The seventh prince, in his desperation, suddenly had an epiphany. There was another way to gain King Yi’s backing—marrying someone who could whisper sweet nothings into his ear at night. So, he schemed to use Shang Wu, the dimwitted one with dimples. Clever, but not the cleverest.

Compared to the ninth prince, the two above are like kindergarteners. King Yi is powerful, but he won’t live forever. When he’s gone, who will take the reins? Clearly, it won’t be the princess. Moreover, there’s an irreconcilable conflict between the princess and this future leader. Marrying her would only bring trouble. One must think long-term, cast the net wide to catch big fish; short-sighted greed is futile.

All of this, in fact, was known from the start by King Qing. This was a test he devised. For a ruler, foresight and deep planning are essential qualities—he doesn’t want a shortsighted heir.

This is the first trial for the throne.

To those who couldn’t open this #at first, don’t listen to the music—it seems that’s why you couldn’t access it. If you managed to open it initially, do listen to the music—it’s a beautiful flamenco piece!

This night, doomed to sleeplessness。

The sky was vast, the moon small, and the cold dew even finer.

Frustration, sheer frustration. Ling Cheran, wrapped in a fox-fur cloak, strolled outside the camp, his fists clenched tightly within his sleeves. Heaven hadn’t favored him. The moment Princess Yan Qi galloped after the deer, he knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Of course, he wasn’t the only one with designs. In that brief exchange of glances with the third prince, Ling Cheran understood—they weren’t competing for a beauty but for a ladder to ascend to the heavens.

At the crossroads, three paths converged. Unfortunately, he had chosen the wrong one, allowing that wolf—the third prince—to snatch away the prize. Ling Cheran gazed up at the dim expanse of the sky, narrowing his eyes in frustration. By now, he thought bitterly, the “meat” has probably already been devoured.

“Sigh!” He shook his head in resignation, his ever-silent guard trailing behind him as master and servant unconsciously wandered to a secluded corner of the winter hunting camp.

“Ridiculous!” A suppressed rebuke pierced the silence.

Ling Cheran’s dull eyes lit up as he followed the sound. Approaching cautiously, he realized the voice belonged to the only high-ranking official present—Shang Mi, the Chief of the Upper Pavilion’s Reserve Office. What was he doing here so late? Ling Cheran frowned slightly, peeking around to investigate. His eyebrows rose slightly—this was...

“Father!” A maiden dressed as a man stamped her foot playfully. “Father~” Her unadorned face was as pale as snow, her clear eyes darting about. She truly lived up to her reputation as the second most beautiful woman in Yundu—Shang Wu. “Father, I disguised myself as a man and followed you all this way because I was worried about how you’d fare in the harsh northern cold.”

Oh? Passing herself off as a man, and only discovered now—it seemed Lord Shang Mi was rather muddle-headed. Back then, Uncle had pulled this person into a top-tier position, likely foreseeing his lack of intelligence and ease of control.

“Hmph, talk about pretty words!” Shang Mi shot his daughter a glare. “You may think your old father is senile, but I know your scheming heart—you just wanted to see him , didn’t you?” The old man’s tone was sharp; after all, his daughter’s past pursuit of Duke Ding had become a laughingstock in Yundu, leaving this top-tier official utterly humiliated.

Shang Wu pouted prettily, her cheeks flushed with a charming hue. “Father~” She tugged at the old man’s sleeve. “I won’t cause any trouble—I just want to catch a glimpse from afar.” She extended her delicate, jade-like fingers. “Just one glance.”

“No!” Shang Mi scowled, turning his back. “You’d better go back quickly. This isn’t a place for frivolous pursuits!”

“Father!” Shang Wu stomped her foot angrily. “If you hadn’t refused to help me or arrange a meeting, would I have chased my husband-to-be all the way here?”

Oh? Ling Cheran, concealed behind a tree, smirked. Chasing her husband, eh? It seemed this beauty of Bihe had come prepared—how intriguing.

“You’re a top-tier official of the court, and your daughter is famed across the capital as a brilliant talent,” Shang Wu continued, stepping in front of her father. Her fair face flushed slightly with suppressed anger. “Even if I can’t compare to Rong Ruoshui or Dong Huiru, I could’ve endured it. But why does Han Yueyue ride roughshod over me? Her brother is only a second-tier official under your command. Why...” Before she could finish, her father clamped a hand over her chattering mouth.

“Girl, do you want to get yourself killed?” Shang Mi’s long beard trembled, his round eyes bulging. “How dare you meddle in matters of state and military affairs!”

Shang Wu pushed her father away indignantly, muttering under her breath, “Father is still such a coward.”

“You!” The old man stepped forward, raising his arm threateningly. After a long pause, he lowered it helplessly. “Sigh!” His sigh carried a trace of resignation.

One brainless, the other spineless—truly easy to manipulate. Ling Cheran sneered, preparing to leave. Suddenly, he noticed Shang Wu pouting, her dimples deepening on either side of her cheeks. He paused, narrowing his eyes, and soon a plan formed in his mind.

Heaven has truly blessed me!

Marquis Rong emerged from the shadows, hands clasped behind his back.

“Sev… Seventh Prince!” Shang Mi froze upon seeing him. What to do, what to do? He shot a venomous glare at his daughter—it was all her fault!

Ling Cheran smiled faintly, his warm gaze shifting to the pale-faced Shang Wu. “Greetings, Lady Shang.”

The addressed maiden lowered her head, holding her breath as she quickly hid behind her father, mumbling, “Your humble servant... greets the Seventh Prince.”

Ling Cheran nodded slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his eyes. As expected, the famed beauty of Bihe was nothing more than an outwardly strong but inwardly weak pillow of embroidery. But that was precisely the kind of fool he needed.

Though not particularly intelligent, Shang Mi had spent decades navigating the court and knew how ruthless this seemingly mild-mannered lord could be. Anxiety welled up within him, and cold sweat began to form on his back.

“This filial devotion of yours is truly admirable.”

It was over—they had indeed been overheard. “Gulp…” Shang Mi’s throat bobbed nervously, his palms damp. Behind him, Shang Wu blushed furiously, lowering her head and remaining silent.

“I heard there’s still a vacancy for a lead dancer at the alliance banquet.”

At these words, Shang Wu’s eyes lit up, and she secretly raised her head. “Lead dancer…”

She took the bait. Ling Cheran chuckled inwardly, feigning innocence. “The banquet was originally under the third prince’s jurisdiction, but since he’s disappeared, the responsibility has fallen to me. Not just anyone can perform before the lords—it’s quite a dilemma finding the right candidate.” He furrowed his brow, shaking his head and sighing lightly.

This was a golden opportunity. Shang Wu’s excitement caused her fingers to tremble slightly. She excelled at dancing, and if she could display her grace before Duke Ding, surely he would fall for her. With this in mind, she slowly stepped out from behind her father.

Shang Mi inwardly cursed, attempting to grab his daughter’s sleeve, but she skillfully evaded him.

Shang Wu bowed her head, slightly bending her knees. “Your humble servant is unworthy, but I wish to relieve the prince of this burden.”

“Oh?” Ling Cheran pretended to be pleasantly surprised. “Lady Shang knows how to dance?”

“Yes.” A radiant smile blossomed on her lips. “I studied long-sleeved dance with Dieyi for five years.”

“So you’re a direct disciple of the legendary Dance Immortal Dieyi!” Ling Cheran clapped his hands, laughing heartily. “Truly, extraordinary talents remain hidden. You’ve resolved my urgent predicament.”

No matter how much Shang Mi winked or gestured, his love-struck daughter remained oblivious. In desperation, he spoke softly: “Your Highness...”

Ling Cheran smiled faintly, responding, “Hmm?” A flash of cold light in his eyes startled the old man into bowing his head.

“Is there something you need, Lord Shang?” His tone was soft, yet chilling.

