—【I love you, I will always love you.】
"Is the one ahead the King of Qinghai?"
A Jing galloped forward on his horse and called out loudly, but received no response from the opposite side. The Quanrong People's military formation looked like a fruit sliced in half—a man in dark cyan armor was fiercely swinging his blade. From a distance, his face was unclear, but his swordsmanship was exquisite, his martial prowess extraordinary. With just one man and one blade, he charged through as if entering an unguarded territory, tearing the Quanrong army into scattered fragments.
"Your Majesty, the forces approaching from the opposite side may belong to Zhuge Yue, the King of Qinghai."
Yan Xun raised an eyebrow slightly, gazing at this lifelong rival of his, and felt a surge of the youthful boldness that had long faded from him. Letting out a hearty laugh, he spurred his horse forward and declared clearly, "Then let's go meet him."
By now, the battlefield had descended into chaos. The Quanrong People, driven to desperation, fought like madmen, their tactics in complete disarray. The generals of Qinghai and Great Yan watched as their commanders charged ahead like arrows shot from a bow, nearly leaping off their horses in shock.
What—what in the world is going on?
The Emperor (King) has never acted like this before? So reckless about his own safety, so careless of the bigger picture, so impulsive and rash, so... so...
They could hardly find the words to describe it, and could only desperately follow behind, yet still unable to catch up with that unstoppable figure charging ahead.
Both men were highly skilled in martial arts, proud and arrogant by nature, each believing themselves invincible under heaven. Having been rivals all their lives, how could either afford to show weakness before the other now?
Blood and corpses littered the ground, crimson streams staining the vast snowy plains. Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun charged toward each other, galloping like two demons from hell, leaving devastation in their wake—no one could withstand even a single blow from them. The Quanrong People were utterly terrified. At first, they tried to surround and crush these two high-ranking officials who seemed to have a death wish, but gradually, the situation reversed—the two pursued from behind while thousands fled ahead.
Time passed bit by bit. Reinforcements closed in one after another, and the Quanrong People, unable to hold their ground, fled in panic toward the north. Seeing this, Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun immediately urged their horses forward, leading their troops in a fierce pursuit—neither willing to let slip the chance to capture the Khan of the Quanrong.
They fought from deep night until dawn, from dawn until dusk, and from dusk again into the dead of night. The earth roared like a ferocious beast under the thundering hooves. Everyone’s eyes were bloodshot with killing intent; under the leadership of those two godlike men, they chased the routed Quanrong relentlessly.
Across the boundless silver-white snowfields, the Quanrong were finally trapped on a narrow hill. Of Great Yan’s cavalry, fewer than twenty remained by Yan Xun’s side; the rest had joined Zhuge Yue’s forces to besiege the hill. After a night of slaughter, Yan Xun had sustained multiple wounds on his arm and thigh. Weakened by hunger and blood loss, he had no choice but to withdraw and rest.
Zhuge Yue was not much better off, but being stubborn and willful by nature, he refused treatment, merely sitting on his horse and panting heavily.
After a while, the sound of hoofbeats approached from behind, and Yan Xun’s cold, stern face came into view.
Zhuge Yue glanced at him sidelong, and for some reason, he suddenly untied the wine pouch at his waist and offered it over.Yan Xun slightly furrowed his brow, neither accepting the wine pouch nor speaking, merely gazing at him indifferently.
Zhuge Yue let out a cold laugh. "What, afraid I'll poison you?"
Yan Xun nodded quite frankly. "Yes."
"Hmph."
With a disdainful snort, Zhuge Yue reached to retrieve the wine pouch and uncork it, but Yan Xun—with his long reach—snatched it away, opened it, and took a swig. After wiping his mouth, he sneered contemptuously, "Qinghai truly is a backwater. Even its wine is utterly unpalatable."
Zhuge Yue immediately retorted, "Do you even know how to appreciate wine? I suppose in your mind, the finest liquor is Yanbei's shaodaozi, isn't it?"
And so, with this as the beginning, the two most powerful men in the world stood bickering in the darkness like a pair of children, trading barbs back and forth.
They glared at each other, finding every aspect of the other intolerable, as if not a single part from head to toe was pleasing to the eye.
A Jing, standing behind Yan Xun, felt his heart nearly leap out of his throat. He thought to himself, Your Majesty, we're on someone else's turf—could you please hold back a little?
The battle raged on fiercely. At midnight, the Quanrong People broke through from the northwest, and Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun once again led their troops in hot pursuit.
