On the fourteenth of March, the sky was clear and the wind gentle, wintersweet blossoms bloomed in full splendor. At noon, snow began to fall—everything appeared ordinary and tranquil. The nobility of the capital remained absorbed in the news that the Heir of Yanbei was to marry Princess Chun, the most noble by bloodline. Speculations and schemes brewed in the shadows, churning both inside and outside the imperial city, with undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.
Yet amid this chaos, no one noticed that the Green Camp Army’s city defense troops had changed shifts an hour earlier than usual, and a corner of the western gate had been opened early, also an hour ahead of schedule.
When Yan Xun received this news, he was drinking tea in the flower hall, dressed in light robes with a relaxed sash, his expression serene. Musicians in the outer corridor were performing "West Boat Flower Night," the melody graceful and winding, full of intricate twists and turns.
A faint smile tugged at Yan Xun’s lips. A Jing stood nearby, quietly awaiting instructions, but Yan Xun merely waved his hand lightly, dismissing him. He then drew a music slip from the box beside him and casually tossed it out.
The music paused and then stopped. The elderly court musician picked up the slip from the floor, glanced at it briefly, and his expression shifted slightly. Immediately, the fierce and impassioned strains of the zheng erupted, resounding like the shattering of metal and stone.
Yan Xun laughed heartily, beating time to the music, and recited in a clear voice: "Drunk, I grasp the sword of slaughter, beheading eight hundred foes; drenched in the scent of intoxication, I bury the fading red in snow."
Chu Qiao stood outside the door, her fingers slightly chilled. She lifted her head to see snowflakes swirling in the vast sky, a black eagle circling and crying overhead.
How swiftly chaos had arrived! Like a spark cast upon the autumn grasslands, it spread rapidly, blazing fiercely, engulfing everything in an instant.
In the afternoon, as the snow cleared and the skies brightened, a memorial from a minor clerk in the Ministry of Revenue was placed before the Elder Council. It reported insufficient funds and grain in the ministry, making it impossible to finance the imperial birthday banquet. Relief grain for Zhongzhou had been embezzled, causing unrest among the disaster victims who turned to preying on wealthy households, resulting in countless injuries. Some had privately substituted rotten rice for military provisions in the eastern camp, leading to poisonings and deaths. Half of the 41st Army had mutinied, with casualties exceeding ten thousand. Prominent families were accused of greed and corruption, lining their own pockets. The memorial further listed a series of staggering figures.
A single stone stirred a thousand waves—all the turmoil in the capital originated from this minor clerk in the Ministry of Revenue.
Swift investigations and transfers followed in rapid succession, throwing the Elder Council into immediate disarray. Fiery denunciations from the military soon arrived, each word dripping with blood and tears, each sentence resolute and forceful. The great clans grew panicked, rushing about to protect their interests. Within an hour, shocking conclusions were presented: the Zhongzhou relief efforts had been under the jurisdiction of the Capital Prefecture. Before Zhao Qi took office, it had been managed by Mu Hexifeng. The allocation of grain for the military fell under the purview of Song Duan, the chief administrator of the Grain Ministry, and everyone in the capital knew that Song Duan was the beloved grandson of Muhe Yunting, the former head of the Muhe Clan, holding a status comparable to the legitimate eldest son. The Capital Prefecture’s deficit reached eight hundred thousand taels of gold, while the Grain Ministry’s accounts showed a shortfall of twenty million gold zhu.
The Elder Council acted decisively, submitting a report to the Holy Gold Palace. Muhe Yunye, the head of the Muhe Clan, knelt for a long time at the palace gates, pleading for the emperor’s mercy. In a counterattack, he accused the minor clerk of belonging to the Wei faction, claiming the data presented was fabricated and unreliable.In an unexpected move, the Holy Gold Palace closed its main gates to visitors under the pretext of the engagement between the Eighth Princess and the Heir of Yanbei. However, just as Mu Heyunye knelt in prolonged supplication, a secret decree was quietly issued from the Purple Gold Gate: The Muhe Clan, guilty of massive embezzlement and severe dereliction of duty, was to have its residence raided by the Third Prince Zhao Qi leading twenty thousand Green Camp Army troops. All culprits were to be arrested, and anyone resisting was to be executed on the spot!
Instantly, winds thundered and desolation swept the land.
This would later be known as the infamous Capital Bloody Night.
While Zhao Qi stealthily led the Green Camp Army toward Mu Hejia, the Shangsi Bureau delivered the magnificent robes for the engagement banquet. Yan Xun stood in the central hall, respectfully seeing off the bureau's ceremonial officer with generous gifts and rewards for all attendants.
