The Winds and Clouds of the Desert

In times of war, the greatest of all is always a mother. Beneath the flames of battle, countless souls await rebirth along the roads of the Three Rivers. With that thought, the fear of childbirth becomes more bearable, as if those once loved might be given a new life. Many children, from the moment of birth, see neither mother nor father; the fortunate ones are taken in and raised, while the unfortunate ones fall prey to the birds of prey above—only to start again from the beginning. The pain is endless.

Huang Beishuang's jade horse tree has grown tall. By March, it will bloom with flowers as white as snow. She now spends a little time each day in her study, instructing the young boy Samang in the ways of virtue and governance. This child embodies resilience, having survived on his own at such a tender age. Not yet ten, he traveled alone to Yunpei. Yepei once asked him what he ate along the way. The boy smiled, saying he caught jumping mice—small, cute creatures that love digging holes in the dunes, incredibly quick and hard to catch. But hunger left no room for qualms, and each time, eating them raw was an ordeal of revulsion.

Each day, Samang would share a part of his past with Huang Beishuang, leaving nothing out—even the shameful deeds committed to survive. Children are forthright, their minds pure. Whenever he spoke of stealing or deceiving, embarrassment colored his cheeks. Such deeds were commonplace among refugees—nothing unusual then. Yet now, living amidst the opulence of the palace, he felt the dignity that culture bestows upon a person. At such moments, Huang Beishuang would stroke his head, saying, "Man'er, people feel shame because they are born with a conscience. If you wish to live well, set yourself a principle—let that principle answer who you are and how you should walk your path."

Those words seemed spoken not only for the lost boy but also for her own restless heart. Her principles, as if straying from their course, grew ever more distant, elusive. In this beautiful palace, she felt increasingly powerless.

"Consort Shuang," Yepei entered not long after, "His Majesty summons you."

"Oh! Look after Man'er, and make sure he doesn't slack off!" Huang Beishuang rose, and Pingdao Qiu followed her out. At the door of Na Zhan's chamber, the two maids stepped aside, allowing her to push the door open alone.

Na Zhan was seated at the table, gazing intently at an unfinished game of chess. Upon hearing the door, he looked up at her and smiled gently. "You've come! Sit."

She took her seat, but he remained absorbed in the chessboard. After a long while, he finally spoke, "I want you to go on a diplomatic mission to Mizan." It was a decision that seemed long in the making.

Huang Beishuang looked at him without speaking. Na Zhan leaned back in his chair, his face tired. The preparations for war, the arrangements for evacuations, had consumed much of his energy in recent days. "I need someone to represent me, to persuade King Youguang to ally with Yunpei—or at the very least, promise not to join the conflict." He spoke, his eyes never meeting hers.

A faint, bitter smile escaped her. "Your Majesty wishes to use me to divert Ruowen's attention, doesn't he?" She looked at Na Zhan, "Distract Ruowen so that you may deal with the Tian Capital army first."

He turned to her. "I will send Wu Jihai with you! Do not fear."

But she remained indifferent. "Of course, you'd send a general to accompany me, a whole contingent to make the mission as ostentatious as possible." She picked up a black chess piece, placed it on the board with a snap. "But the question is—do I truly have such allure? What if Ruowen doesn't take the bait? Are you that confident, Your Majesty? Confident you can repel Tian Capital?"

Na Zhan chuckled wryly, "Will you do it?"

She did not struggle, "Why not? In your eyes, this is the only value I hold, isn't it?"

"I've never thought that way," he said, looking at her.

She smiled, "But you've weighed me as such. It's fine, Your Majesty. I have weighed you the same way."

Hearing this, his expression turned cold. He looked at the chessboard again and asked gravely, "If one day, you had to choose between Qinyun and Ruowen, who would you oppose? Qinyun? Or Ruowen?"

"Do you really need to ask? Of course, Qinyun," she answered without hesitation.

"Why?" he asked.

She turned to the window, "I miss him... miss seeing him, Your Majesty."

"Ha ha ha," Na Zhan laughed heartily. "So if you were to betray me, I'd lose both my wife and my soldiers."

