Between the snowfields and Guazhou, the yellow earth and withered sands seem to have forgotten the passage of time, swirling up layer by layer, only to fall silently back down, etching crescent shapes into the vast desert trenches, one after another. At a glance, it stretches as far as the sea, as majestic and boundless as an ocean. Yet, despite nature's magnificent handiwork, nothing in this world stirs heaven and earth more deeply than humanity itself—those countless lives, each as insignificant as an ant. And what of those rare individuals, the extraordinary among them, who would invoke both fear and admiration?

“Exchange the flags!” came a commanding voice.

Before the two armies, an elaborate tent had been erected at an unknown hour. Two brawny soldiers, exuding hostility, each carried a massive banner weighing dozens of kilograms. With fierce gazes, they approached each other, exchanged a begrudging salute, and swapped their flags—Tiandu's banner and Yunpei's banner.

The master of ceremonies, a middle-aged man, saw the flag exchange complete and called out once more, “The destruction of the flag means collapse, the return of the flag means peace! Please welcome the third-party witness, Mr. Na Yanxing!” As soon as he finished speaking, around thirty people emerged from the Tiandu military camp, pushing forward a frail young man. The youth had delicate features, carrying an air of innocence, yet his expression was uneasy. He was essentially being shoved ahead, step by reluctant step, until he stood beneath the splendid canopy. His head remained bowed—he did not look to the left at Tiandu or to the right at Yunpei. He simply stood there, isolated and powerless, entirely out of place amidst the troops and their fierce spirits.

Seeing him finally stand still, the master of ceremonies shouted again, “Three drumbeats! Let us welcome the two kings!”

Beneath the yellow sands, amidst the fierce wind, the muffled drum resounded: thud—thud—thud! With each beat, the formidable Zhan, King of Tiandu, and Qingyun, King of Yunpei, advanced from the north and the south respectively—one resplendent in red, the other in a stark black robe. Their steps were deep and resolute, their gazes meeting with fury and gravity.

“Be seated!” Na Yanxing instinctively shrank back at the sight of these two imposing figures standing before him.

Zhan half-turned his head, casting a fleeting glance at the frail youth, while Qingyun smiled faintly before taking his seat.

“I do not see him as a neutral party,” Zhan remarked as he sat, his eyes fixed on Qingyun.

“Think what you may; after all, he was born in Guanghan Palace,” Qingyun replied, leaning back and intertwining his fingers.

Zhan's eyes turned cold. “I'm curious—how much more do you know?”

Qingyun looked at him calmly. “I hope we can get to the point quickly.”

Zhan raised an eyebrow. “Speak then.”

“I want you to relinquish Guazhou, as well as the twelve frontier cities of Yunpei, as the terms for a ceasefire,” Qingyun declared.

Zhan laughed heartily. “That's impossible!”

Upon hearing this, Qingyun also gave a cold laugh. “Indeed, his life is not worth that much.” As he spoke, Jihua’s blade came to rest upon Na Yanxing's neck. “Shall I help you by killing him?”

Faced with this move, Zhan fell silent for a while before sighing. “I must admit, I’m surprised you managed to capture him. I searched for him for seven years without any news. But if I were you, I wouldn't play this card so early.”

Qingyun's expression darkened. “And if I were you, I wouldn't send an envoy to Mizun at this time! You too have been quite unpredictable.”

The implied meaning of Qingyun’s words dawned on Zhan, and he leaned back into his chair, a smile forming as if he had regained some control. His posture mirrored that of Qingyun’s.

“My queen, Guan Ying, is a most captivating woman. I didn’t expect even the esteemed King Qingyun to be so taken by her,” Zhan teased.

Qingyun's frown deepened. “Oh? You seem rather relaxed for someone who handed his wife over to bandits—is that a hobby of yours?”