Shang Mi’s back stiffened, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “N-no…” He knew the seventh prince was plotting against his daughter, but he dared not speak up. He was afraid—afraid of losing everything. His position as Chief of the Reserve Office was granted by the Right Chancellor. A mere thought from them could send him tumbling into ruin—he had no choice but to comply.

Seeing Shang Mi wisely remain silent, Ling Cheran’s lips curved slightly upward. “Chengwu.”

“My prince.” The quiet guard suddenly spoke, making Shang Mi aware of his presence for the first time.

“Prepare a clean tent for Lady Shang and escort her to the dancers tomorrow.” His gentle gaze turned mischievous. “Take good care of her.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Shang Wu curtsied excitedly, following the tall guard toward the winter hunting camp.

As their footsteps faded, Ling Cheran continued to loom over Shang Mi, his gaze pinning the old man down.

“Lord Shang.”

“Your servant is here.”

Ling Cheran slowly leaned down, whispering into the old man’s ear: “Do you want to become the Left Chancellor?”

Shang Mi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Yo-your Highness...” Though also a top-tier official, the power held by the Chief of the Reserve Office paled compared to that of the Upper Pavilion elders. Left Chancellor! His heart raced, his eyes trembling slightly.

Tempted, aren’t you? Ling Cheran smiled enigmatically, patting the old man’s shoulder lightly. “Work hard.”

Those three words sparked endless imagination in Shang Mi’s mind. Work hard, hmm, work hard. This time, even if it meant selling his mother, he, Shang Mi, would do it!

Ling Cheran, having issued an empty promise, narrowed his eyes toward the distant mountains. Hmph! Princess? A married daughter is like spilled water, Third Brother—you didn’t know? Pillow talk is far more effective.

Some rejoice, some grieve; some secretly delight, others worry.

But worry has never lingered in this man’s heart.

Ling Yiran reclined in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the rim of his cup. “Scholar Qiao, are you leaving already?”

The middle-aged man addressed extended his arms, bowing deeply. “I’ve already enjoyed tea. Staying longer might invite gossip, so I’ll take my leave.”

Ling Yiran adjusted his robe and slowly stood up. “Then, I won’t see you off.”

Qiao Bian bowed his head and stepped back, turning to leave. Just then, a soft, melodious voice drifted through the cold air: “The tampering with the princess’s saddle—it was your doing, wasn’t it?”

Qiao Bian’s heart contracted sharply, freezing him in place.

“Tianjiao Princess has always been headstrong, often offending the crown prince. This alliance meeting clearly shows King Yi's intention to form matrimonial ties with our kingdom. If their union succeeds, the crown prince’s position would be in grave danger—after all, King Yi is famously filial.” Ling Yiran lifted his robe and sat down leisurely. “And this winter hunt presented the perfect opportunity to eliminate the princess.”

Qiao Bian mechanically turned around, his face pale as he looked at the figure illuminated by the lamplight, feeling utterly exposed and humiliated.

“Mm~” Ling Yiran lazily propped his cheek on his hand, his enchanting eyes clouded yet piercing. “Seeing that both my third and seventh brothers were chasing the princess, you knew I was the only one you could approach. So, while the princess was missing and chaos reigned, you came to investigate.” His dark pupils flickered, sharp and incisive. “Am I correct?”

“...” Qiao Bian held his breath, too terrified to move. It was not just exposure—it felt like being dissected, leaving no secrets intact.

“Ho ho“

These two words piqued Qiao Bian’s interest: “What do you mean, ‘what a pity’?”

Ling Yiran’s slender fingers traced the rim of the teacup back and forth. “I originally thought that if the crown prince of Yi could survive under the murderous gaze of King Yi, he must be a clever man.”

Originally thought? Qiao Bian caught the implication, glaring indignantly: “What do you mean by that, Your Highness!”

“Ding!” Ling Yiran ignored his anger, flicking the cup with his finger, producing a crisp, lingering sound. The silence built up Qiao Bian’s rage. Just as he was about to explode, ready to turn and leave, a chilling voice floated from the shadows: “Such a clumsy trick—even an outsider like me can guess it. What more for King Yi himself?”

Like a sudden gust of icy wind scattering birds, or winter frost freezing the earth, Qiao Bian’s anger instantly evaporated, replaced by sheer terror. Yes, if even this ninth prince had guessed it, how much more so the deeply calculating king! The plan had been too obvious from the start. Qiao Bian snapped back to reality, looking helplessly at the young Lord Ning: what should he do? What should the crown prince do?

Having achieved his purpose, Ling Yiran slowly curved his lips into a smile. When news of the princess’s disappearance and the sabotaged saddle reached him earlier, he had already deduced the culprit. Ever since the Yi delegation arrived in Jianzhou’s Yu City, he noticed something unusual about Scholar Qiao—his gaze always lingered near the princess. As expected, the Yi crown prince wouldn’t pass up such a golden opportunity to connect with Qing Country; this man was merely the vanguard. Ling Yiran had feigned illness to discourage the princess, signaling his stance to lure Qiao Bian into the trap.

With the tent door wide open, he invited the guest inside—and sure enough, here he came. After sitting for a while, he even tried to flee. Hmm, perhaps a little extra persuasion was needed. Ling Yiran leaned back, waiting patiently for Qiao Bian to speak.

Time flowed silently, anxiety gnawing away at Qiao Bian’s heart.

Casually picking up a book titled Laughing Conversations , Ling Yiran lowered his thick lashes, his gaze wandering across the pages, occasionally lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Pop!” The lamp wick crackled.

“Your Highness.” Qiao Bian’s voice was hoarse, struggling but finally breaking the silence.

“Mm~” Ling Yiran responded, his fingers steadily flipping the page without lifting his gaze.

Qiao Bian covered his face with his sleeve, bowing deeply: “Your Highness, save me!” Even in death, he couldn’t dare ask the ninth prince to save the crown prince—he simply couldn’t.

Save him? Ling Yiran slowly set the book aside, his elegant eyebrows slightly raised. How well he spoke, still protecting his master’s dignity even now. Clearly, the crown prince’s faction wasn’t weak. He straightened his posture, tilting his chin slightly downward: “King Yi executed Li Xian merely to save face. The next step will be to find the real culprit.”

Yes, yes, yes—stop beating around the bush and give me a solution already! Qiao Bian bowed his head, his heart racing with impatience.

“Princes are often indulged; I hear the princess isn’t very popular, hmm?”

“Mm.” Qiao Bian replied softly, suddenly raising his head, his eyes flashing with insight.

Ling Yiran glanced at him, smiling lightly: “I also heard that King Yi once intended to marry the princess to the chancellor’s son but later broke off the engagement.” He stopped there, saying no more.

Yes, Chancellor Tian had harbored resentment ever since, his face frosty even during the farewell ceremony. Qiao Bian’s heart swelled with delight—Chancellor Tian had always been a thorn in the crown prince’s side. Pinning the blame on him would be killing two birds with one stone. A brilliant plan, indeed. Yet amidst his excitement, unease crept in. He slowly lowered his raised hands, gazing complexly at the young man before him.

In terms of tactics and cunning, they weren’t even on the same level.

One was heaven, the other earth…

Those bewitching eyes, vast and profound, exuded an endless… royal aura.

Crown Prince, rest assured. This time, I have found you the most reliable ally—him, this ninth prince. Qiao Bian had never felt so certain.

“Your Highness.” Qiao Bian performed another deep bow. “The crown prince sent me here for an important matter to discuss.”

Ling Yiran let out a soul-piercing laugh, knowing he had won again. He waved his hand backward, and Liu Yao promptly refilled their teacups.

It was still early.

The princess? King Yi?

After Yan Zhen passes away, whose will Yi Kingdom belong to?

Clearly, the ninth prince had already found the answer.

But he wasn’t the only one who had glimpsed this truth...

Inside the Qing King’s tent, a warm fire burned brightly. Ling Zhun reclined on his bed, eyes closed, holding a confidential report in his hand.

