Author Angel Chua
Appear incapable Raw (11/01/2024)
The Prison Shadows of Qinghai
As Yan Xun sat in the dim stone cell within the ancient walls of the Moon Kingdom monastery, the air felt unbearably heavy with silence. The icy draft whispered over his skin, slicing through his tunic and making him shiver. This monastery had once been a place of solemn meditation, but now it was repurposed—molded by hands that took ancient tranquility and recast it into something cold and merciless. Here, men like Yue Qi and his master brothers awaited his every move, watching from the shadows, ready to mete out punishment at the slightest hint of resistance. They were silent ghosts, his jailers, rarely seen but felt like a tightening noose, reminders of his vulnerability and his past sins.
Whispers in the Shadows
The Moon Kingdom's monastery held many secrets, and its stone walls bore silent witness to the countless hushed conversations among guards, monks, and spies. Yan Xun's nights were long and sleepless; his prison cell filled with only his thoughts and fragments of distant voices. But over time, those whispers and rumors started to piece together into something larger, weaving a dark tapestry of hidden plots and power struggles that haunted the kingdom.
It was said that Chu Qiao, the mystical figure and leader of the Moon Kingdom, had risen to power not by heritage but by skill and unyielding determination. She was a name spoken with reverence—and sometimes with fear—in the kingdom's hidden circles. She had led the Moon Kingdom through the turmoil of a fragmented empire and expanded its influence far beyond what anyone could have imagined. Many claimed she was more myth than woman, that her survival through assassination attempts, battlefields, and coups was nothing short of legendary.
Some even whispered that Chu Qiao bore scars from the many battles she had fought in Yanbei, faint reminders of the brutal resistance she had led in her homeland. Those scars were rarely seen, and only the faintest rumors of them drifted through Qinghai's shadowed halls—gossips traded in secret by guards and attendants who dared not speak her name too loudly. It was said she had fought alongside the fiercest warriors, unyielding in her determination to liberate her people, and that she had risked everything on the battlefield with no fear of death. The faint marks, barely visible, were symbols of a loyalty and resilience that few dared to test.
Other rumors spread with even greater fervor, weaving a tale that could ignite hearts with awe or disdain. Some claimed she had once been engaged to the King of Yanbei himself. The two were said to be bound by both love and mutual ambition, each drawn to the other's fiery resolve and unyielding sense of duty. They were a pairing that could have united and fortified Yanbei like never before. But the story didn't end in triumph. Those close to the court in Yanbei claimed that their love had splintered under the weight of betrayal—a rift so deep that it poisoned every bond between them.
The story was told in furtive whispers: the King of Yanbei had struck a cruel and unforgivable blow, killing a man who had once been Chu Qiao's greatest ally, a silent guardian known as the "Master Ice Cube" of the noble Yuwen household. He had been a protector, a shadow that had followed her faithfully since her earliest days in Yanbei. His loyalty and sacrifice were unparalleled, and Chu Qiao held his memory as sacred.
The King's order to execute him was, in her eyes, an act of treachery. It was said that when the fateful day came, and the Master Ice Cube fell by the King's hand, something within Chu Qiao shattered. The warmth she had once felt for the King turned to ice, her love to bitter resentment. From that moment, she renounced him, choosing exile and independence over any semblance of allegiance to a ruler who had betrayed not only her trust but also her deepest loyalties.
This was the spark that led Chu Qiao to carve her own path. She gathered her forces, forming alliances beyond Yanbei's borders, forging a realm where she was beholden to no one. Her loyalty was no longer bound to a man but to her own ideals—a woman carved from steel, tempered by betrayal, and sharpened by pain.
Now, whispers in Qinghai spoke of her as a solitary queen, as cold and untouchable as the Moon Kingdom's highest peaks. If there were ever to be a man in her life again, he would need to be as unbreakable as she was and as loyal as the Master Ice Cube himself. But most doubted that anyone could thaw the ice now settled around her heart, least of all the King of Yanbei. She had renounced him once, and with him, the tender dreams of her youth. The Chu Qiao of today, they said, was a creature of shadows and scars—an indomitable figure cloaked in a reputation that both fascinated and terrified all who dared speak of her.
Yet, within his cell, Yan Xun's mind turned these rumors over. He could not decide if he admired her resolve or pitied the woman behind the legend, the one who had known betrayal too intimately, too painfully. And if he were to survive his imprisonment, if he were to somehow cross paths with this woman, he wondered: would he find an ally or merely another ghost bound by the chains of vengeance, someone as hardened and scarred as he had become?