Zhan’s eyes hardened, his voice cold. “How amusing. Sending her to Mizun was merely to mislead Ruowen, yet it appears to have had unintended effects. Do you truly care for her that much, enough to come here during the height of battle to negotiate with me? It seems I overestimated you.” His words were laced with mockery, his sharp gaze boring into Qingyun.

“How long were you together? A day? Two days? Not even a month, perhaps? Did you sleep with her? How many times? I’m amazed at how boldly you confront me, forgetting she is my wife. Her name will forever be engraved on the founding monument of Yunpei!” he said, sipping his tea unhurriedly.

Upon hearing this, Jihua shifted the blade from Na Yanxing's neck to point at Zhan, his eyes fierce. Naturally, Guang Zhaoyun, who stood behind Zhan, could not bear this provocation and drew her sword, meeting Jihua’s attack with equal force.

“You seem to forget…”

In the midst of the escalating tension, Qingyun broke the silence with a low chuckle. “You seem to forget—I’m the one setting the conditions here.”

Despite Zhan’s cold taunts, Qingyun remained composed, taking another sip of tea. “Yes, I care for her. The fact that I cannot have her only makes me desire her more. What of it? What man doesn't love beauty? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But you, using a woman who’s submitted to you to mobilize your army—shouldn’t I be the one disappointed?”

Zhan, stung by this veiled insult, grew visibly irritated. “Say what you want—what are your terms?”

Qingyun smiled. “I've already told you.”

Zhan also smiled. “And I’ve told you—that's impossible. If you don't want to waste time, name terms we can both agree upon, or else we shall fight to the bitter end.”

Qingyun gazed at Zhan, fully aware he would never accept those terms. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Na Yanxing alone wasn’t enough to destroy the kingdom Zhan had painstakingly built.

After a moment's consideration, Qingyun said coldly, “Xueyuan, Guazhou, Ruoshui, Jiandu—these four fallen cities will all belong to Tiandu! And both nations shall cease hostilities for thirty days. My terms are that simple.”

Zhan sneered. “Take four cities, leaving my Yunpei’s borders a mere three thousand miles away, yet you refuse to promise a permanent ceasefire? Thirty days later, you can still march on our gates, occupying the best position to launch attacks directly into Yunpei territory. Is that not a bit selfish?”

Qingyun chuckled. “If you're truly so afraid of me, you could surrender right now.”

Zhan glanced at Na Yanxing, held tightly by his men, before turning back. “In fact, I have other options, don’t I? For instance, we could break the flags and refuse negotiation. We could fight for another three years—Yunpei has the capability.”

Qingyun sipped his tea, looking at his own reflection in the cup. “Don’t waste time. I don't mind killing him right here.”

Zhan fell silent, a chill settling in.

In the year 318, after the death of King Najing, the thirty-fourth king of Yunpei, he left behind nine consorts and seventeen sons, of whom only the seventeenth, Na Yanxing, was his own. At the time, Yanxing was not even four years old—illiterate and defenseless. The Grand Prince Na Qida, putting the state above all, resolutely chose Zhan as the king and bestowed upon him the strategies for nation-building. And thus, Zhan rose to power.

This earth-shattering secret was gradually buried under the yellow sands with Qida’s passing. From then on, the one receiving three prostrations and nine bows in Guanghan Palace was no longer of the true royal lineage of Yunpei, but a child picked up by the Grand Prince during his travels in the desert. Zhan, gifted by nature, ruled for thirteen years, making Yunpei a dominant power. The achievements he made exceeded those of any previous king in history, and the people's admiration and loyalty toward him reached unprecedented heights. Yet, to this day, no one knew that their perfect king had no royal blood. As the wise elder Rongruo once said, "Blood cannot dictate fate; without the people’s will, there is no kingdom."

Zhan respected and felt indebted to the Grand Prince. To fulfill his wishes, Zhan worked tirelessly, governing every detail without rest, never a day without care for his kingdom’s affairs. To this day, he could say that his deeds were beyond reproach. But there was one matter that tormented him—the whereabouts of the late king’s only son, Na Yanxing, who had been missing for seven years, despite Zhan’s relentless search.

