The dark sky rumbled with muffled thunder as the north wind howled mournfully like a crazed beast. Layers of black clouds pressed so low they nearly touched the ground, whipping up sand and stones that blinded anyone who dared open their eyes. The current head of the Meng Clan, a stern military commander in charge of the empire's troop and supply deployments, continued speaking with unwavering composure: "Young Master Yan, please identify the prisoner."
A sudden gale swept across the grounds, causing the black banners to snap and flutter like raging flames. The golden Fierce Dragon embroidered on them clawed ferociously, as if struggling to break free from the fabric and take flight. The young man gritted his teeth, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale with hints of purple. His fists were clenched so tightly it seemed an inferno raged within his chest. Suddenly, Yan Xun let out an enraged roar. His body moved like a pouncing leopard as he struck an imperial soldier, seized a battle blade in the blink of an eye, and charged through the crowd like a maddened tiger. The sword gleamed like a flying rainbow as he lunged toward the Nine Nether platform.
A wave of shocked exclamations erupted. Imperial guards in earth-yellow cloaks swarmed forward, dense and seething like the boiling waters of the Yellow Springs. Standing behind Yan Xun, Chu Qiao furrowed her brow, her eyes darting rapidly. In that split second, the eight-year-old child kicked a soldier in the calf, using the momentum to leap up and grab the rope of a banner on the execution platform. With a thunderous rustle, countless Black Dragon Battle Flags descended from above, enveloping everyone beneath them.
"Capture him!" Wei Shuyou, his face livid, was the first to scramble out from under the banners. Pointing at Yan Xun, who had already fled the platform, he shouted, "That ambitious dog from Yanbei—don't let him escape!"
Soldiers from Golden Wing Plaza surged forward. Chu Qiao grabbed the furious youth, her brow furrowing as she hurled the battle blade. A sharp crack echoed as the towering braziers beside the Nine Nether platform toppled, scattering burning coals and splashing oil across the snow-covered ground. Instantly, flames erupted and spread.
"Let's go!" the child yelled, tugging at Yan Xun to flee toward Zhu Wu Street. But the youth, with astonishing strength, shoved her away and dashed toward the heavily guarded Nine Nether platform.
"Yan Xun!" The fierce wind whipped off the child's helmet, sending her dark hair flying. Her small face turned as pale as paper, her brows drawn together as she screamed sharply, "Have you gone mad? Come back!"
In an instant, blood splattered and corpses littered the ground. Young Master Yan, who had long resided in Zhenhuang, the imperial capital, was known for his reckless elegance and unrestrained demeanor. No one had ever witnessed his true rage in combat—not even noble youths like Zhuge Huai could gauge his depths. But now, watching his swift, leopard-like movements and his wolfish, bloodthirsty gaze, even the seasoned Western Expedition soldiers, accustomed to feasting and drinking among the dead on battlefields, felt a chill of dread.
This was a power—not of martial skill, not of wisdom, not of brute force that could move mountains—but of bone-deep hatred, unwavering conviction, and a madness and determination to slaughter all who stood in his path, be they man or god.The wind howled, tearing through the grasslands and snapping ancient trees that groaned like mournful ghosts. A young man with ink-black hair obscuring his vision, blood staining his shoulders and a heavy fur cloak slipping away, stood with bulging veins on his wrists. His eyes burned like a cornered beast's as he gripped a bloodthirsty long blade, ascending the Nine Nether platform step by step. Soldiers on both sides hesitated, cautiously half-crouching. They couldn't understand it—a thousand elite imperial troops, yet none dared move against this wild-eyed youth. An overwhelming killing intent permeated the air, drawing carrion-eating Eagle Vultures to circle above, as if anticipating a Taotie feast below.
With a soft thud, the youth's feet landed on the final step. One more step would place him upon the Nine Nether.
At that moment, Meng Tian's voice cut through, cold and deep: "Is Young Master Yan here to inspect the prisoners?""