She playfully warned, "So you'd better be careful, Your Majesty."

She meant it as a jest to lighten the mood, but little did she know, it struck a nerve. He suddenly pulled her into his arms, his large hands gripping her shoulders tightly. "Perhaps I should act first!" he said coldly, his embrace tightening until the air was almost squeezed from her chest. It was the first time he had held her, his heart pounding fiercely, hot breath scorching her face. His expression—lonely beyond words.

"Your Majesty, you have lost your composure." For a moment, she was at a loss. She could not match his strength, and besides, they were husband and wife—such intimacy should have been natural.

He touched her lips, leaning closer, his eyes filled with unbearable loneliness. He longed to know what it was like to possess this woman who belonged to another.

But he paused, lips a breath away, and just as quickly as he had lost control, he regained his composure—a roguish smile replacing the intensity. "Just teasing you. I know you wouldn't betray me; your people are all in Yunpei." He released her.

After a long silence, she asked, "What makes you so lonely, Your Majesty?"

"How rare for you to care about me." He smiled bitterly, sitting back at the chessboard.

She spoke softly, "I've always admired you. No country could ever be as prosperous, as peaceful under another ruler as Yunpei is under you."

He looked up, "My queen, do you not realize that if war breaks out, all of this will vanish into dust? The efforts, the struggles over all these years—the beautiful oases—will all disappear. Even if Qinyun takes Guanghan Palace, he will inherit only a shattered Yunpei. Then, he will walk the path I walked, spend the time I spent, to rebuild what already was."

Her eyes widened. This was the root of Na Zhan's turmoil. Since adopting Samang, she truly understood the turmoil that Tian Capital had brought to much of the desert realm.

"Yunpei was founded three hundred and thirty years ago, with forty-two large oases. Registered territory amounted to 1.69 billion pings. Since I took the throne, it has grown to 2.34 billion pings. Do you know how many lives I carry? Nearly thirty million. My principle is to let this country continue to thrive—one day, to restore the desert's heavenly glory." Na Zhan spoke, as if to himself.

He paused, looking at her again, "I don't want to send you to Mizan, nor do I wish Wu Jihai to face Ruowen alone. Even if you were not my queen, I would still not want to lose you. Don't ask why. But you must go, and draw Ruowen away. I will wait for you—beneath your jade horse tree."

She looked at him, "Your Majesty..."

The desert stretched vast and boundless, and the scattered oases shone like stars—full of life, yet often lost beneath the dim sky.

Wu Jihai, General of Yunpei, led ten thousand elite cavalry, escorting Huang Beishuang to Mizan. The procession moved like a line of ants. She did not bring Samang; aside from Wu Jihai, eight generals and three maids accompanied her.

Wu Jihai occasionally turned his head to look at the queen in her carriage, curiosity plain on his face. The king's trust in her seemed without foundation—especially in such a critical moment, personally appointing him as escort. Her importance was evident. Their greatest threat would be Ruowen the Mad King—a formidable warrior whose strength was whispered to be unmatched across the desert. Wu Jihai tightened his grip on his sword; he had never met an equal in combat, having faced countless duels undefeated.

"General Wu!" Huang Beishuang halted the carriage.

He approached on horseback, "My queen, what are your orders?"

A faint smile played on her lips. "Have the soldiers slow their pace, change formations every half-hour, and sound the bugle every three hours. Always keep the banners waving!"

He hesitated, "Your Majesty?"

She leaned back, her eyes closing, "Do as I say."

Wu Jihai turned and shouted, "Slow march! Banners up! Bugles at three-hour intervals!"

A unified shout rose, the disciplined clamor of soldiers' footsteps, a testament to General Wu's stringent training.

Mizan lies far from Yunpei, situated among the five great nations: Tian Capital to the northern reaches, Yunpei to the southern realm, Guhe to the west—equidistant from both Tian Capital and Yunpei. Closer to Yunpei lies Fentian, while the religious giant Mizan remains steadfast in the distant east, far removed from the other four nations. From Yunpei to Mizan is a nine-day journey on foot, five at a swift march.

It was a fractured distance, and within it, Huang Beishuang had to make it even more fragmented.

