Better to be a dog in times of peace than a man in times of turmoil.
This year was both eventful and dramatic, with several historically pivotal events recorded in the annals occurring successively—from the Zhenhuang Bloody Night and the Great Alliance Society’s revenge incident at the beginning of the year, to the Rebellion of the Nine Princes and the war between Daxia and Tang. One earth-shattering event after another struck the Great Xia Dynasty like relentless blows, leaving the ancient lands of Ximeng scarred and ravaged. Various powers rose and fell in quick succession, each establishing their own domains upon the flesh and blood of soldiers and the bleached bones of women and children.
At the start of the year, the imperial capital of Zhenhuang was engulfed in the fiercest snowstorm in its history. For twelve consecutive days, the blizzard assailed the ancient city. Amid the biting wind and swirling snow, a black-armored cavalry pressed forward through the storm, galloping across the snowy plains toward Zhenhuang City.
"Father!" A boy of about fourteen or fifteen rode up on horseback, shouting before he even dismounted, "I’ve spotted Fourth Brother’s battle flag!"
The man was in his fifties, his temples graying but his demeanor far from aged. His features were mostly hidden beneath a wind hood, revealing only a strong nose and tightly pressed lips, his profile resolute and firm. He wore a deep purple fur robe, its collar made of sable and fox tail, covering even his chin.
The man said nothing, merely lifting his head slightly to peer through the thick curtain of snow into the distance.
Seven years. The sword he had painstakingly forged and polished was finally ready to be drawn.
While the heads of the various branches of the Zhuge family gathered quietly outside the eastern gate, awaiting their arrival, a small, unassuming cavalry quietly entered the city through the southern gate. The group appeared ordinary at first glance, clad in simple blue cloth fur coats and leather wind hoods, their sabers and spears wrapped in cotton cloth and slung across their backs. Their mounts were common Hongchuan horses, easily mistaken for regular city guards. Yet, upon closer inspection, an intangible sharpness emanated from them, sending chills down one’s spine.
The procession passed through Jiuwei, bypassed the bustling main streets, skirted behind Chihu Lake, crossed Ziwei Square, and finally halted at the White Stone Camp—a location reserved exclusively for the imperial guards of the inner city. The leader, clad in jet-black armor and a heavy black fur coat, shook off the accumulated snow and yellow dust. Leaving his troops behind, he headed straight for Tai’an Gate with a few subordinates, effortlessly gaining entry into the heavily guarded Holy Gold Palace.
"Seventh Prince!"
Amid the swirling snow, the young Zhao Che lifted his head, his brow etched with the hardships of frontier life. His eyebrows were sharp as blades, his eyes cold as ice. Four years of garrison duty at the border had tempered this already sharp blade like unyielding stone. He frowned slightly and asked in a low voice, "Where is the Eighth Prince?"
"He has been placed under the custody of the Zongren Hall."
The man’s eyebrows rose slightly, his voice deepening as he demanded, "How did you carry out your duties?"
Several attendants immediately knelt, their faces pale with fear, kowtowing in unison. "We deserve death, Your Highness."
Zhao Che, still mounted, narrowed his eyes slowly and said coldly, "If you know you deserve death, why come before me?"
With that, he turned and rode off along the Qianxi Perimeter Road, leaving the terrified young guards kneeling in the snowstorm.
The storm grew fiercer, the wind howling and raging. A group of figures, cloaked and hooded, hurried on their way.
"Who goes there?"The blue-robed guard suddenly shouted sharply, and the figure walking ahead immediately halted. Under the heavy snowstorm's concealment, only a faint silhouette could be seen. The person was not tall, quite thin, but extremely agile, quickly kneeling on the ground at the sound and humbly lowering their head.
"Your Highness, it must be a palace maid from the rear hall."
Zhao Che nodded. Although this trip should not be known to outsiders, they were already inside the palace, and it was unwise to cause a commotion. He signaled for the others to follow and quickly moved forward.
A fierce gust of wind suddenly blew, knocking off the person's hat. Short hair was tied into a masculine topknot, but the neck was pale and slender. Zhao Che's boot stepped on the hat. He frowned slightly, then turned back to look at the kneeling figure and said slowly, "Look up."
