The weather after the snow had just ceased was the most bitterly cold and unbearable. Strong winds swept through the wormwood, and the ground was stained a deep crimson.
Dark clouds hung densely overhead, and a biting wind howled fiercely. The pristine snow covering the land was swept up, fluttering down upon the newly completed Shuofang Palace.
Today was the day of the winter hunt in Yanbei. The eastern front had temporarily quieted, and the northern Quanrong had been repelled. The soldiers had withdrawn behind the passes, seemingly preparing for a rare New Year's celebration.
From early morning, all the shops along Wuxuan Street had closed. The long avenue was strewn with fine yellow sand to prevent the imperial carriages and horses from slipping. From afar, it shimmered like a golden road, flanked by tall golden screens. The commoners had retreated, while civil and military officials knelt on both sides. Various ceremonial guards advanced slowly in orderly formations, their canopies and carriages as numerous as clouds, their embroidered robes and flowing sleeves obscuring the sky.
Today was the day of the winter hunt in Yanbei. Those with good memories recalled that the last winter hunt had been twelve years ago.
Zhongqiu Xiyuan had long been the hunting grounds of the Yanbei kings. Located at the heart of the Sunset Mountain range, it backed against the Hui Hui Southern Peak—a vast, white wilderness with faintly reddish soil. No one knew whether it had always been this color or had been stained by blood.
Yan Xun sat upon his high throne, draped in a heavy sable cloak. Before him stood a dense crowd of figures, appearing from afar in the swirling snow like two dark wings. The officials knelt trembling beneath the royal carriage, not daring to look up, their knees aching from the cold. Only A Jing secretly lifted her face, yet she could not clearly see Yan Xun's expression.
"Lord Zhuang."
A cold voice came from above. A man in his fifties trembled suddenly, his facial muscles twitching slightly as he slowly rose and knelt in the center, replying in a deferential tone, "What does Your Majesty command?"
"Nothing much. I’ve recently acquired something amusing and wished to share it with Lord Zhuang."
Yan Xun's voice was clear, tinged with a hint of laughter, like a mischievous and willful child anticipating some prank.
Lord Zhuang knelt on the ground, his fingers pale and his brow furrowed, yet he remained composed and replied without looking up, "Thank you, Your Majesty, for remembering your humble servant."
Yan Xun smiled, his eyes carrying a trace of mockery as he lazily waved his hand. "Bring it forward."
A rustling sound gradually arose as a carriage entered the grounds. Covered in coarse black cloth, faint noises could be heard from within. The crowd turned curiously to look at the carriage. A deathly silence fell over the scene, so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
Thwack! A sudden sound broke the silence, startling everyone. It was Yan Xun, bored on his throne, repeatedly striking the golden seat with his whip handle.
Thwack, thwack, thwack…
Everyone’s expressions turned solemn. No one dared to speak. A guard in his thirties approached the first carriage, then raised his hand and, with a swift motion, tore away the black cloth.
"Ah!"
A low gasp rippled through the crowd like a wave, spreading unease across the scene. Though everyone wore expressions of alarm, no one dared to voice their shock.
On the carriage were a group of young maidens, around sixteen or seventeen years old, each exceptionally beautiful. Yet, in such frigid weather, they huddled together completely unclothed, their faces deathly pale, their arms bound, and nothing else covering them.Minister Zhuang took one glance and froze on the spot. Despite the bitter cold, beads of sweat the size of beans began rolling down his forehead.
Yan Xun’s laughter sounded from behind him. His tone was as casual as if he were discussing food and drink as he remarked lightly, “Minister Zhuang is a pillar of Yanbei. Over the years, you have shown me much kindness. Today, I invite you to take the first shot.”
The cage on the carriage was opened. Soldiers roughly stepped forward, punching and kicking as they shoved the girls down from the carriage. They were all barefoot, and the sudden contact with the icy snow evoked a flush of tender pink on their skin.
“Run! Run quickly!”
The soldiers cracked their whips, lashing out viciously. Crimson welts immediately tore through flesh, leaving savage marks on their backs, white as mutton fat. Piercing screams followed. Freed from their restraints, the girls could only haphazardly cover their wounds as they staggered away in flight.
A guard brought a bow and arrows to Minister Zhuang. Yan Xun urged him calmly from behind, “Minister Zhuang, hurry.”
Minister Zhuang’s face was ashen, his lips bloodless. Slowly, he nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.
The girls stumbled across the snowy plain, their youthful bodies gleaming under the sunlight. Sensing danger, they turned back in panic. Seeing him holding the bow, they froze abruptly.