An enemy who cannot uncover your deepest scar can never become your true adversary.

Without harming Yunpei’s territory, using this innocent prince’s life to secure four cities and thirty days of ceasefire—though Zhan was reluctant, he would undoubtedly agree. In truth, they all knew that it was King Qingyun who ended up at a loss, all for the sake of a woman.

Zhan adjusted his posture, noticing the anger in Qingyun's eyes, and smiled wryly. “Let's sign the agreement. But you must hand him over before I agree.”

Qingyun stood up, his tone indifferent. “The boy will be released in thirty days—the terms will be clear in the treaty.”

Zhan eyed him. “How do I know you won't go back on your word in thirty days and pull the same trick?”

Qingyun laughed. “If, in thirty days, I can still use this trick effectively, then it proves you're truly incompetent.”

With that, the official from Tiandu, Wujishi Hunran, entered, holding a tray with a stack of silk scrolls.

Zhan watched as Hunran unfurled the already drafted truce agreement in front of him. The words were clear, reflecting back at him. He sighed, finally removing the jade ring from his thumb and pressing the royal seal of Yunpei upon the scroll. He had lost yet another round.

Seeing the stamp applied, Qingyun turned to leave, but Zhan called out to him. “One last question—how were you so sure I would accept your terms, all for him?”

Qingyun looked back, a light smile on his face. “If you weren’t, you wouldn't have agreed to negotiations in the first place. This is retribution, Zhan—for using Huang Beishuang, this is your payback.”

“Retribution?” Zhan looked up at him. “If it weren't for the thorn of Queen Guan Ying in your heart, if I’d waited until you breached our defenses to play the Yanxing card, would you not find yourself without recourse?”

“Hmph!” Qingyun shot him a resentful glare before striding away. His voice rang out, filled with urgent tension. “Jihua, leave seventy thousand men here to keep watch over Yunpei! Liaozhen, prepare the troops immediately—we march to Fentian without delay!” Their figures gradually disappeared into the distance.

And yet, Zhan remained seated in the canopy, his gaze fixed on the distant scene as King Qingyun of Yunpei mounted his white steed and galloped away with his army, not once looking back. Zhan leaned back, staring at the ceiling of the tent, his eyes unfocused, lost in thought.

Water flows into a secluded corner, a cool moon reflected in the mirror;

The finest moves in chess arise from a mind devoid of self.

What kind of place is the Ice Thorn Palace to produce such a ruler? One who, at a flick of the finger, can decide between power and beauty. What kind of balance lies within his heart? And where does love fit into all of this?

In the southern desert, the chaos of war unexpectedly abated, with both armies withdrawing a hundred miles. To bystanders, this retreat brought more dread than relief, for the air was still thick with an unspeakable, flame-like tension.

Meanwhile, in the eastern desert, a storm of dust obscured faces amid the flying sand. Twelve thousand troops from Fentian, divided into two columns, fled in desperation. Ruowen and Huang Beishuang shared a single horse, the relentless jolting bruising her pale skin against his coarse garments. Her eyes remained tightly shut. In truth, she had woken back in Zhuncheng, finding her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, and realizing she had been asleep in Ruowen's arms. She felt a wave of nausea but managed to hold it back, deciding to feign unconsciousness for as long as possible. Yet, unexpectedly, Ruowen carried her onward in a mad rush, never pausing for a moment. Her chest wound pulled painfully, and the unbearable hunger gnawed at her nerves.

As Ruowen raced forward, he glanced down at her and suddenly tightened his arm around her waist. She gasped in pain, and he smiled, "You can pretend to sleep, but if you don't say you're hungry, you'll only suffer more."

Huang Beishuang coughed, her eyes snapping open. Though still weak, an aura of faint anger radiated from her—those gray eyes holding disdain, the same look she had given him the day she slipped away from his grasp. That scornful expression had always infuriated him, her complete dismissal of his worth, and yet, it thrilled him.

