On the wedding day, my wife was abnormal

"Foolish!" Uvi scoffed. "In war, winning hearts and minds is paramount! We must not only plunder their money and food, but also... seize their nation's throne!"

His eyes gleamed with ambition.

“In the past, when we moved south, our actions were illegitimate and we were seen as barbarian invaders, so the southerners often resisted to the death. But what if we raised the banner of ‘avenging Confucius’ and ‘restoring the orthodoxy of the Central Plains’?”

He stood up, walked to the center of the tent, and his voice became impassioned:

“We can tell the Han people in the south that we are not bandits going to rob them, but to help them overthrow the tyrannical empress Murong Yan, welcome back the holy descendants, and rebuild a land of propriety and music! At that time, there will surely be those with ulterior motives who secretly respond, and there will surely be ignorant people who offer food and drink! Wherever our army goes, the resistance will be weakened by three points! This is the real ‘taking advantage of the situation’!”

A murmur of discussion immediately arose inside the tent.

Many tribal chiefs' eyes lit up, clearly attracted by this idea. However, some more cautious individuals expressed their doubts.

“The Left Wise King’s plan is ingenious,” an elderly and prudent Yabghu pondered, “but… how can we convince the Southerners? After all, they are not of our kind…”

"So, the key lies with him!" Uvi pointed at Kong Zhiqian again, his tone full of enticement.

"We need to cultivate the young prince consort into a true 'enlightened ruler'! He should study the classics of the Han dynasty, learn etiquette, and, more importantly, demonstrate 'benevolence' and 'revenge'! When he rises to power, wouldn't his call to arms be far more persuasive than our millions of iron cavalry?"

Uvi walked up to Kong Zhiqian, squatted down, and patted him on the shoulder in a seemingly kind manner, but his voice carried clearly throughout the tent:

"Zhiqian, my child, tell the Khan and all the leaders, do you want to avenge the more than one hundred innocent souls of your Kong family? Do you want to reclaim everything that originally belonged to your Kong family and to all the scholars of the world?"

Kong Zhiqian raised his head, meeting Uwei's seemingly gentle but actually coercive gaze, and then swept over the scrutinizing, suspicious, or expectant eyes of the group of northern nobles in the tent.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the humiliation and coldness in his heart, and answered in clear and firm Mobei dialect. His voice was still young, but it carried a determination beyond his years:

"I want to! This blood feud is irreconcilable! Zhiqian is willing to serve the Great Khan and the Northern Desert! My lifelong wish is to personally kill Murong Yan and Lin Zhen, and restore... the rightful Chinese dynasty!"

He deliberately emphasized the last four words.

"Good!" Modu Chanyu slapped his thigh and laughed heartily, his voice echoing through the tent. "Ambitious! No wonder you are a descendant of a sage! Uwei, this matter is now in your hands! Make sure you lead this 'surprise force' well!"

"Your subject obeys!" Uvi bowed and accepted the order, a smug smile playing on his lips.

The banquet continued, and the atmosphere became even more lively.

No one paid much attention to Kong Zhiqian and Saren in the corner anymore.

Kong Zhiqian lowered his head again and silently ate the food in front of him, finding it tasteless.

Princess Saren quietly tugged at his sleeve and whispered, "My lord, the way you spoke just now reminded me of our father."

Kong Zhiqian stiffened, did not respond, but simply pulled his sleeve back slightly.

Saren pouted, looking somewhat aggrieved, and stopped talking.

After the banquet, Uvi kept Kong Zhiqian alone in the tent. Only the two of them and a few trusted guards remained.

"Zhiqian, you did well today." Uvi shed his previous "kindness," his tone returning to its usual shrewdness and coldness. "Remember what you said today. Starting tomorrow, I will hire the best teachers for you, not only for the skills of the northern deserts, but also for the classics, histories, philosophical works, and political strategies of your Han people. You must be proficient in all of them! You must let everyone see that you, Kong Zhiqian, are the true master of the Central Plains!"

Kong Zhiqian bowed his head and said, "Yes, Left Wise King. Zhiqian understands."

“Good that you understand.” Uvi stared at him, her tone carrying a warning. “Don’t forget who gave you your current position. Your revenge will be taken by the iron cavalry of the Northern Desert. Play your role well, and wealth and glory will come your way in the future. If you have any disloyal thoughts…”

He snorted coldly, his unfinished words filled with threat.

