The three young princes stood stiffly in the middle of the arena, their gazes shifting at one another, confused and anxious. Before they could voice even a single objection, the princess had already decided everything on her own.
"Servants!" she called loudly. "Bring my Thunder Whip."
At once, the crowd roared—some in shock, others holding their breath.
While waiting, the three princes whispered behind Xuèhuā's back.
"She… she is so beautiful," one murmured, his eyes fixed upon the princess's proud figure. "Even her movements are captivating, let alone her gaze. She is like a red peony blooming in fire. I am honestly terrified right now, yet her eyes are so alluring I cannot look away."
The other two could not deny it. They exchanged glances, then nodded quietly. "Yes… no girl in this world could rival her," one said bitterly.
The youngest prince even added, "If only I could obtain a single strand of her hair… I would display it in the throne hall of my palace. It would be the greatest treasure of my life."
They exchanged words of admiration, their eyes glittering with both fear and awe. Yet in the end, a bitter realization seeped into their hearts: the princess was far beyond their reach.
"But we all know," one said firmly, as if to steady himself, "that the princess is too perfect. None of us are worthy. To merely stand here and see her beauty with our own eyes is enough. Sooner or later, we must fight."
"I agree. We are brothers. At the very least, whoever survives among us must remember—his chance to win the princess came because of the sacrifice of the two who fell for him."
"Then we must fight with honor. If blood must be spilled, let it be with dignity."
The others nodded firmly. Their eyes met, uniting their resolve as men.
When the princess accepted the gleaming sword handed to her by her servant, the three princes raised their voices together, loud and resolute, piercing the silence of the arena.
"Princess! We have reached our decision. As princes, we cannot soil our blades by striking a girl. Much less three against one—it would shame our very blood. Therefore, we shall fight among ourselves until death claims us. The strongest of us shall stand before you. Let us die with dignity!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, touched by the chivalry of the three young princes. They hoped the princess would at least smile, a sweet smile that would bless their pride even as they walked toward death.
But instead—
Xuèhuā's face hardened. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, showing her white teeth trembling with raw emotion. Disgust poured from her like poison.
"You…" she whispered hoarsely, "you are disgusting me."
In a single motion, her body spun. The sword cleaved through the air in a sweeping arc, so swift none could react.
Silence.
Then three heavy thuds echoed in succession.
Three heads tumbled at her feet. Their bodies remained upright for a heartbeat, then collapsed all at once, spraying blood onto the dry earth.
Screams erupted from the spectators, hysteria filling the air. The kings seated at the podium turned pale. Two of them fainted on the spot, unable to bear the sight of their sons being slaughtered before thousands of eyes.
Xuèhuā alone stood tall, her gown drenched in fresh blood. A wild laugh burst from her throat, ringing across the arena like the hymn of a demon.
Raising her sword high, its blade dripping scarlet, she declared with chilling joy:
"With this—the engagement is canceled!"
Meanwhile, in the city of Liángzhōu.
The small town was peaceful. Dusty streets bustled with horse-drawn carts, thatched-roof houses stood close together, thin smoke rising from kitchen stoves. Yet amid the simplicity, Zhao's steps felt heavy. He remained silent, his face tense, his gaze hollow as if lost deep within his own mind.
Walking beside him, Ruo Yun could no longer bear it. "Zhao… what troubles you?" she asked softly.
The young man slowly turned, unease flickering in his eyes. "I had a strange dream last night. A dream… or perhaps a vision. I saw a great war, a holy war, waged in my name. And I—I was the one leading it. There I encountered a monstrous serpent, a giant snake with a dragon's head. It forced me to shake the world for its own purpose."
Zhao gripped his hair, pressure weighing on his mind. "What is truly happening to me? Why am I becoming so strange?"
Ruo Yun fell silent. Her lips trembled as if struggling to speak of something long hidden. Finally, she took a deep breath and revealed the truth.
"I think it began back then. You may not remember—when we fled during Xuanhu's invasion, you were dying. Your wounds were too severe. I thought… I truly thought I had lost you. But Lóng Xuán and the Minggu tribe carried you into a sacred chamber. They said… you had to die to be reborn. That you would rise as a prophet, a Shentian, who would bring paradise to their tribe."
