In the wind and snow, funeral bells continued to ring. In the majestic Chengguang Ancestral Temple of Shengjin Palace, a black figure slowly turned around and walked along the long corridor, step by step into the heart of Daxia. The lights flickered behind him, stretching the shadow very long.
April 19th, the 770th year of the Bai Cang calendar, is a day that will never be forgotten. On that day, the entire Yanbei King's family was slaughtered except for Prince Yan Xun, who had been held hostage in the imperial capital for many years. The souls of the Yan family could not rest in peace even after death. They were subjected to the punishment of fire on the Jiuyou Terrace in front of Shengjin Palace. Their heads and bodies were separated, and their bones were ground into ashes.
With this, the Yanbei Lion Flag, which once dominated the northern border, began a long period of silence. While the imperial nobles who were trying to divide up the Yanbei land were clapping their hands and congratulating each other, a grand celebration was held on the northwestern prairie. The eleven tribes of the Quanrong gathered together, presided over by the Great Khan Nayan Minglie himself, to celebrate the decline of the Yanbei Lion Clan, the untimely death of Yan Shicheng, and the emperor of the Great Xia Dynasty who selflessly opened up a fertile northern border land for their Quanrong clan, and the great Quanrong god who blessed this tough nation. As a result, they firmly believed that no one could withstand the blades of the grassland men.
At this moment, in a remote and narrow room in the dilapidated and depressed Ganmen Office, the cold wind was howling, snow was exposed on the roof, there was no brazier, no warm kang, only a tattered quilt, which was black, dirty and emitting a foul odor.
Outside the door, there were the sounds of soldiers drinking and playing finger-guessing games, and the rich smell of meat drifted into the house from afar. The boy's face was pale, his forehead was burning, his lips were chapped, and his skin was an unhealthy white. His sword-like eyebrows were tightly knitted together, and large drops of cold sweat were sliding down his temples. His black hair was soaked.
The banging sounds continued to echo in the house. The eight-year-old child struggled to lift the chair and then slammed it heavily on the ground, over and over again, finally dismantling the chair into a pile of scattered firewood. She let out a long sigh, wiped the sweat off her face, and then lit a fire in the middle. The firewood crackled and the room suddenly became warm.
Carefully boiling a bowl of water, the child climbed onto the cold kang, lifted up the boy's head, and called softly, "Yan Xun, wake up and drink some water."
The boy could no longer hear the sound and did not react at all when he heard the words.
The child frowned, picked up a rough chopstick from the bowl on the table, pried open the boy's teeth, and poured hot water into him.
A coughing sound suddenly rang out. Yan Xun's chest shook violently and he coughed loudly, spitting out all the water he had just been fed.
Chu Qiao looked carefully and saw some blood flowing in the water. Her chest suddenly felt a little stuffy, she pursed her lips, sniffed, then climbed out of bed and continued to boil water.
"Yan Xun?" As night fell, the room became increasingly unbearably cold. Chu Qiao covered the boy with his fur coat and quilt, and wore only a thin coat herself. She huddled beside Yan Xun like a little animal, holding a white porcelain bowl, and said softly, "I've added water to the rice to make porridge. Get up and have some."
The young man did not speak, as if he had fallen asleep, but under the moonlight his tightly closed eyes showed signs of moving. Chu Qiao knew that he was not asleep, but was awake, but just didn't want to open his eyes.
Chu Qiao sighed slowly, put down her bowl, hugged her knees, and sat down against the wall.
It was snowing heavily outside, and through the dilapidated doors and windows one could see the pale hanging snowflakes on the trees under the moonlight. Her voice was very low, and she said slowly: "Yan Xun, I am a person with nothing. I came to a strange place. I have no power, no relatives, and my family members were killed. Some of them were beheaded, some were exiled, some were beaten to death, some had their arms cut off and thrown into the lake to feed the fish, and some were raped at a young age. The bodies were loaded into a carriage like broken garbage. This world should be fair. Even slaves, even if their bloodline is lowly, should have the right to survive. I don't understand why people are born into different classes, why wolves are destined to eat rabbits and rabbits can't resist? But now I understand, it's because rabbits are not strong enough, without sharp claws and teeth. If they don't want to be looked down upon, they can only stand up first. Yan Xun, I am very young, but I have patience and time. Those who owe debts, none of them can run away. I must live and watch them pay the price for what they have done, otherwise even if I die, I will not rest in peace. "
The boy's eyelashes trembled slightly and his lips were pursed. It was snowing heavily outside the window and the cold wind blew in through the window, making a whistling sound.
