It was the Lantern Festival once again, and the Holy Gold Palace was hosting a grand banquet. Perhaps to dilute the impact of the turmoil before the New Year, tonight's feast was especially lavish. Even Zhuge Yue, a disgraced official under house arrest for reflection, received an invitation. Under normal circumstances, he could have made excuses to decline due to illness, but doing so now would inevitably invite slander and accusations from those with ill intentions. As evening fell, Zhuge Yue entered the palace in his court attire, traveling lightly and with minimal escort, keeping a very low profile.
Chu Qiao stayed in her room. Lately, she had been feeling unusually drowsy, and her appetite was poor. Eating and sleeping had become her main activities, adding a touch of plumpness to her figure.
Suddenly, a chattering noise came from the doorway, and the door was pushed open. Mo'er walked in, glancing back every few steps, and approached Chu Qiao with a hint of nervousness, his little nose red from the cold.
"Mo'er, what's the matter?"
Mo'er hesitated for a moment, turning to look back at the door again. After a long pause, he asked softly, "Mother, are we going out today?"
By calculation, Chu Qiao was only about ten years older than this child. At first, she felt uncomfortable hearing him call her "mother" all day long, but she gradually grew accustomed to it and it no longer bothered her.
She sat up straight, frowning as she asked, "Going out? Where to?"
"Today is the Lantern Festival! There are temple fairs and lantern festivals outside."
Mo'er's eyes sparkled with excitement. Chu Qiao turned and saw several peeking figures at the door.
During this period, Zhuge Yue was under house arrest, and the household rarely went out. She pinched Mo'er's cheek and said with a smile, "Alright, let's go."
Ximeng's territory was vast, covering over forty million square kilometers by modern measurements—equivalent to five times the size of China. This land had been passed down through generations, and despite frequent wars, its population had always been thriving. As the capital of Daxia, Zhenhuang City was densely populated.
As Chu Qiao and her group walked through the streets, they saw brilliant lights everywhere, with lanterns of all colors vying for attention in a dazzling display. The people of Zhenhuang City, regardless of gender, age, or social status, all came out hand in hand to celebrate the festival. Performances were in full swing, and music filled the air, creating a scene of bustling prosperity.
This year's Lantern Festival was even livelier than previous ones, with roaring crowds and the clamor of gongs and drums.
The children were having a great time, but just over an hour later, a heavy snow suddenly began to fall. A fierce north wind howled, whipping up a blizzard that shattered the colorful Lantern Festival into disarray. Jingjing and the others cursed as they climbed into the carriage, and the guards whipped the horses to hurry back to the estate. However, the wind grew stronger, and even the horses refused to move forward. When they reached a secluded spot, one horse suddenly panicked, broke free from its reins, and fled.
Yue Shisan came to report that the snowstorm was too severe and suggested finding shelter for the time being.
Chu Qiao agreed. Spotting the shadowy outline of a large mansion ahead, they rushed to knock on the door. But as they drew closer, they realized it was the An Temple of the Yanbei Lion King.Although Yanshicheng was born into royalty, his body could not be interred in the ancestral temple because the empire had branded him a traitor. This mansion was nominally called the Temple of Peace, but in reality, it was a public mortuary. Not only were the coffins of Yanshicheng and his children stored here, but also the coffins of some commoners from the vicinity. Initially, Daxia had stationed troops to guard the place strictly. However, since Yan Xun returned to Yanbei, no assassins from the Great Alliance Society had attempted to seize the bodies. Gradually, the place grew increasingly desolate, and the empire no longer bothered to deploy troops for a pile of bones.
Chu Qiao and the others entered the side room. The guards brought candlesticks and torches, and the room gradually brightened. Under the pale candlelight, the gloomy hall was filled with rows of densely packed spirit tablets and over twenty coffins, creating an eerie and terrifying atmosphere.
Jingjing’s face turned pale, seemingly frightened. She hid tightly behind Duoji, clutching his sleeve, losing her usual cleverness.
Mei Xiang teased her, "I never thought our Miss Jingjing would be afraid of something. I thought you were a little troublemaker who feared nothing in the world."
Everyone laughed at her, lightening the mood for a moment.
Rong'er was now almost one year old, babbling all day and toddling unsteadily like a newborn duckling. Dressed in a bright red cotton-padded jacket embroidered with circular blessings, he yawned with his chubby little hand and snuggled into Chu Qiao’s arms, shifting to a more comfortable position to continue sleeping.
