The Winds and Clouds of the Desert

Humanity is divided into nine ranks—supreme at the top, the lowest at the bottom; emotions into three forms—familial bonds hard to sever, love hard to grasp. Life is indeed this intricate! Don't ask why, for when you are caught in the midst of it, even these few words will be uttered with the same indifference and resignation. Yet, in this desolate desert, there is one who broke free from this small circle of fate. He is supreme, yet he is base; he abandons kinship, and loves no one. Who is he? None dare utter his name; instead, they sigh and call him "Ruowen."

What, then, is the essence of a bandit? To scorn morality and culture, to wager life for nothing but the satisfaction of one's own desires. If a woman is also part of that desire, then there is no need for love—just take her, as one takes wine or jewels. Between the legs, it's nothing but a fleeting pleasure. Thus, bandits do not speak of love.

Ruowen, a once-renounced bandit, is cruel enough, ruthless enough, extreme enough! No one can control him—not Ge Xinwei, who shares his bed, not Huang Beishuang, whom he pursues; not King Bei Jing, who shamed him, nor Zhan Wang, who has nothing to do with him.

Blindfold Ge Xinwei, and Ruowen could torment her to death, for she resembles her, almost to the point of illusion. Yet why is he still unsatisfied? His heart does not race again; it is as if a layer of ice has formed over it—cold, indifferent, empty.

Lying on the bed, he does not know how many days have passed. The room reeks with the heavy scent of lovemaking. On the floor, Ruo Lanfeiwen lies unconscious. Growing increasingly irate at the mess before him, Ruowen hurriedly pulls on his trousers, storms out half-naked, not even bothering to close the door, leaving the woman inside exposed to the light of day.

The sunlight is blinding, the air frigid. Ruowen stands in the courtyard, gazing at the sky for a long time.

“Your Majesty!” Ge Xinwei, awakened by the sudden light, dresses herself and walks out to stand beside him, also raising her head to the sky. “Your Majesty, are you feeling better?”

Ruowen sneered at her words, smirking. “With a shameless princess serving me, how could I not be pleased?”

Ge Xinwei lowered her head, her exposed skin still mottled with bruises. “Who in this world truly has shame? With shame, whom are we trying to please? Without it, whom are we trying to appease? I wished to please Your Majesty—did I succeed?” She paused, giving a bitter smile. “Of course I did—it’s easy enough; just cover my eyes, and that’s enough.”

The words she once spoke, no one took to heart. Was she not a substitute for someone else? It was merely a struggle of self-deception. If Ruowen thought she was, then she was.

“Ge Xinwei, do you know? I need not be a king.” Ruowen turned, speaking with indifference. He strode over to the well, pulled up a bucket of water, and splashed it over himself. The water, tinged with fine yellow sand, trickled down his muscular body in small rivulets. In the cold winter air, he stood there like a dark flame.

Ge Xinwei gazed at him in infatuation. It was this incomparable sense of self that she loved—something no one else could achieve. Because people cannot always act as they wish, they risk losing themselves. But a person who cannot live freely is pitiful. Striking a balance between the two is exceedingly difficult, and no one has managed it, except Ruowen!

At this moment, his bronzed skin emitted a nearly visible glow. His tall, commanding figure had already taken over her entire being. Yet he only stood there by the well, staring at her as though she were an object. “I need no subjects, no imperial seal, no realm to rule, and no need of you either!” he declared coldly, without a hint of sentiment. “So I will leave you here in Fentian.”

Ge Xinwei’s heart skipped a beat at his words. “Your Majesty?”

Ruowen shook the water from his head and looked at her panic-stricken face, giving a cold laugh. “You want me to attack Yunpei, don't you? Well, as you wish! I’ll leave Fentian tomorrow. All these so-called national guards, the Southern Expedition Army—you can have them all! They’re useless to me! Remember this—I’m not attacking Yunpei for that woman, but because I’m a bandit. The finest things in the world are in Yunpei, and so I shall make them mine! It’s that simple.”

Ge Xinwei turned pale. She could not understand his intentions, nor could she fathom what he valued. No kingdom? No power? Then what was he after?