After chasing for a full two hours, Yan Xun was struck by an arrow in his left shoulder once more, and Zhuge Yue also sustained a shoulder injury. Just then, the thunder of hoofbeats suddenly arose from the southwest. Before scouts could be dispatched to investigate, the newcomers had already clashed noisily with the Quanrong.
Surrounded and attacked from all sides, the Quanrong were ultimately annihilated, their central camp crushed by the sudden arrival of this new force. Furious, Zhuge Yue forgot about Yan Xun and rushed forward in a frenzy, eager to see who had so shamelessly stolen his credit. To his surprise, he found a capable female officer standing at the front, calmly taking inventory of the spoils. When she saw him, she said composedly, "This is the Quanrong Khan. He had already taken his own life by the time I arrived."
Zhuge Yue stood dumbfounded, covered in bloodstains, and looked sheepishly at his wife. With some awkwardness, he asked, "What are you doing here?"
Chu Qiao raised an eyebrow slightly, her gaze steady and unruffled as she replied, "Liang Shaoqing escaped in the middle of the night to bring me word. How could I not come?"
Just then, the sound of hoofbeats slowly approached from behind. Yan Xun's figure gradually emerged from the darkness, his black armor battered in multiple places, his face somewhat pale yet still upright. He stood beside Zhuge Yue as countless torches flared around them, yet it seemed as if the light could not pierce the shadows enveloping him. His gaze rested calmly on Chu Qiao, his expression unreadable and devoid of fluctuation, but his eyes were like the sea under the night sky—dark and turbulent, swirling with profound vortices.
Compared to Zhuge Yue, who was guarded by a massive army, Yan Xun—who had brought only three thousand elite troops—had suffered far more severe injuries. At that moment, he bore numerous wounds large and small, with a broken arrow still embedded in his shoulder, blood dripping freely. Yet he seemed entirely unaware of the pain.
The clamor of noise filled their ears: soldiers cursing and shouting, the moans of the wounded, the crackle of torches, the howl of the north wind. Yet they seemed to hear none of it. Their profound gazes met like sparks igniting in the darkness, tiny flames that gradually spread into a blazing wildfire."Xing'er."
Zhuge Yue suddenly spoke gravely. He dismounted from his horse and said calmly, "I'll go check the casualties first. The Chu Emperor is injured, have someone attend to him."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving his wife and this man with whom she shared a complex, unfathomable relationship standing alone on the dark snowfield.
For a long time, Chu Qiao didn't know what to say. This was her first reunion with Yan Xun since the Battle of Huoleiyuan ten years ago. Not separated by armies locked in deadly combat across mountains of blades and seas of fire, not separated by densely packed formations of countless soldiers, not separated by the vast, surging Canglang River - but face to face, eye to eye. Just by lifting her head, she could see his eyebrows and eyes, even hear the beating of his heart within his chest.
In that moment, countless mountains and rivers roared through her mind. All words seemed pale and shallow at this time. The desolation of how everything had changed while they remained the same people spread through them like wildfire, making this pair who should have been most familiar with each other feel like complete strangers. So this was what it meant when time passed and circumstances changed - truly the cruelest phrase in the world.
Yan Xun sat on his horse, looking down at her from his elevated position, his eyes like calm seas. People moved around them, the crimson torches flickering, making their faces alternate between light and shadow.
They were still the same eyebrows, still the same eyes, still that face so familiar it couldn't be more familiar, yet the person was no longer the one who had once promised to stand by her side forever, to follow her through life.
Could one comprehend the sorrow of that moment?
Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Language had long become powerless. Like fiery red leaves, no matter how brilliant, they couldn't escape their destined withering. The sky was dark, the earth was white - still this same sky, still this same land, still this place they had dreamed of countless times. So why was even saying a single word so difficult now?
Yan Xun looked at Chu Qiao. Fierce flames burned behind her, making her appear like a radiant deity, possessing a warmth he could never reach in this lifetime. Suddenly, he remembered that snowy night many years ago, in that dark prison cell, when they had struggled to extend their hands through cracks in the wall and clasped them tightly together.
Perhaps they were like two seeds that could huddle tightly together in the icy snow, keeping each other warm while waiting for spring. But when spring truly arrived, when they helped each other break through the soil, they discovered the land's nutrients were far from sufficient to sustain them both. And so, they gradually drifted apart, going their separate ways.
