"What are you two doing at the border at this hour? The party's over there," one soldier barked, eyes sharp and wary.
Zhāo and Ruò Yún froze, trapped in a dangerous moment. One wrong move and it could mean death.
"Wait—are you both Xuánhǔ citizens?" the soldier demanded.
"Yes, that's right!" Ruò Yún blurted without thinking.
"But your clothes… filthy, torn. How do you look like that?"
"S-sorry. We're orphans living on the streets. These are the only clothes we have," Ruò Yún stammered, voice shaking.
"Lies! We just liberated this kingdom from traitors. No ragged vagrant from Xuánhǔ could be here. You must be survivors from Qīngliǔ!"
"Catch them!"
With no choice, Zhāo unleashed the dark, threatening aura around him. The soldiers stiffened, fear etched on their faces—unable to step forward. As if bound by invisible magic, they stood frozen. Zhāo's eyes glowed with a terrible anger in the night.
"Ruò Yún, we have to run now!" Zhāo hissed, grabbing her hand and diving into the crowd. Only when Zhāo disappeared did the soldiers muster the courage to give chase, shaking their heads as if to dislodge the fear.
The two fugitives ran blindly across the ruins and rubble of the cannon-smashed capital. The land Zhāo once knew was now alien heaps of debris.
"Where are we going?" Ruò Yún gasped.
"I don't know. Everything looks strange now. Whatever—just get us out of this crowd."
In the square a small stage held a table of food and drink. A short, slick-faced man stood onstage; a master of ceremonies' voice boomed across the plaza.
"People of Xuánhǔ Empire! Tonight we celebrate reclaiming Qīngliǔ from the savages. None of this would be possible without our hero—welcome, Guozhi Jingguo!"
Cheers erupted, fireworks ignited the sky. Zhāo and Ruò Yún were forced to stop, stunned by the figure who had taken everything from them.
"Thank you, everyone. You flatter me. I am not the hero—our brave Xuánhǔ soldiers are the true heroes. Without you, this joyous night would be impossible. The land rich with treasure is ours at last! Gogonit is now ours to mine!"
"We can dig it freely—no more stupid permissions from that filthy kingdom Qīngliǔ. Just saying the name makes me sick. Hah!"
"Hah!" The crowd spat in unison. Only Zhāo and Ruò Yún remained frozen amid the revelry.
"To my soldiers—here's to tomorrow!" the speaker cried.
"To tomorrow!" the crowd echoed, raising cups. Music, dance, fireworks—blood-drenched celebration. A fire rose in Ruò Yún's chest. She glared at the slick man with burning hatred.
And Zhāo?
Ruò Yún shivered at the change in his face. He grinned—wide and cruel—like a demon.
He looked happy.
Or mad.
His expression mixed madness and rage. Anyone who saw him would be half-dead with fear. Without realizing it, Ruò Yún let go of his hand; the hairs on her neck screamed to flee.
"Ruò Yún, I think I found the one responsible for my parents' deaths. He's the war hero." Zhāo's face was terrifying—maniacal and smiling.
"Don't be reckless," Ruò Yún begged. "Look at our situation."
Zhāo only smiled softly, stroked her head as if calming her, though his eyes still burned. Then, as if swallowed by shadow, Zhāo vanished from Ruò Yún's side. Before she could react, a scream split the night and blood sprayed into the air, staining the celebration. Red splatters that had been spilled wine turned into horror.
Ruò Yún's eyes widened. Zhāo stood on the stage, holding a sword dripping with fresh blood from its tip. Whose blood? No one needed to ask when Guozhi Jingguo's head lay at Zhāo's feet.
The boy's eyes glowed green in the night. Moonlight turned the massacre into a strange, sacred tableau—an atonement enacted by a child who had lost everything in a single day.
The guards who should have acted stood rooted, knees knocking as they clung to spears and swords. They were terrified.
"Hear me, you worthless trash! Tell your Emperor this— I, Zhāo Zhāng Han, son of Bào Zhāng Han, prince of Qīngliǔ, the small kingdom you crushed in a day—I swear I will destroy the Xuánhǔ Empire and all beneath it with my own hands! I will bring your Emperor's head under my feet! Do not expect peace!" Zhāo roared, veins bulging. His green gaze swept the crowd with disgust.
No one dared oppose him—even when the Emperor were verbally insulted by a brat like Zhāo. Reinforcements scattered across the ruined city began to gather, heading toward Zhāo's position. Yet as they approached, none could step forward—paralyzed by a creeping, paralyzing fear. It was as if meeting the prince equaled death. Zhāo noticed and toyed with their emotions.
He descended the stage, locking eyes with the soldiers. Instead of a clash, one by one they stepped back, hands trembling. Zhāo closed the gap, the crowd parting as he moved. Soon only Ruò Yún stood before him— the only person brave enough to face him.
Her face was bewildered, unsure. Zhāo's strange sight read her fear loud and clear, but worry outweighed terror for her. He took her hand, and her fear washed away. Hand in hand they strode away, dignity in each step. Zhāo knew he had made an impression on those who had taken everything— a message that Qīngliǔ still lived and might rise again. But it also made him a target. If the Emperor learned the prince survived, he would not rest until all the Hans were dead.
They quickened their pace and ran. The mystic hold Zhāo exerted began to fade for the guards; once hesitant, they now gave chase. The two fled toward the Mínggǔ caves, but the night and thick forest made navigation almost impossible.
Panic set in. They were lost.
From the bushes four soldiers leapt out, spears leveled—their fate sealed. Surrounded, no escape left. Zhāo planted himself to shield Ruò Yún, prepared to fight to the death.
But his green eyes caught something odd—the armor on these captors didn't match Xuánhǔ's.
"Wait— you—" Zhāo started.
Before he could finish, the stench of alcohol filled his nose as a gag was forced into his mouth, stifling sound. The same happened to Ruò Yún. They struggled, shouted, but the haze of the substance scrambled their senses.
Everything went black.
Zhāo and Ruò Yún collapsed into unconsciousness.