Chapter Eight: When Winds Rise and Clouds Surge

The border was ablaze with ceaseless war, the two sides evenly matched, with victories and losses exchanged in turn.

At the frontier, a man clad in military armor hurriedly rushed into the tent.

“Reporting to the Prince, the Cavalry General marched day and night, striking straight into the heart of the Yuéshi stronghold. Most of them have surrendered, including their Left Chieftain, Wu Xuan. The rest broke through the lines and fled.”

Prince Jiang, who had been poring over a map, lifted his head and let out a long breath. “Bring Wu Xuan to me!”

Soon after, a burly man with a full beard was brought into the tent. His face was devoid of emotion, and his eyes, sharp as blades, fixed unwaveringly on Prince Jiang.

“What are you staring at? Kneel before the Prince!” barked the soldier escorting him.

“Leave us,” Prince Jiang commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

Wu Xuan remained motionless. Prince Jiang strode over and untied the ropes binding his hands.

Wu Xuan snorted coldly and shoved him away. “Don’t play your tricks on me. You people from the Central Plains are all smiles with daggers hidden behind your backs. Kill me if you wish—I’m not afraid!”

“You’re mistaken,” Prince Jiang replied calmly. “Ever since the Yue people returned in force and reignited the war, the fighting has dragged on for four years.”

Wu Xuan pulled over a chair and sat, staring at him coldly.

“These four years, both sides’ people have suffered greatly from war…”

Wu Xuan slammed the chair. “Nonsense! Are you here to preach to me?”

“You’re mistaken again.” Prince Jiang smiled, pacing to stand before Wu Xuan. His strong frame leaned in, wolf-like eyes narrowing.

He said, “It’s because of hatred, isn’t it? Because of the massacre that night thirteen years ago? Since then, you’ve attacked countless times, but victories have been few and defeats many. After all these years, your hatred remains undiminished.”

Wu Xuan’s eyes reddened. He lunged forward, shouting, “I’ll kill you!”

The Jiang household was bustling early that day. Servants waited by the gates, bringing news as it arrived.

“Madam, the Prince is nearing the street corner,” a young servant announced from the hall.

“Come, let’s welcome him outside,” the Princess Consort said, rising with a face full of joy. Ming Rou and Lüshang followed at her side. Jiang Zhencheng, unable to contain himself, had already run out ahead. Second Madam and Ming Wan walked together, while Ming Chu trailed behind alone.

The maids and servants lined up on both sides, unable to contain their delight. “The Prince has triumphed again! The Yue people who once dominated the northern desert have finally been subdued by him.”

Two servants whispered, “I heard he even captured their chief leader.”

The citizens of the capital lined the streets, the air filled with cheers. Prince Jiang clasped his hands, offering thanks all along the way until the procession turned quiet at the street’s end.

The sound of horse hooves rang out. Prince Jiang rode a black steed, flanked by Jiang Zhenning and Wu Xuan, both on horseback, with dozens of the Prince’s closest followers behind.

Prince Jiang dismounted. The Princess Consort approached, “You’ve worked hard, my lord.” Out of nowhere, Jiang Zhenyuan dashed over and hugged him. “Father, I’ve missed you so much.”

Prince Jiang laughed heartily, his gaze sweeping the gathering. Beside his wife stood Ming Rou; to the left was Ming Wan.

“Where is Ming Chu?” He shifted his gaze, masking his thoughts, and smiled. “Let’s go inside.”

Jiang Zhenyuan eyed Wu Xuan curiously, unsure of the bearded man’s identity.

Wu Xuan had come to the capital to meet the Emperor and express his loyalty. The war had dragged on too long; none could bear it any further. He could not let personal grievances endanger his people.

Prince Jiang, respecting him as a hero, treated him as an honored guest, granting him the freedom to wander as he pleased within the residence.

That afternoon, Prince Jiang entered the palace to report Wu Xuan’s request for an audience. Wu Xuan, accompanied by Li Chang, toured the estate. Jiang Zhenyuan trailed after him, peppering him with questions.

“Big Beard, why did you surrender?”

“What do you know, boy? Run along, or I’ll give you a thrashing,” Wu Xuan growled.

Jiang Zhenyuan ran in front of him, shouting, “You’re my father’s defeated foe! I’m not afraid of you.” Wu Xuan snorted, “Brat, I respect Prince Jiang—I won’t stoop to your level.”

“My young master, would you please go play elsewhere?” Li Chang coaxed.

Jiang Zhenyuan flicked his sleeve, deliberately positioning himself in Wu Xuan’s way. “This is my home. I’ll stay right here if I want.”

Wu Xuan impatiently shoved him aside. “Annoying son of a tiger’s den.”

They happened to pass by the Taiqing Pond, resplendent in the height of summer, with lotus blossoms vying for beauty, and endless jade-green leaves stretching to the sky.

Wu Xuan’s shove was not gentle; Jiang Zhenyuan nearly tumbled into the water. Li Chang quietly warned, “Young master, you mustn’t cause more trouble, or I’ll have no choice but to report to the Prince.”

Jiang Zhenyuan pouted in silence. At fifteen, he was no longer as reckless as in childhood.

Wu Xuan continued his wandering, taking the path through the gardens to a courtyard beyond. He asked, “Who lives there?”

“That is the Fifth Miss’s residence.”

Wu Xuan drew closer. The wisteria draping the western wall rustled gently, lending the place an air of tranquility. Wu Xuan’s gaze drifted over the scene.

Within the courtyard, wildflowers flourished in the corners. Ancient parasol trees stood tall and lush, their interlaced branches forming a verdant canopy dotted with emerald leaves.

Atop the highest branch, a round face suddenly appeared. She wore a cloud-sleeved blouse and a light blue skirt like mist. Her lips were naturally rosy, her brows unpainted yet dark, her smile radiating the lively charm of youth.

She was gazing, entranced, toward the horizon.

At the edge of the setting sun, the sky blossomed with shades of purple and red, orange light spilling beneath the clouds. Billowing masses of color drifted and gathered, painting the western sky in a blaze of evening glow.

As the sun sank, the clouds above the west burned like flames, the afterglow lingering on.

“The gentle breeze intoxicates the evening glow; the sunset is endlessly beautiful. The ancients did not deceive me,” Ming Chu murmured in awe.

Her cheeks, flushed beneath the sunset, gleamed with the brilliance of the sky. She drew out a flute from her sleeve and played a slow, melodious tune, the music drifting far on the wind.

Yuewu, who was fetching water, looked up at her. Four years had passed, and she had long since mastered the flute. She loved nothing more than perching in the parasol tree at sunset, playing as she watched the day’s end.

The three outside were drawn by the music, following the sound with their eyes. Amidst the dense leaves, they caught a glimpse of a figure.

Wu Xuan took two steps forward. The moment he truly saw the person in the tree, he froze, his mind going utterly blank. Then, memories long buried exploded forth.

He clenched his fists, chest heaving violently. All present heard his cry—

“Danruo!”