Yongning sixth year, the Ninth month, the ninth, Fanshwar Right Crowne King raised a coup, and with one strike slaughtered thirty-two of the Left Crown King’s high officials, and held his ten thousand Crown Troops in the Hundred Flower Fields by Lake Umei. At the stand-off, the Left Crown King’s Grand Marshall suddenly switched sides and collaborated with the Crowne King’s insurgent forces. And together they stomped through Hundred Flower Fields and ousted the Crown King, and usurped the throne. The histories called it the “Hundred Flower Coup.”

The standing forces of the Crown King’s immediate tribe heard the great vicissitude and decidedly rose a loyalist host, and hoped to subdue the insurgency before the Hundred Flower Field and save their king. At the same time, Chienye sent the Imperial Forces, the Autumn Hunt Army, and the Ghost Army, a total of a hundred thousand, to support the Right Crowne King to vanquish the loyalists.

On the day of victory, when the Hundred Flower Fields fell, the Crowne King marched first into the palace, Yujien Tianhung, Cher Baochi and a thousand Chienye warriors followed after. At the time, the Left Crown King styled a dark green cloak and stood on the Water Mirror Dais, his form shrunken, but his air was undiminished. Sixteen cannons spread in a line, all loaded and waiting to fire; a dozen shielded archers drew open bows, their lips holding knives, and had their backs to each other. The Right Crowne King personally led the charge, sung his ten thousand reluctances, and, as he got to the emotional pitch, even shed a few hero’s tears. His speech pleaded, “If dear ole brother would forgive this younger brother’s passing imprudence, from now on we can continue as one country and two kings and govern the state together; ole brother’s peerage and power would not be diminished in any measure.” The Left Crown King let out a wry laugh. “Excellent,” he uttered and pointed forth his golden blade. The cannon boomed. The Water Mirror Dais sat against the hill by the water. It was the ancestral worship place of the Fanshwar royalty, and formally built with narrow ridgeways. Though the Left Crowne King had heavy troops, for a moment, he dared not advance, but backed up, and ordered bows to let fly. But the two sides were far apart, and the arrows fell flat at the halfway point. “Crowne King,” the Left Crown King’s bleak voice rose in the distance; “I ask myself I have not treated you unkindly; I’ve consulted you with every matter including the affairs of the state. I have no descendants nor heirs, nephews or offshoots. After my death, the throne naturally passes to you alone. Why are you in such a rush? Is our years of brotherly bond less meaningful than this Thousand True Jewel Seal?”

When the Crowne King heard the Thousand True Jewel Seal, his hardy and lean face showed a shade of avarice. “Brother, you’ve treated me very well, in very way…” he muttered; “But you don’t understand that feeling of being merely one step away from the grasp of total power; it’s right in your sight, but never able to hold it in my hand—every day, every moment—it makes one more dead than alive. I can’t bear it no more!”

The Left Crown King cackled harrowingly. “Insatiable greed, what is there to say? You’ve put up a good show for so many years, even deceived me!” The cackling halted, and he barked, “You’ve always been careful and forbearing, now you dare to be so bold against me! Who gave you the guts?”

The Crowne King was somewhat guilty; having him give such a sharp speech, he subconsciously retreated a step, and sided his glance towards his back.

Cannons blaring in the rear, black plumes rising fiery red, the exquisitely beautiful murals on the two sides collapsed under the blasts. From the haze, the sound of hooves flooded in like currents, and masked, black-mailed soldiers advanced in silence, sealing shut the three sides of the Water Mirror Dais.

The Left Crown King lifted his eyes at the one on his horse wielding the lance. The muscles surrounding his eyes jumped a few times. “Yujien Tianhung, it’s you.”

Yujien, his hand brandishing Flowing Fire, clad in smoke, swept his piercing glance across the Water Mirror Dais.

“Where is he?” he spoke coldly.

The Left Crown King’s eyes turned white, his expression twisted extremely peculiarly. “Him? Hahaha! So, that boy is so significant in your heart. This humble king has accomplished little in this life, been wasting half my time, yet I have been able to make the Ghost Sovereign part his love. Such a great honor for the ups and downs of our entire nation!”

Yujien was coldly silent. The Crowne King could wait no more, stole a step, and cut him off. “Ole Brother, quit your mad theatrics! If you want to live, better peacefully hand over the Jade Seal!”

The Left Crown King’s cackling gradually ceased. His triple-whites eyes took rounds between the two. He spoke slowly, “Count me blind for these thirty years! But Little Crowne, you’ve invited the wolf into the den at an enormous risk. You might not sit on this monarch’s throne to a peaceful end.”

