The night was deep, and a nameless valley lay a thousand miles north of Qingyun.
A trade caravan had halted for a rest, and amidst the flickering campfire, a large black flag embroidered with the character "Zhong" was being torn by the mountain winds, rustling loudly.
"Sir."
A gentle call came from afar as a maid in a lotus-colored dress moved slightly, approaching with respect and saying, "Dinner is ready, the young lady invites you to come."
"Hmm."
The silver-haired man nodded slightly, gently pulling up the hood of his black robe to cover half of his face. As he turned, the moonlight revealed a young and delicate face.
Seated by the campfire, the left side of the silver-haired man's chest ached intermittently, and beneath his right chest, a heart beat weakly. Watching the flickering fire, his clean eyes reflected a raging inferno.