The precious garments, tribute from the Western Regions, were renowned for their Sujin blind embroidery. Coiled dragons with ferocious five-clawed designs shimmered with golden thread, so vivid they seemed to bring the patterns to life. Chu Qiao knelt to fasten Yan Xun's gold-threaded jade belt, the intense scent of storax irritating her nostrils until breathing grew labored.
The room was quiet, the servants having withdrawn. Under the lamplight, Chu Qiao's figure appeared delicate—her neck fair and graceful, her ears snow-white and charming, her chest slightly curved, no longer the convincing tomboy who once impersonated a man.
Yan Xun exhaled softly and asked slowly, "A Chu, when is your birthday?"
Standing behind him, adjusting his shoulder straps, she replied, "I don't remember."
Yan Xun paused, thinking she was unwilling to share. "You're almost sixteen, soon to have your coming-of-age ceremony."
Chu Qiao shook her head. "What use are such formalities to me?"
Yan Xun fell silent, parting his lips as if to speak but finding no words.
Chu Qiao moved to his front, frowning at the Qinghai cloud-blue pattern on the robe's lapel. A corner showed a pulled thread—whether intentional or careless by the Shangsi Bureau, it was unclear.
"Take it off. I'll fix the thread."
Yan Xun was startled. "You know how to do that?"
Chu Qiao raised a brow. "Who mended your clothes when you were young?"
The woman sat by the lamp, her brows furrowed like mist.
Yan Xun's thoughts drifted far away. How could he have forgotten? Those icy snowy nights in drafty, gloomy rooms, the girl hunched by the charcoal brazier, embroiding noblewomen's silks by dim candlelight to curry favor with lazy palace maids for meager food and coal.
He recalled her posture—small and bent, sometimes dozing on her knees when exhaustion overwhelmed her. Her profile was serene, never complaining.
Over the years, he had tried hard not to dwell on those memories, fearing they would cloud his judgment with hatred. And so he had forgotten how this girl had supported him through those lonely, arduous times. She cooked and sewed for him, kept watch and stood guard, sought medicine and care. She stripped away his flashy martial arts, teaching him close combat and practical weapons skills. She drafted military strategies, endured humiliation in this vast cage, silently bearing bullying and beatings without a word of protest.This girl, frail and slender, without power or influence, possessed the strongest heart in the world. When his entire world came crashing down, she used her own thin shoulders to bear the weight of his shattered sky, risking her life to carve out a space for survival.
"Alright," the girl stood up and walked over to him, saying, "Try it on. The engagement banquet is in two hours—we can't afford any mistakes."
A soft sigh escaped the man's lips. He opened his arms and immediately embraced the young woman, resting his chin on her head as he whispered wearily, "A Chu."
Chu Qiao froze instantly, her entire body stiffening. She gently pushed against Yan Xun's arm, "What's wrong? Has something happened?"
"Don't move," Yan Xun said softly, "Just let me hold you for a while."
Chu Qiao's body gradually relaxed. She slowly reached out and wrapped her arms around Yan Xun's waist, pressing her forehead against his chest without another word.
"A Chu, don't blame me."
Yan Xun spoke softly, his voice carrying a deep hoarseness like autumn wind rustling through mulberry trees.
"Over these years, I've done many things you dislike. You appear cold on the surface, never hesitating to kill with your blade, but I know—in your heart, you're someone who truly distinguishes between good and evil. Those tea merchants from Lingnan, the ship owners from Huaishui, the grain merchants from Shengjing, and those Yanbei officials who disobeyed orders... the blood on my hands runs deep."
"I just didn't want to be like before, watching those close to me being bullied and slaughtered while powerless to stop it. But now, despite all my efforts and everything I've done, I'm still being manipulated—unable to follow my own will, unable to protect you."
A faint glimmer passed through Chu Qiao's eyes as she slowly pressed her lips together. A warm current flowed through her heart, carrying those inexplicable, indescribable emotions that nibbled at her spirit like ants. Though she understood perfectly well, she still shook her head and said, "I understand everything. You don't need to worry about me. Those soldiers from the Elite Cavalry Camp might not be able to handle me."
Unable to see the girl's expression but only hearing her words, Yan Xun froze momentarily, then numbly released his embrace.
She still didn't understand. Or perhaps, she simply didn't take this matter to heart.
Yan Xun nodded silently, "Alright, then be careful yourself."
Chu Qiao also nodded, "Don't worry. I won't accompany you to the banquet later. Be careful in all matters when you're alone."
As she turned to leave, Yan Xun's voice suddenly turned low and faint from behind, "A Chu."
The woman paused, stopping in her tracks.
"Anyone else may betray me, but you cannot. Anyone else may leave me, but you cannot."
Chu Qiao didn't respond, standing silently before pulling open the door and stepping out.
Yan Xun slowly closed his eyes, leaning back against the chair as he murmured to himself, "If you leave, I'll have nothing left."
