Laughing, he downed the wine, feeling the strong liquor ignite a path of fire down his throat, burning through his chest as if it would set his heart ablaze.
Yes, she had said that drinking alone harms the body—so, this jar of fine wine had been meant to drown the sorrows of two.
And so, in silence, they drank together—one cup for each of them, without words, without reproach, not even exchanging a glance. The new master of Dingjian Pavilion and the young Holy Leader of the Grand Light Palace sat there, quietly drinking away the last jar of wine she had left for them.
Gradually, they both became completely intoxicated. Amid the drunkenness, they faintly heard the distant sound of a flute outside the window. Accompanied by the music, one of the drunken men slapped the table and laughed heartily, raising his cup to the empty air: “Fresh wine with green foam, a small red clay stove. The night is coming, snow is near—shall we drink a cup together?”
Then, that final cup of wine was poured onto the ground, seeping into the earth and disappearing without a trace.
Through his blurry, drunken vision, Tong gazed at the man singing and laughing, vaguely understanding that the other man was fulfilling a promise that could never be kept—
Laughing with you through thirty thousand toasts, suddenly realizing: what night is tonight?
Tong suddenly laughed: What night is tonight?
After the drunken laughter and revelry, he clearly knew that tonight was the end of it all, the final moment.
“I could tell, my sister really did like you,” Tong said, his gaze fixed on him as he suddenly spoke.
Huo Zhan Bai paused with his cup in midair, looking at the young Holy Leader. He suddenly noticed that Tong’s eyes were a deep, dark blue.
“If she hadn’t sacrificed herself to save me, she would still be here, drinking with you now, wouldn’t she?” Tong looked down at the wine in his cup. Reflected in the liquid were a pair of eyes—strange, pale blue, melancholy like the deep sea.
“These days, I often use my mirror to cast the Eye Technique on myself,” Tong laughed suddenly. “That way, I can see my sister in the illusion.”
When they first reunited, she had used a mirror to reflect the Eye Technique back at him—he never imagined that in the countless days that followed, he would use the method she taught him just to recall her over and over again.
“…” Huo Zhan Bai didn’t know what to say—this cold and meticulous killer, the new Holy Leader who ascended to the throne in a blood-soaked rebellion, suddenly seemed as fragile as a naive youth.
But before Huo Zhan Bai could respond, Tong threw his cup at him. “Enough talk. Let’s drink!”
They drank with abandon, finishing the entire jar of aged, strong wine. The rest of the night became hazy. Huo Zhan Bai could only vaguely remember that they talked about many things—about the martial world, about the land, about martial arts…
“Next year at the Lantern Festival, I will marry the Moon Saintess, Suo Luo,” Tong said, after drinking heavily.
Huo Zhan Bai was slightly startled and looked up at the young Holy Leader dressed in black.
“I will kill the current King of the Uyghurs for her and help her family reclaim the throne,” Tong said coldly.
“Oh?” Huo Zhan Bai murmured, slightly dazed, “It must be hard… holding on to that throne.”
“Heh…” Tong gripped his wine cup, laughing drunkenly. “Yes, it must be difficult—just look at the previous Holy Leader. But…” He suddenly shot a sidelong glance at Huo Zhan Bai, and in that instant, a cold, cruel light flashed in his demonic eyes. “You’re not much better off either. The people of the Central Plains are far more scheming and deceitful—just look at Miao Kong.”
Huo Zhan Bai started, then smiled bitterly.
How absurd… The new master of Dingjian Pavilion and the new Holy Leader of the Demon Sect, sitting together in Medicine Valley, drinking and talking like lifelong friends, pouring their hearts out to each other!
After the wine jar was emptied, they both fell into a deep sleep in the long pavilion.
Before falling asleep, Tong suddenly lifted his head and murmured, “Huo Qi, I don’t want to be your enemy.”
Huo Zhan Bai seemed to understand what he meant. “Are you here to seek peace?”
Tong, drunk, slumped forward onto the table but pushed something toward him. “Take it!”
Even in his drunken state, Huo Zhan Bai was shocked—The Sacred Fire Medallion? The Holy Leader’s token of power from the Grand Light Palace!
“I hope this peace agreement lasts not just for five years, but for as long as you and I hold these positions. No more fighting… no more killing… what’s the point of fighting to the death?”