Yan Xun let out a deep sigh, a sound heavy with unspoken pain. Each day, as Yue Qi's whip cracked against his back, the lashes stung, yet he found a twisted humor in it. With a defiant laugh, he declared, "You may lash this body all you want, but these wounds are nothing compared to the death of a soul long ago." His voice softened, a whisper of longing slipping through the laughter. "A'Chu, without you, there is no Yanbei. I will endure this torment, until I see you. "
Day by day Yan Xun hears more about it wasn't only her strength in battle that earned her loyalty. Her uncanny ability to gather intelligence from all corners of the continent made her nearly omniscient in matters of court and intrigue. The monastery's guards spoke in low voices about her network of spies, each handpicked, each with a life debt owed to her that they were bound to repay with unswerving loyalty. Rumors persisted that she had assassins among her ranks, individuals skilled in the dark arts of deception and death, whose very presence could unsettle even the most hardened souls.
"Xuili Army, Firefox soldiers of Yanbei, the Beauty army from Liang, he whispered."
Yan Xun absorbed these whispers with rapt attention, mind racing as he lay confined. His hatred for the Wei Empire and his own suffering at its hands could not quench a grudging respect for someone like Chu Qiao, someone who had molded her kingdom from shadows and silence. More than once, he heard guards muttering about her, marveling at her ruthlessness, her loyalty to her people, and her rumored involvement in the underworld. She had alliances with the most dangerous factions across the lands—mercenary groups, silent assassins, and informants. With a single word, it was said, Chu Qiao could command the most secretive networks to bend to her will.
From his cell, Yan Xun's heart was pricked by a growing awareness: if Ra Yue or worst of his nightmares confirms that he is the disowned Fourth Young Master of the Yuwen Household called Yuwen Yue didn't arrive soon, he might not survive this imprisonment.
Each day, his body grew weaker, each lash from Yue Qi's whip etching scars upon his skin. What's worst is no words came out of Yue Qi as if he hadn't known him before their youngsters years where they sue to poke at each other or play Jian swordsmanship and martial arts sparring. Yue Qi's hatred is masked with indifference however, the truth is, it was Zuo Zong who has been punishing him, his brother who looks like him.
From a distance, Yue Qi watched, his heart heavy with a tumult of conflicting emotions. He raised his hands in a silent signal, tears streaming down his face. The bond he once shared with Yan Xun, the Yan Prince, resurfaced in his mind like a haunting melody, evoking memories of their friendship. Yet, beneath that nostalgia lay the unbearable weight of betrayal—his loyalty to Master Yuwen Yue, who had suffered misfortune and the sting of rejection from the Yuwen family.
In the Elder Shrine, both he and Yuwen Yue had been cast out, their names excluded from family memorials, a testament to their fall from grace. The death of Yuwen Yue had paved the way for Yan Xun to fulfill his long-held oath, one sworn in childhood, now twisted by the bitter irony of fate. Yan Xun had become the very instrument of the master's demise, a fact that gnawed at Yue Qi's conscience even as he mourned the loss of their former lives.
Although there is no words coming from the QInghai Crown Prince, the years he served under Yuwen Yue's Palm (punishment or rewards) he knows this would be the method his Master would order him to do. Knowing his Master Yuwen Yue, he planned to let him suffer coldly and slowly kill him if his Master order him to.
Each punishment felt calculated to break his spirit. And yet, knowing that underworld spies could be lurking in the shadows outside his cell, he tried to remain vigilant. Every creak of the monastery's stone corridors, every footfall and whisper that reached his ears fueled his simmering anger. He could only guess whether these unseen eyes and ears worked for Chu Qiao or perhaps even for Ra Yue, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
He clung to these overheard whispers like a lifeline. If Chu Qiao's reach extended to him, if even a hint of his suffering could reach her ears, perhaps he could yet be saved. But his hope was fragile, hanging by the thinnest of threads.
The Pain of Waiting
Each day without word, without rescue, pushed him further into darkness. He couldn't help but imagine what he might become if left in this purgatory. Once a prince, a warrior full of pride and loyalty, he was now shackled, hidden from the world, growing more haggard with each passing day. The strong hands and defiant gaze that had once commanded armies now bore chains, and each night as the cold stone pressed against his back, he could feel his spirit slipping, morphing into something else.
