On the nineteenth day of the fourth month in the 466th year of the White Cang Calendar, it was an unforgettable day. On that day, the entire family of the Prince of Western Zhen of Yanbei, except for Crown Prince Yan Xun who was long held as a hostage in the imperial capital, was brutally slaughtered. The souls of the Yan family could not rest in peace even after death, suffering the torment of fire on the Nine Nether Platform in front of the Shengjin Palace, their bodies dismembered, their ashes scattered to the heavens.
From then on, the once-mighty Lion Banner of Yanbei, which had shaken the northern frontiers, fell into a long silence. While the empire's nobles, eager to carve up the lands of Yanbei, clapped and cheered, a grand celebration was held on the northwestern grasslands. The eleven tribes of the Quanrong gathered together, presided over by the Great Khan Nayan Minglie, to celebrate the downfall of the Lion Clan of Yanbei, to celebrate the miserable death of Yanshicheng, and to celebrate the Emperor of the Great Xia Dynasty's selfless act of opening up a fertile northern territory for their Quanrong tribe. The great Quanrong deity blessed this fierce nation, and from then on, they firmly believed that no one could withstand the blades of the grassland warriors.
At this moment, in a narrow, secluded room of the dilapidated and desolate Qianmen Station, the cold wind howled, snow seeped through the roof, there was no brazier, no warm kang, only a tattered, blackened, and foul-smelling quilt.
Outside the door, the shouts of soldiers drinking and playing finger-guessing games could be heard, and the rich aroma of meat drifted faintly into the room. The young man's face was pale, his forehead burning hot, his lips chapped and covered with unhealthy white flakes. His sharp eyebrows were tightly furrowed, and large beads of cold sweat trickled down his temples, his dark hair already soaked.
Thumping sounds echoed continuously in the room. An eight-year-old child struggled to lift a chair and slammed it heavily onto the ground, again and again, until finally, the chair was dismantled into a pile of scattered firewood. She let out a long sigh, wiped her sweat, and then lit a fire in the middle of the room. The firewood crackled, and the room instantly warmed up. Carefully boiling a bowl of water, the child climbed onto the cold kang, lifted the young man's head, and called softly, "Yan Xun, wake up, drink some water."
The young man could no longer hear, showing no response to her words. The child frowned, picked up a rough chopstick from the bowl on the table, pried open the young man's teeth, and poured the hot water into his mouth.
A fit of coughing immediately erupted. Yan Xun's chest heaved violently as he coughed loudly, spitting out all the water she had just fed him. Chu Qiao looked closely and saw faint traces of blood swirling in the water. Her chest suddenly felt heavy. She pursed her lips, sniffled, then climbed down from the kang to boil more water.
"Yan Xun?" As night fell, the room grew unbearably cold. The child covered the young man with a heavy fur coat and quilt, while she herself wore only a thin outer garment, curling up beside Yan Xun like a small animal. Holding a white porcelain bowl, she whispered, "I added water to the rice to make porridge. Get up and have some."
The young man did not speak, as if he were asleep. Under the moonlight, his face was as pale as paper, but his tightly closed eyes showed signs of movement beneath the lids. Chu Qiao knew he was not asleep. He had been awake all along, simply unwilling to open his eyes.Chu Qiao slowly sighed, put down her rice bowl, and sat hugging her knees against the wall. Outside, heavy snow fell, and through the dilapidated doors and windows, she could still see the pale, frost-covered trees under the moonlight. The child's voice was low and steady as she said, "Yan Xun, I am a slave. I have no power, no influence, no family, no friends. My family members were all killed. Some were beheaded, some were exiled, some were beaten to death, some had their arms chopped off and were thrown into the lake to feed the fish, and some were violated at a young age, their bodies loaded onto a cart like worthless trash. The world should be fair. Even slaves, even those of lowly bloodlines, should have the right to live. I don’t understand why people are born into hierarchies, why wolves are destined to prey on rabbits, and why rabbits cannot fight back. But now I understand—it’s because the rabbits are not strong enough, lacking sharp claws and teeth. To avoid being looked down upon, one must first stand up on their own. Yan Xun, I may be young, but I have patience and time. Those of the Zhuge family who owe debts—not a single one of them will escape. I must live to see them pay for what they have done. Otherwise, even in death, I will not rest in peace."
The boy's eyelashes trembled slightly, and his lips pressed together. Outside the window, the snow fell heavily, and the cold wind blew through the cracks, howling as it entered.
The child's voice grew even lower: "Yan Xun, do you remember what your mother said to you before she died? She told you to live on, even if it meant living a life worse than death, because there are still things you must do. Do you know what those things are? They are to endure humiliation and bear heavy burdens, to sleep on brushwood and taste gall, to bide your time, and to personally exact revenge on all those who killed your loved ones! On your shoulders rest the hopes of too many, the blood of too many, and the eyes of too many watching from above. Can you bear to disappoint them? Can you bear to let them die with regrets? Are you willing to die on this shabby bed? Can you tolerate those who killed your parents and loved ones living carefree lives, enjoying their days in comfort?"