Swish!
An arrow shot out but lacked any force, falling weakly to the ground after only a short distance.
“Minister Zhuang, this hardly seems like your usual skill.”
Yan Xun spoke unhurriedly, his long eyes narrowing slightly as he gazed at Minister Zhuang, as though trying to see through his skin into his very heart.
Minister Zhuang stood rooted to the spot, wanting to speak but ultimately unable to utter a word. His entire body trembled faintly. Below, officials whispered among themselves, “I heard a group of palace maids attempted to assassinate His Majesty a few days ago. Could these be them?”
“Cheng Yuan, since Minister Zhuang is getting on in years, you take over.”
“Thank you for your favor, Your Majesty.”
A general in a blue fur cloak stepped forward. Steadily, he drew his bow. With a sharp swish, the arrow flew as if guided by sight, embedding itself firmly in the chest of the girl who had run the farthest. A brief, sharp scream echoed across the wilderness. A burst of blood blossomed from the girl’s chest, splattering across the pure white snow in a stark, vivid red.
The other girls watched in horror. One who had been kneeling and weeping suddenly broke down, screaming as she stumbled toward the royal carriage, scrambling and crying out, “Save me, sir! Save me! Minister Zhuang, I am… Ah!”
A piercing shriek followed. A girl standing nearby suddenly leaped forward, seizing the weeping girl’s throat. With a sharp twist of her hands, she snapped her neck.
“If we must die, then die! How can you beg mercy from the enemy? Worthless!”
The girl stood her ground, her face pale but her eyes bright as stars. She stared coldly upward, completely unclothed yet showing no sign of fear or shame. Her voice was icy as she declared, “We are followers of Datong! You traitor, betraying Datong—you will die without a burial place!”
With that, she slammed her head against the stone steps beneath the royal carriage. Her body stiffened, blood gushing forth, and she moved no more.The sudden turn of events caught everyone off guard. By the time they realized the woman had taken her own life, the remaining soldiers rushed forward. One soldier reached out to check her pulse and reported, "Your Majesty, she's still breathing."
Yan Xun grunted in acknowledgment but gave no orders for punishment. For some reason, the girl's gaze felt hauntingly familiar, stirring fragmented memories that flooded his mind. Frowning, he coldly observed the pool of blood on the ground, his interest suddenly waning. With a mere wave of his hand, his guards advanced in unison. In moments, the air filled with thunderous cries of agony until not a single soul remained alive.
"The hunt begins. Drag them all to feed the dogs," Yan Xun commanded indifferently.
A guard hesitated, asking cautiously, "And the one still alive?"
Alive?
Yan Xun's eyes flickered slightly as an image drifted through his mind—a child's stubborn gaze piercing his memories, as if still watching him from somewhere, sending a chill down his spine.
"Your Majesty?" Cheng Yuan called softly.
Yan Xun looked up to find everyone staring intently at him. His brow furrowed slightly as he coldly declared, "Drag her away too."
With that, he rose listlessly and prepared to leave.
"Stop!"
Minister Zhuang suddenly cried out, rushing down from the royal carriage to kneel beside the girl who had struck her head. He broke down weeping, "My child! It was I who doomed you!"
Yan Xun stood with his back turned, a cold smile curling his lips. The guards swarmed forward, seizing Minister Zhuang while others hauled the girl's body toward the kennels. A long trail of blood stained the pristine white snow.
"Yan Xun! You wolf cub! I'll haunt you even as a ghost! May you die a wretched death!"
Heart-wrenching curses echoed behind him. A guard swiftly kicked out, shattering Minister Zhuang's silver teeth.
Yan Xun walked on impassively, past countless officials still trembling on their knees. He curled his lips in a disdainful, icy smirk.
If life itself offers no peace, why fret over how death may come?
The wind whipped his sable fur coat like heavy wings, flapping loudly and startling an eagle soaring overhead.
The northern lands stretched vast and desolate. With the Spring Festival approaching, this winter seemed exceptionally prolonged.
**
The howling wind outside carried the clangor of northern armor and weapons, sweeping through the Golden Purple Gate deep into the heart of Shuofang Palace.
The vast Shuiyao Hall lay in deathly silence. Ink-black pillars stood tall, curtains fluttered wildly, and lamplight flickered—many extinguished by the wind, yet no one dared relight them.