Ruowen pulled his cloak around her more tightly, turning his face away from her. He needed to return to Fentian quickly, and then, he would hold her fiercely until he was utterly satiated, until his passion dulled, until his heartbeat steadied, until his desire froze. He would sate this insatiable, maddening hunger within him.

The only one racing to Fentian through the desert was not Ruowen, the Blood King. From the south came King Qingyun. Qingyun was far more composed, not committing all his troops at once. Instead, he maneuvered half of his forces around Zhuncheng, silently forming an encirclement. Weighing the odds, he had decided against a head-on clash with Ruowen. Firstly, the Huangtian warriors were each capable of taking on ten opponents—both Zhan and Qingyun acknowledged this fact. Secondly, if they truly fought, Yunpei would end up benefiting as the third party. From Tiandu's perspective, allowing such an outcome was unacceptable.

After all, there's no need to drain an entire ocean to catch one fish. Qingyun tightened his reins, his steed seeming to understand his master's urgency as it raced ahead, leading the pack. None of the other horses could keep up with its pace, and Liaozhen, following ten paces behind the king, simply could not catch up.

Galloping in a frenzy—for you,

Sandstorm under the sky—for you,

Sound of war drums, retreat—for you,

Surging tides of emotions—still for you!

If I find you, I truly wish to know—

What else can you offer to trade with me?

Awaiting in Fentian was Chengxiang. The previous night, the secret agent under Wolfhead had already sent word that the leader was arriving soon. Chengxiang stood at an outpost on the eastern edge of Fentian, keeping watch. From afar, the dust swirled, the banner of the Frenzied Battalion cutting through the air, emerging on the horizon. Wolfhead saw this and shouted, "They've returned! Open the gates quickly!"

With a loud creak, the city gates opened wide, allowing the dust-laden troops to enter. The weary soldiers of Fentian, who had marched day and night, returned like a dark dragon to its lair, their hooves drumming a chaotic rhythm, their voices echoing.

After a while, the soldiers dismounted, exhausted, seeking food and water, parched and starving from days of relentless pursuit, running without a moment’s rest. No one dared to stop; under Ruowen’s command, anyone who paused, even for a breath, risked being struck down by any member of the State Guard.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Amidst the chaos of soldiers sprawled on the ground, only Ruowen's black stallion charged straight into the inner palace, without a backward glance, without a moment's rest to hear Chengxiang's report. He carried the nearly unconscious Huang Beishuang in his arms, kicked open a door to an inner chamber, and laid her on the bed. Turning to Chengxiang, who had followed him in, he barked, “Fetch water!” Chengxiang nodded hurriedly and left to carry out the order.

Ruowen sat at the bedside, gazing at the pale-faced woman. The journey had drained her greatly; she probably couldn’t even pretend to be unconscious anymore.

“Leader, the water is here!” It was Manhu, not quite upright but always perceptive of Ruowen’s mood, who had brought it in. He had his men carry in a tub, filled with warm, clean water for two.

Ruowen glanced at it and waved a hand. “Go collect a reward from Chengxiang, and leave us. No one enters without my order!”

Manhu grinned slyly, rubbing his hands before shutting the door behind him and scurrying off.

Ruowen turned back and, without warning, lifted Huang Beishuang, tossing her into the water.

“Cough, cough!” Huang Beishuang awoke, startled, her eyes blazing with anger. Seeing herself in the water, she no longer cared if anyone was watching. She scooped handfuls of water to her mouth, drinking hungrily. There was a rawness to the way she drank, tearing away her cumbersome clothing to expose her parched skin, moving like a fish playing in the water.

Ruowen stood there watching her for a long time, picking up a piece of pastry from the table and eating it. Once finished, he wiped his mouth, removed his weapons, and, to her astonishment, disrobed and climbed into the tub. His imposing frame displaced a considerable amount of water, spilling it over the edge. The sight seemed to awaken Huang Beishuang, who leaned against the tub’s side, staring at him, dumbfounded.

