On the wedding day, my wife was abnormal

He sipped slowly, the milky taste filling his mouth, which involuntarily reminded him of the bowl of light rice porridge he ate at home in Qufu every morning, and his mother's gentle smile... His eyes suddenly welled up with tears, and he quickly tilted his head back, closed his eyes tightly, and forced back the sour feeling.

Can't cry.

Tears are the most useless thing in the world.

The blood of the Confucius family in Qufu has long since dried up, and tears cannot wash away even a trace of hatred.

He put down the bowl and his gaze returned to the map.

The finger slowly moved along the lines of the Great Wall outlined above.

Yunzhou, Yanran... He had only occasionally heard these place names in his father's and uncles' conversations before, but now they had become the subject of his nightly study.

He knew that behind that winding city wall lay the prosperous world where Murong Yan and Lin Zhen lived, and also the source of his deep-seated hatred.

"Did you understand the 'Strategic Attack' chapter of 'The Art of War' that you were taught today?" A deep voice sounded outside the tent. It was the old warrior Batel, sent by the Left Wise King to teach him military strategy.

Kong Zhiqian quickly rolled up the sheepskin map, stuffed it into the pages of the Analects, then stood up, his face instantly changing to an expression of humility and eagerness to learn, and lifted the tent flap:

"Professor Batel, I am currently studying this material, but there are still some parts I don't understand. I would like to ask you for clarification."

Outside the tent, the cold wind howled, and Batel's tall figure stood like an iron tower.

His sharp gaze swept over Kong Zhiqian's seemingly respectful face, and he nodded slightly: "Come into the tent and let's talk."

Such scenes play out almost every day.

By day, he was a diligent and studious prince consort, eagerly absorbing the horsemanship, archery, wrestling, and military strategy of the northern desert, as well as the classics and historical texts taught by Han scholars he had captured, which Uwei had specially arranged for him to study.

He made rapid progress, and even the most demanding teacher could not find fault with him. The Left Wise King Uwei was very satisfied with this.

Only Kong Zhiqian himself knew that he learned all of this not to serve the northern desert, but so that one day he could use the swords they taught him to cut down their enemies, and those further south.

Nighttime is his personal purgatory.

Stripped of all pretense, hatred, like a poisonous insect, gnawed at his very core.

When no one was around, he would secretly practice Han-style calligraphy, copying his father's handwriting, as if he could grasp a bit of lost warmth in the process.

He would also use his ever-present, sharpened dagger to repeatedly carve the characters "Murong" and "Lin" onto the wooden board, then slash away at them one by one until the board shattered.

Sometimes, Princess Saren would secretly peek at him through the gaps in the tent curtains.

What she saw was no longer the silent but relatively calm prince consort of the daytime, but a stranger shrouded in some terrible emotion, whose cold eyes made her tremble.

She grew increasingly afraid of him, but her father's orders and her nanny's instructions forced her to get closer to him.

That night, the wind and snow seemed to intensify.

Kong Zhiqian blew out the butter lamp, lay down on the cold wolfskin rug, and stared at the blurry shadows above the tent.

In the distance came the monotonous chimes of the night watchmen and the howls of wolves, a stark contrast to the memories of string and wind instruments and the sound of students reciting their lessons.

He thought of his father, Kong Wenbo, a father who always had a serious expression but would teach him to read and recite classics in his spare time; he thought of his gentle mother; he thought of his mischievous cousin; he thought of the tall ginkgo tree in the Kong Family Mansion, which would be covered with golden leaves in autumn...

And now, all of that is gone.

He was left all alone in this harsh, cold land, keeping company with wolves and his enemies.

"Father, Mother, Uncles, Granny Zhang..." he called out silently in his heart, tears finally streaming down his face uncontrollably, quickly turning cold.

"You are watching from heaven... watching Qian'er... Qian'er will live on... will become strong... and will use the blood of his enemies to appease your spirits in heaven!"

He clutched the front of his shirt tightly, where a small, charred fragment of a jade pendant he had brought from Qufu was hidden close to his body—the only keepsake his mother had left him.

The cold touch calmed his chaotic thoughts slightly.

"Murong Yan, Lin Zhen," he murmured again, this time his voice devoid of hesitation, only filled with an icy resolve.

"You enjoy fine clothes and sumptuous food, and hold the power of life and death, but have you ever thought that in the unseen northern lands, there is a lonely soul you created with your own hands, sharpening its teeth for revenge day and night? Just wait... One day, I will return... leading the iron cavalry of the northern desert, I will trample your palaces and repay you a hundredfold for everything you have done to my Kong family!"

