In the desert, poets often called such a scene “Tears of the Demon God.” But of course, this was just a way of comforting themselves. After all, in the face of humanity, neither gods nor demons would shed tears—certainly not.
Seven thousand li to the north of the snowy plains lay a red desert sea. The moonlit waves stretched endlessly, with no oasis in sight. Only at the distant horizon could one glimpse a row of mud-brick fortresses, resembling a resting serpent. Despite their stillness, they exuded an unmistakable wildness.
At the gates of the fortress, one could see dark figures kneeling in submission. Upon closer inspection, it turned out they were indeed “demons,” about five thousand in number, each one tall and imposing, with a chilling aura. They wore terrifying demon masks and black clothing designed for nighttime operations. Kneeling on the ground to show their loyalty, they pressed their entire upper bodies against the sand. Then, a thunderous chant erupted like the roar of the sea, “Welcome back, Your Majesty!”
Three times, the booming voices reverberated through the air, snapping Rong Huo’s weary nerves awake. Standing beside Qing Yun’s horse, his hair in disarray and his body aching, he watched as Qing Yun gave a sharp tug on the reins. The horse reared up, and with a shout, “Hyah!” Qing Yun and his steed thundered into the fortress, leaving Rong Huo dazed and facing the strange black-clad demons.
The Northern King of Tiandu, Huo Qing Yun!
“Jing”—the character for peace—means neither order nor peace. The one who maintains peace is the king, the one who sets the course of the heavens.
"In the year 320 AD, Huo Qing Yun, the seventh son of the royal family of Tiandu, ascended to the throne at the age of fourteen, succeeding the late king. The coronation took place in the Ice Thorn Palace of the capital, Huairou, where ten thousand people paid homage, and the young king personally drained a whole jar of Conqueror’s Wine in a single gulp, igniting celebrations throughout the empire.
The sorcerer, Hunran, proclaimed that he had been tasked by the heavens, born under the sign of a lone star, and foretold that he would never marry.
The new king quelled the rebellion in the northern frontier’s royal family, and from that point on, no member of the royal family ever died from poisoning. On the day he took power, he instituted a policy of isolation, causing Tiandu to vanish from the world’s stage. His mother bestowed upon him the title of 'King Jing of Heaven.'
Three days had passed, with the sand shifting from red to blue, from hot to cold, over and over, a cruel torment.
Rong Huo had been locked in a beast cage at the gate of the fortress. He had not eaten a single grain of rice, receiving only a pot of Bitter Fragrance Tea each night when the moon rose, to soothe his gnawing hunger. Starvation had tormented the old Rong Huo to the point of collapse, and finally, on the third day, he and his cage were carried into the grand hall of the fortress.
The simple, unadorned hall lacked the grandeur and opulence of a royal court, yet it was suffused with an undeniable aura of authority and deadly seriousness. At the far end stood a grand chair, symbolizing supreme power. Qing Yun sat upon it lazily, like a wild lion, his gaze deep and dark.
"Mr. Rong, how have you been these past few days?" he asked with a smile.
Rong Huo leaned weakly against the bars of the cage, barely clinging to life. He raised one hand and waved it faintly before struggling to speak, "Thanks to your kindness, I’ve never hated my endurance as much as I do now. Dying sooner and being reborn would be better!"
Qing Yun chuckled, his cold voice chilling the air in the hall. Rong Huo gradually regained some clarity and slowly lifted his head to look at him.
Clap, clap—Qing Yun clapped twice, and two maidens in plain robes brought out a table full of delicacies and set it in the center of the hall.
The rich aroma of oil and rice immediately hit Rong Huo’s nose, causing his stomach to churn and his mind to roar. Just one glance told him what the three dishes on the table were—Phoenix Blood Chicken, White Dew Snowfish, and Hundred Lily Flowers—all of them his deceased wife's signature dishes.
"Young master, surely you’re not that cruel! Do you really intend to feast on this banquet before an old man starving to death in front of you? I’d rather bash my head against the bars than endure this torment!"
Qing Yun merely let out a low grunt and began playing with a knife at his side. "I’m disappointed in you, sir. A man who claims to keep secrets can’t even endure this small trial, yet he dares to speak of life and death so easily!" As he spoke, his eyes sharpened, and the knife flew from his hand, slicing through the cage’s lock with a clang before falling to the ground with a dull thud.
"Come out! This banquet was prepared to welcome you," Qing Yun smiled as Rong Huo crawled out of the cage. "But first, you must drink the three cups of welcoming wine!"
Rong Huo stood by the table, disheveled and wretched. He looked down at the three small cups of wine before him, the rims glinting with an ominous light under the dim glow. He licked his dry lips and thought, ‘I’m starving to death anyway—why care if the wine is poisoned or not?’ With a swift motion, he gulped down the first cup.
Qing Yun watched his eager drinking and smirked.
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