The Crowne King’s eyelids jerked and his throat rolled twice. “That will not trouble your honor’s concern,” he growled.

And the Left Crown King’s throat coughed a few times as if choked. The golden blade in his hand drooped, then returned it to the sheath, sending out a covert signal.

In a flash, the sixteen cannons fired instantaneously, but the drop was the coming path’s stone walls. The sound of rumbling thunder. Stones fell like rain and rapidly surrounded the insurgent Crowne Army and the Chienye Heavy Cavalry.

The Crowne King had a frisson and suddenly remembered something. “Oh no! There is fire fuel below ground!” he exclaimed.

And they saw the Crown King with a grim smile, turned back and drew his hand to a beast head trigger on the dais. “Good little brother, come down with your big brother to go see our ancestral kings!” he screamed.

Yujien, his brows minutely shifted, struck out Flowing Fire and was to hurl it out of his hand.

At this moment, a few sounds of drip, drip, someone slowly stepped forth.

This sound of the tread hitting the ground was so bizarre; it wasn’t the clicks of wooden clogs, nor gold, jade, or leather. When both of his feet stepped on the Water Mirror Dais’s white jade surface, the crowd finally saw the full appearance of the curio. It was a pair of black-glazed porcelain shoes blooming with gold lines of flowers and birds.

These shoes were tiny and narrow, and the base completely round, looking awfully uncomfortable on his feet, let alone to walk.

The shoes were so pitifully small, yet there was a perversely conspicuous, flowery wine dish on the toe of the shoe; it was amber in color, so lustrous as if to drip, and there seemed to be a few drops of wine remaining on the bottom of the dish.

And on his body, he wore a long robe falling to the floor, a translucent black silk with skin beneath faintly visible, the cuffs and lower hem were finished with long black feathers, fluttering in wreaths with the flowing sleeves. A thin silver thread loosely tied around his waist, the line fell to his ankles, and the end of the silvery thread was finished to a thumb-sized drip pearl, swaying between the light feathers and thin silks.

Though this outfit was somewhat queer, he was tall in frame and stout of shoulders and his face was as cold as ice, and it didn’t seem especially sexual or lewd.

The Ghost Army seniors who had seen his face all took back a breath, and silently exclaimed, “Isn’t that the General’s beloved son… Captain Qu?”

The Lord Commander appeared completely unmoved, but the slaughtering drive across his entire being was imminent to the eyes, like a blade against the flesh, unsettling to all. Who would dare to ask; all held their eyes to their nose and their nose to their heart, not daring to breathe half a whiff too hard.

As soon as the Crown King saw him on stage, the loose flesh on his face jittered, and he lifted his left hand to hold his.

But Captain Qu didn’t stretch out his hand. The two hands hiding under the feathered sleeves wore a pair of ice cold, pearl-studded handcuffs. From shoulders to elbows, from wrist to palms, all locked tight without any grounds for movement. The Crown King grasped a silver thread to his handcuffs and touched his bounded, curled-up finger, and tenderly pulled him over, his countenance extremely gentle.

“Come, let’s die together!”

Captain Qu’s eyes were bowed, the lashes dropped low, and upon his words, they rose as well. “Alright,” he answered whisperingly.

With that said, with the sway of the hem edge black feathers, and like a drop of his step, he fell into the Crown King’s arms.

The Crown King was so overwhelmed to fall back a pace, and his arms naturally wrapped around his waist. And between now and then, his entire body convulsed, and cocked up his neck in disbelief.. “You… You…” he trilled.

His body was much fatter than Captain Qu, and behind the cover of his back, no one knew what happened.

The Crown King shivered like a fallen leaf in the autumn wind, his throat huffed gruffly, and the golden bells on his ear rang nonstop.

Captain Qu, eyes drooped, silent, and his figure had not a single change. Those near only heard a light sneer, followed by the faint slushes of squeezing ulcerous flesh.

The back of the Crown King’s deep green cloak slowly bulged up. And soon, a cracking noise. The cloak teared open, and between the fissure, five bloody fingers sent out a fist-sized object, the crimson veins still half-tethered, the heart still dimly pulsing.

The personal guards beneath the dais had never experienced warfare, and seeing a living heart carved straight out of the chest, all were, for a moment, stunned. The insurgent forces caught the opportunity to charge in, arresting and slaughtering, none was spared.

