But no sooner had Rong Huo downed the cup than he froze. His face flushed bright red, his whole body trembling uncontrollably, and finally, he collapsed to the floor.
“Conqueror’s Wine? Pure brew?” he gasped in disbelief.
"Indeed! The very same that I drink every day," Qing Yun replied.
"Two more cups to go, sir."
Rong Huo stared in terror at the second cup, his eyes already glazing over. He had never tasted pure Conqueror’s Wine before—its intensity was unmatched, and no one could withstand it without diluting it.
Struggling to breathe, Rong Huo propped himself up and stared at the dishes on the table for a long moment. Finally, with great effort, he lifted the second cup and gulped it down. Thud!—He collapsed again, this time clutching his nose as blood gushed from it, staining the floor red. He coughed, his eyes filled with pain, as he looked at the cold, indifferent Qing Yun.
"One more cup, sir!" Qing Yun said with a smile.
Rong Huo could not stop the blood flowing from his nose, and his skin was beginning to take on a deathly blue hue. Sweat poured from his forehead as he writhed in agony on the ground. After a long while, he finally muttered in broken words, "I… give in!"
Qing Yun burst into laughter. "Mr. Rong, you truly are just a weak scholar. One cup of wine was all it took to make you surrender. How do you dare stand against me?" He waved his hand, and several maids rushed forward to give Rong Huo an antidote. Groggy and in pain, Rong Huo gradually regained consciousness.
Seated at the table, tears streaming down his face, Rong Huo began to devour the dishes before him. The rich flavors slid down his parched throat, mingling with the bitter taste of his sobs. It had been thirty years since his wife had passed, and he had not eaten these three dishes since then. He couldn’t bear it—each bite brought back the sound of her gentle voice, her radiant smile, and her presence. But now, time seemed to have eroded that deep sorrow, leaving only fragments of memory. Now, it didn’t matter how much he ate—he could eat it all.
Human emotions, like secrets, can change unexpectedly. One day, they shift. Though their importance remains undeniable, so does the impossibility of holding on to them forever. So, if love can turn into remembrance, secrets too can turn into bargaining chips.
Qing Yun strolled leisurely to Rong Huo’s side, patted him on the shoulder, and then picked up the last cup of wine, drinking it in one swift motion as Rong Huo stared at him in a daze.
"Do you know why it’s called Conqueror’s Wine?" Qing Yun asked.
"Because Conqueror’s Wine is so strong that no poison can be mixed with it. Its fiery nature not only kills those who drink it excessively but also expels any toxins," Rong Huo replied, staring at the now-empty cup. "From 114 AD to 320 AD, more than thirty kings of Tiandu’s Ice Thorn Palace died from poisoning through wine. It wasn’t until you ascended the throne that the practice of poisoning kings stopped—all because you drink Conqueror’s Wine, and poison is useless." In Rong Huo’s view, much of Tiandu’s history had been rewritten since King Jing of Heaven had taken the throne.
"As expected of Shiji Sou, the historian," Qing Yun remarked, sitting down and gazing at the empty wine cup. "In the northern desert, wine is considered a friendly thing—it helps countless people fend off the bitter cold. Therefore, in Tiandu, no matter the reason, dying from wine is a disgrace, especially for a king!" As he spoke, he tipped the wine cup to his lips, letting the last drop of Conqueror’s Wine slide down his throat, looking every bit the picture of elegance.
"When I was fourteen, I told myself, ‘Better to be poisoned by food than by wine.’ And I did it. The chaos caused by wine has ended, and there is no more disgrace!"
Hearing this, Rong Huo couldn't help but ask, "But surely someone must have tried to poison your food instead."
"Indeed, they did, but they didn’t succeed. Even I didn’t know that frequent consumption of Conqueror's Wine would make me immune to all poisons!" Qing Yun stood up and looked down at the still ravenously eating Rong Huo before turning to leave. Just as his figure was about to disappear around the corner, Rong Huo heard him say, "But now, the fiery intensity of the wine burns within me like a blaze. With every sip, the fire grows hotter and wilder. If you don’t want to be reduced to ashes as well, you’d better obey. The secret of Na Zhan isn’t some monumental responsibility. By staying silent, you only prove your foolishness. I won’t be this kind-hearted every time. Take care."
With those words, Qing Yun's towering figure melted into the shadows. When Rong Huo looked back in fear, he was already gone, leaving behind only a sliver of the fading sunset’s glow.
The fire of the red lotus has long since scorched my heart and lungs.How can I avoid it now?In these chaotic times, who knows the will of Heaven?My fate is mine to command, and the fate of the people is mine as well.Heaven is unkind, so I, too, can be unkind.Heaven is unyielding, and so is my heart.With a sword in hand, why should there be confusion?One long cry, and all will hear it.
Rong Huo sat at the table, full at last. His thoughts gradually cleared, and with a sigh, he murmured, "Young master, you’ve manipulated Mang Liu and played with the nations of the desert. Could it be that all you wanted was to burn away the bitter fire of the wine in your chest?"
That night, shadows slanted across the windows, casting broken lines of light. Rong Huo sat in the room that Qing Yun had arranged for him, staring at the empty sky and the cold moon, sighing repeatedly.
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