In the courtyard where snow lay thin, the woman stood in her light blue gown, draped in the white fox fur that Yan Xun had personally gifted her. Her long hair fluttered in the gentle breeze, strands dancing in the air. Silently, she looked back at the silhouette in the window, remaining there for a long time without moving.Unlike the desolate chill here, outside the Songbird Pavilion, the imperial clan filled the seats, with festive sights everywhere. Colorful glazed jade pieces were arranged before the Songbird Pavilion, forming rows leading directly to Princess Zhao Chun'er's Duange Pavilion. Crimson brocade spread over the snow-covered ground, while palace maids in colorful attire stood on both sides, with exquisite lanterns burning brightly.
At the first watch, crowds gathered in the Duange Pavilion. The emperor himself attended, and all guests were joyous. The faint sound of festive music drifted from the direction of the Duange Pavilion. On the cold and silent Changhua Road, a warhorse stood quietly nearby. A woman dressed in the short uniform of the Elite Cavalry Camp, draped in a blue cloak, turned her head from afar to gaze at the brilliantly lit place, her expression calm and composed.
The night was lonely, the long wind cold, and between heaven and earth, everything felt solitary and desolate. The cold wind lifted the stray hairs at her forehead, making her small face appear even more gaunt and sorrowful.
This path was one I chose for myself. From the very beginning, there was no retreat—only moving forward.
Life has never granted me the right to regret, and I will never let useless emotions hinder your progress. With vengeance yet unfulfilled and survival uncertain day by day, how could there be room for personal attachments?
Yan Xun, I will stay by your side, waiting for the day when you achieve great success and wield your sword across the world. Only the weak indulge in sentimentality; only the incompetent complain. I will not. I am not sad. Never.
Suddenly, the massive tolling of a bell rang out. Fireworks filled the sky, blooming to the ceremonial official's loud proclamation of the ceremony's completion. The music surged alongside the bell's chime, and the sounds of celebration from the Duange Pavilion carried from afar, as all under heaven rejoiced in this solemn and joyous moment.
"Hyah!"
In the cold wind, the slender young woman abruptly raised her whip, let out a sharp cry, pressed her lips tightly together, and spurred her horse into a gallop away.
In the bleak cold night, within the lively grand hall, Yan Xun stood tall, gazing silently at the dark expanse outside the hall for a long time.
In the desolate Songbird Pavilion, within a small boudoir, a snow-white fox fur lay quietly on the table, spotless and neat as if new.
"We have known each other for eight years, sharing both fortune and adversity, standing by each other through hardships. Now, everything is about to pass. Once matters here are settled and we return to Yanbei, we will..."
We will...
We will marry, we will be together, we will never part again...
Those unspoken words, those unvoiced feelings, were ultimately slowly buried by the dust of time, scattered into oblivion, no longer bearing any trace of their former selves. Fate is a great fire; often, there is only one chance. Once missed, it is lost for many years.
At the gate of the Elite Cavalry Camp outside the city, the young woman presented the imperial token and knocked open the camp gate, striding openly into the empire's most valiant army.
The iron armor was cold, the military songs resounding. Before the central command tent, a soldier carefully woke the general from his sleep.
Zhao Che rose, donning his armor, his brow slightly raised as he said in a deep voice, "Chu Qiao?"
"Let her in!"
As his firm command fell, from the northwestern corner of Zhenhuang City's sky came the sudden sounds of battle cries and screams!
Zhao Che was startled. Without even having time to put on his boots, he rushed out of the tent. In the northwestern sky, flames roared, and the clamor of battle shook the heavens. Chaos spread like a plague. The Green Camp Army troops, who had earlier left the city to build post roads, quickly converged before the Elite Cavalry Camp's gates, their blades cold and armor gleaming.
Something major had happened!Zhao Che raised an eyebrow and sharply ordered the guards on either side, "Bring me my weapon!"
"Wait!"
A cool voice suddenly rang out. Chu Qiao, who had been waiting outside for an audience, firmly grasped Zhao Che's wrist and said calmly, "You cannot go."
Her voice carried such powerful conviction and strength that Zhao Che momentarily failed to notice this commoner was holding his wrist, instead asking in a low voice, "Why?"
"Look over there—whose residence is that?"
Zhao Che froze, his gaze shifting before abruptly recalling the surname he least wanted to remember.
Muhe Clan!
"If you go, the entire Elite Cavalry Camp will be doomed by your recklessness. I don't want to be implicated on my very first day here," the woman said indifferently, releasing his hand coldly. "Besides, the matter is already settled. Rushing there now won't change anything."
From the west came the deafening clamor of battle cries, and in an instant, the entire city was thrown into chaos. Only that resplendent Holy Gold Palace remained steeped in a decadent atmosphere of revelry.
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