Manhu stood atop a sand dune, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath. His eyes, bull-like in their size and intensity, were fixed on the thin line of dark figures in the distance. Before long, a soldier on horseback galloped over.

"Well? Well?" Manhu asked eagerly. "Did you see clearly?"

"I saw it clearly!" the soldier responded, equally excited. "It is her!"

"How many soldiers are with her?" Manhu suppressed his excitement and asked more carefully. "Who is leading them?"

The soldier hesitated, "S-sir, I couldn't get an exact count—it seemed like ten, maybe twenty thousand."

Manhu snapped his whip across the man's back. "Fool! Is it ten or twenty? Can't even count soldiers?"

The soldier replied in grievance, "Sir, their formation is peculiar—I really couldn't count them accurately."

"Hmph! It must be her. Fate itself must have delivered her here, just as the chief arrives at Zhun City." With that, Manhu spurred his horse into a gallop. "Go!"

The Western Desert.

In the distance, a muffled explosion echoed across a vast crescent-shaped sand dune. Yellow smoke billowed up, gradually dispersing to reveal two lines of troops less than five miles apart, the banners of Tian Capital and Yunpei fluttering wildly, vying for dominance in the sky.

Under King Jing's banner, his foremost general, Ji Hua, faced Guang Zhaoyun—the skilled and cultured general under King Zhan—each sitting at a vantage point, their cold eyes piercing through the swirling haze of hatred and fury, locked in a seemingly endless stalemate.

With a gesture from both sides, their respective vanguards charged forward for a duel. The two clashed with neither gaining an advantage. Ji Hua smiled, calling out to Guang Zhaoyun, "So, all your nation's finest warriors are here, yet I don't see your strongest general? You, Zhaoyun, are not qualified to face me."

This was clearly a reference to Wu Jihai. Ten years earlier, Ji Hua had fought him, only to suffer the sole defeat of his career. Zhaoyun listened to his taunts, pondering: General Wu had mentioned Ji Hua, acknowledging his superior strength. Zhaoyun's task was merely to buy time, diverting Tian Capital's focus.

He signaled for three drumbeats, and his soldiers surged forward—intending to engage, then gradually fall back. Behind him, King Zhan's hundred thousand red-armored cavalry awaited.

Zhun City.

Ruowen meticulously polished the blades he wore at his waist—the sword, spear, and saber that had accompanied him through countless battles. Despite his elevated status, never did he trust anyone else with their upkeep. Ge Xinwei watched silently from the side. Besides his cold demeanor and charming presence, she'd never seen such an expression on Ruowen's face before—as if he was gazing far into the distance, caressing distant memories, with no one by his side, no one in his heart. That far-off place seemed only an expanse of deep desolation.

"Your Majesty... let me help you." She reached for the spear on the table.

Ruolan and Feiwen intervened simultaneously, "Do not touch the chief's belongings!"

The three women glared at each other, tension palpable.

"Chief!" Manhu barged in. He was always brash—even interrupting Ruowen during his private moments without punishment. In the Yellow Sky Fierce Legion, he was the one most attuned to the chief's intentions. Ruowen allowed him liberties, as did all his comrades. "Chief, I've come to claim my reward again!" He plopped down beside the table, his voice sharp enough to pierce ears as he laughed, glancing at the scarred spear. "Your woman—I found her!"

Ruolan and Ge Xinwei were momentarily stunned, both staring at him.

Ruowen said nothing, continuing to polish the spear. After a while, he asked, "Where?"

"Close to Zhun City—looks like she's headed to Mizan!" Manhu answered.

"How many?"

"Unclear—about twenty thousand! She's playing tricks; our count is uncertain." He studied Ruowen's reaction carefully, noting no visible excitement. "Shall we... pursue?"

Ruowen remained focused on his task. Ge Xinwei, however, protested, "Why bother asking? Of course not! Tian Capital and Yunpei are at each other's throats—we need to mobilize troops to the west, not chase after her to Mizan. Diplomacy will do no good."

Despite her outburst, Manhu ignored her, awaiting Ruowen's command.