A delicate face came into view, with calm eyes of deep black. Though dressed in male attire, it was a rare beauty. Zhao Che's brow furrowed lightly before smoothing out, as if recalling something. He chuckled meaningfully, "When one man achieves enlightenment, even his pets ascend to heaven. Has it come to the point where even you can roam freely in the Holy Gold Palace now?"
Chu Qiao kept her head lowered, expression calm, offering no response.
Zhao Che's gaze swept indifferently over the girl's back before he kicked the hat back to Chu Qiao's side with a soft thud. Without another word, he turned and left.
The snowstorm continued to rage. When the girl looked up, she could only see a faint silhouette. Yet for some reason, she felt an overwhelming pressure bearing down on her. In today's blizzard, how could it be just this one person returning to the capital?
The situation in Zhenhuang had unknowingly grown increasingly tense, even though there were still six months until Yan Xun's return to the north.
That evening, a grand banquet was held in the Holy Gold Palace. In addition to the triumphant return of the Seventh Prince Zhao Che, there was also the Fourth Young Master of the Zhuge family, Zhuge Yue, who had gone to Wolong Mountain seven years ago for convalescence and now served as Deputy Commander of the Military Affairs Bureau.
Emperor Xia Zhao Zhengde maintained his habitual absence from various banquets, with only Empress Muhe Nayun making a symbolic appearance—after all, the Seventh Prince Zhao Che was her biological son. The banquet was filled with merriment; amid clinking glasses and toasts, an atmosphere of harmonious unity between ruler and subjects prevailed, showing no signs that just three days prior, the Eighth Prince Zhao Jue had been expelled from the Zhao Clan ancestral temple for incurring divine wrath, demoted to commoner status, and sent to the Zongren Hall for trial.
"Many of those bloody political coups are like stones in water—not everyone can discern their size or shape. Only those with courage dare to reach in and feel them out. But how deep the water runs and whether one emerges alive—that's hard to say."
When Chu Qiao reported her daytime observations to Yan Xun, who still lacked the qualifications to attend Daxia's banquets, he was trimming a potted plant. Head bowed, he uttered these words with complete composure.
Chu Qiao tilted her head, pondering carefully, then handed him a pair of scissors and asked softly, "Then, do you think Zhao Che returned this time to help Zhao Jue?"Yan Xun smiled faintly: "Muhe Nayun only gave birth to two sons. For the Muhe Clan to contend with the Wei Clan for the Crown Prince's position, they must fully support one candidate. Zhao Che has been guarding the border for four years, far from the capital—who knows what he truly thinks? In the royal family, the bonds of brotherhood among the Zhao Clan... heh."
A crisp snap echoed as the orchid stem was cleanly severed by the sharp scissors. This was a rare variety of black orchid, rushed from the southern frontier of Dalu to the capital and freshly delivered to the greenhouse. Chu Qiao gasped softly in dismay, but Yan Xun showed no hesitation as he picked up the black orchid and tossed it aside, then took up a pot of snow orchid and continued trimming.
"For the Muhe Clan now, they're just like me—left with only the option of trimming this snow orchid," Yan Xun said with a slight smile. "After all, the gardener only sent two orchid pots into the palace today."
Outside, snow swirled in the wind, obscuring the moon and stars. Chu Qiao suddenly realized that the scheme she and Yan Xun had orchestrated four years ago to frame Zhao Che had completely failed. This prince, once abandoned by the Muhe Clan after offending the Wei Clan and the entire Elder Council, had clawed his way out of the mud. Now he returned to the capital filled with hatred and bloodlust. Though he might not know exactly who his true enemies were, their own days would require even more caution, as if treading on thin ice.
"Don't worry," Yan Xun's hand rested lightly on Chu Qiao's shoulder. "Zhao Che's resurrection from death might not be a bad thing. Haven't you always hated the Zhuge family for killing your siblings? Before we leave, let's collect a little interest first."
Late at night, the Zhuge family's carriage departed from the Holy Gold Palace. Zhuge Mu Qing went directly to Xiwan Crossing, where a songstress from Biantang had recently gained popularity. Despite his high status and cunning intellect, Zhuge Mu Qing was not immune to the base instincts of man. Nearing sixty, he briefly acknowledged his son before driving away from the Zhuge family's escort.
Just as they entered Green Mountain Courtyard, Huan'er hurried forward, holding an umbrella to shield Zhuge Yue from the drifting snow. "Fourth Young Master," she said rapidly, "Physician Hua just left—the crisis has passed."
