The sky gradually darkened, the north wind howled, cold and piercing, chilling to the bone. The gale swept up swirling snowflakes, wailing across the sky like a maddened beast.
The servants of the Zhuge family were cleaning up the hunting grounds. They shoveled the small corpses and tossed them onto the carriage. Not far away, a shallow pit had been dug, with wormwood crackling as it burned, emitting thick black smoke—it was meant to bury these children, along with the bloodthirsty beasts. These lives, as insignificant as weeds, were like playthings tossed aside by wealthy masters who had grown bored after a single use.
Jing Yue'er, wrapped in a tattered sack, sat quietly with her head bowed, leaning against the cage. She was severely injured—even an adult might not have endured such pain in silence. The Zhuge family servants thought she might be dying, but after checking on her repeatedly, they still saw the faint rise and fall of the child's chest. They knew she was breathing, sustained by some strange force that kept her clinging to life. So, instead of throwing her into the burial pit, they placed her back in the cage before departing.
The cage, which had once seemed overcrowded, now appeared somewhat empty. All the other children were dead, leaving only her. While the servants marveled at her luck, they couldn't help but sneak glances at her, cautiously studying her.
Though they couldn't articulate it, they keenly sensed that this child was different from when she had first arrived.
The gates of Zhenhuang City swung open. The Zhuge family held immense power and status in Daxia, and the city guards respectfully inspected their passes before bowing and scraping as they watched them depart.
Jing Yue'er had no idea how much time had passed. The carriage jolted incessantly, but she remained motionless, unaware. The sun was bright that day, but the wind was bitterly cold, howling as it seeped through the gaps in the cage, cutting through her thin clothing like a knife.
After turning onto Jiukui Main Street, they reached the inner city's Ziwei Square—named after Daxia's founding Empress Ziwei. Over four hundred years, it had quietly become a sacred site in Daxia. Commoners passing through were required to kowtow three times and bow nine times toward the Ziwei Palace at the center of the square as a sign of reverence.
The Zhuge family servants disembarked and meticulously performed the kowtows to the palace.
Just then, a clear, melodious neigh echoed, and a calm voice spoke up ahead: "Whose servants are you? Why are you blocking the road?"
Zhu Shun quickly rose. Upon seeing the speaker, his haughty demeanor vanished, replaced by a humble, respectful tone as he replied, "So it's Young Master Shu Ye. We'll make way for you at once."
The Zhuge family convoy hastily moved aside, clearing a path. The sound of hoofbeats drew nearer, and as the rider passed Jing Yue'er, he suddenly let out a soft exclamation and halted.
"Were you attacked by wolves?"
Zhu Shun was taken aback but promptly answered, "Reporting to the young master, no, this is just a slave. It's of no consequence."
Shu Ye ignored Zhu Shun, his gaze fixed on Yue'er in the cage. He slowly bent down and spoke kindly, "Child, lift your head."With a sharp whistle, a whip suddenly lashed through the cage, striking Jing Yue'er viciously. Jing Yue'er shuddered all over, immediately raising her head to look toward the source of the whip.
"What are you doing?" Shu Ye raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he spoke in a low voice.
Zhu Shun immediately grew fearful and hurriedly explained, "This lowly one... this lowly one saw this slave being so bold as to not answer the young master's question..."
"Are you called Zhu Shun?"
A soft voice suddenly spoke up—though childish and weak, it carried a trace of undeniable calmness and composure. Both Zhu Shun and Shu Ye turned their heads in surprise, looking at this child who had just been beaten. Zhu Shun stared wide-eyed, stammering, "You... what did you say?"
Jing Yue'er's small face was covered in bloodstains, but her large eyes—clear black and white—made her appear all the more intelligent and delicate. She repeated calmly, "I just heard someone call you Zhu Shun. Is that your name?"
Zhu Shun slowly furrowed his brows. "Yes, what of it?"
"Nothing," the child shook her head, extending a small, grimy hand to gently cover the arm that had just been whipped. She nodded and said, "I've remembered."
