Chapter 139.

On the boundless northern plains, the thunderous rhythm of galloping hooves pierced the air. Two armies tore through the wilderness, locked in a relentless chase. The gap between pursuer and prey widened with every passing moment.

The Tatar Khan, leading his dwindling forces, exploited his intimate knowledge of the terrain. Discarding excess supplies to lighten their load, they fled at breakneck speed toward the Onan River. Early winter had barely laid its claim; the river’s ice had yet to solidify. Choosing the thickest patches, the Khan and his men crossed the fragile expanse before ruthlessly shattering the ice behind them. Without looking back, they resumed their desperate retreat.

Hot on their heels, General He Shan arrived with his troops. Confronted by the fractured, treacherous ice, he hesitated. Crossing was a gamble that could spell disaster. Yet taking the long way around would almost certainly cost them the chase.

He Shan lingered, indecisive, his sharp eyes fixed on the Khan’s army disappearing deeper into the northern wilderness. Moments later, he made his choice—he ordered a retreat, turning back to cut off Aharu and the Tatar forces still scrambling to regroup.

The Tatar Khan, meanwhile, had pushed his men and horses twenty miles further. Only when no sign of pursuit followed did he allow his troops a brief respite. Shortly after, a scout raced in from the rear, bowing as he reported, “The Yan army has ceased pursuit.”

Relief flooded the Tatar Khan’s hardened features. The Yan forces had come prepared, bringing overwhelming numbers to crush resistance. Direct confrontation would be folly. Splitting his forces, evading battle, and waiting for the dead of winter would be their best chance. The bitter cold would be a deadly foe to the Yan soldiers and their horses. When the frost claimed its toll, the Tatars could strike back with fury.

After a moment of contemplation, the Tatar Khan ordered his men to rest for half an hour before looping back toward the Onan River to rescue Aharu’s beleaguered troops.

But their respite was short-lived. The earth trembled violently, a low rumble swelling from the distance. Soon, the unmistakable drumbeat of thousands of hooves filled the air, a growing storm of war.

A scout dropped to the ground, pressing his ear against the frozen earth. “They’re coming from the north,” he stammered, panic etched into his voice. “At least ten thousand strong!”

Impossible!

The Yan army couldn’t have circled the river this quickly. But speculation was a luxury they couldn’t afford. The Tatar Khan snapped into action, commanding his troops to mount up and flee once more.

Yet his earlier complacency had cost him dearly. Their escape faltered, and within a mile, they crashed headlong into the vanguard of the Oirat forces, who had lain in ambush.

To tighten the noose, Muduo led nearly 20,000 Oirat warriors, their warhorses clad in heavy armor. They surged forward in a black tide, sabers glinting under the pale sky. The thunderous roars of battle cries shook the air, their ferocity undeniable.

The Tatar Khan’s fragmented forces, numbering fewer than 10,000, found themselves hopelessly outmatched. Desperation clawed at them as they veered toward another escape route, only to face Yan soldiers advancing in a pincer movement under Xue Shu’s command.

Surrounded on three sides, their only retreat lay behind them—back across the treacherous Onan River.

Caught between predators, the Tatar Khan found himself in an unthinkable position. A battle-hardened warrior who had ruled the steppes with ruthless precision, he now resembled a cornered beast, stripped of dignity but not ferocity. His eyes burned with cold determination. Raising his weapon high, he roared, “Cut through them!”

On the snow-draped steppe, chaos erupted. Steel clashed, blood stained the frost, and the screams of men and horses filled the bitter air.

The Tatar Khan fought with unrelenting vigor, even as the odds closed in around him. Amid the fray, his sharp gaze locked onto a familiar figure—Uju, his estranged daughter, commanding the Oirat troops. Seizing the moment, he rallied his men and launched a ferocious assault in her direction, breaking through the enemy lines.

Though Uju held no familial affection for the man who had sired her, she knew well his unparalleled prowess. Wary of incurring heavy losses, she sought to divert his wrath toward the Yan forces.

But the Tatar Khan was no fool. Sensing her reluctance, his resolve only deepened. Charging forward, he bellowed in their native tongue, “Uju! If I fall here, do you truly believe the Great Yan will spare you?! The Tatars and the Oirat are bound by fate—if one perishes, so does the other!”