Zhao stiffened, listening intently.
"They poured poison into your body," Ruo Yun whispered, her eyes glistening. "They called it the Trongga Elixir. A green liquid preserved for thousands of years. I fought them, Zhao—I wept and screamed, I couldn't watch you being murdered before me. But they forced it upon you nonetheless."
Her voice shook. "Your body convulsed, you collapsed upon the stone table, your heartbeat stopped. You looked utterly dead. I threw myself onto you, sobbing. But then, a green light shone from your body, a radiant glow that made your heart beat once again. Your eyes opened, your pupils turned green."
Zhao froze. Faint fragments of the memory stirred inside him.
"And at that moment," Ruo Yun whispered, "you choked me. It wasn't you… it was something else."
Silence lingered. The wind carried the faint scent of straw from the rooftops.
"I…" Zhao clenched his jaw. "I truly am sorry. At that moment, in my sleep, I heard a voice… calling me from the darkness. That voice ignited a fire of vengeance within me. It knew I longed to take revenge against Xuanhu, and it offered me power to do so."
He lowered his gaze to his hands. "But I am not a prophet. I never wished to be anyone's pawn. All I want is vengeance against Xuanhu. I never imagined becoming a prophet, or the pawn of that serpent-headed creature I saw in my dream."
They walked on until they arrived at a greenish lake near a small tavern. Its waters glimmered under the sun, yet carried a strange aura.
Zhao froze, staring at the lake's center. "This lake, the water flows from the mountains behind. It can be drunk directly. But… I feel as if a great battle once took place here."
Without realizing, his feet carried him into the water.
"Zhao! What are you doing?!" Ruo Yun cried, reaching for him.
Too late—his body sank beneath the lake.
She leapt in after him, desperate to save him. Beneath the surface, she saw Zhao already at the bottom, reaching for something with his right hand. She grasped his left and pulled him upward before he ran out of air.
Both of them surfaced, gasping for breath. Zhao slowly opened his right hand—inside lay a small green stone.
"Gogonit…" Ruo Yun whispered, eyes wide.
"My heavens… you're right. I can't believe such a stone lies here," Zhao replied, excitement flashing in his voice.
For a brief moment, they both rejoiced. But Zhao's smile slowly faded. His eyes locked onto the stone, as if it spoke to him.
Visions flooded his mind. The ground beneath them transformed into a battlefield. He saw the Minggu tribe clashing against the kingdom's soldiers. Screams, death, endless slaughter—all unfolding before his eyes.
"Zhao! What's wrong?" Ruo Yun cried, sensing something amiss.
"War. This place once held a great battle," Zhao whispered, eyes wide in horror.
"Oh no, Ruo Yun! Help me! I can't bear it!"
"Zhao, what do you see?!"
"War! Pain! Screams everywhere! Swords clashing, black blades cutting down men. The Minggu tribe forced back—but a giant serpent emerged from beneath the mountains, tearing through the ground to here, creating this very lake. That monster! It's looking at me!"
Zhao's hand shook violently as he clutched the Gogonit, as if holding burning coals.
Ruo Yun quickly knocked the stone from his grasp. His visions shattered, but a deafening roar filled his ears.
"Arrghh! My ears!" Zhao screamed, clutching his head.
"What now?!" Ruo Yun wept, helpless.
"Voices!" Zhao gasped. "So many voices! I can hear them all—the merchant, the farmer, even you, Ruo Yun! Their thoughts, their fears—everything! I'm drowning in a sea of minds!"
Ruo Yun threw her arms around him, holding him as though her embrace alone could shield him from madness.
"Zhao, listen to me!" she whispered urgently. "You are in the middle of an ocean. But in the center of that ocean lies an island. On that island… is me. Focus on me. Let me be the only shore you seek. Let the rest fade away. Only my voice—listen to only me…"
Zhao's breath came ragged, his body trembling violently. But little by little, the chaos receded. The flood of foreign thoughts ebbed into silence, until only Ruo Yun's voice remained—gentle, soothing, like the song of an angel.
At last, his body slackened in her arms. Peace returned to his eyes.