A man in brocade robes sat in the shadows, one hand supporting his forehead as if asleep. His features were sharp and youthful, yet under the lamplight, strands of silver gleamed at his temples. When backlit, they shimmered with a metallic sheen.The massive dining table was as large as an ordinary family's bedroom, laden with delicacies and fine dishes. There were Eight-Treasure Wild Duck, Phoenix-Tail Shark Fin, Red Plum Pearl Shrimp, Kung Pao Wild Rabbit, Milk Juice Dumplings, Auspicious Dragon Double Flight, Stir-Fried Frog, Fried Young Pigeon with Coriander, Buddha's Hand Golden Rolls, Golden Thread Crisp Sparrow, Stir-Fried Pearl Chicken, Milk Juice Fish Slices, Dried Fortune Sea Cucumber, Roasted Roe Deer Meat, Lotus Seedpod Tofu, and Mushroom with Broccoli.
Not a single bite had been taken from the table full of dishes. Even the hot soup, once drizzled with oil, had turned cold, the butter congealed together, its aroma dissipated, leaving only icy colors behind.
Two Donghu dancers, clad in honey-colored silk, wore silver bells on their necks, wrists, and ankles. With blue eyes and snow-white skin, they were strikingly beautiful and alluring. Yet now, they knelt trembling on the floor, not daring to lift their heads, for over three hours.
Today was the Spring Banquet, commonly known as the New Year in the folk. Unlike the lively clamor in the Daxia imperial palace, the Shuofang Palace was immersed in a deathly silence. The dishes, painstakingly prepared by the chefs, went untasted. Only the night wind occasionally carried away a hint of fragrance, drifting lightly into the cold, desolate night.
A Jing’s footsteps were slightly heavier as he entered, startling the man sitting alone at the head of the table.
Yan Xun’s brow twitched slightly, and he slowly opened his eyes. The flickering lamplight in the hall cast a grayish pallor over his face in the shadows, making his eyes appear even darker, like ink, with a cold, gleaming aura.
"Your Majesty," A Jing knelt on the floor and said in a low voice, "A letter from Lord Feng has arrived."
Yan Xun seemed to have been drinking. His wine cup had toppled over, spilling onto his lapel, exuding a strong scent of liquor.
He took the letter and began to read quietly, his brow furrowed as usual, his gaze calm.
Across from Yan Xun, a chair was set with a clean and tidy set of utensils. A Jing knew whom he was waiting for, and he also knew that person might never return.
The sand in the hourglass trickled down another grain. Yan Xun slowly lifted his head. Though the letter contained only a few dozen words, he read it very, very slowly, as if engraving each character deeply into his heart.
After a long while, he placed the letter on the table, weighing it down with the wine pot, picked up his silver chopsticks, and began to eat slowly.
"Your Majesty," A Jing said with a frown, "the food has gone cold. Allow me to have it replaced with a fresh table."
Yan Xun said nothing, merely waving his hand quietly to signal for him to leave.
A Jing persisted anxiously, "Your Majesty, your health has not been well lately. The physician said you should avoid cold food."
But Yan Xun did not look up. He ate bite by bite, very slowly, carefully selecting each dish. The dancers, still kneeling, stood up unsteadily, nearly stumbling, but hurriedly rotated the distant dishes closer to him. Candle wax dripped down like winding trails of blood, while the wind chimes outside rang crisply, a pleasant, tinkling sound.
He sat there, eating quietly, and remarkably, he finished every dish the dancers brought to him. The candlelight fell upon him, casting a long, slender shadow on the polished obsidian floor—thin and elongated.
A Jing suddenly felt a pang of sorrow. Vaguely, he recalled two years ago, in the courtyard at Yunbi City, when Chu Qiao awoke and ate her first meal after recovering. It was the same tranquility and chill, the same tastelessness, the same profound grief that made every lift of the cup or pause of the chopsticks feel like a heart withered beyond despair.A Jing's eyes felt sore and stung with a dull ache. He couldn't understand why, after enduring so many difficult days and overcoming countless hardships and sufferings, they would hesitate and retreat just as their goal was within reach. How had they come to such a situation today?
Yet he didn't dare ask, could only stand quietly like a fool.
"Cough, cough—"
The man in the main seat suddenly began coughing. At first, it was light, but gradually the sound grew louder, echoing through the vast hall with a deep weariness.
The dancing girls were terrified. One hurriedly took out a handkerchief and handed it over, while another, hands trembling, poured water—but upon closer look, it was actually wine.
Yan Xun took the handkerchief, covering his mouth as he coughed. His body bent forward like a shrimp arching its back.
One of the dancing girls suddenly let out a gasp. Yan Xun turned his head sideways, his gaze icy cold. The girl shrank back timidly, bowing her head deeply, not daring to look at him again.