Yan Xun suddenly felt tired, his heart as desolate as the snow atop the Goddess Peak. Throughout all these years, no matter when or under what difficult circumstances, he had never felt as exhausted as he did now. He told himself, I should leave. And so he truly turned around, slowly urging his horse forward, preparing to depart.
Yet just then, an extremely warm voice suddenly called out from behind: "Yan Xun!"
Yes, it was warm - a feeling that had disappeared for many, many years. Like plunging frozen hands into scalding hot springs, so warm it made one tremble.
"Yan Xun," she called out persistently behind him, "Cheng Yuan is bringing people right behind me. They should arrive soon."Yan Xun neither nodded nor spoke, merely tightening his grip on the reins as he stood there silently.
"You're injured. Let's tend to your wounds first, alright?"
She walked over slowly from behind, passing by his side until she stood before him. Then she reached out and took hold of his reins, insisting stubbornly, "Alright?"
Yan Xun suddenly felt a pang of bitterness. It seemed that since childhood, she had always been the braver one. Several physicians carrying medical kits rushed forward and stood behind her with bowed heads. Without a word, he dismounted and allowed them to tend to his wounds, applying medicine and bandages. When the arrow was pulled out, he didn't even utter a groan. After nearly an hour of busy work, the physicians retreated, sweating profusely. Yet she approached him and handed him the blood-stained broken arrow.
At that moment, Yan Xun's heart suddenly clenched in pain. His brows furrowed slightly, but in the end, he still didn't reach out to take it, saying indifferently, "The enemy is dead. There's no need to keep it."
Indeed, none of this Quanrong troop had escaped, not even their Great Khan. What enemies remained?
This had been his habit for many years—to keep every weapon that had harmed him until he had taken revenge, only then would he destroy it.
So, he hadn't completely forgotten after all. Even if he had deliberately stopped thinking about it, some things, some years, had still passed through his life, leaving indelible marks.
He didn't know how long he had been standing there when a distant breeze blew over, carrying the unique scent of the Yanbei plateau.
Yan Xun quietly lifted his head and looked at Chu Qiao standing before him. They were so close, as if reaching out would allow him to touch her. Yet, across that short distance, he no longer had the chance to cross it. He could make the world bow at his feet; his blade could conquer every inch of land that defied him. If he wished, he could destroy everything he disliked with all his might. But faced with her, he was powerless.
A feeling called self-mockery gradually rose within him.
Yan Xun curled the corner of his lips, wanting to smile, but only managed a cold, stiff curve.
Suddenly, he turned his back, his figure like a towering pine—straight, solitary, and proud, yet so resilient it seemed capable of propping up the heavens and the earth. Step by step, he walked away, his footsteps heavy but growing faster and faster.
"Yan Xun, take care of yourself!"
Someone called out softly behind him. Who was speaking? And who was she calling?
Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun...
In a daze, it seemed like that night many years ago when Wei Shuyou had severed his little finger, and she had wept in sorrow and suppression, softly calling his name over and over.
Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun, Yan Xun...
But in the end, no one called him that anymore. He was His Majesty, the Emperor, the Son of Heaven, the sovereign ruler of this world—yet he had lost his name.
Yan Xun, Yan Xun, are you still here? Are you well? You've gained everything, but what have you lost? Are you truly happy?
He didn't know, nor did he want to know. In this lifetime, happiness alone isn't enough. There are things you do that may not bring joy, but if you don't do them, you certainly won't be happy. At the very least, I've achieved my heart's desire, haven't I?
He walked faster and faster, his steps firm, his back straight. His hands were strong, gripping the reins tightly as he mounted his horse.He wanted to say nothing, see nothing. The iron-like defenses in his heart had been brutally torn apart. He had to leave! Immediately! Without delay! At once!
Overwhelming memories surged forth like a tidal wave, those long-buried recollections like decaying dead trees, struggling to claw their way up into his heart. He wanted to suppress them, to break free, to cast away everything that disgusted him!
Weakness, sorrow, regret, hesitation…
None of these should exist within him!
Yet, when everything else faded away, two words spread so clearly, so vividly, through his heart, his lungs, his throat, and the corners of his mouth. Those two words hammered against his vocal cords, threatening to leap out several times. He furrowed his brows tightly, clenched his teeth, like a bloodthirsty wolf, his eyes glowing red.
But despite this, that voice continued to rampage wildly in his chest, all the echoes gradually converging into those two words:
A Chu, A Chu, A Chu, A Chu, A Chu!
No one could understand, no one could know—only he, only he, only he alone.