"Send fifty thousand to capture her!" Ruowen finished his polishing, a strange smile crossing his lips.

"Your Majesty!" Ge Xinwei clutched Ruowen's rough hand, her voice filled with urgency. "If you defeat King Zhan, everything will be yours—don't be hasty!"

He pulled away sharply, lifting her chin to meet her eyes, smiling coldly, "Telling me to wait? Ge Xinwei, you've grown foolish."

His words hit her like a blow, her gaze freezing. Though they'd shared a bed countless nights, she still didn't truly understand this man.

Four days later, Huang Beishuang's party had moved beyond Zhun City’s line. With one more day of hard riding, they would reach Mizan.

"General! Troops approaching from the west!" A scout rushed over, "They're flying the Fentian banner!"

Wu Jihai was alarmed. "Finally! Increase speed—seek aid from Mizan!" he commanded, his primary mission being to protect the queen.

"Hold on." Huang Beishuang leaned back in her carriage, pulling her fur cloak closer against the chill. "How many are there?" she asked.

"Fifty thousand—closing in fast. They'll catch up by nightfall," the scout replied.

"Only fifty thousand?" She looked out into the distance. "General Wu, have the troops move east—set up camp on the opposite dune."

Wu Jihai hesitated, "Your Majesty?"

Huang Beishuang stepped out, letting a handful of sand trickle through her fingers. "General, fifty thousand means it isn't Fentian's main force yet. We need to lure their main army here to complete the mission. Reaching Mizan is secondary."

His astonishment grew—she knew everything and had deliberately made their movements conspicuous to attract attention.

"But Your Majesty, we have only ten thousand. Putting up a front is one thing—how could we hold off fifty thousand? Drawing their main force means facing hundreds of thousands." Wu Jihai reminded her.

She smiled, "General Wu, do you know what kind of person Ruowen is?"

He paused, "I heard he’s extremely savage, unmatched in strength."

She laughed, "Unmatched? General, I've seen him behead a wild horse barehanded. Could you do that? They say you're a rare martial talent."

Wu Jihai was stunned, "Impossible!" He had seen incredible feats, but barehanded beheading was unimaginable.

Huang Beishuang's expression turned cold, "If there is anyone who could haunt my nightmares, it would be Ruowen. From the start, you should have known—the king intends to sacrifice these ten thousand men."

Wu Jihai looked at her, "Your Majesty..." He didn't fear death; to die for one's country was an honor. But to sacrifice such a young and beautiful queen—his heart ached for her.

She walked on toward the dunes, the eight generals and three maids resolutely following. "You belong to His Majesty. I owe him, and I will repay him through you. No matter what, I will protect your life," she said, without looking back—words meant for Wu Jihai.

Your Majesty, do you know...

Underneath that solitary jade horse tree,

There lies a heart waiting—but no place for you to wait.

What you gave me never truly belonged to me,

Yet what belongs to you, I will return—piece by piece.

Meanwhile, Yunpei's General Guang Zhaoyun maneuvered his troops, drawing Ji Hua's entire army across the line into King Zhan's ambush. Within a day, Tian Capital's forces suffered heavy losses—half their men gone. Ji Hua had not anticipated that the enemy king himself would take the field, matching the tactical prowess of King Jing. Relying on his skills, Ji Hua led twenty thousand to break out of the encirclement. What was meant to be a probing skirmish had already cost Tian Capital ten thousand men, and Yunpei now held the upper hand, morale soaring.

Ji Hua, carrying his wounded pride and body, returned to the Guhe camp without tending to his injuries, requesting an audience with the king.

Qinyun was out hunting, riding his steed Feita. Upon seeing Ji Hua return, he gave a sharp look, releasing an arrow to bring down a black pigeon before riding back to camp. He regarded the silent Ji Hua for a long while, finally saying coldly, "See to your wounds first."

Ji Hua's eyes brimmed with unshed tears, "Your Majesty..."

Qinyun clapped him on the shoulder, "It was not entirely your fault. Go rest."

With that, Ji Hua withdrew. Qinyun sat down, sipping tea slowly. Finally, Miao Jing couldn't hold back, "Your Majesty, King Zhan appears to be aiming for a quick victory!"