Ruowen ran his hand through his wet, black hair, which now stood like a hedgehog. His purple eyes reflected wickedness. He strode up to Ge Xinwei, roughly lifting her chin, and smirked. “If you dare stir up trouble in Fentian... I will come back and kill you. Remember that!” With that, he turned and walked out of the desolate courtyard, as if this place had never been a stop in his journey.

Fentian and Yan Palace, the Grand Parade Ground.

The Huangtian Berserk Brigade stood in strict formation. Under the cold wind and blazing sun, their presence filled the training ground, their eyes firmly set on their commander on the platform.

Ruowen was dressed, as always, in a sandy-yellow cloak, tight earth-gray garb, and a belt bearing a sword and spear. He stood there for a full hour, neither speaking nor moving, his gaze cold and assessing. Finally, he shouted, “Do you like this place, Fentian?” Without hesitation, the commanders answered in unison, “We like it!”

Ruowen snorted. “Are you satisfied? Do you wish to continue?”

At this, silence fell over the assembly. No one answered. Perhaps they did not want to, or maybe they simply did not know how. Despite their silence, not one turned to look around; they all kept their eyes on Ruowen, their gazes unwavering.

Ruowen looked at them, raising his whip and pointing southward to the sky, shouting, “I am not satisfied, and so I will continue!” His voice was powerful, brimming with an irresistible force that shook every heart. After a moment, he roared, “Will you continue to follow me?”

The parade ground was so silent that his words echoed over and over. They looked up at the madman on the platform—a man who scorned all the rules of this world, seemingly destined to one day bring about its destruction.

Soon, the ground erupted with chaotic, deafening shouts.

“Chief! We’ve lived our whole lives without caring about much—but there’s one thing we’re curious about: just how far can we follow you? And that curiosity won’t die until we do!”

“Yeah! Damn it, I’ve done too much to even remember it all—but if I’m gonna get struck down by the gods, it better be by your side, Chief!”

“Chief! What more is there to ask? If you’re satisfied, then we’ll feel content! Wherever you go, we’ll follow—even watching you with women is exhilarating!”

“Pah! Chief! Just give the word!”

These rough, vulgar words filled Ruowen with nostalgia. Without the literate politeness of Ge Xinwei, he looked at these brothers who had fought beside him, and in that moment, the dormant fire in his heart rekindled.

Stepping forward, his sharp gaze swept across the four thousand men below, and he roared, "Listen up! Tomorrow morning, the Huangtian Berserk Brigade will break camp and leave this land! If you don't want to come, you'd better start thinking now about how to save your own skin!"

As his words echoed away, a wave of deafening shouts erupted from below.

Year 332 AD, early spring.

The Huangtian Berserk Brigade departed from Fentian, leaving only one ruler behind—Princess Yujiu, Ge Xinwei. Thereafter, Fentian underwent a complete transformation—

establishing laws and founding an academy, as Ge Xinwei divided territories and took in surrendered generals of the Ma Sui clan, restoring them under the banner of the Yu tribe, leading to a swift resurgence. Meanwhile, the berserk warriors were unleashed, four thousand men marching south, pillaging three oases, killing everyone in sight, without reason, without end, without mercy. Twice, scattered refugees united to resist, but were completely annihilated—nearly nine thousand perished without a trace, while a group of crazed men reveled atop the pile of bones.

Seven days later, despondent poets were already wandering the desert, singing of the berserk bloodshed. A song so sorrowful it tore the heart apart!

"Ruowen's scimitar swept across, and father’s blood soaked the dust;Ruowen's sword unsheathed, a mother buried without remorse;

Ruowen's lance cried out, a wife lost, laughter at the madness of it all!

Heaven and earth are devoid of grace,And the mortal realm lacks beauty.

Who dares stand against him? None in heaven or hell can escape!

He shatters thrones, scatters bones—there is no one who can match him!"...

The lotus, it is truly gone. On the cool right arm, there remained only a smooth, jade-like surface.

Qingyun looked at Huang Beishuang's arm...

She was still asleep, lost in a day and night that knew no distinction. But as long as she was in his embrace, that was enough.