Chu Qiao's voice seemed to be getting deeper and deeper. "Yan Xun, do you still remember what your mother said to you before she died? She told you to live well, even if life is worse than death, you must live well, because you still have a lot of things to do. Do you know what they are? To endure humiliation, to sleep on straw and taste gall, to wait for the opportunity, to avenge all those who killed your relatives! You have too many people's expectations, too much blood, and too many eyes watching you in the sky. Do you have the heart to disappoint them? Do you have the heart to let them die with regrets? Do you have the heart to let your father's foundation be destroyed? Are you willing to die on this tattered bed like this? Can you tolerate those who killed your parents and relatives sleeping soundly and enjoying themselves all day long?"
Chu Qiao's voice suddenly became hoarse, as if a knife had cut through the ice, raising a few tiny ice chips. She spoke almost word by word: "Yan Xun, you must live, even if you have to live like a dog. Only by living can you have hope; only by living can you have the ability to fulfill your unfulfilled wishes; only by living can you get back what belongs to you one day. In this world, you can never count on others. The only person you can count on is yourself."
Heavy breathing sounds suddenly sounded. Chu Qiao climbed up, picked up the bowl and brought it to the young man. Her eyes were bright and full of power, as if a raging fire was burning wildly.
"Yan Xun, stay alive and kill them all!"
A gleam of light suddenly burst out from the boy's eyes, carrying with it bloodthirsty hatred and a determination to destroy the world. He nodded heavily and repeated in a nightmare-like whisper: "Survive and kill them all!"
The cold wind was howling outside. Two young children stood in the cold, dilapidated house, clenching their fists tightly.
Many years later, when Yan Xun, a grown man, recalled that night again, he still felt a lingering fear. He didn't know, if he had not been soft-hearted and let go of the little slave with stubborn eyes and disheveled hair, if he had not helped the child repeatedly out of curiosity, if he had not wanted to say goodbye to the child on a whim on the night of his departure, would everything today have disappeared like a mirage? Will the young nobleman who has lived a life of luxury be struck down by a huge disaster when his family is destroyed? Will he die in depression, loneliness and misery?
However, there are not so many ifs in this world after all, so, on that night, the two children who had nothing secretly swore a poisonous oath in the snow.
Live, even if you have to live like a dog, you must live!
The long night was about to pass, and before dawn, Shengjin Palace sent a messenger with a letter. No matter what the reason is, whether it is the uneven distribution of spoils, the loss of one's teeth, or some other hidden secret, under the joint pressure of other princes of the empire, Yan Xun, the innocent Prince of Yanbei, will succeed to the throne of King of Yanbei.
However, the time was postponed until after his coming-of-age ceremony at the age of twenty. Before he came of age, Yanbei was ruled in turn by Shengjin Palace and local vassal kings, while Prince Yan Xun continued to stay in the imperial capital of Zhenhuang and was cared for by the imperial family until he grew up.
Before that, there are still eight years, just another eight years.
On April 21, Yan Xun moved out of the hostage house and moved into the Shengjin Palace, the most heavily guarded palace in the Great Xia Dynasty.
That morning, the wind was howling and the snow was flying. Yan Xun, wearing a Yanbei sable fur coat, stood on the magnificent Purple Gold Square, looking at the Jiuyou Terrace and the Purple Gold Gate not far ahead. Behind them was the northwest of the empire. There, it was once his home, the land where he grew up, and where his beloved relatives were. Now, they have all left him, but he firmly believes that they must be standing high above the sky, staring at him quietly with their eyes open, waiting for his iron hooves to step into Yanbei, into Shangshen, and break through the Hetong Mountain Pass!
That day marked the fourth month since the Empire's Western Expedition Army had been on the march. Although the rebellion in the northwest was handled in a mess, the culprit was decisively found, and the entire family of King Yanbei was slaughtered. The iron-blooded army of the Great Xia Dynasty once again used thundering means to safeguard the dignity of the empire.
However, many years later, when the historians of later generations once again opened the scroll of history, they could not help but sigh that it was from this moment that the Great Xia Dynasty sowed the seeds of its future demise. A raging fire was reborn in the swamp of death. It was a determination and cruelty that ravaged everything, betrayed everything, and could burn everything. The blade of destruction drew a bloody mark in the heart of the surviving boy, and the blood raged and surged, which would eventually bury this corrupt dynasty completely.
The young man turned around, took the eight-year-old child's hand, and walked straight into the heavy palace gate. The gate slowly closed with a loud bang, swallowing up all the light. A strong wind came howling, but was blocked outside the gate by the tall city walls. Only the sharp eyes of a hawk could look down from the sky and clearly see the two figures.
Under the blood-red sunset, among the magnificent palace towers, their figures appeared so small, yet so tall.
One day, they will fight their way out side by side, and walk out of this purple, gold and vermilion lacquered gate with their heads held high!
God firmly believes that this day will come!
(End of this volume)
Volume 3: Ancient Capital of Zhenhuang