"Hmm," Qinyun replied, sipping again. "Any news from Fentian?"

"None from the spies yet. Last we heard, Ruowen had reached Zhun City—seems ready to move once we do."

"Smart. He knows not all places can be struck directly." Qinyun smiled. "Have Mangliu seal off the waterways east of Zhun City, and poison the broad water flow. Taking what's ripe for the picking isn't so easy."

Miao Jing nodded. "What if we're discovered?"

"It doesn't matter—if they drink, they die of poison. If they don't, they'll die of thirst. At that point, they'll have no choice—advance or retreat. Sitting idly by won't be an option." He shifted in his seat. "But remember—only poison the broad water, leave other sources untouched. Anyone disobeying will see their entire clan executed."

Miao Jing quickly bowed, "I shall see it done!"

A capable general can be more ruthless than ordinary men, reducing casualties through sheer, calculated cruelty. No one can fully explain this paradox. In some ways, Qinyun and King Zhan were alike—each with their own national policies and military strategies. Over time, they had both forged a cold, unwavering code within themselves—letting that code lead them down a path of no return.

But Ruowen was different. From a wandering orphan to a bandit leader, and then from a bandit leader to the king of Fentian, his heart had always been devoid of superfluous complexities. If he wanted something, he took it. If he couldn't take it, he seized it. Once he tired of it, he discarded it, trampled upon it—whether things or people, it was the same. He was the freest, the coldest. His ruthlessness had nothing to do with governing a nation; his desires were boundless. Even if he were truly a god, he would be a god that belonged only to himself.

For Manhu, perhaps the most humiliating moment of his life was leading fifty thousand cavalry yet failing to capture one woman. Though Ruowen had pulled fifty thousand troops from the southern army—not the elite, ruthless warriors of the Yellow Sky Corps but rather part of the former Masui army—still, how could fifty thousand soldiers not overpower ten thousand?

Huang Beishuang stood alone between the two armies. From that distance, Manhu could seize this long-desired beauty of the chief's with just twenty paces of his horse. She raised her slender hand, sweeping it forcefully through the air. Behind her, ten thousand archers let fly a volley of arrows, most striking true, felling many Fentian soldiers a hundred miles away. Yet, in the ensuing silence, no retaliatory arrows came from Fentian.

Manhu sat on his horse, watching his second row fall, his head aching. This woman meant business!

Six hours earlier, he had surrounded the camp with fifty thousand men, nearly falling off his horse from excitement. He quickly ordered a search, only to find the camp empty. A glance a dozen miles away showed ten thousand soldiers already lined up, arrows notched, with his target—Huang Beishuang—walking steadily to the space between the two armies, her fearless stance leaving him stunned. Every time he saw her, there was an unpredictable feeling.

"Here to capture me?" she asked, smiling.

Manhu hesitated, shouting, "Glad you know it! You've got so few men—don't waste your efforts. Even if you grew wings, you wouldn't escape!"

She laughed loudly, "Who said I intend to escape? I'm here to kill you!"

Manhu burst into laughter, "Ha! How will you kill me in this situation?"

With mockery in her voice, she replied, "Oh, indeed! Ruowen gave you so many men to capture me—tell me, what will he do if you fail?"

He was taken aback, "Don't tell me you're planning to kill yourself!"

She reached for a silver dagger, the same one once exchanged with Qinyun over a white horse. Now, like poetic justice, it was pressed against her chest. Smiling, she raised her other hand to the sky, declaring, "The moment I lower my hand, General Wu will order the arrows loosed! No matter how many men you brought, that's how many will die!"

Manhu looked past her, sneering, "Fine, let's see who dies first! Ready bows!" At his command, the vanguard pulled their bows tight, their force overwhelming Wu Jihai's side—naturally so, with five times the strength.

She smiled and, with a swift movement, stabbed herself. Blood flowed like a fountain. Manhu and Wu Jihai both stared, shocked and speechless.