The anger within him festered, and he could feel his resolve teetering. What would he become if this waiting stretched on? Would he, like so many other forgotten captives, fade into nothing, a mere shadow of the man he once was? Or would he transform into a darker version of himself, a twisted force driven by pain and vengeance?
He thought often of Shen Jing Gong, of his family, of the screams and blood. Perhaps his memories would sustain him—or perhaps they would consume him, erasing everything soft within him until he was nothing more than a hollow instrument of revenge.
Even as his hope dwindled, he forced himself to keep a tenuous grip on that last shivering ember within him. Somewhere beyond these walls, there was a reckoning. And though he knew he would not emerge from this monastery unchanged, he clung to the belief that he would one day rise again, a force forged by suffering, and meet his enemies face-to-face.
With each passing day, Yan Xun's anticipation grew as whispers of the mysterious crown prince of Qinghai reached his ears. He awaited the arrival of Ra Yue, intrigued by the tales of the Ex-Leader of the Moon Kingdom and its enigmatic Queen, Lou He. The rumors spoke of the underworld, where power and danger intertwined, and of a lesser master known as the Blue Feather Girl—an assassin with the uncanny ability to summon clouds, and one of the most formidable leaders of the Underworld Assassins.
As these thoughts swirled in his mind, a sudden recollection struck him like a thunderbolt. A name surfaced from the depths of his memory, and he muttered to himself, "No, this can't be… Zhong Yu is dead." The weight of that realization sent a chill down his spine, mingling disbelief with a flicker of hope in deep pain.
Yet with each night that crept in, hope shrank until only resignation remained. No one was coming to save him. His eyes closed, the darkness within somehow more comforting than the pitiless stone around him. And yet, this isolation was shattered by an unexpected presence.
The thin, guarded silhouette of the Wei prince entered his cell, and for a moment, Yan Xun's breath halted. Gone was the cheerful, playful boy he had known in childhood; the man before him had eyes hardened by years, hiding an impenetrable wall of disdain, layered under the stoic, noble bearing of a prince who had seen his lineage bleed in the name of the empire.
They stood in silence, but the years of broken bonds and unspeakable betrayals began to fill the air between them like a tangible mist. Yan Xun's heart clenched, but he forced himself to meet Yuan Song's gaze, his own eyes flashing with a mixture of defiance and regret.
"You've been here for days and weeks, yet you sit in silence. Do you truly have nothing to say?"
Yan Xun smiling sardonically said, "What would you have me say, Prince Yuan Song? That I regret defying the Emperor? That I was wrong to wage war against those who would see me in chains? Freedom demands action, not words."
"And what price has that action brought you, Yan Xun? You're a prisoner now. Perhaps words can lead to peace where swords cannot." Yuan Song voice was calm but distant.
"Peace? Peace is the lie they told you in Wei to keep you docile. I see the fire in you, Yuan Song—you can deny it, but it's there. You once ruled, as I did. You wanted change as I do." Yan Xun talked like a bored man, who wanted to just rest.
Yuan Song holding on to his prayer beads, seeks to enlighten rather than argue said, "No. What I wanted was honor, for myself, for Wei. And when I could no longer see honor in the court, I left. Tell me, Yan Xun, would you still call yourself honorable?"
Yan Xun pauses, his gaze intense said coldly, "Honor, prince, is for those with nothing to lose. I fight not for honor, but for freedom. And perhaps you are a coward for abandoning the one thing you could have saved."
The words strike deeply, and Yuan Song wrestles with his emotions, but avoiding the path of competition and overwhelming feelings said: We both dreamed of it yet, choosed two different paths to this called freedom.
"Why are you here?" Yan Xun's voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and cracked.
Yuan Song regarded him with a calm that bordered on disdain, folding his hands within his long sleeves. "Perhaps to remind you of what you have lost," he replied quietly. There was no edge to his words, only a cold clarity.
Yan Xun felt a flash of anger, but it was tempered by something much deeper—memories of a shared past, of days when they ran through the palace grounds as carefree boys. Those golden afternoons felt like they belonged to a different life, a different Yan Xun, one that had been obliterated on the day his family was executed in Shen Jing Gong.
"Do you remember," Yan Xun began, his voice almost pleading, "when we used to escape the palace guards to go to the Lotus Lake? You, Chun'er, and me?"