Zhuge Yue entered the study without changing expression. The bookshelf had been moved aside, revealing a dark, gaping hole. He removed his cloak, tossing it aside, and wiped the snow from his hair as he walked.
In the stone chamber's center sat a pale, emaciated woman bound tightly by chains. Her face was sallow and bloodless, and when Zhuge Yue entered, she only glanced at him coldly before falling silent, her eyes devoid of warmth.
The youth of yesteryear had grown up, his once delicate features now sharpened by years of experience into something formidable. He stared coldly at the woman in the stone chamber, yet his gaze seemed to pierce through her, as if seeing another's shadow.
"Truly cut from the same cloth!"
Zhuge Yue sneered inwardly, then abruptly turned away. As he walked, he commanded the servants sternly, "If this happens again, you will join her in death."
All knelt in terrified obedience. The lamplight flickered out moments later. The thinly clad woman slowly bit her lip, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek before falling silently.On this very night, the eighth prince Zhao Jue, Emperor Xia's most favored son, was secretly executed at the Zongren Hall in the imperial capital. The affair proceeded with utmost discretion—his body was carried out through the Xian Gate and vanished into the boundless darkness in an instant. No one knew what grave crime he had committed, nor did anyone intend to investigate the matter thoroughly. All understood that since the Yan family's execution at the Nine Nether Terrace, this was the first person Emperor Xia Zhao Zhengde had personally ordered to be killed. Thus, there must have been an inexorable reason for his death, just as there had been for Yanshicheng—a fate from which there was no escape.
As for who was pulling the strings behind the scenes, it no longer mattered.
Seven days later, the Crown Prince of Bian Tang, Li Ce, would visit Daxia as an envoy. Simultaneously, he would personally journey to Daxia to select one of Emperor Xia's many princesses as his bride for a political marriage. This was a right Li Ce had secured for himself after attempting suicide by hanging, jumping from a height, and poisoning. As the sole heir of the Tang King, Li Ce was an eccentric within the royal family—indifferent to power and fame, devoted only to poetry and beauty. Perhaps such luxurious leisure was a privilege only someone who had never experienced strife could afford.
While the princes of Daxia secretly clashed in life-and-death struggles, this self-proclaimed top scholar of Bian Tang, Crown Prince Li Ce, was approaching the imperial capital of Zhenhuang.
At this moment, Chu Qiao remained entirely unaware of how this renowned Bian Tang scholar would become entangled with her future. She placed the final chess piece, effortlessly winning the last piece of pastry before Yan Xun, and remarked lightly, "I don't know who will bag the most game in tomorrow's hunting grounds, but I do know you'll go hungry tonight."
Yan Xun smiled faintly, his gaze drifting out the window where a pear tree stood proudly amid the wind and snow, exuding a unique charm.
"A Chu, do you remember that jar of Yulan Spring we buried under that tree years ago?"
"Of course I remember," Chu Qiao replied with a soft smile. "We agreed to drink it the day before we return to Yanbei."
Yan Xun closed his eyes gently, inhaling deeply. "I think I can smell the wine already. Am I being too impatient?"
Chu Qiao shook her head. "You've never been impatient. You've just waited too long."
The setting sun cast a crimson glow over the vast snowy plains. The northern wind of Zhenhuang began to rise, ushering in another spring chill—sharp, cold, and desolate.
"Xi'er," a richly dressed man called out from a luxurious carriage amid the endless snow, his slender, jade-like hand extended as he gazed with amusement at the voluptuous, charming woman. "My hands are cold."
Xi'er giggled softly, pulling open her collar to reveal the upper swell of her fair, full breasts, the rosy peaks faintly visible through the thin white gauze. In a seductive tone, she purred, "Then let Xi'er warm your hands, Your Highness."
The man's hand slipped inside her collar, and with a light grasp, he feigned surprise, exclaiming, "Xi'er, what's this?"
The woman moaned softly, melting into his embrace, her eyes narrowing like a cat's as she teased, "Your Highness, it's a hand warmer."
"Really?" The man frowned, his fingers caressing. "What an elegant hand warmer."
His voice suddenly grew husky. "You little enchantress, warm me even more."The sky and earth were dusky yellow, as the nobles of the Celestial Dynasty were all engaging in their pre-sleep routines in various ways.
The imperial capital of Zhenhuang grew increasingly bustling.
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