In that moment, he felt that even the greatest of kings, lying in such a warm bed, would never wish to leave. Just the thought of it brought an ache to his heart, an unbearable sorrow.

Like a child, he stared at the place where once there had been three petals of a water lotus, silently whispering again to himself, “The lotus is truly gone; she gave everything to me.”

“What are you smiling about?” Huang Beishuang suddenly spoke, her eyes still closed, her voice fatigued.

Qingyun sat up, coughed twice before replying, “Your eyes aren’t even open, how do you know I’m smiling? I’m not.”

“Oh,” Huang Beishuang mumbled, paying him no mind. She pulled the blanket over herself, continuing to sleep. It was so warm. It must have been the spring chill, yet why did it feel so warm? With that thought, a smile formed on her lips.

Qingyun sat by her side, watching each of her expressions change, and suddenly, he felt a sense of home. A connection beyond words, a simple and sincere intimacy... With a gentle smile, he covered her with the blanket, carefully got up, and left the bed.

He liked to wear black clothes, liked garments embroidered with dragon totems, liked his longsword, and the pure white warhorse that soared beside him... For all these years, not one woman could stand by his side as an equal. Every time he turned his head, it was always empty beside him—only echoes reverberating.

Qingyun sat at the table, took a sip of wine, and—rare for him—choked on it. The burning sensation in his chest refused to settle, and it was only in moments of unease that he felt this way. Why was that? He had her heart and her body. That woman was already his. Why then, did she unsettle him more than anyone before? Was it her elusiveness? Or his own insatiable desire? He never imagined that, as a man, he could be so enmeshed in this obsession!

He did not know how long he sat there in thought—this was the first time in Qingyun's life that he had immersed himself in contemplating matters of the heart. It felt almost like happiness—happiness as intoxicating as poison, making him want to keep pondering forever...

“Your Majesty, you’re awake!” Miao Jing called from outside, hearing movement within. Peeking in, he found the king had risen. Qingyun turned his head, lifted a finger to signal silence, then draped a robe around himself and stepped outside.

“How many days has it been?” he asked, sitting in the main hall, looking at the somewhat weary Miao Jing.

Miao Jing nodded, answering, “Seven days, Your Majesty.”

“Time flies,” Qingyun leaned back, with a hint of complaint.

“Miao Jing, I have a task for you.” He looked up at the carved ceiling of the palace, the intricately beautiful design. Miao Jing knelt. “Your Majesty, please instruct me.”

Qingyun remained silent for a moment, clasping his hands before saying, “Send Mangliu's men to spread rumors, claiming that Empress Guan Ying of Yunpei was attacked by bandits, gravely wounded, and has already perished.”

Miao Jing nodded without hesitation.

“Ten days later, formally send condolences to Guanghan Palace for the loss of Zhan Wang.” Qingyun said, turning to the kneeling Miao Jing with a cold gaze, “Additionally, summon General Liaozhen into the palace to discuss military matters. Recall the demobilized soldiers one by one. I want a grand review before officially setting out.”

“And the Dead Soldiers Squad...” Miao Jing nodded, then hesitated, “The fourteen members of the Dead Soldiers Squad—should Your Majesty summon them?”

Qingyun stood up, smiling, “No need. Arrange them yourself—guide them carefully. In times like these, every country will attempt assassinations, and there is no reason we shouldn’t use our own hand. First kill Nazhan, then Ruowen. If we succeed, we avenge. If we fail, well—you do as you see fit.”

Miao Jing bowed, then rose and withdrew. The king’s thoughts were always clear. Even when immersed in carnal indulgence, he never forgot himself. Only those who never lose themselves tread on the path of greatness—this was what Miao Jing always believed.

A night ignited in flames—that seemed to be Ruowen's expertise.

To say he had no schemes was an underestimation. He led four thousand men into depravity, leaving a path of curses and blood-red rivers behind. White crowns and yellow banners—wherever they flew, wails of the dead echoed until dawn.