Yuan Song's face softened for a brief moment, a trace of wistfulness seeping into his gaze before he stifled it. "I remember," he said, voice still even. "And I also remember the promises we made to each other as children—loyalty, protection."
"Loyalty." Yan Xun laughed bitterly, his eyes turning dark. "I gave everything, and what did it bring? My family dead, butchered by an empire we served for generations. You talk of loyalty while my people lies in the coldest part of this earth."
A tense silence fell. Yuan Song did not flinch, but his expression grew unreadable, as if a mask had settled over his face. "Do you think you were the only one who lost something?" he asked, his voice as frigid as the stone walls. "Do you think you were the only one betrayed?"
Yan Xun's fists clenched, but there was no retort he could summon. He knew what Yuan Song meant—he knew what he had done to Chun'er, Yuan Song's sister. The memory stabbed at him, a pang of guilt woven with anger that he had tried to bury but could not escape. She had been innocent, a casualty in his war for vengeance, and the blood of her suffering was on his hands.
"Do you want me to beg for forgiveness?" Yan Xun demanded, his voice raw. "Do you think you can give me exoneration?"
Yuan Song's eyes narrowed, and a flash of anger escaped his composure, sharp as a blade. "Forgiveness?" he spat. "You speak as if forgiveness could erase what you did, as if my sister's memory is a mere stain that you could wash away."
Yan Xun fell silent, for there was nothing he could say to deny the truth in those words. In his quest for vengeance, he had destroyed any chance of redemption. He had embraced cruelty, drawn blood from the innocent, and now that blood stood before him, alive but forever changed, his once-dear friend now a silent judge he could never appease.
"You never even tried to understand," Yuan Song continued, his tone quieter now but heavy with the weight of grief. "You blamed everyone—the empire, the Wei family, even me. And yet, you wielded your revenge like a sword, cutting down anyone in your way. Chun'er was never part of this war, yet she paid for your anger. You killed her not with kindness, but with vengeance."
Yan Xun's face twisted with grief and frustration. He opened his mouth to argue, to defend his actions, but the words refused to come. Yuan Song's gaze held no mercy, and for the first time in years, Yan Xun felt shame prick at him. His revenge had demanded sacrifices, but seeing Yuan Song here, a hollow shell of the boy he once knew, he realized that perhaps he had lost far more than he had ever gained.
And yet, a part of him still burned with defiance, with the hatred that had sustained him through years of hardship and loss. The memory of Shen Jing Gong loomed over him—a massacre that still haunted his every thought. How could he ask forgiveness when his own heart refused to yield, when every memory screamed that his rage was justified?
"I didn't ask for forgiveness," Yuan Song's voice broke through his thoughts, soft yet unyielding. "And I don't expect it. I came here to show you what you destroyed, to remind you of the innocence you can never regain. You lost your family, yes, but you chose to burn everything else along with them."
Yan Xun looked away, his chest tightening as memories surged. The cries of his family, their blood staining the cold ground of Shen Jing Gong—the echoes of a nightmare he could never shake. His voice was barely audible when he finally spoke. "I had nothing left to lose."
Yuan Song watched him with a sadness that seemed to run deeper than words, a sorrow that spoke of a pain long past but forever etched into his heart. "And that's where you were wrong," he replied. "You may have lost your family, but in your thirst for vengeance, you lost yourself, and you lost any hope of honor."
There was no reply. The bitterness and sorrow were too tangled, too deep to unravel in words. They had both come to this moment with histories full of pain, but neither could cross the chasm between them.
Yuan Song turned to leave, pausing momentarily at the cell door. He glanced back, his face a strange blend of pity and finality. "Goodbye, Yan Xun," he said, his voice low and tinged with resignation. "I don't expect you to understand, nor do I think you care. But remember this: some things, once broken, can never be repaired. The man you've disabled will never be whole again."
His thoughts shifted to Xia Chong, the loyal companion whose life had been extinguished far too soon. "Xia Chong deserved better," he continued, the weight of loss evident in his tone. "Her sacrifice will not be forgotten, and I am grateful that you gave her a proper burial. She fought valiantly, and though her life ended in tragedy, at least she has found peace in the Mountains of Yanbei."
Yuan Song's eyes narrowed as he considered the fake Chu Qiao, a façade that had somehow managed to bring a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos. "And it was her cunning that allowed her a dignified farewell, even in death. For that, I owe a debt of gratitude." He held Yan Xun's gaze for a moment longer, the weight of their shared history hanging heavily in the air.