Seeing this, the eunuch De Xian quietly approached, intending to tuck in the blanket for the king. Suddenly, a deep voice sounded.

“How are things?”

De Xian startled momentarily but quickly regained composure. “To answer Your Majesty, there is still no news of the third prince and the princess.”

“Hmph.” Ling Zhun grunted heavily. He knew exactly what schemes his third son was up to. “What about the seventh prince?” he asked, eyes still closed.

“The seventh prince went out for a stroll and hasn’t returned yet.”

Oh? A stroll? Cheran wasn’t one to stay idle; this son of his wasn’t someone who’d surrender easily.

“And Xiao Jiu—is he still ill?” Ling Zhun asked with keen interest.

“Yes.” De Xian skillfully massaged the king’s shoulders. “The ninth prince hasn’t left his tent these past few days. Earlier, an official from Yi visited him.”

Upon hearing this, Ling Zhun abruptly opened his eyes, his lips curling higher and higher. “Ho ho ho~” His laughter mingled with heavy coughs. De Xian, accustomed to this, handed over a yellow handkerchief. Ling Zhun covered his mouth, a sweet, metallic taste rushing up his throat.

Excitement—uncontainable excitement.

Today, the first trial for the throne had yielded a victor.

“A storm brews when winds fill the tower”—this phrase perfectly captured the current situation. Tomorrow, they would ascend the altar to swear the alliance oath, yet the third prince and the princess were still missing. Would the hard-won alliance fall apart? Around them, ministers furrowed brows, each carrying the weight of this question.

Looking at the exquisite bronze ritual vessels and abundant ceremonial offerings before me, I understood. This alliance wasn’t a sudden whim of the Qing King—it had been meticulously planned. Bowing my head with a sigh, a thread of anxiety surfaced: these past two days, my brother hadn’t rested. If they couldn’t find them soon, he would surely bear the brunt of the blame. Third Prince, it’s time to cut your losses—if the alliance collapses, even ten thousand princesses won’t save you.

“Minister of Rites! Minister of Rites!” The usually composed Vice Minister Jia rushed over like a madman, his neatly tied hair disheveled, adding to his frantic appearance.

The crowd, preoccupied and heads bowed in work, straightened up abruptly. “Bang!” Wei Jiyan beside me slammed the ceremonial ledger shut. “Such unruly behavior! Have you lost your mind?” The old man huffed, glaring fiercely.

“Master!” Jia Zhengdao, true to his mentor’s teachings, immediately corrected his mistake, bowing deeply. “Master, the third prince has returned!”

“What?!” A thunderous roar erupted beside me, ringing in my ears. Wei grabbed the frail Jia, spittle flying like rain onto his face: “The third prince has returned!”

Glancing at the excited officials around me, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The Ministry of Rites was the third prince’s stronghold; my colleagues were all his subordinates. During his disappearance, everyone had worn long faces, resembling a professional mourning troupe. Now, their brows shot upward, transforming them into a group of laughing Buddhas. While his return was crucial, whether he brought anything extra mattered even more.

“And…” Wei Jiyan, the seasoned minister, quickly regained his composure. Fixing his burning gaze on Jia, he asked slowly, “What about Princess Tianjiao?”

Indeed, the old man had struck at the heart of the matter. Glancing around, I saw those usually polite scholars now with green eyes, transformed into ravenous wolves. The terrifying nature of power struggles—the people before me were gamblers who had bet their lives, unable to retreat. Shaking my head derisively, I reflected: alas, haven’t I also joined the table? From here on, it’s either you die or I live.

Jia Zhengdao wiped the “sweet dew” off his face, his lips curling higher and higher: “The princess has been brought back by the prince.”

“Good!” Wei Jiyan clapped his hands and laughed heartily, pacing joyfully with his hands behind his back. After a moment, he tossed the thick ceremonial ledger toward me. I caught it instinctively, cradling it in my arms.

“Feng Langzhong, this is now in your hands. The feast and rituals are all part of the alliance ceremony—do not be careless.”

“Yes.” I bowed low to acknowledge the order.

“Boyu.” The old man adjusted his ceremonial cap, a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes.

“Master.” Jia Zhengdao mimicked the gesture, restoring his elegant demeanor.

Wei Jiyan strode away proudly, his hands trembling slightly behind his back. “Come, let us go greet the prince.”

“Yes!” Jia Zhengdao’s eyebrows twitched upward, casting a smug glance at me before hurrying after him.

Holding the ledger, I slowly turned around. The remaining officials wore relaxed expressions, their gazes filled with disdain. Yes, everyone knew that I, Feng Yunqing, had once been the ninth prince’s retainer, but now it was their third prince who had captured the butterfly. When the master feasts, the subordinates drink the broth—but for me, there was only the northwest wind to sip. I took another look and noticed their envious gazes now fixed on my chest. I touched the fragrant knot on my clasp and smiled knowingly. So eager to take my place already?

My lips curled into a lazy grin as I flipped open the thick ledger, clearing my throat: “Chen Siwu, have the sacrificial offerings been prepared?”

The gaunt Chen Bingyi reluctantly averted his gaze, muttering, “I’ll go handle it right away.”

“Mm.” I picked up my brush and marked the page, watching the reluctant underlings depart. Smiling, I said, “Thank you for your hard work, esteemed colleagues.”

No one responded. They whispered in small clusters, their hands trembling within their sleeves—their excitement had yet to subside.

Turning my head, I spoke brightly: “The grains we brought aren’t abundant, so don’t shake them all out.”

The rustling stopped abruptly, the green gleam in their eyes vanishing as they stared dumbfounded.

Mm, very good. I lowered my head and resumed checking the ceremonial ledger.

As twilight fell in the winter, the fields grew dim. The frost clung heavily to the withered grass, drooping as if sighing. Dragging my weary body and trudging forward with heavy steps, I hurried toward my brother’s tent.

The cold wind froze the earth—and the hearts of men.

“Huai Ran!” A shrill cry suddenly pierced the air.

I halted my steps, hiding behind the tent flap, peering cautiously. Before the third prince’s tent stood a line of attendants, led by none other than Princess Tianjiao, Yan Qi.

The tent flap lifted, and the third prince rushed out, warmly welcoming her: “Qi’er, it’s so cold. Why have you come?”

Staring in disbelief at the 180-degree transformation of the third prince, I felt a chill run down my spine and sneezed into my hand. His hawk-like eyes softened with tenderness, his sternness melting into warmth. Truly, you can’t catch a wolf without sparing your son—or yourself without luring the maiden. Impressive, impressive.

What followed was a lesson from Princess Tianjiao on what it meant to transform into a coquettish lady. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of the third prince’s lips without hesitation. He, in turn, didn’t hesitate either, wrapping his arms around her waist and thoroughly enjoying the “blessings” bestowed upon him. It was like a fire blazing in the winter, scorching everything around it.

The attendants wisely bowed their heads, focusing intently on the sand and stones beneath their feet.

Just as I was about to leave, I saw the third prince’s hawk-like eyes snap open mid-kiss, a challenging glint flashing in them. I glanced sideways to see the seventh prince holding a hand warmer, strolling leisurely closer. The soft orange glow from the lantern held by his attendant bathed Ling Cheran’s face like a veil. His warm eyes flickered with a hint of disdain as he smirked, calm and composed, heading toward his quarters.

Whether or not the seventh prince was pretending nonchalance, his indifferent attitude clearly irritated the third prince, who was flaunting his trophy. The third prince’s eyes narrowed sharply, and with a flex of his iron arm, he pulled the princess into the tent. It seemed that during their disappearance, these two hadn’t just shared one leg but two, three legs…

On this moonless, windy night, spirits clashed.

Shaking my head with a faint smile, I quickened my pace and walked away.

Approaching the military camp, I saw Uncle Han Shuo quietly rolling up the tent flap as he exited. As I drew near, I gently patted his shoulder: “Uncle Shuo, what’s wrong?”