Ruowen laughed softly. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you playing anymore?”

His hand moved to her stunned face, tracing her moonlit brows, her cold gray eyes, her finely sculpted nose, and then… her bright red, sweet lips that seemed to call out to him!

The kiss was only the beginning. His kisses were always painful, possessive, indifferent to her struggles—he could bite her fiercely, holding her tight, making her afraid, making her heart thunder. It wasn’t love, but it was a capture no one else could achieve—real and irresistible.

“Aren’t you afraid of me? Behave, or I might lose control!” Their intense kiss ended, and Ruowen slightly loosened his grip, letting her catch her breath. The water between their chests turned a deep red—her wound had likely reopened, and quite severely, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her mind was blank, unable to think or act.

Ruowen frowned at her chest wound, then lifted her from the water. He did nothing more—just dried her, bandaged her wound, and left her to rest on the bed. He watched her for a while longer, before muttering to himself, almost bewildered, “Where should I even begin?”

“Where should you begin?” Huang Beishuang finally regained her composure, her gaze cold. “You should start right here.” She tapped her wound, the pain anchoring her to a sense of clarity.

Ruowen, still bare-chested, sat beside the bed. In this weather, staying like this would chill anyone to the bone, but he seemed unaffected, his breath heavy, his gaze profound, smiling faintly. “Don’t tell me you plan on using the same tricks on me that you used against Manhu.”

Huang Beishuang pulled the blanket around herself tightly, eyeing him warily. “Do you think I’d do something that foolish a second time?”

Ruowen laughed. “Good to know.” With that, he reached out towards the blanket again.

Suddenly, his cold hand grasped her calf, making her shiver. “Daoqiu once told me you’ve toyed with quite a few women?” she taunted.

His hand still on her leg, Ruowen casually replied, “Don’t worry. Until I tire of you, I won’t kill you.” His voice was hoarse and ruthless.

Huang Beishuang jerked her leg away, barely managing to shake off his grip, then forced herself to smile. “Seeing you pursue me so relentlessly, forsaking even the opportunity to attack Yunpei, I almost thought you had fallen in love with me!”

Hearing this, Ruowen withdrew his hand, laughing heartily. “In love with you? What a joke! Huang Beishuang, you’re just another foolish woman dreaming of love!” He then clamped his large hand on her shoulder, staring into her eyes with mocking derision. “Love? There is no such thing in this world, only what one wants and doesn’t want. If I want it, I take it. If I don’t want it, I discard it. Love is meaningless, and those who speak of it are the quickest to die!”

Hearing his cold and definitive words, Huang Beishuang fully calmed down. Ruowen was a simple man—all he wanted was submission. Understanding this, she steeled herself and looked up with a smile. “What do you want now?”

Ruowen looked at her with that proud, confident gaze, as if he saw through everything in the world. “You’re already undressed. What do you think I want?” He seemed oddly in the mood to tease her, enjoying the fleeting panic in her eyes.

“I’m injured! Can’t you wait until I’ve healed?” Huang Beishuang looked at him. She didn’t expect anyone to come rescue her, nor foolishly believe she could escape Ruowen’s grasp alone. She spoke only because she was too weak—physically and mentally—to endure his torment.

“What good does it do me to wait until your wound heals?” Ruowen looked at her chest, the injury undeniably severe for any woman.

Huang Beishuang smiled. “At least I won’t die in the middle of your pleasure, spoiling your mood.”

Ruowen paused, clearly weighing the situation. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know what you’re plotting, but don’t think you can escape. If you’re to die, it’ll be after I’ve had my fill. Not today, but tomorrow night—save the nonsense.” He stood, dressing himself and left without another word.