The battlefield, a storm of blood and snow, became the crucible where destiny would be forged.

The Great Yan Empire has long played a cunning game of balancing power between the Oirat and the Tatars, ensuring neither faction grows strong enough to unite against it. Yet from another perspective, the empire’s strategy is equally insidious—should the Oirat and Tatars tear each other apart, the resulting chaos would provide Great Yan with the perfect opening to strike and claim dominance.

Now, with the Oirat weakened and unable to match the might of the Tatars, they have little choice but to seek Great Yan’s support. Yet their desperation comes laced with apprehension: should they aid Great Yan in defeating the Tatars, their mutual enemy gone, who would stop Great Yan from turning its gaze upon them next?

The Tatar Khan’s sharp words struck a nerve, exposing this hidden fear.

Uju and Muduo exchanged a quick glance, their decision made in silent agreement. Without hesitation, they ordered a shift in their formation, deliberately leaving a fatal gap.

Seizing the opportunity, the Tatar Khan charged forward, leading his forces in a daring breakout attempt.

The Great Yan soldiers on the flanks noticed the commotion and rushed to intercept, only to be thwarted by unexpected resistance from their erstwhile allies, the Oirat warriors. The betrayal stalled their response just long enough for the Tatar Khan to begin breaking free.

But then, like a shadow cutting through chaos, a lone black horse surged forward, its rider heading straight for Muduo.

Recognizing the rider, the Great Yan soldiers instinctively parted. The Oirat warriors hesitated, unwilling to openly block his path. In that fleeting moment, Xue Shu seized his chance, spurring his horse directly to Muduo’s side.

By now, the Tatar Khan and his loyal riders had escaped the encirclement, galloping toward the remote depths of the northern steppes.

Muduo barely had time to react before Xue Shu, radiating an air of merciless determination, brushed past him. A sharp pain shot through Muduo’s arm, and when he glanced down, he realized his prized Golden Crow curved blade was no longer in his grasp.

Xue Shu, now armed with Muduo’s blade, charged after the Tatar Khan with relentless precision. The distance between them closed rapidly.

The Tatar Khan’s guards tried to shield him, but Xue Shu hurled the curved blade with devastating force.

The weapon spun through the air, hummingband buzzing like an ominous storm.

Hearing cries of alarm behind him, the Tatar Khan turned his head, only to see the blade racing toward him with lethal speed.

Too fast to dodge, the blade struck true, burying itself in his back and piercing through to his chest.

The winds that had roared so violently moments before seemed to still. The thunder of hooves and shouts faded as the Tatar Khan’s body slumped and fell from his horse, his lifeless gaze frozen in the act of looking back.

Xue Shu reined in his horse, his gaze sharp as he turned to the advancing Great Yan soldiers. With a cutting voice, he commanded them to surround and slaughter the remaining Tatar forces.

The Tatar Khan’s death left his men leaderless and broken. Resistance crumbled, leaving 3,851 captured soldiers and over 7,000 horses as spoils of war. The Tatar Khan’s lifeless body, still pierced by Muduo’s blade, was secured and brought back as a grim trophy.

Once the battlefield was cleared, Xue Shu rode toward the visibly shaken Muduo and Uju. His voice, laced with mockery, rang sharp and shrill. “In dire situations, we must adapt. Borrowing the Oirat King’s blade seemed most appropriate. Surely, the Oirat King wouldn’t object?”

Muduo, a man who prided himself on his bravery, felt a chill as Xue Shu’s piercing gaze bore into him. His wounded arm throbbed with the memory of how easily his blade had been taken.

Suppressing his humiliation, he forced a rigid smile. “Of course not.”

Xue Shu nodded, his satisfaction evident, and spurred his horse forward. “The rest of our forces have yet to arrive. I trust the Oirat King will be patient a little longer.”

Muduo and Uju exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what reinforcements Xue Shu awaited but too rattled to question him further.

As the corpses were being cleared, the thunder of hooves echoed once more. Two columns of riders surged into view.