The Crowne King rushed before the dais and snatched the jade seal off the Crown King’s corpse. He found the trigger intact and ordered men to dig beneath the Water Mirror Dais. There really buried several hundred thunderclap firebombs, if ignited, the entire Hundred Flower Fields would level into flat ground. The hindsight roused a torrent of fear. He regarded this Ghost Army captain, willing to endure humiliation and abasement, and was about to say a few words of gratitude, but saw the muscles on his face screw unnaturally and his two legs seemed unable to support himself, his entire body leaned weakly against the Crown King’s corpse, directing an indifferent look to the forefront, and collapsed head down.

~

The Chienye military supported the nation’s founding of the new monarch. On the night of triumphant return, the herbalist’s yurt curtains snapped open from the middle with a slap. Oyghrmuki drove in like a blast of storm, smashing a mass of pots and bowls. And the warm bowl of medicinal soup Songshr had just prepared for Little Ting’yu was also turned over.

Jorrji normally cared most about the herbs. At this moment, he jolted up and didn’t rush to curse, but lifted his head to regard Oyghrmuki. His brows seemed to show a hue of question.

Oyghrmuki whipped the horse around, lifted the old healer from his back and threw him on the horseback.

Songshr had a sensitive heart, and finding the situation off, she immediately lifted her skirt and dashed up two steps and caught one of grandpa’s boots, her face imploring.

Just as Jorrji shook his head, Oyghrmuki opened his mouth, “If she wants to go, let her come.”

Songshr was overjoyed, wrapped her dress up, and deftly jumped up the horseback. Oyghrmuki gave a shout, raised the horsewhip and raced the steed into flight.

Songshr sat behind grandpa, and felt the wind wuther past her ears, her heart leaping in thumps. She was used to seeing this boisterous, smiling Grand Chamberlain, always kind of scared, and felt the way he walked and talked was like a newly cooked pot of iron, crackling with noise, busy and loud.

But today, something made her heart uneasy, and she only hoped he would be like the usual, to say some crude words that would make grandpa blow his mustache and crank his brows.

But Captain Oyghrmuki wasn’t well-versed in reading minds, and through riding into the City of Ghost’s grand ger, he didn’t say another word the entire way.

Songshr had only three parts of affection and rather twelve parts of terror towards this austere, dark, ancient city. As soon as she saw the fluttering Nvquay banner above the ger, she was reminded of who sat behind the curtains, instantly had a shudder and lowered her head.

But seeing the situation inside the ger, her eyes widened, and she completely forgot her fears.

General Yujien sat on the bed edge, his military boots full of soil and blood, his heavy armor unrelieved, and his body seemed to be shrouded under a pall of black frost. He held someone on his lap, a face ghostly pale, lips deathly purple, and lashes wanly drooped; he had been unconscious for a long time. The green veins bulged faintly at the corners of his eyes, obviously having bitten intensely on his jaws before he passed out.

An enormous black military uniform draped over his body, but his legs were exposed on the outside. His ankles were full of yellow blisters, the skin on the back of his feet bloated transparent. There were hundred of cut marks on his calves, the blood had already dried.

Songshr let out a low cry and covered her mouth.

General Yujien’s extremely exhausted eyes swept across the two and landed on Jorrji. Candlelight flickered within the ger. Songshr could not perceive what kind of expression he had beneath the mask, but she faintly deduced the one on the bed wasn’t only injured in this one place, and her heart hung tense at once.

Jorrji calmed down instead, took out a small scalpel, silver tweezers, hemostatic drugs, gauze dressing, and passed it all into Songshr’s hands. He sat down by the bed and nodded lightly at General Yujien, motioning he was ready.

General Yujien hesitated for a moment and slowly uncovered the lower hem of the military uniform. A bizarre feathered black silk gown fell down the bed with his movements, and was tethered by a very thin silver thread. Yet, the end of the silver thread was held beneath his steel-gloved fingers.

When the cover was completely unveiled, the old healer’s entire body went stiff. His shoulders shook, his chest rose and fell sharply, seeming trying to suppress both shook and rage.

Another hand held fast against Songshr’s chest. She wanted to turn around for a look, but Jorrji shifted his body aside and blocked out her vision.

She heard his ancient, shuddering voice ask, “…is connected…to this thread?”

“Mn. Can you take a look… if there are any other mechanisms in there?” General Yujien’s voice also took on some rasp.

The old healer stretched his eagle skin like, rough black hand and meticulously examined the wound at the end of the silver thread. His movements were unobservable, but the pain caused Qu Fongning’s brows to tighten and his toes curled up.

Yujien watched Jorrji’s face. “How is it?” he asked.

“This old man can extract it.” Jorrji did not lift his face.

“Then I shall withdraw myself,” said Yujien, his brows relaxed. And he rose to leave.

“You stay here to watch,” Jorrji stopped him.