"Your Majesty, have you caught a chill? This subordinate will summon a physician."
"No need."
Yan Xun's voice carried a trace of weariness, yet it remained his usual self—cold and detached, not a single extra word spoken.
"Pour the wine."
He gave the order calmly. Another dancing girl, standing slightly farther away, nervously lifted her head, her voice almost trembling, but she mustered the courage to whisper, "Your Majesty has caught a chill... perhaps it's best not to drink wine."
Yan Xun tilted his head slightly, his eyes playful yet carrying a hint of coldness.
The dancing girl kneeling on the floor frantically signaled to her with her eyes, afraid that her boldness would bring trouble upon them all.
The girl trembled under his gaze but still mustered the courage to say, "Your Majesty, drinking... drinking harms the body."
...
"Drinking harms the body and also hinders affairs. Only useless people drown their sorrows in wine."
A clear, crisp voice suddenly echoed in his mind. Yan Xun froze for a moment, his thoughts drifting far, far away, traveling back through time until he saw the pure white waves on the other side of the river. After a moment's thought, he slowly nodded and said, "Hmm, then go brew some tea."
The dancing girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, happily nodded in agreement. Her honey-colored slender waist exposed, she turned and scurried off to the tea room like a soft-skinned little fish.
The hall fell silent once more. Yan Xun said calmly to A Jing, "You may leave first."
A Jing hesitated slightly and whispered, "Your Majesty, are you sure you don't need to call for a physician?"
"No need."
Yan Xun shook his head quietly, his expression calm as if nothing had happened.
A Jing's eyes briefly swept over the letter on the table, a few characters catching his attention. Startled, he quickly bowed and said softly, "Your Majesty, rest early."
No further sound came. A Jing turned and walked across the vast, cold hall. The silk curtains on either side fluttered gently, and the black pillars were carved with colorful auspicious birds. On the backs of the birds sat two women—one with flowing robes and a swollen belly, clearly pregnant; the other holding a battle-axe, her eyes sharp and fierce, unmistakably the twin deities of Yanbei.
"Your Majesty, have some tea. Ah!"A young girl's startled cry suddenly came from behind, faintly tinged with a sob: "This servant deserves death for dampening the letter, this servant deserves death."
"It's fine," a low voice calmly responded. "Take it away and discard it."
...
"...stayed in Zhuge Yue's private residence in Xianyang...surveillance failed, suffered heavy losses..."
A Jing silently recalled the few words he had glimpsed by chance, a chilling sensation drifting from distant Xianyang all the way into Yanbei's Shuofang Palace.
The heavy palace doors were pulled open by attendants as he slowly walked out. The night was clear and quiet—the people of Yanbei had lost their festive mood this year. War, taxes, corvée labor, death, and bloodshed had nearly suffused the entire plateau. The departures of Mr. Wu and General Xiuli had made this iron-fisted regime feel even colder. Death had numbed people's nerves, forcing them to live cautiously while deeply suppressing their former hopes and aspirations.
Only after reaching the outermost palace gate did he retrieve his sword.
The ground before the gate was stained with blood, several corpses haphazardly piled near the side of the gate, their bodies riddled with spear wounds, torn to shreds by chaotic stabbings.
Palace guards were loading two other corpses onto a cart, telling the driver: "Hurry and take them away. The officials will be arriving to pay their respects at dawn."
"What happened?" A Jing asked.
"Remnants of Datong," a soldier who had also once belonged to Datong replied without evasion. "This is the second wave tonight. They've grown increasingly reckless since Lord Zhuang's death—daring to charge straight in with weapons drawn."
A Jing slowly furrowed his brow. This wasn't recklessness, he thought, but rather desperate suicide. The emperor had already executed all seasoned Datong leaders. This centuries-old organization that no one had ever truly managed to eliminate throughout all these years had unexpectedly met its end in its very place of origin.
"Remain vigilant."
"Rest assured, General."
A guard smiled and said: "We were personally trained by Lord Chu back in the day. With our brothers standing guard, not even a mosquito could slip through unnoticed."
No sooner had he spoken than the man realized his mistake—Chu Qiao had already betrayed Yanbei, so how could she still be addressed as "Lord"?
"General, this lowly one... this lowly one..."
A Jing said nothing, turning silently to leave. Moonlight fell upon him, casting a pale white glow.
All of Yanbei missed her—not just that one person.
Fate always moves irrevocably forward, like an arrow shot from a bow—once released, there truly is no turning back.
A Jing gave a slight shake of his head, the heavy marten fur cloak resting warm upon his shoulders.
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