That night, Manhu set fire to Guazhou, turning the sky crimson, drawing the troops stationed in Ruoshui to rush for aid, allowing Ruowen to take advantage and swiftly capture the weakened Ruoshui. At first glance, Ruowen's move seemed foolish—Ruoshui was just a small city. To its south lay Yunpei, flanked on either side by Xueyuan and Guazhou, belonging to Tiandu. Invading Ruoshui meant provoking King Bei Jing and challenging Zhan Wang of the Southern Region. No matter how fearless the Huangtian Berserk Brigade was, taking on two powerful kings with just four thousand men seemed like a madman's dream.

But he did it nonetheless.

“Chief! These people are so noisy—why not just kill them all?” Langtou sat on a guillotine—a contraption used for beheadings. It was the first time they had seen such a device and had been excited for a while. Without slicing a few people with it, they felt uneasy. The blood and gore clinging to the blade reeked, but no one ever cleaned it. They grew more infatuated with the sensation, more addicted to the stench.

Only Ruowen found it abhorrent. He killed but hated the stench of death. He loved drinking but disliked the sourness of bad wine. Frowning, he glared coldly at Langtou and said harshly, “If you like it, take it to your room. Clean it! And from now on, no one is allowed to kill another person from Ruoshui! Round them up and confine them in the city center!” He sat aside, and his words needed no repeating. Chengxiang, the only one among them who used his brains, immediately understood and carried out the orders.

Ruoshui, a city of around eighty thousand, had more than fifty thousand left after the berserkers' onslaught. After excluding the elderly, weak, women, and children, only ten thousand able-bodied men remained.

Ruoshui had many familial ties with Yunpei and had always been prosperous, receiving support and aid from Yunpei, making it a wealthy city. In a sense, it was inseparable from Yunpei. Although Qingyun had taken it during their battle, his real intention was to leverage its connections with Yunpei's border cities in the future. Now, it seemed he wasn't the only one who had noticed this exposed vulnerability.

And now this wealthy city was encircled, with Huangtian Berserk Brigade's flags planted around it, showing clearly who its new masters were.

That night, Chengxiang of the Department of Livelihood officially issued an ultimatum in Ruowen's name to four territories—Hege, Yunpei, Mizun, and Fentian. The cold, ruthless proclamation would be remembered vividly by many storytellers for years, unforgettable for a lifetime. The brief yet thunderous words resounded like a blade scraping against bone:

"The Banner of Netherworld sets boundaries; any who flee will be executed, any intruder will die! The Huangtian Berserk Brigade rests here, unafraid of death, unashamed of the grave! Let this serve as an ultimatum to all—if any dare challenge my forces, the city shall be slaughtered, leaving no mercy!"

These few words alone left Tiandu, Yunpei, and Fentian—which was preoccupied with its reconstruction—powerless to act.

This was the present Ruowen, alongside Qingyun, Nazhan, Huang Beishuang, and even Ge Xinwei, gradually coming to understand what it meant to be a king—what politics truly was. And upon understanding, he found it all exceedingly dull. There had never been anything he dared not do—killing was just killing, and retribution was nothing but death. What was there to fear in death? To him, the only true terror lay in boredom, in a lack of desire, in emptiness. Beyond that, gods, what else could possibly punish him? Nothing at all!

But for Qingyun and Nazhan, to rule by slaughtering a city would mean the fall of their realm. Such a ridiculous notion bound them, no matter how clever their schemes. It was better to be Ruowen, a bandit, reckless and unchanging until death. No one could threaten him, let alone treat him like a game.

If born into darkness, desire is the blaze that consumes corruption;If born into light, desire is the drop of blood that stains purity.

In this life, only the banner understands my heart;In this lifetime, only the Netherworld brings me peace.I shall never know regret, never turn back!

For the first time since Yunpei closed its gates, the city opened wide to welcome back its valiant general, Wu Jihai, who had fought for over a decade in its defense. This return came without the loss of a single man, the long procession crossing the desert, carrying a resplendent but empty palanquin. Alongside the palanquin walked eleven shackled figures—among them were Lian Huan and Ye Pei.

Wu Jihai had scolded them the entire journey, fearful that they would seek death recklessly, so he had bound them and forcibly brought them back. He owed too much to the queen; the least he could do was ensure her people did not die in vain.