"Thank you for that small mercy," he added, a hint of sincerity breaking through his hardened exterior. With that, he turned away, leaving behind an echo of unresolved emotions that lingered in the silence of the cell.
As the sound of his footsteps faded, Yan Xun was left in a suffocating silence, his soul aching with a profound emptiness. Memories surfaced, and the pain of this betrayal felt twice as deep as the agony he had once inflicted upon Yuwen Yue at the icy lake. The disfigured truths he had long dismissed with Xiao Yu now came crashing down around him, and he was forced to confront their undeniable reality. This woman, despite resembling his beloved General Chu, was not Chu Qiao. She was merely a pawn, a tool used by Ra Yue—by Yuwen Yue, to be precise. The betrayal was unforgivable.
When Xiao Yu confessed everything, Yan Xun realized the extent of the treachery within his own ranks at Yanbei's camp. Even Zhong Yu had turned against him, and that day marked a haunting silence, enveloping even the once-busy Wu Dao Ya. Though Yan Xun did not kill them, he surrendered himself to solitude, leaving karma to deal with those who are close to him as allies had betrayed him. His intentions had never been to make amends with Xia Chong. Yet, blinded by the truths he had uncovered and the deep, long-held feelings he harbored for Chu Qiao, he clung to that moment. Even hearing Yuan Song's sincere gratitude felt like an insult—a blow to his very core.
That day revealed his vulnerability. Even a mere fake resemblance of Chu Qiao could make him paralyze and sacrifice the Yanbei Army. As he reflected on that scene, he could almost relive the haunting moment.
Holding Chu Qiao's blood-streaked face as her breath faltered, Yan Xun whispered, "Say a word, and I will surrender this entire army for you…" His hands were soaked in blood, and with her final, fragile breath, Chu Qiao whispered back, "You don't have to do anything. It all ends here."
The days that followed were steeped in isolation. Yan Xun wandered the empty halls of his once-mighty fortress, his footsteps echoing through shadows that whispered of broken promises and shattered dreams. The Yanbei camp, once filled with the laughter and spirit of his warriors, now lay in a hollow, unnatural stillness.
Nights brought a suffocating silence, the stars above cold and indifferent to his suffering. Yan Xun often sat alone at the edge of the deserted training grounds, haunted by memories of battle cries and Chu Qiao's steadfast voice rallying his men. That hope had turned to ashes, leaving only regret in its wake.
The solitude cut deep, but his torment was relentless. Guilt, anger, and sorrow twisted within him, each memory of betrayal a fresh wound. Yet, even now, he couldn't let go of the love he'd clung to for so long. Chu Qiao's dying words echoed through his mind: "You don't have to do anything. It all ends here." Her plea felt like both a call for peace and a reminder of his broken heart.
One evening, Yan Xun stood on the cliffs overlooking Yanbei, the wind howling around him like a mournful requiem. He closed his eyes, wishing the wind could carry away his pain, but the emptiness remained.
"What am I now," he whispered, "without the anger to keep me alive?" His voice faded into the void, a lonely echo that the wind carried away.
Today, he still harbors vengeance, but in its wake, he found only losses, ruin, and regret. The only sounds were his own breathing and the distant echoes of past laughter, reminders of a friendship that had once shone bright but was now forever lost in the shadows of unforgivable sins.
As twilight gently settled over the Moon Kingdom, a dreamlike glow bathed everything in a silvery, ethereal light. The sky, painted with deep indigos and soft purples, cradled a luminous crescent moon hanging low on the horizon, casting long, graceful shadows across the land. Wisps of twilight mist wove delicately through the silver-leafed trees, which shimmered as though each leaf were dusted with stardust. An otherworldly stillness hung in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of the celestial gardens, where midnight-blue flowers unfolded their petals to drink in the moonlight.
The gentle breeze carried the fragrance of lunar blossoms, mingling with the crisp, metallic scent that lingered in the cool air. Crystal-clear streams, glittering like liquid mercury, carved sinuous paths through marble groves and spilled into opalescent pools. The water murmured with an ancient, rhythmic lullaby, resonating with the low hum of distant, unseen forces that seemed to breathe life into the kingdom.