He started, turning discreetly: “Young Master, don’t scare an old man like that in the dark.”

I lightly touched the tip of my nose: “Hehe, so even Uncle Shuo fears things without feet, huh?” Craning my neck to peer inside the tent, I saw only darkness. “Has Brother gone to sleep?”

“Mm, the general hasn’t slept for two nights while searching for those two.”

“Hmph.” Two streams of white breath escaped my nostrils. Damn sprites!

“Young Master, officially you’re still considered the ninth prince’s man. Please don’t linger too long.”

I glanced at the somewhat aged Uncle Shuo and sighed helplessly: “Mm, Brother’s wounds have just healed. Uncle, please take good care of him for me.”

“That goes without saying. Return early—the person the general worries about most is you.”

“Mm.” Reluctantly, I cast one last look inside: Brother, good night, whatever.

Whatever lingering unease remained, the alliance had been sealed and would bind the four directions.

The eighth day of the eleventh month, Dongzhi. The yang begins to rise, aligning with celestial time—a propitious moment for rites and sacrifices.

“The way of heaven sustains all things; the divine Kun unites in virtue. The land is divided into five kingdoms and one province, rivers flow through three mountains and six lands…”

For this day, since our departure, King Qing had begun constructing a palace and altar in Yu City of Jianzhou to prepare for the alliance. Reflecting now, had my brother failed in battle, all this effort would have been in vain—and we’d be dead. Standing within the sacred hall of the three-hundred-step circumference and several-zhang-tall alliance altar, the howling cold wind chilled my ears. My heart grew icy.

Standing beside Wei Jiyan, who served as the master of ceremonies, I cautiously surveyed the surroundings. Inside the hall were paintings depicting deities of the six directions. Upon closer inspection, they depicted mythological motifs such as “The Holy Mother Dropping Her Hairpin” and “The True Dragon Manifesting in the World.” Turning my gaze further, I saw the banners of the four kings fluttering in the wind. To the east was Qing Country’s crimson dragon soaring through clouds banner, to the west Jing Country’s dazzling peacock banner, to the south Mianzhou’s azure dragon emerging from the sea banner, and to the north Yi Country’s qilin treading through abyss banner. In the center of the hall was a pit called the “Kan.” The kings faced north, standing beside the pit, while hundreds of officials lined up below, the atmosphere solemn.

“Now, the realm remains unsettled, and flames of war frequently ignite. Our three kingdoms and one province gather here in Qing territory, vowing to uphold the Changping Pact. United as one, we will defend against foreign enemies together…”

Foreign enemies? The implication was clear—it referred to the southwestern Yong Kingdom. King Qing, riding the momentum of aiding Jing, had loudly proclaimed this grand alliance at year’s end specifically for their neighbor’s benefit. In other words: What of it? This is aimed at you! How brazen, truly brazen—King Qing was indeed an old fox.

“The Yu City Alliance stands as a testament to heaven and earth. Should this pact be violated or its terms betrayed, may the gods of vigilance and alliances, the sacred mountains and rivers, the ancestors of the four surnames, and the spirits of past kings and lords punish the transgressor, casting down their armies and denying their nation prosperity.”

Finally, Wei Jiyan reached the concluding curse—an oath invoking divine wrath should this vow be broken, cursing eight generations of ancestors and descendants alike. Yet deep down, none of the kings truly believed in gods. Otherwise, why would they gamble with their parents’ names, their kingdom’s fate, and their own destiny if they knew the pact would inevitably be broken?

“The eighth day of the eleventh month, the alliance begins.”

With the words spoken, Jia Zhengdao, serving as the Right Guard, led forth a white ox. Its curved horns were tied with red silk, its large eyes shimmering innocently, unaware of the slaughter about to unfold. I lowered my head, unable to bear witnessing it.

“Moo!”

“Thud.” The massive body hit the ground.

An innocent life extinguished. Holding a golden knife, I stepped cautiously to where Wei Jiyan stood beside the sacrificed ox. A blood-soaked hand drew the blade, slicing off the ox’s left ear and placing it on a pearl tray. As the leader of the alliance, King Qing held the ox’s ear, standing due north. Raising my eyes, I saw King Yi, Yan Zhen, staring blankly, seemingly dissatisfied.

Yes, this glory-seeking man had worn a sour expression from the start, clearly unwilling to submit to others.

Jia Zhengdao, the Right Guard, carried a jade vessel filled with ox blood, bowing as he approached the alliance leader. King Qing smeared the steaming blood on his lips—a ritual known as “blood-swearing.” After a brief pause, Jia proceeded forward, reaching King Yi’s side when he stumbled, the jade vessel slipping from his grasp. Seeing the mishap, I swiftly leapt to catch it before it hit the ground.

Emerald liquid swirled with crimson, a strange alchemy.

The viscous ox blood rippled, sending out waves of dark patterns. Glancing down, I saw the bright yellow boots retreat imperceptibly.

King Yi, Yan Zhen, was evidently displeased.

I glanced at Jia Zhengdao, whose face had turned ashen. Could he continue? Looking up at King Qing, I saw his slight nod of approval.

With a faint smile, I raised both arms levelly: “Your Majesty of Yi, please proceed.”

Yan Zhen’s eyelids twitched, murderous intent radiating from him.

“Please,” I repeated. Once was enough, twice was redundant. Offending you wasn’t new—I wasn’t afraid.

Reluctantly, Yan Zhen extended his hand, reluctantly smeared his lips, and reluctantly nodded.

I bowed deeply, stepping back: “Your Majesty of Jing, please proceed.”

Wu Ling was clearly shaken by the earlier scene, his movements sluggish. After a long moment, he finally completed the “blood-swearing” ritual.

The final figure approached with the most genuine smile, his steps unhurried. At the moment our eyes met, it felt as though we were transported to a radiant March day. Those phoenix eyes shone like the winter sun, warm and inviting.

“Lord Ding, please.” The corners of my lips curved upward, love brimming in my heart.

His slender fingers solemnly dipped into the steaming ox blood. In that fleeting moment, a drop fell onto the back of my hand. Smiling, I simply flicked it away, and those familiar thin lips were stained with a faint crimson hue.

The alliance was sealed, never to be broken.

Afterward, the sacrificial ox, along with the written pact, was placed into the pit and buried.

The ritual concluded with the offering of the animal and the sealing of the document.

In the not-so-distant future, this pact would rot away like the dead beast, slowly decaying.

Finally, returning to dust.

Until then, everyone remained “good brothers,” bound by a sense of loyalty. The banquet fostered camaraderie, and matrimonial alliances strengthened ties.

At the feast, King Qing gazed at King Yi, his eyes devoid of any disdain, instead filled with a hint of joy. Just moments ago, the wedding date for the third prince and Princess Tianjiao had been set—for the upcoming spring.

“This humble servant has only one daughter. I hope King Qing will look after her well.” Holding the wine jug, standing behind the lords, I listened to King Yi’s heartfelt entreaty and King Qing’s earnest response. It was hard not to marvel—now they were in-laws through marriage, but later, bait would invade the home. Such was the most perilous relationship in the world.

“Father.” The seventh prince rose, bowing deeply toward us. “To celebrate the successful alliance and to honor my third brother's betrothal, I have arranged for music and dance. I hope everyone enjoys themselves.”

Hmm? The seventh prince wasn’t upset; instead, he offered gifts willingly. There must be some hidden agenda.

King Qing’s eyes sparkled with interest as he smiled faintly: “Very good.”

The pleased third prince, however, looked surprised, his hawk-like eyes narrowing slightly: “Then, thank you, dear seventh brother.”

“We are family; there is no need for thanks.” The seventh prince smiled warmly, his words laced with satisfaction. His upturned eyes fixed steadily on Marquis Lie as he elegantly raised both hands. “Clap, clap.”

Two claps echoed, and the sound of flutes and strings began to play.

The wind stirred the pearl curtains, voices soft and lingering. Jade shattered upon an emerald plate, music drifting leisurely through the courtyard.