He took a deep, slow breath, as if swallowing it all down bit by bit.
Alright, it's over. Don't think anymore, don't look anymore, don't linger anymore.
Go, leave. It ended long ago. Everything will vanish like smoke with your resolve; all memories will turn to ashes with the passage of time; all the past will be forgotten by you, becoming insignificant dust.
Alright, it's fine now. I am the emperor of Great Yan, I am their king, I possess a vast empire, I have obtained everything I ever wanted.
The horse's hooves trod upon the icy snowfield, emitting crisp clattering sounds. Tiny ice shards splattered, gradually disappearing with the receding figure into the vast night. Ahead, light and shadow mingled, golden war banners fluttered high, and a black eagle spread its menacing wings on the flags. That was his army, his people, his empire. Yet it was also a golden chain, firmly imprisoning his person, his heart, everything about him, on that supreme throne, allowing not the slightest hesitation or wavering.
After all, he was the emperor of Great Yan. On this empire built upon conscience, blood, and bones, he had no right to turn back.
And so, he truly strode forward with his back straight, never looking back, never once looking back.
His steps were resolute, his gaze sharp as a blade, just like the man himself. Forever as strong and resilient as steel, unyielding to any hardship.
At that moment, Chu Qiao stood amidst the swirling snow, watching Yan Xun's retreating figure, and suddenly seemed to grasp something. By his side were countless torches, countless subordinates, countless followers prostrating on the ground, yet for some reason, as she gazed at him, she felt his silhouette was so profoundly lonely.
Perhaps, in the past, she truly couldn't understand.
That hatred that pierced to the bone, that humiliation of falling from heaven into hell, that pain that had gnawed at his heart and lungs for eight long years. Even though she had always been by his side, she couldn't bear his pain or hatred for him. Looking back now, as two people who once supported each other and vowed never to part had come to this point, could it be that she bore no responsibility of her own?She once said: no concealment, no deception, treat with honesty, never doubt.
But did she truly achieve it? No. Her tolerance, her indulgence, her retreat, her indifference—ultimately allowed him to venture further and further down that path. What does it mean that character determines everything? What does it mean that his actions were fated? Isn’t that just a way to absolve oneself of responsibility? To be fair, as he gradually changed, as he strayed bit by bit, did she ever exhaust all her strength to stop him? Did she ever do everything in her power to bring him back? Did she ever formally protest to him, expressing her dissatisfaction?
She did not. Only when everything had already been set in stone did she blame and resent him, without having made any substantial effort before.
She came from another world, so she took the principles she identified with and revered as self-evident, naively believing that others would think the same way. Yet she did not realize that some matters are like river channels—if not regularly dredged and maintained, there will inevitably come a day when they burst their banks.
In the end, it was because they were too young. At that time, they only had a superficial understanding of love, not knowing how to express their feelings or how to nurture that affection. They stubbornly and simplistically decided what was good for the other and silently acted upon it, not realizing that hardship, poverty, desperate situations, or hatred are not the fatal blows to love. The true killer that destroys love is when two people forget how to communicate.
As time passed, now standing here as a wife and mother, Chu Qiao suddenly understood everything Yan Xun had done. In her previous life, she had no family and had never witnessed a loved one die before her eyes, so she could never comprehend that kind of maddening pain and hatred. If now, someone were to harm Zhuge Yue, someone were to harm Yunzhou and Zhenzhu, perhaps her retaliation would be no less severe than Yan Xun’s.
Because it was not her own beloved, she could not truly empathize.
At this moment, she finally understood.
The world stretched out in a vast expanse, and the moon emerged from the clouds. Yan Xun’s figure disappeared beyond the horizon. Gazing in the direction he had vanished, Chu Qiao seemed to glimpse, in a daze, that afternoon many years ago—the youth’s eyes sparkling with bright sunlight, the corners of his lips lifted proudly, brimming with the spirited arrogance of youth. He drew his bow and set an arrow, the arrow shooting toward her like a meteor, grazing past her neck, granting her a brilliant sun of rebirth.
Then he raised his brow slightly, his gaze shifting over, watching her with interest.
That momentary meeting of eyes seemed to forge an entire lifetime—he on one end, she on the other. What was once a place of closeness now stood divided by towering mountains, light and shadow lingering in dreams, gradually forming a majestic and upright presence. Hazily, it was again the swaying green grass of that year, ethereal and illusory. Looking up, the sky remained as blue as a mirror, seemingly able to reflect their young, innocent faces.
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