves that stamped small divots into the yellow earth.
"Lift your head!" Ruowen demanded, his expression a mix of curiosity and disdain.
Huang Beishuang smiled sadly and slowly raised her head.
Ruowen gazed at her—a face so unlike the one he remembered. He stared for a long, long time, and finally, he burst into wild laughter. With one sweeping motion, he lifted her, pulled his cloak around her, and held her tight. Then, at point-blank range, he kissed her pale, helpless lips—too forceful, leaving wounds in their wake. Blood seeped out, lingering at the corner of her mouth, making her appear even more sorrowful.
When the kiss ended, Ruowen gripped her shoulder tightly, pressing her against him. With the other hand, he took hold of the reins. "Move out! Back to Zhuncheng!"
Wolfhead and Mán Hú exchanged a glance, quickly gathering the troops to follow.
How would their leader treat her?
To conquer a woman was simple enough.
With the moon high and the winds dark, strength alone sufficed.
But when the woman before you bore no spark—only unguarded frailty—what then?
Even worse, that frailty stirred pity in you, made you want her more.
How, then, could you claim her?
At dawn, the main army of Yunpei completed its review, awaiting the Emperor's arrival. Dressed in crimson battle armor, Zhan Wang held his sword as he arrived at the now-silent Guanying Palace. The only one there was the young boy Samang, reading in the barren courtyard. Upon seeing the King, he quickly knelt. "Your Majesty!"
"Ah, quite studious, aren't you?" Zhan Wang smiled, but just then, a gust of cold morning wind blew. The boy stood in the courtyard and shouted, "Snow! Snow!"
All twenty-one of the horse-chestnut trees in the courtyard had blossomed overnight. No leaves graced their brown branches, only pure white flowers, like snow. A breeze lifted the petals into the sky, swirling and drifting without settling, making the courtyard seem like it was snowing—a beauty so pure, so serene.
Standing beneath the tree, Zhan Wang caught a petal in his hand, sighing deeply, his eyes momentarily filled with grief. He looked up at the boundless blue sky, as if he could hear the faint, cold sound of a flute from Chang'e Mountain.
"Your Majesty!" Zhan Wang, lost in thought, suddenly heard a clear, sweet voice. He turned, his face brightening with joy, only to fall into shadow the next moment. It was Zhenqu Youjia, the beauty who had recently borne him a son.
"Your Majesty!" Youjia forced a smile, stepping forward to gently brush away the petals caught in his hair.
"Who are you waiting for?" she asked softly.
Zhan Wang was silent for a long while before he gently held her hands. "I'm waiting for you."
Youjia smiled. "Then, Your Majesty, would you wait for me in my courtyard from now on?"
Zhan Wang hesitated before pulling her closer. Underneath the horse-chestnut trees, even in full bloom, there was a sense of solitude and helplessness.
Some people have many lovers in a lifetime,
But none that they truly love.
And some people,
Love but one person,
And are forever untouched by other encounters.
Yet the cruelest truth is—such a choice,
Can only be made once in a lifetime.
To the north of the snowy plains, the banner of Tiandu fluttered wildly in the wind. Clad in black armor, King Jing was readying his troops. This would be his first face-to-face clash with Zhan Wang, and his heart burned with anticipation. He had long wanted to know which of them would be the victor. Beside him, General Jihua was eager, desperate to avenge his past disgrace. He and Liaozhen each led seventy thousand men, positioned on either side of the Emperor. Before long, the sand dunes across the way began to darken, a dense mass of figures approaching layer upon layer, red cavalry at the center, and at the highest point, Zhan Wang stood proudly, staring across the distance at Qingyun, who was dozens of miles away.
Their gazes locked, piercing through wind and sand, through soldiers and battles—this was a confrontation between kings, wagering pride, blood, tears, and dreams.
Yunpei's forces were not to be underestimated—they had the largest population, the vastest oases, the most comprehensive war strategies. Ever since Zhan Wang diverted Ruowen, he had gained the upper hand in manpower, terrain, and morale. He wanted an absolute victory—to utterly crush his opponent, to ensure that King Jing Tian Huo Qingyun would obediently lock his kingdom away for decades to come, never to trouble him again.
"Your Majesty, they have the numbers—we should fight a flanking battle." Miao Jing stood beside Qingyun, assessing the situation. "The snowy plains are ready."
Qingyun's gaze flickered. "Mangliu... still no news?" he asked, though his expression gave nothing away.
Miao Jing, ever observant, knew that ever since hearing of Ruowen's retreat, the Emperor had been uneasy, asking repeatedly. He lowered his head and replied, "No news yet, but it shouldn't be long."
"Report to me the moment you hear anything!" Qingyun commanded, clenching his fist as he watched the Yunpei vanguard readying for battle. "Tell Suozha to prepare—I want to push their line inward!"
Miao Jing nodded.
Meanwhile, in Zhuncheng.
If Huang Beishuang had owed Qingyun for his gallant love, she had now repaid it in full.
Upon entering Zhuncheng, the weakened Fengtian soldiers sought water. In less than three hours, nearly a thousand had died or fallen ill. Only the berserkers remained unscathed—their leader had not drunk, so how could they dare? Yet this hesitation led to the discovery that the city's water had been poisoned.
"Leader!" Mán Hú looked at Ruowen, who still held Huang Beishuang in his arms. "The water is poisoned!"
Ruowen's grip tightened as he glanced down at the woman, now barely breathing. They had ridden all night, and she could endure no more. Her chest wound was worsening. "Gather all clean water from the soldiers' flasks and bring it to me!"