A stream murmured in a secluded valley, orioles sang sweetly, dewdrops fell into the deep pool, and rain bells chimed.

Flutes and zithers played a melody of elegance. Songs floated lightly, and dancers moved gracefully. Gauzy veils shimmered like swaying lotus leaves. Though not as vibrant as purple blooms, they surpassed scarlet ones. Strings chimed clear and pure, figures danced with enchanting grace—it was as if summer had washed away the chill, and birds and swallows chirped in delight.

Glancing around, the men who had just been scheming and plotting now focused intently. Even Wei Jiyan, ever the paragon of propriety, stroked his beard and observed closely. Countless gazes settled hungrily on the exposed skin of the singing girls and dancing maidens—a pack of wolves. This was the nature of men. My heart simmered with indignation, and my gaze unconsciously drifted to Xiu Yuan’s smiling phoenix eyes. My cheeks flushed suddenly—I wasn’t thinking anything improper, just watching the performance. I turned my attention back to the center of the stage.

Snow-white arms waved one by one, layers of green fabric fluttered, accompanied by a soft lotus-picking song. It felt as though we had entered a dreamlike realm. When the last veil of mist dispersed, a graceful maiden stood with her back to the audience, clad in a jade-green dance dress. Her waist was slender, her hair cascaded like green clouds, and even her silhouette alone drew sharp intakes of breath from the crowd.

“Thump, thump, thump.” The beat of the waist drum sounded, and the maiden swayed her supple waist to the rhythm, waving her arms as her flowing sleeves soared.

“Thump!” After a thunderous beat, she suddenly spun, her makeup reflected in the fans, her clothes scattering in the dancing breeze. She exuded charm with every glance, stirring hearts.

Shang Wu! My eyes widened in shock, breath caught: how could it be her?

Her forehead painted with a white lotus, her lips stained with rouge, her beauty harmonious and striking, she resembled a lotus emerging from water—pure and alluring. Accompanied by the gentle notes of the zither, the other dancers knelt, leaving her alone to perform. She turned and stepped forward, her long sleeves fluttering, the jewels in her hair glittering brilliantly, their light piercing directly toward the main seat. She kicked her legs, bent her waist, leaning lazily against the wind. Rising, she twirled like flying snow. Lazily, the strings vibrated, and Shang Wu glanced back with a smile, her dimples deepening, her gaze locking directly onto Xiu Yuan.

Gritting my teeth, I clenched the wine jug tightly, glaring coldly at someone sending flirtatious glances. It was really irritating!

Hmph, hmph, I couldn’t help but sneer unconsciously.

That person stepped gracefully, swaying her waist, inching closer to the main seat. Spinning, she blatantly blinked at Xiu Yuan again and again.

“Snap.” Coolly lowering my gaze, the handle of the jug broke. I handed the broken jug to the young attendant beside me. “Replace it.”

“...” Silence.

“Hmm?” I glanced sharply, and the attendant swiftly took it.

“Mm.” Satisfied, I nodded and continued to “admire” her dazzling dance moves. My knuckles cracked faintly; my hands itched.

As it turned out, my itching hands were timely because that person’s skin was asking for trouble! In the blink of an eye, Shang Wu was already close, her sleeves swirling in the air, flying straight toward Xiu Yuan.

Clenching my teeth, suppressing the surging killing intent within me. Patience, I must endure.

Just as her sleeves snaked to within three feet of Xiu Yuan, they suddenly changed direction. How could I forget his protective qi? Smiling faintly, I accepted the new jug, gently caressing its smooth surface. Good, very good.

Man’s plans can’t compete with heaven’s. The silk repelled by his qi flew into King Yi’s arms. Shang Wu’s beautiful face paled, and she tugged to retrieve her long sleeve, only to be firmly held by Yan Zhen. The music lingered, the oriole’s song trilled softly, and the gauzy veil swirled around the dancing maiden, forming lotus leaves. The lotus-picking dance, originally a token of love, now connected the two ends of the sleeve—one old, one young; one dusk, one dawn—a pairing so absurd it made one laugh and cry.

Over there, brows furrowed, bodies leaned back. Here, white beards trembled, excitement surged forward. Amidst the stalemate, my eyes suddenly caught a flash of white, too swift to follow.

“Ahh!” Shang Wu’s face was full of astonishment as she suddenly lunged toward the main seat. Losing her balance, she was like a powerless kite, gently reeled into King Yi’s arms.

Focusing carefully, a single pearl rolled slowly across the red carpet, soon kicked into oblivion by the swirling dancers. A performance before the hall, I glanced sidelong at the lower seats—the seventh prince raised his goblet, smirking provocatively, eyebrows arching upward toward the higher seats. The third prince’s joy dissipated, his face clouded over. The music remained soft, the dancers still graceful, but warmth gradually faded, leaving the room gray and lifeless.

The golden goblet was raised high. I composed myself and approached. King Yi’s aged hand roamed over Shang Wu’s slender waist, his murky eyes overflowing with desire: “Come, give me a smile.” Quietly, I filled his cup with Drunken Cloud Liquor, then retreated discreetly. Shang Wu’s vermilion lips quivered, her gaze still filled with fear.

“What?” Yan Zhen’s bony fingers traced her face, finally resting on her pointed chin. “Can’t smile anymore? Hmm?” His voice tightened at the end.

She, her clear eyes dimmed, her lips weakly curling upward, her deep dimples unable to bear the weight of despair.

The swirling green gauze gradually dispersed, the lingering music faded. Below, silence reigned, countless probing gazes directed toward the dais. On the marquises’ seats, three expressions varied—Marquis Lie’s blackened face, Marquis Rong’s smiling visage, stark contrasts. And Yunzhi remained calm, pouring himself another drink. Had he foreseen all of this? His narrow eyes flickered briefly, scanning the tassel at the waist of the seventh prince’s personal guard—one pearl was indeed missing.

“King Qing.” Old man Yan spoke up.

King Qing raised his golden goblet, nodding slightly: “King Yi.” His sharp gaze swept over the maiden in Yan Zhen’s arms. From where I stood, I could clearly see Shang Wu’s pale, lovely face.

“This dancing girl pleases me greatly.” King Yi’s stick-like fingers slid over her face.

“Oh?” King Qing narrowed his eyes, scanning those seated below. “This was a gesture of goodwill from the younger generation. Please accept it graciously.” As he spoke, the eunuch De Xian approached quietly, whispering in his ear. King Qing’s brows furrowed slightly, then quickly smoothed, his eyes chilling like ice. “However,” he glared fiercely at those below, “this girl is no ordinary dancer.”

“Oh?” Yan Zhen looked down at her in surprise. “What makes her extraordinary?”

“She is the direct descendant of a first-rank official in our court…” King Qing’s tone was slow and deliberate, seemingly amused. “From the Upper Pavilion’s Reserve Office, Minister Shang.” No trace of affection in his words—his tone was sharp, concealing a dagger.

By this point, Minister Shang was drenched in sweat, trembling as he descended from his seat, kneeling prostrate on the ground.

“So, the daughter of a noble house.” King Yi looked down approvingly. “Minister Shang, do you wish to marry this girl into the Yi Kingdom?”

Indeed, how could old man Shang dare say no?

“If my humble daughter can serve Your Majesty King Yi, it would be the greatest fortune for the Shang family for three generations.” Minister Shang bowed low, responding loudly.

He was skilled at flattery, but he had only managed to stroke one horse. The other… I glanced sideways; King Qing’s right hand, hanging low, was already clenched tightly, the veins on the back of his hand visible. He had truly hit a sore spot.

“Good, good.” Yan Zhen nodded repeatedly, slamming the table with grandeur. “People of Qing Country, hear my decree!”

Shang Wu slid off his lap, collapsing softly onto the ground.