"Listen, for every arrow that strikes my people, I'll stab myself once more. Let's see if you can bring back a corpse to report," she said, her body curling slightly from pain, her gaze still taunting Manhu. She knew this gang of bandits well—their chief wanted everything. Even if he might tire one day, that day was not today.

Manhu clenched his reins in frustration, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, she dropped her raised hand, and Wu Jihai gave the order. Arrows flew, accompanied by a chorus of agonized screams, the entire Fentian vanguard falling. Manhu, startled, dared not retaliate, merely nodding to a nearby lieutenant, who shot an arrow—striking a Yunpei soldier.

Without looking back, Huang Beishuang drew the dagger from her chest, blood spurting. She stabbed again, the blade sinking halfway into her body, blood trickling from her lips. She gestured to loose arrows once more. Wu Jihai's heart raced, fearing the enemy might not hold back, endangering the queen's life. Seeing his hesitation, Lian Huan bellowed, "Loose arrows!" Ten thousand arrows were let loose, striking down another line of enemies.

Manhu dared not counter this time. He glared at her—that was not the gaze of someone about to take their own life; it was the gaze of someone who had seen through him, filled with mockery.

Seeing his fear, she wiped the blood from her lips, laughing, "Come! Capture me if you dare!" She raised her hand once more, her soldiers notching arrows again. As her hand fell, another line of soldiers collapsed. This time, Manhu's men looked at him, fear evident, their instincts driving them to retreat—how could they fight when forced to be little more than targets?

Manhu stared at her for a long while, thoughts churning. She wouldn't last much longer. If she died, regardless of the chief's reaction, he couldn't help but feel regret—it would be a waste not to see what she would become in the chief's possession.

"Retreat!" Without hesitation, he ordered a withdrawal. He couldn't just let her wipe out the chief's forces. At his command, the remaining forty thousand soldiers began retreating a thousand miles. To his messenger, Manhu said, "Report to the chief—give an honest account!" Embarrassing as it was, they never hid anything from Ruowen.

In life,

Some fears stem from care,

Some hesitations from curiosity.

And some encounters,

Are because of an unknown self.

Watching Manhu retreat entirely, Huang Beishuang finally relaxed, collapsing into Lian Huan's arms, who raced back to the camp. Wu Jihai looked at the queen's pale lips, her ragged breath, deeply concerned. But the eight generals barred his way.

"General Wu! You cannot enter. Rest assured, the medics will take good care of the queen!" Lian Huan's strong arm blocked Wu Jihai firmly. "No man is allowed inside, myself included—please respect that."

His words calmed Wu Jihai—the queen's wounds were to her chest; it was indeed inappropriate for him to enter.

Yepei emerged then, her face full of worry. "General Wu, the queen commands that you break camp and march to Mizan through the night!"

Wu Jihai was stunned, "But she's injured—how can we travel?"

"Consort Shuang said the next to arrive will certainly be Ruowen. If we don't reach Mizan, none of us will survive," Yepei replied.

Realizing the gravity, Wu Jihai turned and ordered the officers to prepare for departure.

Lian Huan turned to Yepei, "How is Naslee?"

She shook her head, "Lost too much blood—it's not good."

Lian Huan gently wiped her forehead, saying softly, "Take good care of Naslee. Look after yourself too." They clasped hands tightly before parting to their duties.

Meanwhile, Ruowen lay with his eyes closed, listening lazily to Manhu's report. The messenger looked terrified, failure hanging over him like a death sentence.

"Is she badly injured?" Ruowen asked after a while, his lips curling slightly.

The messenger shivered, "It... it appears serious," he stammered. "She stabbed herself twice, both times in dangerous places—it seems she may not make it."

"Oh?" Ruowen sat up, silent for a long time, while the messenger knelt, trembling like an old man, head bowed, not daring a glance. Finally, Ruowen chuckled.

"Is she beautiful?" he asked.

"Beautiful—I've never seen anyone so beautiful," the messenger quickly answered, thinking privately that beauty often conceals venom; she hadn't blinked while killing hundreds of his comrades.

"Orders!" Ruowen stood abruptly, his voice sharp. "Break camp immediately—leave Zhun City tonight!"

At his command, Langtou and Chengxiang, along with others who had gathered, knelt in unison, "At your command!" Without hesitation.