Huang Beishuang clutched her clothes tightly, shrinking like a discarded child under the covers. Why was it so cold? She had no strength left after all this. E'naqi or Yunpei—could she really leave them behind, be free of endless obligations and responsibilities? She thought of this as she lay down, wondering why it was so cold, chilling her to the bone.

Night stretched on, long and strange.

Ruowen, too, sat in his room that night, sleepless, repeatedly polishing the spear that Qingyun had once shattered. This strange bout of insomnia made him briefly regret letting that beautiful woman go tonight. It was a confusing feeling—resentment mixed with sympathy, yet without true regret. Such vague matters were beyond his capacity for thought.

Desire was hard to endure. Desire was love, and there was merit in loneliness, and merit in ignorance. In a lifetime, how many things remain unknown, even in death? And how often does that feeling, in an instant, light up the sky—leaving you ensnared forever, never letting go?

Huang Beishuang smiled. “At least I won't drop dead while you're having your fun and ruin the mood, right?”

Ruowen, genuinely concerned for a moment, deliberated before saying, “I don’t know what trick you’re trying to pull, but you’d better not be planning an escape. If being with me means your death, then it’ll be after I’ve had my fill. Tonight, I'll let it go—but tomorrow night, keep the nonsense to a minimum!” With that, he stood, donned his clothes by the tub, and walked out without another glance.

Huang Beishuang clutched her clothes tightly to her chest, curling up alone beneath the blanket like an abandoned child. Why was it so cold? She had no strength left, after coming this far. Whether it was for E'naqi or Yunpei—could she finally be free of those entangled responsibilities, the endless rationales? She thought this as she lay down, leaning against the bed’s edge. Why was it so cold? Cold enough to pierce the bone.

The night stretched long, unnervingly so.

Ruowen, too, spent the night in his chamber, repeatedly polishing the spear that Qingyun had once shattered, unable to sleep. This strange bout of insomnia made him regret, for a moment, letting that beautiful woman go tonight. He couldn’t name the feeling—a mix of resentment and compassion, yet without true regret. Such vague matters were beyond his capacity for thought.

Desire is hard to endure. Desire is love. It’s rare to be lonely, rare to be lost.

How many things, even in death, remain unresolved within a lifetime? And often, such feelings illuminate the sky in a single instant—leaving you ensnared forever, never letting go.

The fire spread quickly, and Qingyun’s forces pressed unexpectedly upon Fentian's eastern front. Before long, Fentian's main forces, which had barely rested, were drawn out. Beneath the burning glow of the city walls, countless torches rivaled the stars, highlighting the might of Tiandu's forces. Fentian’s men were unaware, however, that the army before them was less than fifty thousand strong. Qingyun had merely had each soldier carry two torches to create the illusion of larger numbers. In the dark canopy of night, it was impossible to discern their true size. Qingyun stood at the front, ordering Liaozhen to feign an attack, finally drawing out Ruowen, the Blood King, who had been unable to sleep.

Now Ruowen stood atop the city wall, looking down at Qingyun. “It’s you again!” he roared, his killing intent unhidden. This face—how could he forget it? The face of the only man who dared place a sword to his throat.

“We meet again!” Qingyun called from below, smiling. “Did I disturb your dreams?”

Ruowen's eyes grew cold, and he gestured for the Huangtian banners to be raised high across the walls. The soldiers’ deafening roars surged like waves. Sitting atop his horse, Qingyun observed with an inward thought: though this man is an outlaw, in terms of combat prowess, even Zhan is no match.

Though there was a flicker of admiration in his heart, Qingyun's face remained calm, a faint smile on his lips. He shouted up to Ruowen, “No need to get worked up—I had no choice. I was dealing with Zhan in the south when, for some reason, he suddenly called for a ceasefire and exchanged twelve frontier cities for my march to Fentian. It’s an offer you would accept too, wouldn’t you? Just cooperate for a while—it’s not as if we’re really going to fight.” He even waved at Ruowen playfully.