Chu Qiao stood up, handed Rong'er to Mei Xiang, and said softly, "I’m going out for a while."
"Miss, it’s freezing outside. Where are you going?"
Chu Qiao picked up the food box Mei Xiang had brought, took a lantern, and said, "I’m just going next door. No need to follow me."
With that, she left the room.
The wind outside was astonishingly strong. Having lived in Ximeng for fifteen years, Chu Qiao had never seen such fierce winds. The lantern in her hand was instantly blown out, and her heavy fur cloak was whipped up by the gale. Cold snow slapped against her face like stones, stinging sharply. Clutching the collar of her cloak tightly, she trudged forward with difficulty. After walking for a while, she finally reached a dilapidated house. She reached out, pushed the door open with a creak, and stepped inside.
Instantly, the strong wind rushed in, stirring up thick layers of dust from the floor. Chu Qiao coughed a few times, quickly closed the door, and dragged a stool over to block it.
The room was as silent as death, seemingly even colder than outside. Several parts of the roof were broken, letting in gusts of wind. It was pitch black everywhere, yet she seemed exceptionally familiar with the layout. She took out a fire starter, tried several times, and finally lit the candles around the room one by one.
The faint candlelight flickered quietly, gradually illuminating the space. Four black coffins stood in the center, without spirit tablets, funeral banners, or even any markings. They were placed haphazardly, surrounded by weeds and garbage, along with a few hardened buns. It was clear that this place had long been occupied by wandering beggars.Chu Qiao set the food container aside, rolled up her sleeves, and began cleaning. Her movements were swift, and despite lacking proper tools, she quickly cleared the debris from the floor. She fashioned a makeshift broom from straw to sweep away visible cobwebs, making the room appear much tidier. Then, she carefully unpacked the food from the container, arranging it on the ground before kneeling and bowing deeply several times.
Yes, these four coffins held Yan Xun’s father, two elder brothers, and one sister. In those years, on the anniversary of the Yan King’s death, she and Yan Xun would secretly come here to pay their respects. Back then, guards were stationed here, and each visit required great effort. Now, even this place had fallen into desolation.
Since returning to Zhenhuang, she had never considered coming here to offer sacrifices. Yet, by chance, she had stumbled upon this place today—perhaps it was fate.
Without incense or candles, she used scented herbs as a substitute; without paper money, she offered silk cloth; without fine wine, only a pot of goat’s milk and two cups of light tea remained.
Your Highness, the Yan King, I’ve come to see you again.
She stood up, her knees dusted with a few specks of dirt, slightly soiled. Snowflakes drifted from the roof, gradually covering the coffin lids. She gazed quietly at the coffins, trying hard to recall the bloodied, disfigured heads she had seen long ago, her heart filled with a vast, desolate sorrow.
Long before the snow disasters struck the Longxi region, Yanbei had already plunged into a great calamity. Commoners lost their homes, and the Blue City area was hit particularly hard by the blizzards. In Shangshen and other places, tens of thousands of livestock froze to death, leaving the people starving and Yanbei on the brink of collapse.
Yet, just as the Daxia officials were clapping their hands in glee, Yanbei secretly mobilized a hundred thousand troops from Dragon's Roar Pass. They marched across the Lanhe Plateau, entered the territory of Great Tang through the six-thousand-meter-high Twilight Wolf Peak, bypassed the Tanghu Pass, and launched a surprise attack on Great Tang’s checkpoints, seizing over two hundred thousand dan of grain before swiftly retreating to Yanbei. The entire operation took no more than four days. By the time the border reports reached Tang Capital City, the Dragon's Roar Pass garrison had already returned and fought two battles against the Daxia Army, which had sought to take advantage of Yanbei’s disaster.
This incident was like a drop of water falling into boiling oil, igniting a fierce uproar.
Both Daxia and Biantang were furious, yet they could do nothing against Yan Xun. The scribes of Daxia’s censorate furiously penned condemnations, denouncing Yanbei as bandits by nature, inherently given to pillaging and slaughter, contrary to the ways of sages. The pedants of Biantang were even more incensed, cursing Yan Xun’s ancestors for eight generations and writing scathing critiques, nearly fainting from rage.