Nazhan sat in the Grand Hall of Guanghan Palace, looking at Wu Jihai, who had returned safely. His heart was overwhelmed, filled with shock and gratitude. His queen had not only met his expectations but had exceeded them, even preserving a general formidable enough to deter the surrounding territories. Amid the rising smoke of turmoil, she had not disappointed him in the slightest.

“General!” Nazhan looked at Wu Jihai, his emotions in turmoil.

“Your Majesty! The queen, she...” Wu Jihai's face was filled with regret, and for a long moment, he couldn't continue.

Nazhan leaned back, his gaze falling on the eleven shackled figures who had accompanied Huang Beishuang. After contemplating for a while, he spoke softly, “Guang Zhaoyun, read aloud the letter from Tiandu received this morning.”

Guang Zhaoyun stepped forward, reading each word clearly:

“To the Lord of Guanghan Palace, Yunpei:

The world is divided, with the north led by King Jing and the south by Zhan Wang, each ruling their own land, competing as equals or existing in peace. Therefore, in regard to the recent bereavement, our sovereign grieves deeply and mourned for three days for his friend, Zhan Wang. Yet even that could not ease his sorrow. He has commanded that this letter be penned with three words of solace: what is lost cannot be regained, lingering grief is in vain, and governance must not dwell in the past. May your Majesty understand our sovereign's sincere condolences. Wishing your Majesty health, and the nation enduring peace.”

He read each word clearly, and upon hearing the phrase "recent bereavement," Ye Pei, Lian Huan, and the others nearly collapsed.

“Nashou!” Lian Huan, overcome with rage, suddenly broke free from his shackles, drew his sword, and pointed it at Nazhan. “It's all your doing, using Nashou as bait!” The excessive fury had burned away the ideals in their eyes, leaving them hollow and vacant. Even Wu Jihai was stunned, unable to react.

“Impudent!” Guang Zhaoyun roared, and several guards rushed forward, taking them down.

Nazhan sat upon his throne, gazing down at the eleven of them. He suspected that there were likely more than these eleven. Who knew where Huang Beishuang, with her cunning moves, had placed other informants?

“I heard that in Ernachi, the highest rank belongs to Ershou, but it seems you are more loyal to Nashou. Hmph! You don't even hold me in regard!” Nazhan looked at them and smiled coldly.

Though captured, Lian Huan still gripped his sword. None of the eleven uttered a word, each wearing an expression of utter desolation.

Nazhan stared at them for a long time, then spoke softly, “Forget it, I will spare your lives. I shall repay grievance with virtue and send you, the eleven, as envoys to Tiandu during this period of truce. Retrieve the queen's remains and lay her to rest in our nation's Founding Tomb. Will you do it?”

Hearing this, the eleven exchanged glances before kneeling together and replying, “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

Nazhan smiled, shifting his posture, his eyes revealing a mysterious darkness. “However, should my queen have survived and still walks this earth, I expect you to bring her back to me!”

It was clear from his words that Nazhan did not truly believe Huang Beishuang had perished. He intended to reclaim her loyalty. As he spoke, he pulled out a silk pouch from his robe—a pouch containing soil from Huang Beishuang's homeland, gifted to him on their wedding day. He had a maid hand it to Ye Pei, saying calmly, “Go see her, and take this with you.”

The eleven bowed once more before quietly retreating.

In Guan Ying Palace, the only one who still studied diligently every day was Saman. Sitting in the courtyard, he heard a commotion and turned to see Ye Pei and the others returning in disarray. “Sister is back!” he cried excitedly, rushing over, grabbing Daoqiu’s hand. “Where is the Lady of Guan Ying? Quickly, come see! Her Jiemashu tree has bloomed—it’s been flowering for a long time, and hasn’t withered yet! When the wind blows, it looks just like snow—it’s beautiful!”

Ye Pei looked up, staring blankly at the brilliant blossoms of the Jiemashu tree, tears suddenly streaming down her face.

“When the flowers bloom, you shall understand.”...

With that thought, her sobs grew even more sorrowful. The others looked at her, seeming to understand, yet not quite.