The sound of wind and snow masked the suppressed sobs and vows of the young man inside the tent.

Deep within the royal court in the northern desert, a heart thoroughly soaked in hatred is growing stubbornly and coldly in a twisted way, nourished by despair and conspiracy.

The night is still very long.

The road is also longer.

......

The snow in Chang'an fell and stopped, fell and stopped, covering the glazed tiles of the Zichen Palace layer upon layer, reflecting a cold luster under the thin winter sunlight.

It was already the 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month, and the Little New Year was approaching. The festive atmosphere in the palace was gradually getting stronger. Sweeping dust, hanging lanterns, and preparing banquets created a busy scene.

However, beneath this festive atmosphere, a few people at the heart of the empire's power structure remained on edge, their hearts tied to the vast and restless land to the north.

Inside the heated pavilion in the rear hall of the Zichen Palace, the underfloor heating kept it warm and cozy, isolating it from the harsh cold outside.

Murong Yan leaned against the phoenix couch by the window, wearing the black and gold Suzhou brocade cotton nightgown that she usually wore in her sleeping quarters—the Divine Phoenix Descends to Earth Dress.

The jet-black base, illuminated by the snowflakes filtering through the window lattice, appeared even more serene and profound. The woven gold cotton and the phoenix patterns embroidered with gold thread exuded a luster that was both soft and majestic.

The black and gold mink shawl was casually draped over the incense burner beside the couch, absorbing warmth.

The five-zhang-long Suzhou brocade train cascaded down from the edge of the couch, spreading out a beautiful expanse of dark brocade on the polished gold brick floor. Because she had been resting and reading on the couch most of the time recently, the hem of her skirt was piled up and wrinkled, winding towards the palace gate, intertwining with the edge of the thick plush carpet, creating a quiet and lazy mess.

One of her wide, bell-shaped sleeves draped softly over the pillow, while she used the other to hold a scroll of books.

The black jade thumb ring on her left hand occasionally tapped gently against the jade bamboo slips as she turned the pages of the book, producing a soft, clear sound.

Lin Zhen sat on the embroidered stool in front of the couch, holding a document in his hand—a military intelligence report delivered urgently from the northern frontier. His brows were slightly furrowed, clearly indicating that the contents were not lighthearted.

"Husband, there's been some new activity in the north?" Murong Yan put down her book, looked up at him, and her voice carried a hint of seriousness that was barely perceptible.

Her complexion was much better than a few days ago, with a slight rosy glow on her cheeks, but the worry about national affairs between her brows had not disappeared.

Lin Zhen handed her the official gazette, his tone calm yet heavy with pressure:

"Hmm. The Northern Kingdom is unusually quiet this winter. The tribal leaders have retreated to the vicinity of Dragon City, and there have been few large-scale hunts. But our 'Night Owl' has discovered that the Northern Left Wise King, Uwei, has been frequently convening meetings with the tribal leaders recently, and... he has intensified the equestrian and archery training for the young men of each tribe, on a scale far exceeding that of previous years. More noteworthy is that they seem to be stockpiling arrows and building siege weapons in large quantities."

Murong Yan took the official gazette and quickly glanced through it, her expression growing increasingly cold with each reading. She put the gazette down, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the white tiger-skin rug on the couch, making a soft rustling sound.

“Something unusual must be going on. The people of the northern desert can’t stand the loneliness of winter. In previous years, there would be small groups of disturbances at this time. But now they are lying low. Either there is an internal change, or…” Her phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, and a cold light flashed, “they are brewing a storm that is far greater than before.”

“I have discussed this with Prime Minister Du and Minister Zhou of the Ministry of War, and I also believe that the latter is more likely.”

Lin Zhen stood up, walked to the huge map of northern frontier hanging in the sky, and pointed his finger in the direction of the Dragon City in the northern desert.

“Uwei is an ambitious man, and with the new ‘banner’ of the Kong family, he will never be content to stay in this bitter and cold place for long. His current inaction is more like waiting for an opportunity, perhaps… after the ice and snow melt in the spring.”

Murong Yan also rose and walked to his side, her long, dark gold train gliding across the ground. She looked up at the vast region on the map representing the northern desert, her gaze sharp as a knife:

"Spring has arrived... the grass is lush and the horses are fat, it's the perfect time for war. He wants to use the name of the orphan of the Kong family to carry out his plan of annexation, what a clever scheme!"

She snorted coldly,

"Too bad, he's got the wrong idea! My Daqian is not fish on his chopping board!"