But that was all they could do. Dragon's Roar Pass was impregnable, and the Yanbei Army was as fierce as tigers and wolves. In the current situation, they could only be grateful if Yanbei refrained from provoking war—who would dare provoke them?
When Chu Qiao heard this news, she couldn’t help but sneer. It was as the saying goes: the weak fear the strong, and the strong fear the reckless.Zhuge Yue remained unimpressed, disregarding the unanimous calls for war from both court and public. Everyone knew Daxia was currently overwhelmed with its own troubles—the princes' struggle for the throne had reached a fever pitch. At such a time, who had the leisure to wage external wars? It was all just empty talk. If he truly mustered troops and marched to Yanming, those old ministers would likely fulfill their memorials' promises—splattering blood three feet high and dying to prove their loyalty.
When he received the news, he was only slightly surprised, remarking that he hadn't expected Yan Xun to do such a thing.
But it wasn't just him—probably no one across the entire Ximeng Continent had anticipated this.
After all, there was a time when Yan Xun had staked all of Yanbei as collateral, using millions of soldiers and civilians as bait to lure the Daxia Army through the pass while he swept east with his troops. And not long after, he eliminated his rivals, completely destroying the Great Alliance Society that had supported his rise to power—even beheading his own mentor.
Faced with such a man, probably no one would have imagined he'd take such great risks for the people of Yanbei.
Even Chu Qiao hadn't figured out the intricacies behind this.
Fortunately, the garrison commander at Tanghu Pass was the adopted son of Great Tang's Jing'an Prince. Though he promptly pledged allegiance after the prince's downfall, his command of troops and guardianship of the empire's crucial pass made it hard to fully trust him. Yan Xun's removal of him could hardly be considered a loss for Great Tang.
As for the provisions Great Tang lost...
Chu Qiao's brow furrowed slightly as she recalled once more the Huihui Snow Mountains of Shangshen Plateau where she had lived for years, and the simple, honest herdsmen and common people there...
Yan Xun's methods grew increasingly formidable—concealing movements across thousands of li, acting with lightning speed, mobilizing tens of thousands of troops without the slightest leak, striking unexpectedly with one decisive blow. His precision, insight, and courage ranked him among the finest generals of this era. As long as he remained, Daxia could forget about breaching Dragon's Roar Pass—even if Zhao Che personally took charge, he couldn't achieve complete victory. He might hold slight advantages in tactics, troop numbers, intelligence, weaponry, or logistics, but in terms of ruthlessness and mental fortitude, he absolutely couldn't surpass Yan Xun.
Yan Xun's terror on the battlefield lay in his perfect utilization of every available resource to secure victory. His understanding of human psychology had reached an unparalleled level.
In this world, perhaps only Zhuge Yue could rival him. Yan Xun's strength was his ruthlessness, while Zhuge Yue's was his cunning. If these two men could ever meet on a battlefield unburdened by concerns, they might truly create a legend in military history.
She shook her head faintly. Though she had grown weary of that life, during idle moments her mind still involuntarily drifted to these matters. She would piece together gathered information, gradually sketching the general situation, then deduce, calculate, and arrange—like a chess enthusiast who, though no longer playing, still visualizes various game scenarios in her mind.
Only this time, she didn't know which side she truly hoped would win this chess game.
Even if she and Yan Xun ultimately fell out, she probably still didn't wish to see his defeat.Therefore, upon learning that Tanghu Pass had been successfully ambushed by him, she actually felt a trace of secret delight, completely disregarding her status as the King Xiuli of Great Tang.
She smiled self-deprecatingly—even she could not avoid being mundane. So-called grudges and affections, after the passage of time, had faded into nothing but a blurry silhouette, a pair of cold eyes, and a strong hand.
Who had betrayed whom? Who owed whom? Could such accounts ever truly be settled?
Between them, even if they could not join hands, it did not necessarily mean they had to fight to the death.
The wind outside suddenly grew stronger, and the door let out a sharp creak as it pushed the stool blocking it slightly aside. Thinking it was just the wind, she turned to close the door. But just as she reached the doorway, the door abruptly swung open, revealing a figure cloaked in black standing in the vast, swirling snow, with only one blue-robed attendant behind him.
She could not see his face, but for a moment, all she could perceive was a pair of eyes as dark as an abyss, fixed directly upon her.
————Break————
A few minutes late, and the word count isn't much either, haha.
Will update again at the same time tomorrow.
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