Yan Xun slowly lifted his head, a drop of blood tracing the sharp line of his jaw—whether his own or another's, unclear. His voice emerged hoarse and gritty, like a demon clawing its way from hell: "Step aside!"
A deafening roar split the air as rolling thunder erupted in the bright winter sky. Whirling snowflakes danced madly in the gale. The youth raised his bloodied war blade, pointing it squarely at General Meng Tian, and spat out a single icy word: "Scram!"
A dull thud followed as the ghostly imperial general launched into the air, harnessing the force of ten thousand cavalry, and struck the youth square in the chest. Instantly, Yan Xun flew backward like a severed kite, blood spraying in an arc as he spun through the air before crashing onto the high stone steps and tumbling down like a gourd.
"Yan Xun!" Chu Qiao screamed, her eyes blazing crimson as she charged forward with her blade. The soldiers finally snapped to attention, swiftly surrounding the child. Small and weak, Chu Qiao stood no chance against so many. After a few desperate clashes, wounds littered her arms and legs until she collapsed, a dozen gleaming swords pressed against her throat, immobilizing her completely.
"Yan Xun!" the child wailed, eyes bloodshot, hands pinned behind her back, struggling futilely.
Time stretched taut yet froze in silence. The shrieking wind swept across the vast square like vengeful spirits. Throughout Zhenhuang City—from high-ranking officials, nobles, elders, and generals to soldiers and commoners watching from the periphery—all held their breath, eyes fixed on the blood-soaked youth lying in the snow. What felt like an eternity passed in a blink. The youth twitched a finger, then clawed fiercely at the frozen ground, gripping it tight. He rose unsteadily, his gaze as stubborn as a lone wolf's, staggering upright before leaning on his war blade to ascend the platform once more, step by determined step.
"The Nine Nether is a restricted zone of Zhenhuang. Without stating your purpose, Young Master Yan, even as the supervising execution official, you may not advance an inch. This commander asks once more: Are you here to inspect the prisoners?"
Banners snapped overhead in the eerie silence. The youth's eyes glinted like frozen steel as he stubbornly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and growled, "Get lost!"With a deafening roar, another thunderclap struck, and Yan Xun’s body tumbled down the platform once again!
"Yan Xun!" The child could no longer restrain himself, screaming hysterically, "You fool! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Come back! Let go of me!"
All sounds in the world seemed to fade away from him. His ears rang, unable to hear a single noise. His eyes were swollen and red, his face covered in wounds from dust and rocks, his hands drenched in blood as if they had just been pulled from a pool of it. His chest felt as if it had been struck by a thousand-pound boulder. Someone seemed to be calling him, but he could no longer hear it. His mind was filled with the voices of Yanbei—his father’s hearty laughter, his eldest brother’s endless nagging, the sound of his third brother and second sister chasing each other with whips, the distant Shangshen melodies of his uncle, and the hoofbeats of his father’s subordinates, the uncles who had lifted him onto their shoulders to ride horses and wrestle bulls since he was a child.
But they gradually drifted farther away, fading into obscurity. The world turned pitch black, and countless cold, harsh voices clamored in his mind, whispering over and over, "Yan Xun, stand up, stand up, like a true man of Yanbei, stand up."
The sky was dim and yellow, the heavens unjust. In an instant, everyone widened their eyes, watching that blood-soaked youth, that once-noble scion of the empire, rise once more from the pool of blood. Step by step, he climbed—one, two, three—leaving bloody prints on the black stone steps, reflecting the light of the snow, so blindingly stark.
The iron-willed soldier gradually furrowed his brow. He watched the staggering youth ascend, wanting to say something but unsure how to express it. In the end, he still kicked him off the platform.
Among the crowd, soft sobs began to rise, slowly growing louder. Suppressed cries echoed widely among the impoverished commoners. These lowly, humble people, gazing at the noble imperial square, could no longer contain the sorrow in their hearts. After all, he was still just a child.