Towering above the land, the silver spires of the Moon Palace stretched skyward, crowned with floating orbs of light that danced and pulsed like wandering stars. The palace itself, a marvel of gleaming onyx and quartz, appeared almost weightless, as if suspended between dream and reality. Its archways and delicate bridges shimmered under the fading twilight, alive with a soft, inner radiance that seemed to defy the coming night.
In the distance, the lunar plains stretched infinitely, their surface glittering with a million crystalline reflections like shattered pieces of the stars above. Gentle waves of lunar dust caught the last vestiges of twilight, rising in delicate spirals and vanishing like whispers into the evening sky.
Yuan Song and Ping'An moved like shadows across the stone courtyard, their sparring forms a graceful blend of precision and fluidity. The courtyard itself was encircled by ancient stone walls, weathered and cracked, yet noble, with creeping vines clinging tenaciously to the cracks like threads of green lace. The scent of pine and sandalwood lingered in the crisp, mountain air, mingling with the faint aroma of incense that drifted from within the monastery's sacred halls.
The clash of their wooden training swords echoed through the tranquil mountain monastery, a sharp, staccato rhythm that disrupted the otherwise serene silence. Beads of sweat glistened on their brows, catching the light of the late afternoon sun that streamed through the delicate canopy of crimson and gold leaves above. The sunlight danced in fragmented patterns across the stone, painting their combat with bursts of warmth.
Yuan Song's face was a study in serenity and determination, his sharp, angular features softened by the tranquility of the monastery's teachings but carved with the strength of a life tempered by hardship. His deep-set eyes, dark and reflective, seemed to hold an ocean of unspoken wisdom and pain, framed by brows that knit slightly when he focused on his movements. A few loose strands of his long, dark hair had escaped the simple knot at the base of his neck, clinging damply to his forehead, while his smooth, tanned skin bore faint scars, whispering stories of past battles.
Dressed in simple but elegant monk robes, dyed a muted ochre and bound with a humble sash, he wore the humility of his station with quiet pride. The flowing fabric of his attire was worn smooth from months of training and prayer, with subtle patches where it had been mended over time. His left hand, once crippled and now replaced with a masterfully carved wooden prosthetic, rested at his side. The wooden arm, expertly fashioned with intricate carvings of lotus flowers and waves, reflected his inner resilience and the artistry of the monks who crafted it for him. Though it lacked flesh, it was both a badge of his strength and a symbol of the hardships he had overcome.
In his right hand, he loosely held a string of prayer beads, each polished stone worn to a silky sheen from years of meditative use. As the intense sparring session drew to a close, he finally exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. The air between them was charged, vibrating with the intensity of their exertion, before slowly settling into a shared calm. With an unspoken understanding, they lowered their weapons and sank down onto the cool stone steps, their chests rising and falling in tandem.
Above them, the sky was a canvas of pale blues and soft, feathered clouds that drifted lazily over the mountain peaks. The clouds unfurled like silk banners, painted in hues of lavender and blushing rose, catching the last golden rays of sunlight. The distant mountains stood in majestic silence, their jagged peaks softened by a shroud of mist that curled and clung to the cliffs, like ancient spirits watching over the land.
Ping' An bowed to the man who sat quietly, beads slipping through his fingers with a practiced rhythm, the faint clicking sound echoing like a heartbeat of peace amid the silence. His prosthetic hand, despite its stiffness, rested gently on his knee, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the cool breeze that swept down from the high slopes. It carried whispers of rustling leaves and the faint trill of a solitary mountain bird, a reminder that even in imperfection, beauty remained.
Yuan Song sighed breathlessly "You could have been a general yourself, Ping'An. That swing could take down an entire regiment."
Smiling, but with a shadow in his gaze "If it could, perhaps General Chu Qiao would still be in Yanbei, but she is here today."
Yuan Song pauses, said "You were loyal to her until the end and even followed her here. Not everyone can understand such devotion."
"And you? You abandoned your kingdom. Do you regret it?" Ping'an did not hesitate to ask the Wei Crown Prince.
"Every day, in one way or another. But loyalty… loyalty should not demand we sacrifice ourselves. Sometimes, the hardest choice is knowing when to let go." Yuan Song looking at the serene Moonlit which bathes in the passing clouds, his gaze straight to its twilight skies.
Ping'An talked like he matured overnight said to the Wei Crown Prince,"True loyalty, Your Highness, is letting go of nothing. Even now, I serve her. And maybe you still serve yours."
They both sit in silence, each contemplating their paths.