The Oirat leaders watched in shock as the chaos unfolded before them. At the head of the fleeing group was a scattered force of Tatar remnants, pursued relentlessly by a disciplined Great Yan battalion. With calculated precision, the Great Yan forces drove the panicked Tatars toward the Oirat and Great Yan encampment like a herdsman corralling sheep.

Uju’s eyes widened as recognition dawned. “That’s my elder brother leading the Tatars.”

The eldest son of the Tartar Khan fled for his life, pursued relentlessly by He Shan’s forces, only to find himself cornered here. His heart sank at the sight of the formidable army awaiting him. When his eyes fell on the Tartar prisoners under Great Yan army custody, a gnawing sense of doom consumed him.

Xue Shu dispatched a detachment to join forces with He Shan’s troops, and together they swiftly subdued the fleeing Tartar party.

A chill swept through the air as Chirli, the eldest son of the Tartar Khan, was hauled forward. His eyes darted across the faces of the prisoners, recognizing among them his father’s loyal followers. Panic seized his chest as he frantically searched for his father’s figure. Then, he saw it—a lifeless body slumped over a horse’s back. His gaze froze, disbelief etched into his wide, horrified eyes.

Xue Shu, reveling in his torment, stepped forward deliberately. He pulled the curved blade still embedded in the Khan’s back and handed it to Muduo. "The Oirat King's curved blade mustn’t be left behind,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “This Golden Crow blade, a sacred heirloom of the Oirat royal line, has passed through generations, bathing in the blood of their enemies. It’s their tribe’s pride and glory.”

The words barely left his lips before Chirli’s venomous glare locked onto Muduo. Hatred radiated from him as he spat, "It was you who killed my father!" His wrath then turned to Uju, standing beside Mudu, his fury nearly tangible. “You treacherous whore!” he bellowed, his voice dripping with venom.

Muduo, unwilling to be scapegoated, began to speak in his defense. But before he could, Xue Shu’s sly, knowing smile stopped him cold. The man’s hand rested on the hilt of his blade, a silent threat that hung heavy in the air.

Grinding his teeth, Muduo met Xue Shu’s gaze, fury simmering beneath his silence.

Uju, more aware of Xue Shu’s cunning and martial prowess, gently tugged on Muduo’s sleeve, cautioning him with a shake of her head. Confronting this devious and formidable man now, when the odds were stacked against them, was folly.

Uju’s lips twisted into a scornful smirk as she turned to Chirli. Her whip lashed out, slicing the air before striking his face and neck with a vicious crack, leaving a bloody welt in its wake. “Dear brother,” she sneered, her voice cold and dripping with disdain, “you’re no better than the whore you insult.”

Chirli thrashed against his restraints, hurling filthy insults at Uju, but she didn’t so much as flinch.

Xue Shu watched the exchange with amused detachment before finally breaking his silence. “The battlefield is cleared. It’s time to regroup with the main army. His Majesty has already reached the Northern Desert.”

Neither Muduo nor Uju dared to dissent. They mounted their horses and prepared to depart. But as they rode, they noticed something unsettling—the Great Yan soldiers leading them weren’t heading back toward the Luchu River. Instead, the path veered northwest, toward the heart of Oirat territory.

A glance exchanged between Uju and Muduo betrayed their shared unease. That direction could only mean trouble.

After two days of travel, the truth became impossible to deny. The closer they drew to Oirat lands, the grimmer their expressions grew. Finally, unable to contain her unease, Uju confronted Xue Shu. “Commissioner Xue, wasn’t His Majesty stationed across the Luchu River? Why are we marching toward Oirat?”

Xue Shu turned, a rare and unsettlingly genuine smile curving his lips. To Uju, it was anything but reassuring. “His Majesty has taken a detour,” he said smoothly. “To Oirat.”

Her heart sank as the truth dawned on her.

When they arrived, the sight of the Great Yan army firmly entrenched in Oirat territory confirmed their worst fears. Faces pale, Muduo and Uju realized they’d been outmaneuvered. What they thought was their own clever scheme to exploit Great Yan for greater gains had been turned on its head. Great Yan had struck first, stripping them of everything in a single, ruthless move.

“What is the meaning of this?” Muduo demanded, his face a stormy mask of outrage.