Mán Hú bowed his head. "Leader, we've already searched—there's none left."
Ruowen frowned. "How far are we from Fengtian?"
Mán Hú replied, "Three days at full gallop."
"Rest for two hours, then we ride day and night—we must reach Fengtian within three days!" Ruowen dismounted, still holding Huang Beishuang, her dry, pale lips pressed against his chest. No matter how fiercely his heart beat, it could not wake her.
He swiftly carried her into a room, the two leaning against the bed as Mán Hú and the others stood aside.
"Water..." Huang Beishuang began to mutter deliriously.
Ruowen raised an eyebrow. Without a word, he drew his sword halfway and slashed his palm deeply. Blood flowed freely.
He brought his hand to her lips. "Drink."
Perhaps the metallic scent of blood roused her, and though she tried to turn her head away, Ruowen, annoyed, pressed his hand forcefully against her mouth. Perhaps her thirst was too great, for she soon stopped struggling, drinking deeply of the blood.
"Hiss..." Ruowen winced as she sucked hard at the wound. After a moment, he brushed the sweat-soaked hair from her forehead and laughed. "Does my blood taste good?"
Mán Hú and Wolfhead, watching from the side, suddenly felt awkward. It was strange—their leader often took women publicly, yet this time, without doing anything of that nature, there was an inexplicable sense that they shouldn't be watching.
"What are you staring at? Out!" Ruowen snapped, glancing at his subordinates with irritation. Then he turned to Ge Xinwei and Ruolanfei. "You leave too."
Ge Xinwei looked at him sadly before stepping out, her jade hand closing the door gently behind her, as though hiding away a shameful secret.
"What do I lack compared to her?" she murmured at the doorway, speaking to herself.
"Eye color, perhaps?" Ruolanfei laughed. "There'll be another woman in his bed soon."
Ge Xinwei sneered. "Fool."
Standing uncertainly at the door were not only the three women but also Wolfhead, Mán Hú, and a few others, eyes wide with bewilderment.
"What now? I really want to see what the leader will do!" Mán Hú scratched his head furiously.
Wolfhead sighed. "If you want to die, go ahead. I guarantee you won't leave with your body intact!" Truthfully, he also wanted to see—to see a different side of their leader, to see what he was truly like in such a moment.
"What do I lack compared to her?" Ge Xinwei leaned against the doorframe, still muttering.
Mán Hú glanced at her. A woman in love with the leader—either completely obedient or utterly mad. It seemed Ge Xinwei belonged to the latter. He shook his head, feeling a sudden pang of sympathy for her, for their leader's heart held no room for love.
"Let me tell you what sets you apart," Mán Hú said, meeting her icy blue gaze. She was undeniably beautiful. He stared for a long moment before speaking coldly. "You gave everything. She never did."
Before long, a muscular figure clad in black entered. Seeing the man, Miao Jing hurriedly nodded. The newcomer knelt on one knee and reported, "Your Majesty, news from Fengtian: Ruowen's main force of one hundred thirty thousand has broken camp. They intercepted Yunpei's delegation at Mizhan and have likely returned to Zhuncheng by now."
Qingyun's brow furrowed. "What delegation? At this time, Zhan wouldn't be sending emissaries abroad!"
The man in black responded, "Your Majesty, it appears to be Queen Guanying on a mission to Mizhan, supposedly for peace talks. However, she was intercepted by Ruowen before reaching Youzhou."
"What!" Qingyun's face darkened, his hand striking the table beside him, the veins on his hand bulging. "Zhan..." he spat the name, barely containing his rage.
Miao Jing and Liaozhen were stunned into silence. One of them managed Mangliu, and thus had some knowledge of the complicated relationship between Qingyun and Huang Beishuang; the other had witnessed the infamous incident of the White Horse. Hearing the name of Queen Guanying, both sensed trouble.
"Zhan..." Qingyun's expression turned vicious. "Even my woman, he would dare to use!"
Jihua, puzzled, spoke bluntly, "Your Majesty, she isn't your woman. She's Zhan's wife!"
Qingyun glared at him and suddenly stood. "Miao Jing, bring him out! I need him now!"
Miao Jing was taken aback. "Your Majesty, according to the plan, it should be after we breach the pass that..." Before he could finish, Qingyun's icy gaze silenced him.
Taking heavy steps to the sand model, Qingyun plucked out the little Yunpei flags one by one. "Write to Zhan Wang. Three days hence, convene an informal royal meeting, mediated by a third party named Nayen Xing. If he refuses, execute the mediator immediately." He turned and sat down. "Miao Jing, send all of Mangliu's men eastward. The odds are slim, but if there's a chance, find a way to bring her back to me!"
"By your command!" Miao Jing's eyes sharpened, and he sprinted out of the tent.
Only Jihua and Liaozhen were left, exchanging uncertain glances.
What I want, I will not relinquish.
What I desire, I will not compromise on!
At the beginning of the year 332, Tiandu and Yunpei went to war, spanning the northern and southern deserts. Nearly four hundred thousand soldiers engaged in chaotic battles. The first clash ended in a draw, causing the Weak River to surge, with quicksand from the dry sea engulfing seven small oases and displacing seven million refugees, most of whom fled east. King Youguang of Mizhan watched the tigers fight from the sidelines, refusing to participate, and even prophesied from the Temple of Vows that the war would last a thousand days without result—this, however, was a mistake.
Three days later, the two nations held talks, each withdrawing a hundred miles. The reason remained unclear, with only one consistent element in all intelligence reports—a single name: Guanying.