Ra Zheng stood at the center of his palace's grand hall, a space where moonlight streamed in through tall, arched windows and cast silver patterns across the marble floors. The news had arrived just moments ago, delivered by one of his scouts with breathless urgency: Ra Zhun, the ever-elusive brother who had been a thorn in the side of the empire, had been captured. Ra Zheng's eyes widened in disbelief, and then, slowly, a rare smile emerged. For years, his younger brother's band of raiders had been more myth than reality—always striking where least expected and vanishing into the wilderness like whispers in the night.
"Ra Zhun," Ra Zheng mused aloud, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. Finally, his cunning brother was within reach. But this was no simple victory. Ra Zheng, known as the Silver Prince for his intellect and political savvy, knew better than to assume the struggle was over. There were unseen forces at play, shadows yet to be illuminated.
As he considered his next move, Ra Zheng's thoughts drifted to another brother—Ra Yue, the Crown Prince of Qinghai. The younger sibling who wielded both power and a regal grace. Qinghai, with its impenetrable fortresses and vast steppes, was Ra Yue's domain, and no one knew its secrets better. The alliance between Ra Zheng and Ra Yue had always been solid from the very start, yet it has to be tested and to be forged in the fires of countless shared victories and trials they will embark now. Even if when Ra Yue, to the shock of many, aligned himself with the formidable Queen Zhueje, Ra Zheng never wavered in his faith. Their bond had been tested as times like this but never broken just because Ra Yue took a difficult path to save Qinghai's people offered himself like he has no defense to the Qinghai Queen.
The Silver Prince recalled the way Ra Yue had honored his legendary sword, Poe Yue Jian, a weapon as renowned as the man who wielded it. This sword, a shimmering blade of unmatched craftsmanship, had become a symbol of Ra Yue's unassailable strength and his role in shaping their empire. Ra Zheng admired both the blade and the man, holding in his heart an unwavering trust that defied even the most complicated web of political alliances.
"Summon Zuo Zong," Ra Zheng commanded, his voice decisive. His most trusted invisible spies appeared, bowing low and galloped away from their horses. Zuo Zong arrived and dismounted on his horse, Ra Zheng gestured for him to rise said, "You have a new mission," he continued, his silver-threaded cloak catching the light. "Deliver a signal to Ra Yue, at the Castle of Snow white Rook of Qinghai. He must know what has transpired . Go!"
Zuo Zong nodded, understanding that this task required more than mere speed. Discretion and stealth were paramount, for the steppes of Qinghai were not kind to the careless and Zuo Zong familiar with its trails went away. Ra Zheng had not communicated directly with Ra Yue for quite some time, but he knew that his insights and loyalty would never waver. The two brothers had always understood each other on a level few could comprehend, even without frequent words exchanged. Ra Zheng's invisible spies—expert shadows that moved between realms—had already begun to weave intelligence back to him.
The latest reports hinted at turmoil in the Moon Kingdom, a disturbance that only deepened the urgency of contacting Ra Yue and where is the Mimi Gongzhu? Did he finally met her? Ra Zheng could not stop swaying his head with a hint and gesture of handsome smile.
"Ra Yue will know how to interpret this news," Ra Zheng murmured, more to himself than anyone else. The Crown Prince of Qinghai was a master of reading between the lines, of understanding the nuances of Ra Zheng's strategies. There was a bond of respect and an unspoken faith that linked them, and it had endured even when the world tried to pull them apart. Ra Zheng's intuition had never led him astray, and he had every reason to believe that Ra Yue, with his wisdom and strength, would see through the chaos and act for the betterment of their empire.
As Zuo Zong bowed once more and left to fulfill his mission, Ra Zheng stood in quiet contemplation. The capture of Ra Zhun was but the first stroke in a larger, yet unfinished painting. The Moon Kingdom's troubles were a dark omen, and only with the guidance of his younger brother, Ra Yue, would Ra Zheng be able to untangle the web of shadows before it engulfed them all.
Also the capture of the King of Yanbei is another interest that Qinghai brothers must discuss. There is a big fish stranded in the Moon Kingdom and Yue Qi managed to whip it to bow but laughs at him everyday.
Opposite of Yan Xun were A'jing and Douji's cell lies. They weren't able to talk and all they can hear is the eerie silence.
Suddenly, a figure in the shadows walks in a ghostly white attire. Though her last presence has long been in the unknown graves, will the visit to these Yanbei men haunts them to their very core or will throw them in excitement?