The nobles pursed their lips tightly, their cold eyes slightly moved.
A cold wind blew, and the youth’s body lay like a lump of mud. He could no longer stand. Meng Tian, the empire’s foremost marshal, was a master of martial arts, strong as a mountain. He had once single-handedly slain over two hundred desert horsemen on the Western Plateau. Surviving even one of his blows was a rarity. Yet, no one knew what force still drove the youth, enabling him to crawl toward the Nine Nether, inch by inch, using only his bloodied fingers.
After kicking Yan Xun down for the last time, the general frowned deeply and finally said to the guards on either side, "No need for further verification. Seize him and carry out the execution!"
"Meng Tian!" Wei Shuyou frowned, stood up, and said sternly, "This is against the rules. Shengjin Palace’s orders require a proper examination. How can you handle this so carelessly?"
Meng Tian’s brow furrowed as he turned to look at this outstanding young man from the Wei clan. Pointing at Yan Xun, he slowly said, "Do you think, in his current state, he can still comply with the imperial decree?"Who would have thought that making him obey the imperial decree was merely Shengjin Palace's pretext to find a legitimate reason to kill him? The civil unrest in Shangshen had both the empire and the Elder Council pinning the blame on the Prince of Yanbei, Guardian of the West. The entire household of the Guardian of the West was slaughtered, leaving only this sole surviving heir. Yan Xun had been in the imperial capital for many years, detached from the affairs, and thus could not be implicated. Yanbei had been a hereditary fiefdom for generations. With Yanshicheng gone, Yan Xun's succession was only natural. Yet how could the empire take the risk of releasing this wolf cub back to the west? Thus, this trap was set: if Yan Xun defied the imperial command, he would be showing contempt for Shengjin Palace and disloyalty as a subject; if he obediently complied, he would be deemed weak, incompetent, and unfilial as a son. Either way, it was an inescapable death trap. The empire's move was merely to justify itself to the common people and the regional lords, silencing public dissent. Who among the court officials was unaware of this?
Yet such a reason could not be openly stated as grounds for dissuasion. Wei Shuyou, gnashing his teeth in fury, glared hatefully at Yan Xun and said coldly, "General Meng, aren't you afraid of incurring the wrath of both His Majesty and the Elder Council?"
"Whether there is wrath or not, I will bear the responsibility alone. There is no need for you to concern yourself."
Meng Tian turned around, glanced at the child being forcefully restrained by the crowd, sighed silently, and then turned back, preparing to carry out the execution.
Just then, an aged voice suddenly spoke. Huang Qizheng, the deputy supervising official, stepped forward slowly, half-squinting his eyes as he said leisurely, "General Meng, before coming here, Lord Mu He instructed that if circumstances changed, I should show this to you."
Meng Tian took the document, and after just one glance, his expression changed drastically. The general stood on the platform for a long time before finally turning his head and looking gravely at Yan Xun, saying slowly, "Young Master Yan, please cease your stubbornness. Whether it is or isn't, you need only nod. They are your father and brothers—you are the only one qualified to identify them."
Yan Xun's body was pressed to the ground, and he no longer resembled the dashing Heir of Yanbei of old. Instead, he seemed like a vengeful ghost clawing its way out of hell, filled with bloodthirsty hatred and killing intent.
Looking into the young man's stubborn eyes, Meng Tian finally sighed helplessly and said solemnly, "Since Young Master Yan defies the imperial decree, do not blame me for carrying out my duty impartially. Guards, drag him up!"
"Wait!"
A sharp voice suddenly cut through the howling wind and churning dark clouds. Everyone turned to look as the crisp sound of hoofbeats emerged abruptly from the direction of the Purple Gold Gate. A woman in white snow-marten fur, with ink-black hair flowing like water, rode forward on horseback and declared slowly, word by word, "I will conduct the identification!"
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