“I bestow upon you the rank of Second-Rank Consort, with the title 'Le.'“

Her frail figure trembled, and after a long while, a faint, mosquito-like voice emerged: “Your humble servant... Your humble servant... thanks...” Her words unfinished, the maiden fainted.

“Your Majesty.” King Yi’s eunuch carefully helped her up, smiling obsequiously. “Her Highness fainted from overwhelming joy.”

Pfft, more like anger attacking her heart. What self-deception.

“Take her away and take good care of her.” King Yi chuckled and nodded, turning to Ling Zhun. “King Qing, now our families are even closer than before, hahaha~”

King Qing raised his golden goblet, and the two clinked glasses, drinking together. Below, the atmosphere was lively. Shang Sima, who had just married off his daughter to an old man, returned to his seat with a beaming face, accepting congratulations from the crowd. In this game, people were merely supporting characters.

Goblets exchanged, truly floating with green ants, pearls dripping, and new brews poured. On the dais, smiles were shallow; below, hidden daggers flew. Yet, they continued to toast each other, raising their cups in companionship.

Pity me, who had to run around tirelessly, refilling wine cups. But before I could even finish three rounds, King Yi spoke again: “Everyone, I have also arranged for some music and dance. Shall we enjoy it together?”

King Jing quickly chimed in: “Good, good. Unfortunately, I didn’t prepare anything, so please forgive me.”

“Sigh, this is the alliance host’s banquet. Just enjoy the food, King Jing,” Ling Zhun consoled with a smile, though his words carried a sharp edge.

I glanced over to see a flicker of suppressed anger on King Yi’s face, his eyes gleaming with menace. “The performance I’ve brought is no ordinary one.” He sneered, lifting his chin. His eunuch stood tall and announced loudly: “Presenting Lady Chris, the special envoy from the Western Lands!”

The entire hall fell silent as everyone curiously turned their gaze toward the entrance. A black-haired, green-eyed Western woman slowly entered the hall, her crimson whalebone skirt accentuating her voluptuous figure and slender waist. The enchanting lady approached the dais and performed a deep curtsy. King Yi smiled smugly—this gesture was meant solely for him. This venomous scorpion provocatively glanced at the darkening face of King Qing, then beckoned someone from below. A man from the Yi delegation rose and walked over to whisper to Lady Chris—it seemed he was her translator. Lady Chris raised her head in surprise and bowed deeply to King Qing, King Jing, and Xiu Yuan.

Well, things were escalating. I set down the wine jug and glanced sideways; King Qing’s face had darkened to black, and he looked ready to slam the table in anger. Foolish, truly foolish. I shot a disdainful look at the triumphant King Yi: obsessed with glory, seeking fleeting satisfaction—this was not the behavior of a true ruler.

Just then, the disruptor of the situation—the lovely Lady Chris—spoke up. To my surprise, she spoke in English: “Your Majesty, I have come here as you instructed. Please honor your promise and grant me the port entry permit.”

It seemed that the two timelines—my past and present lives—were parallel. Focusing intently, I listened. After more than a decade, my English had grown somewhat rusty.

“Lady Chris wishes King Yi longevity and extends greetings to all the lords,” the translator began weaving lies.

“Hmm, Lady, rise,” King Yi waved his hand grandly. “Please grace us with a dance to entertain us.”

“Lady,” the translator, who clearly understood some English albeit clumsily, addressed her. “As previously agreed, you still owe our king a foreign dance. Once you finish, our king will immediately sign the certificate.”

A despicable move, outright coercion. This lord and his subject had clearly conspired beforehand, using deceitful tactics to flaunt power and save face.

Lady Chris furrowed her brows, gazing deeply at King Yi for a long moment before finally speaking: “Very well. Please, Your Majesty, keep your word and stop fooling us.”

“Yes, of course,” the translator chuckled and nodded, but then added, “The lady says it is her honor, though she wishes to invite one person from the gathering to dance with her.”

“Dance?” The entire hall erupted in murmurs.

“Men and women must not touch, let alone dance!”

“Foreigners disregard propriety, foreigners disregard propriety!”

Only those from the Yi delegation remained composed, seemingly confident.

“Oh?” King Yi shot a sidelong glance at me, his gaze piercing. “Whom has the lady chosen?”

I had exposed Li’s false accusations regarding the princess’s disappearance, and during the blood oath, I had preserved Qing Country’s dignity. Did King Yi truly hold such a grudge that he couldn’t tolerate me?

“The lady wishes to invite the Chief Wine Steward to dance.” As expected.

Boom! This statement caused an uproar. Qing officials frantically rose to their feet: “Your Majesty!” “Your Majesty!”

Yuning angrily shouted: “Since ancient times, men and women above three years of age do not touch, above five years do not sit together—how can they dance?”

My usually silent brother left his seat and knelt on the ground: “Your Majesty, please reconsider!” Seeing his worried eyes and trembling hands, warmth surged in my heart: Brother, please don’t worry.

Calmly reflecting, my mind became exceptionally clear. This had escalated into a diplomatic incident. If I refused, it wouldn’t just offend the allied kingdom but also disgrace the Western Lands—and either charge alone would be enough to cost me my life. But if I accepted and failed, I’d shame Qing Country and the alliance leader, leaving me no place to rest my bones. My gaze swept across those seated below and landed on the upper seats. Yunzhi had already risen, and Xiu Yuan slammed his golden goblet heavily. All were poised for action.

I gave King Yi a faint smile and stepped forward calmly. Leaning slightly, I placed my right hand over my chest and addressed Lady Chris in English: “Beautiful lady, it is an honor to meet you.”

The hall fell silent, utterly still.

Raising my head, I saw Lady Chris’s astonished green eyes and the stunned expressions of everyone else. Time seemed to freeze, and I alone moved freely through the suspended moment. The myriad expressions and varied postures were comically absurd.

“You… you…” Lady Chris stammered. “You speak English?”

Glancing at the pale-faced translator, I nodded slightly: “Yes, Lady.”

Lady Chris broke into a radiant smile: “You speak better than he does.” She shot a glance at the translator, evidently having endured much frustration from him.

“Naturally.”

“Hehehe!” Lady Chris laughed brightly. “You’re not like them, pretending to be humble. I like you.”

“Thank you.” Meeting her cheerful demeanor, I felt a wave of fondness. “Earlier, the monarch of the Yi Kingdom mentioned you wished to dance with someone, so I was called forth.”

“Dance?” Lady Chris frowned, looking upward, startling King Yi into unease.

Are you afraid now? You didn’t expect to lose both the chicken and the bait, did you? I shot him a cold, sidelong glance.

“However, this dance does indeed require a partner.” She clapped her hands, and a red-haired man entered the hall holding a wooden instrument, bowing slightly.

Seeing the eight-shaped wooden guitar in the man’s arms, I exclaimed in surprise: “A guitar?”

“You know it?” Lady Chris cried out joyfully. “This is a Moorish guitar—I’ve never heard a Shen Kun person name it before.”

“Feng Ai Qing.” King Qing snapped back to attention, smiling broadly. “What do you think?”

I turned my head, giving my brother a confident smile, and looked up at the dais: “Please allow me to proceed.”

“Good!” King Qing’s thin lips curved into a smile, his cold gaze sweeping aside. The previously arrogant King Yi lost his composure and glared resentfully.

Raising my eyebrows, I inclined my body slightly, drawing an arc in the air with my right hand, extending it gracefully before Lady Chris: “Lady, may I have the honor of a dance?”

Her snow-white hand gently rested on my palm, and she lifted her skirt in a deep curtsy: “It is my honor.”

“Hiss!” “Men and women must not touch, must not touch!” Gasps echoed from the old scholars around the hall.

Ignoring them, I took her hand and led her to the center of the hall, standing opposite her.

Turning my head with a smile, our gazes met briefly with Xiu Yuan’s warm eyes: “Lady, please begin.”

“Then here I go.” She nodded lightly to the musician.