His voice was curt, going so far as to be rude. Songshr had never heard Jorrji speak to anyone this way, let alone this wasn’t anyone; this was the most terrifying warrior god general on the steppes.

Yujien was unfazed, merely gave the grandpa a mild glance, returned to sit on the edge and adjusted the patient’s position on the bed.

Wordlessly, the grandpa put on a pair of clean white gloves and withdrew an iron box from his bosom. An odd assortment of large and small objects filled the container: silver ear spoon, bronze nibs, gold pins….

She had never seen these things before and didn’t know what they were for. She could only kneel by the bed, biting a deathly grip on her lips, and use her lightest touch to remove the miniscule china shards from his wounds.

The sound of metal instruments being tossed into the iron box clacked especially crisp, and the old healer’s sweat dropped more than more. Progressively, even the back of his heart became soaked. Impossible to know how long had passed, she finally heard him breathing out an undertone, “…this is the last draw. He might not bear it.”

Yujien’s throat rolled. “I’ll hold him down,” he said.

The old healer bit hard on his jaw, as if making up his mind. Then his hand sank and forthwith yanked back, hard.

In an instant, Qu Fongning’s entire frame lurched high up, and his throat let out a horribly excruciating cry. If General Yujien hadn’t held him tight in his arms, he might have died from the pain on the spot.

And Jorrji couldn’t hang on in the moment, slumped the tweezers askew, and flung the extraction far away.

Songshr looked against the candlelight and saw a string of fine rice, scrap jewel like red musk beads, drained with blood, about a finger in length. The dozen beads were tensed straight upright and, the end tugging a fractured shrewd of the silver thread, rolled hideously on the floor.

Her head rumbled. She struggled to calm her mind, took an alcohol-dipped cotton ball, and wiped ceaselessly at the bloodstains on his feet.

But those jewels loomed like the black shadow beneath the candlelight, leeringly grasping at her heart. And so, on the dressing wrapped around his feet, besides the anti-swelling and hemostatic powders, it also soaked much of her tears.

Before leaving, General Yujien rose for the sendoff. Grandpa kept a look of having words unspoken and finally paused before the curtains. “General, this old man has something that, though imprudent, must be said today. He is your warrior, not cattle or pets! You allowed him to suffer such humiliation, it would’ve been better to kill him off with a clean cut.”

Songshr listened to grandpa’s shocking words. Her heart went into a terrified wild pounding, and the hands tidying the medical instruments also trembled.

General Yujien’s lips remained sealed. His gaze appeared as usual, unlike the look of flying into a fury.

He lifted his head towards the cosmos outside the ger.

“It’s precisely because he is my warrior. This is not a humiliation, it’s his honor.”

It was impossible to know whether he was answering grandpa’s words, or speaking to himself.

Grandpa fell silent, as if processing the meaning of his words. Songshr held fast to the meds box, silently thinking behind them: “When he left, he was all lively and jumpy. But when he comes back, he’s… like this. What’s so good about such honor?”

But these words cannot leave her mouth. In the end, grandpa merely let out a quiet sign, apologized and took his leave from General Yujien. And so, riding the starlight and their sorrows, the pair of grandpa and granddaughter walked towards the silent herbalist yurt by Mei Waters.

~

The following day, the stories of Wind Chaser Thousand Slain, Captain Qu’s mission to Fanshwar under orders, to undercover in the enemy nation’s epicenter for sixty days and finally slaying the Crown King with a single strike, like a six-winged bird, came to be known by the whole of Chienye. For a time, how strikingly heroic Captain Qu was, coming before the Crown King’s high dais amid tens of thousands of bows and ballistae; how his five fingers dug in and carved out a living heart; and how the onlookers gaped and nearly lost half their lives from the terror. Such and such, all manners of rumors ran rampant like wild fireworks. No matter which Ghost Army soldier one would find for inquiries, one would hear something slightly different. It was as if he wasn’t only right below the Water Mirror Dais at the time, he was the one with the best spot and clearest view. Everyone else’s words were incredible, and only his were the most dependable.

How would others tell the truth; they listened with intrigue, felt good, turned around for a sip of hard liquor and told their uncles and brothers, and added some more idolatry and inspiration. By the time the protagonist awakened, he’d already grown three heads and nine arms, he was not only of bronze brawns and steel frame, armored and armed and gutted the Crown King hundreds and thousands of times, he even tore the score of guards and crossbowmen beneath the dais into shreds.

Oyghrmuki heard these incomplete and inaccurate tales, was overjoyed and avowed to collect a series and take them to let the protagonist have a hear, so as to alleviate his boredom of being confined to the bed.

