The crowd furrowed their brows in response. “The King of Yunpei, Na Zhan?”
Rong Huo let out a hearty laugh, almost spitting out the tea he had just drunk.
“That’s why I say merchants lack foresight. They only think in terms of short-term power balances. If you ask this old man, the one who can challenge the most savage is the one who is the most tyrannical!”
His words stirred the crowd into an uproar. Was Na Zhan not tyrannical enough?
Zhan Bie, sitting in the corner, listened to the old man’s words with mounting shock. As a young and reckless man, how could he have understood the complexities of the world, with its conspiracies and intricate connections? Like the other patrons, he now listened intently to Shiji Sou, fearing he might miss even a single word.
Rong Huo sniffed and fixed his gaze on the man in black sitting in the middle of the tavern, as though speaking directly to him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, when Heaven is in chaos, it’s just a storm. But when people are in chaos, it’s madness over power—whether for profit or for domination, there will always be winners and losers. I can’t say much more today. I’ll leave you with one thought: the heart of the wild rises in the northern desert, and the armies of Tiandu are far from righteous!”
With these final words, Rong Huo stepped down from the platform, ignoring the grumbles from the crowd. He limped back to his seat beside the man in black without another word.
The person who seemed to struggle the most with these statements was Zhan Bie. Overcome with emotion, he rushed over and grabbed the old man by the shoulders, shouting, “You're lying! Tiandu’s armies came to aid Huohe and quell the Yellow Plague rebellion. How could they be unrighteous?”
Despite being held tightly by Zhan Bie, Rong Huo remained perfectly calm, merely looking at the man in black.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Zhan Bie’s heart sank, his mind suddenly clouded with confusion. Realizing he was wasting time here, he abruptly let go of Rong Huo, threw down a few silver ingots, and shouted, “Waiter, settle my bill!” With that, he dashed out of the tavern.
He had to reach Yunpei as quickly as possible. The chaos in the central desert was far beyond what King Gucha could have imagined. If Zhan Bie could meet Na Zhan sooner, their chances of quelling the unrest might be greater. His mother was still in Huohe, and now that Masui had fallen, Huohe was in grave danger. Thinking this, he ran even faster, wishing he could already be at the Guanghan Palace in Yunpei.
“Foolish boy!”
Rong Huo muttered to himself as he stared at the now empty doorway. “Foolish boy, if Tiandu hadn’t turned a blind eye, how could the Yellow Heaven Rebel Army have made it all the way to Masui?” He chuckled bitterly before turning to look at the man in black again. With a sneer, he added, “Wouldn’t you agree, Northern King of Tiandu—Huo Qing Yun?”
Tiandu.
Tiandu was established more than three hundred years ago and was the only political power in the desert with a history comparable to Yunpei’s. Because its territory lay in the barren northern regions, Tiandu had always been relatively weak. It was also the nation with the fastest turnover of kings among the five great powers, having had over seventy kings and regents. In 320 AD, the seventy-fourth king, Huo Qing Yun, ascended the throne. Since then, Tiandu had gradually adopted an isolationist policy. Aside from sending representatives to the annual political assembly, the nation rarely engaged in diplomacy and rejected all marriage alliances with slave nations. Over the past ten years, it had become the most mysterious country in the desert.
Huo Qing Yun glanced at the withered old man beside him, downed another cup of wine, and remained silent.
"The people of Mang Liu are truly extraordinary. You managed to find me in just two days and even went through the trouble of coming here yourself! I must be quite important, huh?" Rong Huo glanced at Qing Yun and downed his cup of bitter tea.
“What do you want to say?” Qing Yun finally responded, his lips still curled in a faint mocking smile.
“Young master, the relationship between Tiandu and Mang Liu… there are always wise people in the world who can see it,” Rong Huo remarked.
“And so?” Qing Yun smiled instead of showing anger, his eyes radiating cold sarcasm. “You think you're wise—so what have you seen?”
Rong Huo’s attempt to provoke Qing Yun deflated instantly. Indeed, what difference did it make to know? Knowing didn’t change anything.
For an old man like him, whether Qing Yun was the enemy or the victor didn’t matter.
“You reject me so fiercely because you’ve already decided I’m the villain, right?” Qing Yun sipped his wine lightly while observing Rong Huo’s silence. “You think that my presence in the central desert will inevitably disrupt the three-hundred-year order of Yunpei, bring war, and ruin the lives of the people, don’t you?”
Rong Huo was visibly shaken by how easily Qing Yun had laid bare his thoughts. A sense of unease washed over him. He let out a long sigh, as though the bitter taste of the tea was awakening his soul, reminding him of the countless changes he had witnessed in the desert and the grand history he had chronicled.
“Young master, people only speak of Na Zhan’s invincibility or Ruo Wen’s ruthless domination. But they don’t realize that both that strength and that ruthlessness are spinning in the palm of your hand. I, Rong Huo, know almost everything about the great desert, but I still can’t understand the northern lands of Tiandu over the past decade... You built the Mang Liu spy network with your own hands, manipulating nations like puppets. I know that you will eventually dominate all sides. But I also know that because of you, the southern desert has descended into unprecedented darkness. Do you know how many people the Yellow Heaven Rebel Army has killed? Do you know how many refugees Huohe buried alive? Were these innocent people meant to be sacrificed for your ambitions?”
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