“I don’t know if I should go or not.” After crying for a while, Ye Pei finally calmed herself. With a choked voice, she walked to one of the Jiemashu trees, touched its gray-yellow trunk, and said, “If Nashou is truly in Tiandu, wouldn’t she have finally fulfilled her wish—to be with Qingye? We may as well consider her dead.”

“Ye Pei!” Lian Huan was taken aback, rushing forward to embrace her, shouting, “What nonsense are you talking? Do you not know Nashou's temperament? Even if you consider her dead, she will not be!”

“But...” Ye Pei lowered her head. “For a woman... to be by her lover’s side is such a blissful thing! Do you understand? To go and bring her back—to bring her back to this desolate Jiemashu grove? To bring her back to continue playing her flute on Huaiyue Pavilion? Haven't you seen enough of her stubborn self-inflicted wounds?” She spoke with deep grief, her clenched fists raining down in frustration, unable to vent the discontent in her heart.

Lian Huan looked at her, and in that moment, even this rough and rugged man could not remain calm. He held Ye Pei tightly, the eleven of them standing beneath the Jiemashu tree, a desolate scene.

After a long while, Lian Huan spoke, as if an idea had taken root. "Recall General Lei Yun; we'll go see Nashou. Whether she returns or not, let her decide." With that, he plucked a white blossom from the Jiemashu tree and placed it in Ye Pei's hair, smiling. "Men are not as simple as women think, and women are not as fragile as men imagine. We all know this, yet pretend not to. That's not Nashou's way—she will choose, and we only need to follow. Tomorrow morning, we set out. No more sadness."

Beneath the white blossom tree, the cold wind blew softly, scattering petals like snowflakes, slowly recalling vows once made...

The eleven looked up at the sky; there was no more confusion, only determination.

Tiandu's Huairou, Ice Thorn Palace, the back mountain.

"I said I wanted to bask in the sun, not come to such a remote place!" Huang Beishuang sat in the grass, watching Qingyun as he tended to the horses. Seeing her health improving, Qingyun had brought her out to walk the horses, deliberately leading them to such a secluded spot.

Qingyun smiled, patting the horse's rump and letting it roam freely before walking over to her. "I'll build a retreat for you here, and afterward, only I will come to visit you. How about that?"

"Sure!" Huang Beishuang scoffed, "You live here with me. However long you stay, I'll stay. If you leave, I leave. How about that?"

Qingyun's face darkened at her words. He pulled her close, his embrace heavy, with a hint of anger. "Can't you be like an ordinary woman, thinking only of me, waiting only for me?"

Huang Beishuang looked at him, "Are you an ordinary man, one who would love an ordinary woman?"

Her retort left Qingyun momentarily silent, then he laughed, lifting a strand of her hair to his lips and inhaling its light fragrance. "Are you feeling better?"

Huang Beishuang nodded, her gray eyes meeting his. Her frail shoulders leaned tightly against his chest. "I am."

Qingyun's eyes darkened. He spread his cloak on the grass, began to unfasten her clothes piece by piece, laying them beside them. The cold air could not pierce their embrace; only kisses filled the space between them, calling out endlessly to their insatiable longing.

When they were together, they never spoke of the changing world outside, for they knew such talk would only waste the sweetness of these moments. They were unwilling to part with it, not even for a second.

I can give myself to you, as long as you desire...I can give, so you need not ask again.Before you, my heart grants all that you wish.

Falling City, Ruoshui.

Contrary to King Jing's expectations, Ruowen had not directly entangled with Yunpei but instead seized what should have been his move. Even more astonishing, he had the support of Fentian, always able to summon the national army at his command. Though abandoned by him, they remained hopelessly devoted, as though he was their only purpose.

In the manor of Ruoshui, Ruowen would spend time alone every night in a room devoid of light, forbidding anyone from disturbing him. The room contained nothing but a bed; even the windows were sealed. When the door closed, darkness enveloped everything.

He would sit there, silently, unmoving on the bed, immersed in pitch blackness where not even an outstretched hand could be seen. His heavy breaths filled the air, stirring an unusual heat—something that belonged to him, beyond his control, which only in darkness could he fully experience.

Dong! Dong! Dong!