Hearing this, Ruowen suddenly sensed something was amiss. He glanced at Luo Ying, who immediately nodded. “According to our scouts, Yunpei and Tiandu are indeed negotiating. The details are unclear, but it seems to involve that woman.”

Ruowen turned back, glaring coldly at Qingyun. “What do you mean? Speak clearly!”

Qingyun smiled. “It means nothing. Just keep me company here for a while. If there’s any real meaning, it’s Zhan’s to figure out!”

Ruowen stepped onto the battlements and shouted, “Stop playing games! Speak clearly!”

Qingyun laughed, gesturing for his officers to lower their bows before saying, “You took another man’s wife—of course, he won't rest easy. Do I need to explain further?”

At these words, Ruowen felt a chill in his heart—a sense of foreboding. At that moment, Chengxiang rushed over. “Leader! There’s an army pressing in from the east as well, and spies have started fires everywhere!”

“Whose men?” Ruowen demanded.

“Looks like Zhan’s Red Riders. Though they didn’t raise a flag, it’s obvious at a glance,” Chengxiang replied.

Now it made sense to Ruowen—Zhan must be coming to rescue her. The twelve cities were the price for Tiandu’s cooperation: a distraction up front, while he himself launched a surprise attack from behind, taking the girl and leaving.

Thinking this, Ruowen urgently ordered, “Luo Ying, go to the inner palace now and bring Huang Beishuang here! Don’t let her escape!”

Luo Ying nodded and left.

Ruowen looked down at Qingyun, who showed no signs of launching an attack, and said coldly, “Don’t you want to fight me?”

Qingyun snorted. “You really do hold grudges!”

“...” Ruowen stared at him in silence, about to erupt, but before long, Luo Ying returned. “Leader...she’s gone. There’s no one in the room.”

“What did you say?” Ruowen roared. “Damn it! How did they move so fast? Where are Zhan’s men?”

“They’ve already withdrawn,” Luo Ying said, lowering his head.

“Chase them!” Without a second thought, Ruowen glanced at Qingyun below before turning to leave. In an instant, the raised banners on the city wall disappeared. Qingyun watched from below, his expression unchanged. Calculating the timing, he reckoned they were ready to withdraw. With a faint mocking smile, he murmured, “Weren’t we in the middle of a confrontation, Ruowen?”

At that moment, Ruowen had no way of knowing that Qingyun had hidden Huang Beishuang in her room, and that half of his troops had disguised themselves as Yunpei’s Red Riders, merely creating the illusion that she had been rescued by Zhan.

Now, Huang Beishuang waited in her room, listening to the chaotic sounds of the search outside. Her expression remained calm, the only thing she felt was an indescribable... surprise. Before long, a figure clad in black entered quietly. “My lady?” he called softly. Huang Beishuang crawled out from behind the bed, and the man nodded. “Let’s go. Ruowen has left in pursuit, and His Majesty is waiting at the city gate. Once we leave the palace, there’s nothing to fear, even if that bandit returns.”

With that, they quickly made their way out. Thanks to the fires set by Mengliu's men, they were still relatively safe. Reaching the outer gate of the inner palace, they suddenly encountered a figure in orange blocking their way. The man in black was startled and instinctively turned to look at Huang Beishuang behind him—he hadn’t made a mistake, had he?

“Ge Xinwei!” Huang Beishuang removed her face cover, looking at her.

Ge Xinwei sneered. “His Majesty is too naive—thinking every man is like him, unwilling to let go of the woman he desires. Zhan always intended to use you as a distraction. Why would he rescue you?”

Huang Beishuang looked at her in silence. The man in black beside her was incredibly nervous. If she shouted, it would all be over. He thought of drawing his sword to silence her, but was stopped. Huang Beishuang stepped forward. “And you? Why not expose it if you see through everything?”

Ge Xinwei laughed. “Letting you go suits me best. If His Majesty really fell for the trap and attacked Yunpei, that’d be exactly what I wanted. Why should I expose it?”