Huo Zhan Bai couldn’t be sure if Tong was truly drunk at that moment, because when he handed over that precious token, the vulnerable look in his eyes was replaced by a firm, cold determination. His eyes turned a deep purple, dangerous and unfathomable.
The young Holy Leader raised his hand in a pledge: “Do you agree?”
The next morning, Huo Zhan Bai woke up in a warm pavilion.
He awoke to the sound of soft music, elegant and mysterious, tinged with an indescribable sadness. He sat up, rubbing his aching head. “Is that Miao… no, is it Yami?”
Under the plum tree outside the window, the blue-haired man stopped playing the flute and turned with a smile. “Seventh Young Master Huo is awake?”
Huo Zhan Bai frowned slightly, glancing around. “Where’s Tong?”
“He left before dawn,” Yami smiled. “I suppose he didn’t want the people of Dingjian Pavilion to see him and cause trouble for both of you.”
Huo Zhan Bai exhaled and leaned back, closing his eyes as he tried to recall the night’s drinking with Tong. But then he felt something cold and hard pressing against his back. He reached behind him and pulled it out—it was an iron medallion, engraved with the image of rising sacred flames.
The Sacred Fire Medallion? In that moment, his mind cleared.
—Last night’s conversation came flooding back to him, vivid and sharp.
Yami smiled. “Tong took your Mohun Sword as his token of trust and said he would honor the agreement you made with him.”
“What? Mohun Sword?!” Huo Zhan Bai was suddenly fully awake. He reached for his sword, but found it was no longer at his side. His expression changed, and he shook his head, trying to remember what oath they had sworn to each other.
“‘We will do our utmost, in our lifetimes, to ensure that no war breaks out again between the Central Plains and the Western Regions,’” Yami repeated the promise word by word, looking at him earnestly.
“Heh… yes, I remember now,” Huo Zhan Bai finally nodded, a cold gleam flashing in his eyes.
“You’re not planning to go back on your word, are you?” Yami frowned.
Huo Zhan Bai gave a bitter smile. “Go back on my word? You’ve been through the battlefield of life and death. Do you really think someone like Tong can be trusted?”
Yami was silent for a long time before he smiled and shook his head.
“When he released the Seven Swords from the mountain, it was probably because he knew that Xu Zhong Hua was too familiar with the secrets of the Demon Sect and couldn’t be allowed to live. Instead of allying with someone like that, it’s better to choose someone more reliable. And now that he’s proposing a truce, it’s likely because he needs time to rebuild the Grand Light Palace.” Huo Zhan Bai rubbed his forehead and murmured, “You’ll see—once he secures his position in Uyghur territory and rebuilds a team of elite assassins, he’ll return to wage war on the martial world of the Central Plains again.”
Yami’s eyes flickered for a moment, and he smiled. “That’s certainly possible.”
No one knew the King of Assassins from the blood-soaked battlefield better than Yami. Tong was an extremely dangerous person. In the past, the previous Holy Leader had kept him close as a bodyguard, mainly as a precaution against him.
“And where do you stand, Miao Feng?” Huo Zhan Bai asked with a slight smile, pretending to ask casually.
Yami kept his warm, gentle smile, and his face remained calm despite the sharp question. “Miao Feng is dead—physicians treat all equally, like a parent to their child.”
Huo Zhan Bai looked at him thoughtfully but remained silent.
“When will Xia Qian Yu and the others recover?” After a moment of quiet, Huo Zhan Bai suddenly asked an unrelated question.
Yami hesitated for a moment before answering, “The tendons in the thumbs of the five swordsmen have been severed. Even if the healing process is successful, it will take at least three years for them to fully recover.”
“Three years…” Huo Zhan Bai muttered to himself, “It seems that, whether we want peace or not, we have no choice but to maintain the truce for a few years.”
The situation between the Central Plains and the Western Regions was not something any single person could control. The accumulated mistrust between sects, the division between good and evil, had already made them enemies, like fire and water. The fear was not that neither Huo nor Tong had any immediate intention of fighting, but that those under their command would not be able to hold back. Even worse, the deeper fear was that the underlying hostility and suspicion between them had never truly disappeared, and everything on the surface was just a pretense to buy time and gather strength for an inevitable, devastating war.
“If a battle can’t be avoided in the future…” After a long silence, Yami smiled faintly, bowed slightly, and presented him with Returning Heaven Orders. “Then, you are always welcome to come to Medicine Valley.”
“I will, like Master Xue before me, do everything I can to protect the lives of both you and Tong.”
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