Metal struck against metal. In the darkness, his eyes could not see; whether it was a knife knocking against a sword, a sword clashing against a blade, or a gun with a ring mark tapping against his heart—he could not tell.

In short, there were sounds in the darkness, but their source remained unknown.

"Chief!"

Surprisingly, it was Manhu who called to him from outside at this hour. His voice sounded incredibly tense, as if it had taken considerable courage to disturb Ruowen's solitude. He coughed occasionally at the door.

"What is it?" Ruowen's voice came from somewhere within the darkness of the room.

"F-Falling Eagle brings news!" Manhu pressed against the door, stammering. "Huang Beishuang... she's dead, it seems!"

Bang! The door fell to the ground, moonlight spilling into the dark room. In the doorway's shadow, only Ruowen's feet were visible. He stood in the doorway, like a specter.

"Have you seen the body?" Ruowen looked at Manhu.

"No... just a report." Manhu scratched his head, unable to discern Ruowen's expression, his own face filled with fear. "Sh-should I... fetch the body?"

Ruowen took a step forward, his entire form suddenly illuminated by the moonlight, his face cold as ice. "What use do I have for a body? Find her!"

"But... if she's dead, how do we find her?" Manhu asked, bewildered.

Ruowen laughed aloud. "She’s tougher than me—she won't die that easily. Find her!"

Manhu nodded. "That would be Falling Eagle's responsibility, Chief. Rest now—tonight, do you want...?"

Ruowen scratched his short hair, saying indifferently, "Summon Ruolan and Feiwen."

Until now, he had discarded countless women, including Ge Xinwei, but he had never abandoned Ruolan or Feiwen. The hearts of men can sometimes be explained simply by instinct. To Ruowen, these two women were like saddles—not cherished, yet after growing used to them, an inexplicable need developed, especially in moments of unfulfilled desire. They could only temporarily quell his fervor, but it was enough, enough to make him unwilling to part with them.

The solitude of the desert grew all the more profound under the contrasting oasis. Once, a melodic copper bell had rung here; now, it no longer sounded. Only the frenzied pounding of hooves remained, only the metallic clang of war drums. Three strikes, and the vast army advanced—for country, for kin, for self. Yet in doing so, more lands were ravaged, more lives senselessly lost.

Qingyun had taken Huang Beishuang back to what was once their homeland of Ernachi. Now, that land nurtured yet another enslaved people.

Standing in the wind, she gazed out at the endless expanse of barren earth, lost in thought. In an instant, memories flooded back—the countless ceremonies held here, the handful of yellow soil she had taken on the day of her wedding, her mother’s words, her brother’s admonitions.

Having come full circle, she would never have imagined back then that one day, when she returned, Ernachi would have already cast them aside.

Oh, humanity! Why are you never satisfied?

Qingyun held her tightly from behind, his thin lips brushing her face, seemingly offering warmth to her cold skin. Yet unexpectedly, he tasted the salt of her tears. He turned her around, his eyes filled with affection. "Is it hard for you?"

Huang Beishuang shook her head. "No, it’s not hard—just foolish."

Qingyun laughed. "How great can even the biggest problems be? When I achieve victory, I will tell you, and then I will fulfill all your wishes."

Huang Beishuang smiled faintly. "In Ernachi, every girl makes a wish to the heavens on her wedding day and sings to her husband... so many girls, when they meet the one they love, start preparing their wedding song."

Qingyun nodded. "And you? Did you ever sing?"

"Greedy! My husband was King Nazhan of Yunpei!" Huang Beishuang replied.

"Oh? And did you sing for him?" Qingyun's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of displeasure.

Huang Beishuang shook her head. "He never heard me sing."

She turned, her back resting against Qingyun’s chest, her eyes filled with a deep, unfathomable sorrow as she looked upon what was no longer her homeland. She began to sing her love song—a short, simple tune, yet genuine, as true as any ordinary woman’s love.

"When flowers bloom and the moon shines, I smile at my love,

Three bows to heaven,and three wishes I make:

First, that my beloved shall live long,

Second, that he shall know my heart,

Third, that one day, as swallows soar,

We shall drink to our bitter and sweet together!"