But his wishful thoughts weren’t appreciated, because when the one in the sleeping quarters opened his eyes, the first thing he said was, “Send me down.”

Oyghrmuki had just built him a dried fruit and crispy candy treasure tower. How would he let him go; he immediately took out his experienced cheeky vigor, and tagged onto him with laughs and giggles.

And was unwarranted by Qu Fongning’s drastic change of temper after the coma. He lightly sided away his body and avoided his hand. “Captain Oyghrmuki, I request your leave to return to the battalion,” he expressed weakly.

This sentence was said with such formality, all without the usual intimacy. Oyghrmuki gaped and felt profoundly aggrieved. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this.

He hopelessly watched others take him down, feeling especially terrible. When Yujien completed the formation review, he dashed up to report at once.

Yujien was taking the silver buckle off a side of his shoulder. Upon the report, his frame halted, and he directed a pensive glance at the large empty bed. “Noted. I’ll go see him,” he said.

Now Oyghrmuki was cheery and rushed to holler his way towards the Spring Sun Battalion. Before he got near the camp fence, he already cranked up his gravelly crack pot boom and gave a mighty shout, “Little Syr, General’s here to see you!”

The Spring Sun Battalion hadn’t yet returned from the formation drill, and the entire camp was empty of men. This cry shot through the clouds and encircled the four sides with the echoes of the hollow vale.

Turning over the curtains, he saw Qu Fongning laying listlessly on the bed, a mesh-mashed thin fur blanket layered on his body and his feet thickly wrapped, the dressing bound like two wooden clubs, and drawn on a mass of odd feet and nude women, looking especially cute and endearing.

Oyghrmuki saw and grew an instant urge to unleash his talents of paint and ink work.

But heard the general’s low voice rising behind his back, “Are your wounds better?”

Qu Fongning originally had his back to the inside. Hearing the words, his waist and back shook subtlety. The fur blankets shifted, and he slowly turned over with difficulty.

Oyghrmuki watched with abundant concern, stepped up, and was going to help him turn over.

Between now and then, an immensely weighted object shot out of Qu Fongning’s hand, the aim perfect, and the landing was precisely on General Yujien’s head.

A blaring crack. Yujien remained unmoved in place. The greenwood mask’s upper half shattered completely, and a bloody hole split open on his crown. The blood traced down the edge of the mask and fell on the ground.

Oyghrmuki had always revered him as a heavenly god. Seeing this, he froze, mortified, and went rigid for a split moment before rushing up to examine.

“No matter,” Yujien stopped him, and slowly relieved the lower half of the mask, but his gaze fell on the weapon that rolled onto the side.

Oyghrmuki followed his gaze. It was a familiar friend. Iron jade soiled with dust, spotted with white marks, bearing an air of rundown grievance, pushed against the yurt canvas, and still rolled a few tumbles against resignation.

His heart dropped a beat to some faint disquiet. He gave a wary laugh and picked it up with a feigned casual ease. “Little Syr, you’re muddled from all that sleep. Don’t recognize anyone? This is our general!” he said.

Qu Fongning got half up. His eyes didn’t look at him at all. The frighteningly black irises were all on Yujien alone. Yet his voice had little undulation. “Your General, Mn, of course I recognize.”

Oyghrmuki heard it. This was an incoming storm! He hurried to put his feet between the two, afraid of the child being insensible and rebellious to hurt others, and scared of the general’s thunderous fury of snapping hands and feet. He was truly caught in a quandary. His heart was worried to pieces.

Qu Fongning remained staring darkly behind his back, his piercing gaze never taking his tiger’s back and bear’s frame as a hindrance at all, and was hollowing out all his five innards and six entrails. Oyghrmuki had an overall shudder. Then his shoulders lightened. Yujien instead picked him aside and met Qu Fongning’s gaze. “You have anger in your heart. Come at me. I won’t blame you,” said his deep voice.

Qu Fongning was holding up his face to look at his bleeding profile. Upon his words, the corner of his lips moved towards the side and revealed an indefinable sneer.

Oyghrmuki saw it and felt a wave of palpitation. Qu Fongning was Yujien’s protégé in name, and he had always treated him as a child. But at this moment, seeing this smile, it had not a bit of innocence. It wasn’t like the one he knew at all; he had changed, bones and core!

Yujien seemed to have perceived it as well. “I’ll be back to see you in a few days,” he pronounced, turned and left the yurt.

And Oyghrmuki had to follow up. When the curtains fell, they heard a sentence that seemed remote, as if from beyond tiers of mountains tips, but strangely clearly enunciated dismissal:

“No need to ever come again!”