Zhu Shun instantly flew into a rage and was about to speak when Shu Ye laughed first. Around seventeen or eighteen years old, he stood tall and straight, dashing and open-hearted, wearing a moon-white robe embroidered with layers of auspicious clouds—both elegant and luxurious, yet not ostentatious. He looked Jing Yue'er up and down before finally smiling and saying, "Child, could you tell me your name?"
Yue'er glanced at Shu Ye twice, then shook her head. Her voice still carried a childish lilt, but her eyes were extremely serious, creating a somewhat comical contrast. She said earnestly, "When the day comes that I no longer have to look up at you from inside a cage, I'll tell you."
Hearing this, Shu Ye's eyes immediately curved into a smile. He turned to Zhu Shun and said with a laugh, "This little slave is my friend now. Don't you bully her."
Zhu Shun shot Jing Yue'er a sidelong glance, then nodded in agreement.
"Little girl, I'll wait for the day you tell me your name. Until then, take good care of yourself."
Jing Yue'er nodded. Young Master Shu Ye gave a gentle smile, then spurred his horse and left Zǐwēi Square. Zhu Shun, looking displeased, ordered the group to continue. After a while, they arrived at the Zhuge residence.
The Zhuge family's estate was vast. Entering through the back door, Zhu Shun handed Jing Yue'er over to two laborers, gave a few instructions, cast a cold glance at Jing Yue'er, and then turned and left.
With a click, the lock on a room was opened, and Jing Yue'er was shoved inside. Before she could even get up, the door was tightly locked again.
The surroundings were pitch black, with large bundles of firewood piled in the corners, and the faint rustling of mice could be heard. The child did not panic or scream. She sat in the center of the room, took off the tattered sack draped over her shoulders, bit it with her teeth, and tore it forcefully into strips of cloth. Then, with surprising skill, she carefully bandaged her wounds.
This much time was enough for a qualified agent to steady herself, to face anything with normal thoughts and emotions—even if the situation she had to confront was utterly unbelievable.Indeed, at this moment, Jing Yue'er was actually Major Chu Qiao, the deputy commander of Division 11 who had sacrificed herself for her country. Fate, in many instances, is truly unfathomable—a chasm doesn't necessarily conceal death; perhaps it marks the beginning of another life.
Chu Qiao raised her hand, using the faint light from outside to examine this small palm. A trace of sorrow slowly welled up in her heart. Yet even she didn't know whether she was grieving for herself or for this pitiful child.
"No one is here now. I can allow myself to feel sad and afraid, but I must compress this time to the shortest possible."
The child spoke softly, tears slowly streaming down her thin, dark little face. Hugging her knees, she gradually lowered her head, burying her face between her arms. Silent, but her back gradually began to tremble.
This was Chu Qiao's first night in the Daxia Dynasty. In the cold, drafty firewood shed of the Zhuge residence, she shed tears for the first time out of weakness and fear. She gave herself one hour to curse fate, to reminisce about the past, to worry about the future, and to adapt to this new life. Once that hour passed, she would no longer be the super commander of Division 11, Chu Qiao. Instead, she would be this helpless little slave girl with nothing, struggling to survive in this brutal, bloodthirsty, and chaotic dynasty.
Fate had pushed her into a quagmire, and she told herself she would climb out.
The dire situation left no room for self-pity or anxious worry. If she didn't pull herself together, she might not survive the night.
She stretched out her grimy little hand, picked up a small stick, and began writing characters stroke by stroke on the ground. Phoenix Power Plays the World novel.
Zhu Shun, Zhuge, Jing, Mu, Jue, Che.
Writing up to this point, she slowly furrowed her brow. Outside, darkness had fallen, and the faint sounds of music and singing from the neighboring courtyard drifted over, interspersed with the flirtatious laughter of courtesans. After silently pondering for a long time, she finally wrote the last character: Yan.
In the bustling main hall of the Zhuge residence, where cups clinked in toasts, Yan Xun's right eye suddenly twitched violently. He frowned slightly, his handsome features tightening, and slowly turned his head to gaze deeply into the pitch-black night.
The night shrouded the dead, cold crows soared high—this corrupt and ugly dynasty had already rotted from within.
The old order was destined to be destroyed, allowing a new one to rise from the ashes.
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