Ruowen, full of arrogance, retrieved his weapons from the wall, strapping them on.

"Chengxiang, take fifty thousand men back to Fentian to prepare for war! Luoying will stay to help you. You may use his informants as needed. The rest, come with me to Mizan!"

Ge Xinwei knelt nearby, her heart shaken. Yunpei was practically within their grasp, yet they were leaving at this moment—a seemingly foolish move. She glanced at Ruowen, but saw that all knelt without question, except her.

These people seemed indifferent to conquering the world; their only concern was fulfilling Ruowen's desires. Whatever he wanted, whatever he wished for, they pursued without question, as if satisfying him meant satisfying themselves.

Overwhelmed by this unyielding atmosphere, she lowered her head, swallowing her protests. At that moment, she genuinely wanted to see the woman who had lured Ruowen south.

Night fell. In Qinyun's camp, Historian Ronghuo and General Liaozhen were playing chess with the king. Their brows were knotted in concentration until Liaozhen conceded—defeat to the king was no shame; none had yet bested him. Only Ronghuo remained, stubbornly persisting.

"Why persist when the game is already lost?" Qinyun laughed, watching the elderly man frown deeply, never accepting any handicap, yet never winning in a spectacular fashion. Sometimes, he found this old scholar quite endearing.

"Your brilliance surpasses all, my lord. Though my lips refuse to concede, my heart surrendered long ago," Ronghuo said, still focused on the board.

Hearing this, Liaozhen mocked, "Old and shameless, what conduct!"

Ronghuo glared at him, "General Liaozhen speaks the truth—I must live to see a hundred years to be content."

Liaozhen laughed, "Shamelessness grants longevity. Betraying Zhan—what more could you want?"

The words struck a nerve. Ronghuo glared, powerless to retort, and stared at the chessboard in silence before sighing, "I quit."

Qinyun flicked a piece, striking Liaozhen's forehead, "Do not speak to the gentleman in such a manner!"

Liaozhen quickly knelt, "Forgive me, Your Majesty!"

Miao Jing rushed in and knelt. "Your Majesty, the scouts report that Fentian has broken camp. Zhun City is now practically deserted!"

This piqued Qinyun's interest. "The poison wouldn't act so quickly. Where did they head?"

Miao Jing's expression turned serious. "Strangely enough, they went towards Mizan!"

"Mizan?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"That... remains unclear for now."

"......"

Qinyun fell silent, toying with the chess piece in his hand for a long while before looking at Ronghuo. "What do you think, sir? Why would Ruowen go to Mizan?"

Ronghuo raised his head, "Young master, if even you don't know, how could I?"

Qinyun remained silent—Ruowen's move was entirely unexpected.

Sensing the gravity of the situation, Liaozhen quickly spoke, "Your Majesty, now that Na Zhan knows Ruowen has headed east, he will certainly concentrate his forces for battle with our army. Tomorrow's engagement must not be taken lightly!"

"Hmph!" Qinyun let out a low laugh. "I never planned on relying on Fentian to defeat Na Zhan. It's just..." He tossed the chess piece aside. "I feel as though Ruowen heading to Mizan is a trap laid by Na Zhan—something about this doesn't sit right!"

Miao Jing nodded. "Rest assured, Your Majesty, I've already assigned more spies to investigate. We'll have news soon."

After a long silence, Qinyun waved his hand impatiently. "All of you, leave. I need some peace." The group hurried out.

As soon as they departed, the room fell into a heavy quiet. Qinyun frowned, staring at the back of his right hand. The wound throbbed faintly, like the bite of a thousand ants—an ache that burned and itched.

Smoke rises out of nothingness; how bewildering is this mortal world.

Dust, like snow, settles on red earth; a wound as light as a whisper.

Promises once made in arid seas,

How was I to know only empty smoke would remain in the flower pavilion?

Cannot wait—time slips away.

Cannot wait—contend for the verdant mountains.

The fire enters the clouds, with no one to hold it back.

The blade meets the heavens, the raging sea bows.

This spirit—who can quench it?

This arrogance—who can change it?