Huang Beishuang studied her, suddenly realizing how alike they were—not just in appearance, but also in temperament. She walked over and smiled bitterly. “Are you here to see me one last time?”

Ge Xinwei met her gaze. This was the woman who could make Tiandu halt its war, make King Qingyun push to Fentian, make Ruowen pursue her relentlessly. “You’re nothing special. Why did you capture his heart?” she asked with a sigh.

Huang Beishuang smiled faintly. “Whose heart did I capture? Zhan’s? Or Ruowen’s? One man can use me as a pawn without hesitation, and another won’t blink while killing and burning to fulfill his desires. Or... is it Qingyun, pretending to attack outside? He’s even more ruthless, hasn’t he used me to ensnare Zhan? Tell me, whose heart did I capture?”

Ge Xinwei looked at her. “Leave. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Huang Beishuang pulled up her cover, not sparing her another glance, and ran out with Qingyun’s man in black.

Ge Xinwei watched her staggering figure, muttering mockingly, “You say he’s ruthless, yet you still chose him, running without hesitation. Should I thank you, or pity His Majesty?”

Huang Beishuang kept running, having no time to think about Ruowen’s woman. All she knew was that, far away, was a dark silhouette on a strong white horse. There lay a waterless ocean, the closer she ran, the deeper she was submerged.

Until she stood before him, just a step away.

“Nothing to say upon seeing me?” Qingyun sat atop his horse, looking down at her. “It seems you gained little by following Zhan,” he sneered, showing no mercy, as if their past had flashed before his eyes.

Huang Beishuang stared at him. He hadn’t changed at all—still so handsome, arrogant, with that commanding voice. She just stood there, stunned, as if she couldn’t believe it was all real.

Seeing her silence, Qingyun put away his whip and pulled her up onto his horse. “Withdraw!” he shouted.

In an instant, Tiandu lowered all their torches, disappearing like a fiery phoenix.

Qingyun held her tightly, a faint smile on his lips. He had no intention of withdrawing to Chengu; he would take her directly north to Tiandu, where no one could lay a hand on her ever again.

Huang Beishuang let him hold her. It felt almost the same as when Ruowen had seized her. The pain from her wound still tore at her, but looking up, she could see his eyes, blazing like ice and fire.

“I’m glad to see you,” she whispered after a long time, her head lowered.

Qingyun heard her, but only pulled the cloak around her more tightly.

He didn’t know that she had a wound on her chest. By now, the blood had stained a large part of his embrace, but he was unaware. Her breathing was so faint, so weak—how could he know? In the moment he held her, all her wishes came true, and she had no regrets. Even if every decision in this life had been wrong, loving him was something she would never regret.

Qingyun’s embrace was warm—so warm that Huang Beishuang could no longer hear the howling northern winds outside. They rode on Feita, galloping through the ice-blue night, as if no one else existed, as if the wind could never sever this embrace.

If she had to cross the Fate Bridge once in her lifetime, she hoped it would be like now—in his embrace, tinged with tenderness. That way, she wouldn't be too miserable.

“If I die, will you still blame me for not going with you in the first place?” Huang Beishuang asked, her eyes closed, breathing in the faint scent of wine on his body, her voice barely a whisper.

Qingyun's gaze grew cold, his grip tightening around her. After a long while, he finally said, “If you leave me again, I will hate you.”

Love is always forged in longing, taking root in suffering. Once encountered, it is inescapable. And the strongest bonds between people come from this. Together, it is loneliness, fearing time will be too short; apart, it is still loneliness, lamenting wasted youth. Perhaps what people fear most is that in the end, all they face is a nameless, inexplicable solitude—an inevitable solitude.

The floating clouds cannot be shattered,

The cool breeze cannot be chased,

The seven emotions cannot be discarded,

Love and desire cannot be quenched,

Skin cold as ice,

Prideful bones like a mountain,

The River of Forgetfulness flows with tears,

The six realms of samsara are endless.

Alas, alas.