The strings were plucked, and lively, unrestrained music flowed forth, filling every corner of the hall. Lady Chris picked up the castanets, slowly raising her slender arms seductively. “Tap tap tap, tap tap tap.” She lifted her fair face, gazing at me like royalty, pride gleaming in her eyes. As the tempo quickened, she swayed her hips, flipped her torso, and advanced toward me step by step.

Unrestrained gazes, exaggerated and passionate steps—she danced with her very life.

“Flamenco?” I asked without opening my mouth.

“No! No! No!” She clapped the castanets, stamping her feet. “This is Chris’s dance.”

Indeed, ceaseless footsteps, a paradoxical blend, the raw expression of humanity. Though I didn’t know how to dance it, I simply needed to unleash the emotions within me to touch the spirit of Flamenco.

Raising my chin, I arrogantly glanced around, like an emperor surveying his domain. Slowly raising my hands, my sleeves slid down, exposing my skin to a light chill. “Clap clap.” Two palms struck together, my feet shifted slightly. “Clap clap clap.” Echoing her castanets, the crisp sound reverberated through the vast hall.

Today was the winter solstice. Closing my eyes, a scene from ten years ago—a parting of life and death—surfaced in my mind. Mei Hua, in anguish, silently pleaded: Forgive me for not being able to offer you sacrifices. This dance is my tribute. Please listen closely to the longing in my movements.

With that thought, I opened my eyes. Fixing my gaze on her burning green eyes, I spun my body, tapping my feet, matching her fervor. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she placed one hand on her hip, closing in on me. Clapping twice, we faced each other, like two magnets drawn to yet repelling one another, challenging each other with arched brows. She bit her lower lip, her green eyes ablaze, passion surging toward me. I couldn’t lose—not in this contest. Mei Hua was still watching me. I had to dance joyfully, to show her my vitality. A slight curve lifted my lips, and with oppressive proximity, I poured out my soul entirely. Sometimes I am tormented, sometimes wicked. I’ve taken lives, responding to violence with violence, blood with blood. Yes, I am no saint!

Lifting my head, I twisted my arms like a solitary, proud wild goose, circling around her. Lady Chris’s expression softened as she clapped her castanets, flipping her dress as she retreated. The distance between people could be as vast as the galaxy or as close as the two sides of a leaf.

Twisting my limbs, I glanced sideways. Deep eyes brimmed with immense pride. That was my flesh and blood kin—he sustained my life, pulling me from loneliness. Blood is thicker than water; I cannot part from him in this lifetime.

Gracefully spinning, I clapped my hands toward the upper seats. Dancing with a bewitching allure before him, I reached out—that was my love. Did you know that beneath my tranquil expression, I read you, sang of you, and clung to you madly?

Resolutely waving my sleeve, I faced the dais and snapped my fingers. Yun Zhi, I thank you, thank you for giving my brother a second chance at life. I remember our first meeting—the light scattered on the ground, your smile reminded me. My first friend was you.

Passion surged in my chest—disheveled yet unyielding, resolute and spirited. Tapping the rhythm with my toes, I raised my arms, tucked my chin, and gazed at my dance partner. She stepped to the beat, flipping her long skirt with storm-like intensity and oceanic grandeur, rushing toward me. How could I lose to you? With unrestrained, bold steps, I was an emperor. Raising my right hand, I gathered qi, snapping my fingers along the way. One by one, the candles in the hall dimmed.

Darker, darker—finally, only a few candles remained, casting an enigmatic orange glow over her fair face.

Close, then separate. Kicking joyfully, swaying boldly, stamping like lightning. Rough, open, unrestrained—this was my rhythm, coalescing in my chest, flowing through my veins, resonating from deep within my bones. With unadorned sincerity, I expressed the depths of my heart, laying bare the secrets hidden within. I am who I am—reckless yet unburdened by melancholy, traversing the heavens and exhaling across the eight directions.

With the final note of the strings, with Chris’s castanets pounding like a sudden downpour, I let out a passionate roar: “Ha!”

Everything came to an abrupt halt, yet everything felt as though reborn.

Breathing heavily, we stood back-to-back, surrounded by silence.

“Can you help me?” Chris's breath was uneven.

“Of course, Lady. You wish to obtain the port entry permit, correct?” I responded softly.

“Yes, that is the purpose of my journey.”

Turning around, I bowed to her: “Lady, why not conduct trade with our Qing Country?”

Before she could respond, shouts of approval erupted: “Good!” “Good!” “Though it defies propriety…” “Magnificent!” The stunned crowd finally acknowledged this dance.

Chris understood everyone’s expressions and lifted her skirt to bow in gratitude to those around her. “Master,” she looked at me earnestly, “Please introduce me to your sovereign.”

I gave her a slight nod, bending my left arm. Chris hooked her arm through mine, and we proceeded gracefully forward. As we passed, the candles reignited, illuminating the path ahead. Approaching the dais, I glanced at Chris: “Lady, the one seated there is the leader of this alliance, His Majesty King Qing.”

She nodded knowingly, withdrawing her arm and smoothing her dress before deeply kneeling to King Qing, speaking in respectful tones.

I translated faithfully: “Maya-Saint-Louis-Chris greets Your Majesty, King Qing.”

She shifted her feet, bowing again toward Xiu Yuan and Wu Ling.

Though Chris didn’t recognize them, it was my duty to assist her: “Greetings to His Majesty King Jing and Lord Ding.”

King Qing’s brows relaxed, clearly pleased: “Lady, please rise.”

Chris rose, lightly parting her crimson lips. Simultaneously, I spoke: “Your Majesty, Chris represents the Western Lands’ Maritime Trade Alliance. Her mission is to establish trade between the continents.”

“Oh?” King Qing narrowed his dragon-like eyes. “From what I understand, the Western Lands lie southwest of Shen Kun. Why did you bypass closer nations…” He glanced meaningfully at Yan Zhen, “and land via Yi Country?”

Gently rephrasing, I heard Chris respond helplessly: “My crew and I spent half a year reaching the western coast. Sailing along the coastline, we found that the two nations west of Shen Kun enforce strict maritime restrictions.” Liang and Yong Countries.

“Then we sailed eastward. That nation’s coastline is gentle, but alas, pirates are rampant, making it difficult to dock.” Ah, she was referring to Qing Country now. I carefully processed her words before relaying them to King Qing, who only slightly furrowed his brow.

“Out of desperation, we landed via the northernmost Yi Country.” I translated this sentence word for word, successfully witnessing the flush of embarrassment on King Yi’s face.

King Qing lowered his head for a moment before solemnly declaring: “Lady, as King of Qing and leader of this alliance, I promise you that within two months, the pirate menace will be eradicated.”

The hall erupted in astonishment. Chris’s green eyes widened, her voice trembling: “Thank you, Your Majesty.” She remained kneeling, tears of joy streaming down her face.

After six months of being away from home, her mission was finally accomplished. Chris was truly a brave and admirable woman.

Do not say the clear wind has no price; beneath the azure sea lies a hidden pearl.

The king’s banquet ended vibrantly amidst the light chill of winter. Dragging my weary body, I walked toward the palace exit...

“Feng Ai Qing.” A deep, resonant voice called out.

Karma, weren’t you supposed to have already left? What rotten luck. Sighing inwardly, I bowed deeply.

King Qing emerged from the inner chamber, his bright yellow boots now before my eyes: “Feng Yunqing, hear my decree.”

Not only standing, but kneeling to listen.

“I hereby promote Feng Yunqing to Deputy Minister of Rites, effective immediately.”

Deputy Minister? Surprised, I looked up—what about Jia Zhengdao? A sharp glint flashed in the dragon eyes, and I quickly nodded. That man had made a grave mistake today; judging by his expression, keeping his life would be fortunate enough.

“Your humble servant thanks Your Majesty for his benevolence.” I bowed deeply.

“Feng Ai Qing.” With this soft call, a heavy force pressed down on my head—he was pressing firmly on my skull. The thick pressure forced me to clench my jaw tightly.

