On the wedding day, my wife was abnormal

Dragon City in the northern desert. It is the coldest time of the year, when breath turns to ice, and the north wind whips up snowflakes that feel like icy sand lashing your face.

Compared to the growing festive atmosphere of the New Year in Chang'an in the south, this vast grassland was covered by a deathly white expanse. Only the continuous yurts in the center of the royal court revealed scattered lights and indistinct voices as night fell, like the faint warmth of a giant beast lurking on the snowfield as it breathed.

Inside the golden-roofed tent of the Left Wise King Uwei, giant tallow candles burned brightly, illuminating the tent as if it were daytime and dispelling some of the chill that had seeped in.

A small-scale victory celebration banquet, reserved only for the core tribal leaders, is underway.

The air was thick with the pungent smell of roasted mutton, spicy mare's milk wine, and the sweat and leather odor emanating from the men.

Rough laughter, the clinking of bowls and cups, and the sound of maids' boots clattering on the ground as they moved about mingled together, creating a wild and vibrant atmosphere.

However, amidst this hustle and bustle, one corner remained remarkably quiet.

Kong Zhiqian, only eleven years old, was wearing a dark blue brocade robe with silver fox fur trim, a gift from the Left Wise King, and sat in a seat not far from the main seat.

He sat upright, with a deliberate calmness that seemed out of place for his age.

On the table in front of him were glistening lamb legs and dairy products, but he rarely touched them. He would only occasionally pick up the silver bowl in front of him and sip the warm mare's milk wine diluted with water. The spicy taste still made his throat uncomfortable, but he didn't even frown.

His gaze was lowered, seemingly focused on the food in front of him, but out of the corner of his eye, like the most vigilant young beast, he subtly scanned every tribal chief in the tent who was talking loudly and drinking heavily, silently memorizing their words, expressions, and even the subtle interactions between them.

Uwi sat at the head of the table, his beard bristling, drinking heartily with a scarred commander beside him. Their voices were booming, but Kong Zhiqian noticed that Uwi's hawk-like eyes, even when seemingly drunk, would still sharply sweep across the room, especially lingering on several powerful tribal leaders for a moment.

"Come! For our northern eagle, our future hope, our holy son-in-law, drink this bowl to the brim!" Uvi suddenly raised his wine bowl, his gaze fixed on Kong Zhiqian, his voice carrying a deliberate enthusiasm that immediately drew the attention of everyone in the tent.

Kong Zhiqian felt a chill run down his spine, knowing that the drama was about to begin again.

He immediately put down the silver bowl, stood up, and held the bowl of mare's milk wine in front of him, which he had barely touched, with both hands. He forced a slightly shy and flattered expression befitting his age, and responded clearly and respectfully in his already quite fluent Mongolian dialect:

"Zhiqian is unworthy of such praise! It is all thanks to the protection of the Great Khan and the Left Wise King, and the kindness of all my uncles! Zhiqian is young and lacks virtue, but with this cup of wine, I wish to offer my respects to the Great Khan and the Left Wise King for good health and longevity, and to wish my iron cavalry of the Northern Desert to be invincible!"

After saying that, he tilted his head back and drank the spicy liquor in the bowl in one gulp. The spiciness burned from his throat all the way to his stomach, causing him to cough softly and his cheeks to flush an unnatural red.

This perfectly timed "loss of composure" only drew a burst of even more "intimate" laughter from inside the tent.

The scarred captain slammed his fist on the table and laughed, "Good! Although the prince consort is young, his capacity for alcohol and his courage are considerable! He's a real man!"

Uvi laughed heartily with satisfaction, a hint of smugness flashing in his eyes.

That's exactly the effect he wanted—an image of a "saint's descendant" who knows how to be grateful, is a little naive but is trying to integrate into the northern desert and is gradually being accepted by the leaders of various tribes.

Sitting next to Kong Zhiqian was Princess Saren, who was only eight years old.

She was wearing a bright red fur robe, her face flushed from the heat inside the tent, and she was intently cutting a piece of tender mutton with a small golden knife, seemingly oblivious to the noise around her.

Only when her father mentioned "the prince consort" would she raise her big eyes and curiously glance at the always taciturn "little husband" beside her, before quickly lowering her head again.

Occasionally, following the nanny's prior instructions, Kong Zhiqian would quietly push a more delicate-looking pastry from his table in front of Saren, earning the little girl a shy yet happy smile in return.

This scene of "harmonious marriage" naturally caught the attention of many observant people.

The banquet lasted until late at night.

Kong Zhiqian took Saren's hand—this was also a "necessary courtesy" requested by Uvi—and escorted her back to the warm and luxurious yurt next door, which belonged exclusively to the princess, and handed her over to the waiting matron.

Throughout the entire process, he remained expressionless, his movements mechanical, as if completing a task.

Back in his spacious yet always empty and cold tent, after dismissing the servants, all pretense on Kong Zhiqian's face vanished instantly, leaving only a deep-seated weariness and coldness.

He took off the brocade robe, which reeked of alcohol and the stench of meat, and casually tossed it onto the low couch covered with wolf skin, as if trying to shake off some kind of sticky filth.

Inside the tent, only a dim butter lamp was lit, its flickering light casting his thin shadow on the felt wall, making it appear longer and shorter, like a ghost.

He walked to a small copper basin in the tent and repeatedly washed his face and hands with the cold water, as if trying to wash away all the lingering smells from the banquet.

The water was cold, stinging his skin, but it cleared his confused mind a little.

He raised his head and looked at the reflection in the water of the copper basin—a face that was still young but filled with a gloom and indifference that did not match its age.

"The son-in-law of a saint..."

He stared at his reflection in the water, a silent twitch of his lips revealing a cold, mocking smile more painful than a grimace. Behind this glamorous title lay endless humiliation, surveillance, and exploitation. Uwe needed this banner to win hearts and minds, to whitewash his future southward invasion.

He needs the power of the northern desert to survive, become strong, and then... seek revenge.

He walked to the side of the tent wall, where a miniature version of the Northern Desert scimitar that he used for daily practice hung.

He reached out and gently stroked the cold, sharp blade, feeling a dangerous sensation at his fingertips.

This knife was a gift from Uvi, intended to familiarize him with the weapons of the northern desert and help him integrate into the culture of the northern desert.

But whenever he gripped the hilt of the knife, all he could think about was how to use it to slit the throat of his enemy.

"Murong Yan... Lin Zhen..." He silently repeated these two names in his heart, his hatred growing wildly like a poisonous vine, almost bursting out of his chest.

He knew that they must be in the warm and luxurious palaces of Chang'an right now, enjoying the worship of the people, and perhaps even laughing at the downfall of the Kong family, and at him, the "remnant" who had escaped by chance and recognized the enemy as his father.

"Just wait..." He spoke to the void, swearing each word clearly only he could hear, "Everything you have done to my Kong family, I will repay a hundredfold! The iron cavalry of the northern desert will eventually trample Chang'an! I will personally... take back everything that belongs to me!"