Xue Shu turned a cold gaze on him, his smile sharp as a blade. “Oirat broke faith first. Great Yan is merely returning the courtesy.”

They had never trusted Oirat's alliance with Great Yan, and so their plans had never depended on Oirat's full cooperation. Sending Muduo with elite Oirat troops was merely a ploy to lure their strength away. Unbeknownst to Muduo, the bulk of Great Yan’s army had secretly been redirected. After leaving minimal forces at the Luchu River, they had launched a swift, decisive raid to take Wala by surprise.

Muduo and Uju had played right into their hands.

The Oirat forces were already severely weakened, and with Muduo taking away a large portion of their troops, those who remained were fractured and unmotivated. Crushing them was effortless.

By the time this was spoken, they had already arrived at the camp. Xue Shu dismounted and asked the soldier guarding the camp, his voice low and laced with a quiet, velvety warmth when he uttered the title, "Is His Majesty in the tent?"

It had been three months since he last laid eyes on the Emperor.

The soldier responded promptly, "His Majesty went out on patrol with Commander Yu," and gestured into the distance, "but it seems His Majesty is returning now."

Xue Shu turned to look. In the distance, two chestnut warhorses were galloping toward them, the one in the lead carrying a figure clad in radiant silver armor that gleamed even from afar.

As they approached, Yin Chengyu reined in his horse with practiced ease, dismounted, and locked eyes with Xue Shu in a silent exchange that carried volumes before turning his attention to Muduo and Uju, who were frozen in confrontation.

“I’ve just returned from a patrol,” Yin Chengyu said with a composed smile, handing his riding whip to a soldier beside him. His tone was light but unyielding. “I trust the two of you have not waited too long.” Without another word, he walked forward with the unshakable confidence of a master surveying his domain.

Naturally, Xue Shu followed closely at his side.

This left Muduo and Uju, the supposed masters of this land, looking more like uninvited guests. The power dynamics were clear: no matter how reluctant, they had no choice but to dismount and trail after him into the tent.

Inside, Yin Chengyu settled into the host's seat with effortless dominance. Xue Shu stood like a shadow behind him, while soldiers brought in steaming tea.

It was only then that Muduo, barely holding back his anger, spoke in a cold voice, his patience worn thin. "Is this how His Majesty of Great Yan treats his allies?"

Yin Chengyu, unbothered, lifted his teacup with a leisurely air, savoring a sip before responding—not to the accusation but to an entirely different matter.

"On my way to the Oirat territory," he began calmly, "I intercepted a small Oirat detachment. Their leader claimed they were under orders from the Oirat King to ambush me at the Luchu River. Convenient, isn’t it?"

He chuckled lightly, the sound cold and cutting. "If I hadn’t come, I would’ve been right there, ripe for the taking. But alas, the leader had no proof of such orders. So, I came to the conclusion that someone wanted to sabotage the alliance between Great Yan and the Oirat. Naturally, I eliminated them all."

His tone was as serene as if he were recounting a pleasant stroll. Then, with an unwavering smile, he asked, “What does the Oirat King think of this?”

Muduo stiffened, his earlier confidence visibly crumbling.

Seeing his silence, Yin Chengyu pressed further. "Princess Uju wrote to me, claiming the Oirat King intended to submit a national petition to pledge allegiance to Great Yan. Though progress has been slow these past few months, I have already come to regard the Oirat people as Great Yan’s subjects. Surely, the Oirat King feels the same?"

His voice remained gentle, yet his eyes gleamed with a sharpness that pierced through Muduo’s composure. That warm smile on Yin Chengyu’s lips was a mere facade; beneath it lay a blade, poised to strike at the first sign of weakness.

For the first time, Muduo found himself unnerved before a ruler who, at first glance, seemed almost frail. The oppressive atmosphere in the tent deepened.

Yin Chengyu, however, remained entirely at ease, sipping his tea as if utterly oblivious to the tension.

Muduo replayed every potential move in his mind, only to find his options shrinking with each calculation. His face betrayed a hint of defeat as he glanced at Uju, who shook her head silently.

There was no second path to take. Submission was their only choice.

*

In the end, Muduo chose to bow before the might of the Great Yan.