The child's voice suddenly turned hoarse, like a knife scraping across ice, stirring up tiny shards. She spoke almost word by word: "Yan Xun, you must live, even if it means living like a dog. Only by living can there be hope. Only by living can you accomplish what remains undone. Only by living can you one day reclaim what is rightfully yours. In this world, you can never rely on others. The only one you can rely on is yourself."
A heavy breath sounded abruptly. The child stood up, picked up the bowl, and brought it to the boy, whose eyes were now open. Her eyes were bright and full of power, as if a raging fire burned wildly within them.
"Yan Xun, live on, and kill them all!"
A sharp glint suddenly shot from the boy's eyes, filled with bloodthirsty hatred and overwhelming resentment. He nodded heavily, repeating in a nightmarish whisper, "Live on, and kill them all!"
Outside, the cold wind howled. Two young children stood in the icy, broken-down room, their fists clenched tightly.Many years later, when the grown Yan Xun recalled that night again, his heart still trembled with lingering fear. He wondered: had he not shown a moment of mercy and spared that stubborn-eyed, disheveled little slave; had he not repeatedly helped that child out of fleeting curiosity; had he not been struck by a sudden impulse to bid farewell to that child on the eve of his departure—would everything today vanish like a reflection in a mirror or the moon in water? Would that noble youth, who had lived in luxury all his life, have been crushed by overwhelming calamity when his family was destroyed? Would he have died in bitter sorrow, alone and wretched?
But after all, there were not so many "what ifs" in this world. And so, on that night, two children who had lost everything swore a solemn oath in the icy snow.
Survive! Even if it meant living like a dog, they would survive!
The long night was about to pass. Before dawn, a messenger arrived from Shengjin Palace. Whatever the reason—whether due to uneven division of spoils or the principle that "when the lips are gone, the teeth will be cold"—under the collective pressure of the other feudal lords of the empire, Yan Xun, the Heir of Yanbei who had committed no offense, would succeed to the title of the Prince of Yanbei. However, the ascension was postponed until after his twentieth birthday, when he would receive his capping ceremony. Before he came of age, the lands of Yanbei would be jointly managed by Shengjin Palace and the various feudal lords in rotation, while Crown Prince Yan Xun would remain in the imperial capital of Zhenhuang under the care of the imperial family until he reached adulthood.
There were still eight years to go. Just eight more years.
On the twenty-first day of the fourth month, Yan Xun moved out of the Proton Mansion and into Shengjin Palace, the most heavily guarded place in the Great Xia Dynasty. That morning, a fierce wind howled, and snowflakes swirled through the air. Dressed in a black sable cloak from Yanbei, Yan Xun stood on the resplendent Purple Gold Plaza, gazing at the Nine Nether Terrace and the Purple Gold Gate not far ahead. Beyond them lay the northwestern part of the empire. That was once his home, the land where he had grown up, the place where his beloved family lived. Now, they were all gone. But he firmly believed they were watching him from high above in the vast sky, quietly waiting for his iron hooves to tread upon Yanbei, to march into Shangshen, and to break through the He Tong Mountain Pass!
That day marked exactly four months since the empire's western expedition army had set out. Although the handling of the Shangshen uprising had been a complete mess, the instigators of the rebellion had been decisively identified. The entire family of the Prince of Yanbei had been slaughtered, and the iron-blooded army of the Great Xia Dynasty once again upheld the empire's dignity with thunderous means. Yet, many years later, when historians of future generations reopened the scrolls of history, they could not help but sigh: it was from this very moment that the Great Xia Dynasty sowed the seeds of its own eventual downfall. A raging fire was reborn from the swamp of death—a fire of utter ruthlessness and cruelty that would ravage everything and betray all, a blaze capable of consuming all. The blade of annihilation carved a deep, bloody scar in the heart of the surviving youth. The blood would surge forth endlessly, ultimately burying this decaying dynasty for good."I thought such a life would never end, like the ever-drifting winds over the Yanbei Plateau, like the perpetual snow atop Dragon Ridge Mountain. But I was wrong. My eyes were blinded by golden shackles—I failed to see the ambition to conquer the world hidden beneath the veil of peace and prosperity, the slaughter that would claim millions of lives, the unfathomable schemes of power. Now, I am about to step into this golden cage, carrying with me the blood of my father, my mother, and my brothers and sisters. But I swear to the skies of Yanbei: though I leave now, one day I shall return."
The youth turned away, took the eight-year-old child by the hand, and strode directly through the massive palace gates. With a deafening rumble, the doors slowly closed, swallowing all light within. Howling winds surged forward but were blocked by the towering walls. Only the keen eyes of eagles soaring high above could clearly glimpse those two figures beneath the blood-red sunset—amidst the magnificent palaces and towers, their forms appeared so small, yet so unyielding.
One day, they would fight their way out shoulder to shoulder, emerging proudly through those vermilion-lacquered gates adorned with purple and gold!
Heaven bears witness—this day shall come!
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