"Zhiqian dares not! In this life, I am willing to serve the Northern Desert and the Left Wise King, to serve him like a dog or a horse!" Kong Zhiqian immediately pledged his loyalty.

“Okay, go ahead. Saren is young, so take good care of her. If you're going to put on an act, you have to go all the way.” Uvi waved his hand.

Kong Zhiqian bowed and withdrew from the tent. Outside, the cold wind was like a knife, stinging his face.

He looked up at the dark sky to the south, in the direction of Chang'an.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms.

“Murong Yan… Lin Zhen…” he roared silently in his heart, “You wait… one day, I will repay you, and all those who have treated me kindly today!”

In the wind and snow, the young man's thin figure walked step by step toward the magnificent yet cold felt tent that belonged to his status as a "prince consort".

Winter nights in Longcheng, the northern desert city, are long and bitterly cold.

The biting wind was like a knife, howling through the felt tent as if countless wronged souls were weeping in the wilderness.

Inside the spacious felt tent that the Left Wise King Uwei had bestowed upon his son-in-law, the dim light of the tallow lamp flickered, barely dispelling a corner of darkness, but unable to dispel the invisible heaviness and coldness that permeated the air.

The interior of the tent was furnished with the luxurious style of the nobility of the northern deserts, with thick wolf-skin rugs and a roughly carved wooden table and a low cabinet.

However, amidst this exotic atmosphere, a small, thin figure knelt before the table with a quietness far beyond his years.

It was Kong Zhiqian.

He wore a brocade robe from the northern desert, a gift from the Left Wise King, trimmed with precious black fox fur; its opulence could not conceal the thinness beneath.

On the table lay an old copy of the Analects, its edges and corners badly worn. It was the only thing he had brought out of the ruins of Qufu, belonging to his father.

The pages of the book were yellowed, and there were still familiar annotations from my father.

However, his gaze did not linger on the words of the sages, but was fixed on a rough parchment spread beside the book.

On the paper, he had sketched a brief map of the northern frontier of the Great Qian Dynasty with charcoal pencil, marking the names of several key passes and towns. He had secretly drawn it based on his memory and information he had gathered over the past few days.

The charcoal pencil was already warm from being held between his fingers.

The eleven-year-old boy's face had long lost its childlike innocence, replaced by a gloomy and indifferent demeanor that had been forcibly matured.

Only in the depths of those overly dark eyes would a fleeting glimpse of pain and bewilderment, like that of a wounded young animal, be quickly replaced by a deeper hatred.

“Murong Yan…Lin Zhen…” He silently chewed on these two names, each word like a red-hot knife scraping back and forth on his heart.

That crimson night uncontrollably surfaced in my mind: towering flames, the fallen figures of my loved ones, Granny Zhang's desperate dying words, and the cold, ferocious faces of those armored soldiers.

These images tormented him day and night, becoming his only motivation to live, and also a nightmare that dragged him into an endless abyss.

The curtain was gently lifted a crack, and a blast of cold air rushed in.

Eight-year-old Princess Saren timidly peeked in, carrying a bowl of steaming goat's milk. She was wearing a thick fur coat, her little face red from the cold. Looking at her frighteningly silent "little husband" before her, she whispered:

"Your Highness...it's getting cold, have some goat milk."

Kong Zhiqian didn't turn around, or even lift his eyelids, but simply uttered a very low, almost indifferent reply from his throat: "Put it down."

Saren hesitated for a moment, then tiptoed in, placed the milk bowl on a corner of the table, and quickly glanced at the parchment with the map drawn on it. A hint of curiosity flashed in his eyes, but fear was more prominent.

She dared not ask any more questions, nor linger any longer. Like a frightened little rabbit, she quietly slipped out, and the tent returned to silence.

Hypocritical. Kong Zhiqian sneered inwardly.

He knew that the Left Wise King Uwei needed this marriage to enhance his image and to increase his leverage in the southward advance, as he was a "descendant of a sage."

As for Saren, he was nothing more than a tool that knew nothing and was used to bind him.

He had no feelings for her whatsoever; he only used her and concealed his true feelings.

He must play the role of a "grateful" and "loving" prince consort well in order to gain more resources and trust, better conceal himself, and wait for the opportunity to take revenge.

He picked up the bowl of goat milk, the warmth seeping through the porcelain bowl to his palm, but it did nothing to warm his frozen heart.