On October 25th, two historic events unfolded in tandem. The submission of the Oirat envoy and the formal surrender of the Tatars took place on the same day.

The Tatar Khan met his demise in battle; his second son fell alongside him, while his eldest son and Aharu were captured alive. In their retreat, the fleeing Tatar Khan abandoned his wives, concubines, and children—32 in total—only for the relentless soldiers of Great Yan to round them up soon after.

The remnants of Tatar resistance fought stubbornly but were systematically annihilated by the Great Yan’s army.

The spoils of this campaign were staggering. Great Yan took 67,913 prisoners, male and female soldiers alike. The haul included 113 royal treasures and official seals, one golden seal, three silver seals, 36,000 horses, 3,920 camels, and 104,369 cattle and sheep. Additionally, 3,100 wagons were seized. It was a victory unparalleled in magnitude.

Aharu was executed by Yin Chengyu himself, while the Tatar Khan’s eldest son, Chirli, was spared—for now.

On October 25th, a grand platform was erected on the grasslands.

Beneath it, the combined forces and civilians of the Oirat and Tatar tribes gathered, tens of thousands strong. They watched, powerless, as their defeated kings knelt at the feet of the Great Yan Emperor, submitting to his rule.

Yin Chengyu decreed the investiture of Muduo as the Virtuous and Righteous-King Xianyi and Chirli as the Obedient and Virtuous-King Shunde.

Yet even as he bestowed titles, Yin Chengyu’s plans left no room for future rebellion. He announced the establishment of the Northern Frontier Command on the grasslands, fortified with heavy troops. The borders would gradually open for trade, fostering controlled exchange while tightening Great Yan’s grip on the region.

Whether Muduo and Chirli accepted this humiliation willingly or not was irrelevant. Yin Chengyu would ensure they never rose again.

The imperial edicts and ceremonial seals had been meticulously prepared in advance. Xue Shu, carrying the trays, presented them to the two new vassals. Muduo and Chirli accepted them, offering their thanks in solemn acknowledgment.

At that moment, the officiating court herald declared loudly, “Bow—”

Below the platform, tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians fell to their knees, bowing in unison.

Above, even the imperial officials joined in reverent prostration.

Xue Shu, standing at Yin Chengyu’s side, began to kneel as well, only to be stopped by the emperor’s steady hand. Yin Chengyu supported him, pulling him upright so that they stood shoulder to shoulder.

Amid the vast snowfields, where tens of thousands knelt in submission, only these two men stood tall, gazing down upon the boundless expanse.

Yin Chengyu clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. He asked, “When you marched north, was it anything like today?”

Xue Shu paused, his thoughts briefly wandering before he shook his head. “Without Your Majesty, the world was barren and tasteless. I felt nothing but loneliness.”

In his previous life, he had led troops to crush the northern tribes, standing atop the desolate grasslands without a flicker of triumph. Only the ache of longing gnawed at his soul.

He had fulfilled his sovereign’s dying wish, yet that sovereign would never know, never stand beside him to see the vast rivers and mountains they had conquered together.

What remained was a man shackled to fading promises, struggling to endure the weight of solitude.

The boundless empire was never his dream. His one true desire was a single man.

But that man stood so high above, so far beyond reach, that he had no choice but to cross countless mountains and climb endlessly upward, just to stand by his side.

“And now?” Yin Chengyu turned to him, their hands hidden beneath flowing sleeves entwined, the warmth of his palm seeping into Xue Shu’s cold fingers.

Xue Shu tightened his grip, his dark eyes fixed solely on the figure before him. “Now, I only regret that a lifetime of love is too fleeting.”

If only they could tangle their fates, not for a single lifetime, but for all eternity.

*

In the fourteenth year of Longfeng, a devastating plague swept through Yutai.

Trapped in a mire of despair, he suddenly saw a divine presence descending with graceful majesty. The deity's expression bore profound sorrow, yet their beauty shone like a radiant moon, exuding an aura of compassion that seemed to transcend mortal suffering.

From that moment on, whenever he gazed at the moon, he could see nothing but them.

[End of main story.]

———TN: Scatter flowers in celebration and make this moment unforgettable!

I wish you two will love each other forever!