A cold wind drifted through the vast hall, and silence lingered for a long while.

“How old are you?”

“This humble servant has just turned sixteen.”

“Truly, heroes emerge young.” He sighed faintly.

“Your Majesty flatters me.”

“Has Ai Qing not yet chosen a courtesy name?”

“No.” I lowered my gaze and replied softly.

“I bestow upon you the courtesy name 'Shaochu.'“

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your grace.” My face nearly touched the ground.

Ambiguous shadows and mournful northern winds wandered through the palace. The winter solstice—still so somber, still so unforgettable.

After what felt like an eternity, the bright yellow boots disappeared from view, and my head was finally freed.

Beginning, commencement.

It should begin—for me, or perhaps…

It should begin, where the winds start.

It should begin, amidst the perilous steps of the imperial court.

Zhang Mi’s Chronicles of Warring States - Records of Famous Ministers : Feng Yunqing, originally from Forgetful Mountain. At sixteen, he entered service as a retainer of Emperor Yuan Chu. In the first year of chaos, he gained fame in the battle of Fan City and achieved success in the great victory of Chengyuan. At the Yu City Alliance, he danced with foreign dignitaries, astonishing all with his skill. His smile was like the soft glow of a willow moon. Versed in both civil and military arts, he earned the favor of King Qinglong, receiving the courtesy name Shaochu… Within half a year of entering court, he was promoted four times, achieving youthful success and becoming one of the four great ministers of the Qing Court, renowned for his wisdom as the Moonlight Grand Master…

Epilogue: Blade Heart

In the distance, a shadow loomed—a bottomless abyss.

Layer upon layer of darkness advanced, distant like thick ink, devouring all things under heaven. Gradually fading into a deep blue, it exuded profound melancholy.

Gray-blue, bluish-gray, blue-gray…

Bit by bit, the darkness receded, inching closer to the partially drawn curtains.

Finally, the secret of the beginning of winter was revealed—it was the purple of love, the blue of affection.

“Sigh.” A sigh echoed from the ancient step.

Pale moonlight slipped through the curtains, revealing tangled black hair, the tranquil sleeping face of a maiden, and the inscrutable phoenix eyes of a man...

She was asleep. Jing Lan gazed helplessly at the beauty in his arms, his hands tightening around her slender waist, drawing her closer as she sank deeper into sweet dreams.

“Yunqing.” Jing Lan whispered hoarsely near her round ear, “Yunqing.” His voice carried a faint allure, tempting and seductive, “Qingqing.” Still no response, only her steady breathing.

Truly, she was asleep.

Jing Lan sighed softly, his handsome cheek brushing against her smooth forehead, a hint of discontent clouding his heart. After igniting a fire, she simply fell asleep. His brows knitted together as his long fingers traced her delicate back. Yunqing, you truly do not understand men.

The gentle caress stirred a ticklish sensation in someone, causing her supple figure to shift slightly. Warm fragrance filled his embrace, intensely stimulating his senses. A surge of heat coursed downward, making it even harder for the already sleepless man to rest. His fists clenched and unclenched, his jaw tightened repeatedly, and veins bulged visibly before he finally restrained himself.

More unbearable than practicing under the summer sun, more arduous than walking barefoot to provide medical care—it was truly a sweet torment. Slowly loosening his arms, he pulled her back a few inches, his gaze roaming over her fair, porcelain-like face. He prided himself on not being greedy, able to remain unmoved by the various seductions of beauties. Yet now... Jing Lan’s long fingers traced her temple, gently gliding over her delicate brows, her peacefully closed eyes, her jade-like nose, and finally resting on her soft, tender lips.

Every time he saw her, his heart stirred, stirred incessantly.

His thin lips curled into a smile as he slowly approached her serene, sleeping face. Brushing aside strands of silky black hair, he drew near as if approaching a treasured possession. His nose nuzzled affectionately against hers, their breaths mingling. A faint ticklish sensation stirred in his heart; his lips parted and closed again, as though wanting to whisper something. After a long moment, he could no longer suppress his emotions and gently kissed the corner of her crimson lips. Just one touch, Jing Lan lied to himself. Her lips were warm and sweet, tempting him to explore further. His moist tongue moved softly, coaxing her lips apart with tender persuasion. Yet it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. He continued, delicately licking at her pearly teeth, striving to breach the gap between them.

“Mmm...” An unconscious moan escaped from her throat.

The tall figure suddenly froze, that single delicate sound ruthlessly invading his senses. A loud buzz reverberated in his mind. The fervent emotions spilled like ink on rice paper, impossible to contain or erase. He breathed heavily, pulling her slender waist closer and flipping her beneath him. This was no longer mere infatuation—it had become an uncontrollable flood. No longer gentle exploration but desperate suction. The heat of his body surged, his qi coursing wildly. For the first time, Jing Lan allowed himself to indulge. In the dim light, a flush rose to his cheeks.

Outside, snowflakes drifted through the air, while inside, he indulged in forbidden desires.

Unconsciously, his fingers reached for the collar of her robe, trembling and excited as they pressed closer. Her skin was slightly cool, her neck as smooth as jade, her collarbone elegantly pronounced, her shoulders rounded yet delicate. He sighed softly against her lips, murmuring on her tongue. He admitted defeat—he surrendered. Jing Lan was merely an ordinary man, a mortal yearning to be close to the one he loved.

A soft groan shattered the fragile remnants of his already precarious self-control. With a swift tug, her sash unraveled, and his hand, like a snake, slid over her slender waist, moving upward until it touched...

The invasion halted abruptly. Breathing unevenly, he withdrew from her fragrant lips, which exhaled like orchids. Half-closed phoenix eyes gazed toward where his palm rested. Layer upon layer of white cloth wrapped around her chest, her breathing steady and calm. Like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, clarity instantly flooded Jing Lan’s mind. No, not yet. She still had unfinished matters weighing on her heart. He couldn’t do this now...

“Sigh.” Jing Lan exhaled once more, collapsing beside her. His chest rose and fell violently, phoenix eyes flashing with complex emotions. Tonight, he truly felt as though he had wandered between heaven and hell, his heart unable to find peace.

Brother Wu Yu—was he helping himself, or tormenting himself?

“Sigh.” Another sigh escaped, accompanied by a self-deprecating chuckle. It seemed tonight he had exhausted all the sighs of his life.

“Mmm...” A faint murmur came from the inner side of the bed, and suddenly the quilt covering him disappeared. The deeply sleeping figure instinctively curled herself into a cocoon, her rosy lips turning pale, her delicate brows furrowing slightly. Extending his long arm, he pulled her icy-cold form into his embrace. Using his warmth to shield her, this time there was nothing else—only deep tenderness.

“Mother...” A muffled murmur escaped her lips, “...no...”

His heart ached faintly. Gently stroking her long hair, he patted her back soothingly. She had chosen to step onto the battlefield, to enter the court, in order to drive away the nightmares haunting her mind. He knew she was fragile—so fragile that it hurt to think of holding her too tightly. Pulling her closer, tighter, he transmitted courage through his embrace.

“...” Sobs came from within his arms. Lowering his gaze, he saw her stubbornly frowning, as if forcing back tears at the corners of her eyes.

He could see it—the worry hidden behind her smile, her determination not to dwell on the past. During the day, her painful memories lay dormant, but at night, they crept into her dreams, gnawing at her heart.

“Don’t be afraid, Qingqing.” His voice whispered softly, like the clear toll of a bell.

Gradually, the sobs subsided, and everything returned to silence, save for the steady rhythm of her breathing.

Tender gazes traced the small paths etched between her brows, delving into her vulnerability, her solitude.

Soft kisses brushed away the tears at the corners of her eyes, wiping away her pain, her helplessness.

Though he had endured great difficulty, immense difficulty...

He harbored no regrets.

An ardent love burned brightly, expressed in quiet, understated gestures.

Tonight, sleep eluded him.

Even before parting, longing had already taken root.