Zheng had always heard that life on the march was miserable. He had never experienced it himself, but as an avid reader, he knew what to expect. Regardless of the genre, every story emphasized the hardships: how sand and dust infiltrated every crevice, how the food was tough and bland, and how the journey took a grueling toll on the body. Whether it was a medieval fantasy or a futuristic sci-fi tale with spaceships and laser guns, they all shared the same outlook on war: it was bound to be hard and miserable.
Not so for him. He had left Green Bamboo City ten days ago to join Duke Long in his mission to scout beyond the invading Yuan front lines, and this was the most comfortable Liu Zheng had ever been. He was traveling in a flying ship, complete with every luxury one could imagine. Opulent rooms, fully stocked kitchens serving mouth-watering feasts, an army of servants to cater to his every need—and best of all, no annoying family members to nag him. He was in heaven.
Of course, none of this luxury would make it past the Northern border. Once he reached the Great Wall, he would have to leave it all behind and join Duke Long's group. The Duke had told him to meet at the main fort on the Great Wall in a month's time. Liu Zheng had wasted no time preparing, informing only his aunt and a few select family elders of his true destination. They were all suitably shocked but understood the need for secrecy. After all, this was supposed to be a stealth mission, and boasting that the Liu lord was off with Duke Long to eliminate the Yuan threat would have doomed it before it even started.
That didn't stop his aunt from doing her best to cram as much information about the Yuan and the empire's major players down his throat as she could. Zheng had reluctantly complied, knowing some of it might prove useful down the line, but the process was far from pleasant. Now, here he was, on his way to the Great Wall. Given the size of the empire, even with a top-tier flying ship, it would take another ten to fifteen days to arrive. He'd allowed a few extra days as a buffer in case of delays, but so far, the journey had been smooth and uninterrupted.
Normally, a Golden Core cultivator traveling anywhere would attract a great deal of attention, unless they were hiding themselves. But Zheng had the Azure Moon Mirror, the very artifact that had prompted Duke Long to include him in this mission. With its power, he could easily slip through the senses of any cultivator below the Nascent Soul stage.
Sitting in his room deep within the belly of the flying ship, Zheng was cultivating. He hadn't done it much since his transmigration to this world. Not that it would do him a lot of good—his cultivation was fixed at the Early stage of the Golden Core realm, a level he would remain at for the rest of his life. In this entire world, only Ye Chen, the hero of the story, had the potential to break past the enforced limits on cultivation. Even the threat that Zheng was now preparing to face, the Khan, was an inheritor of the past Khan's power—after all, only one of them could exist at a time.
But cultivation wasn't just about increasing power. It offered a deeper clarity and understanding of his own abilities. As a recent ascendant, Zheng needed every advantage he could get, especially since he was heading into a war. Sitting in a meditative pose, he focused on his breathing. Inhaling and exhaling steadily, he cycled his qi with each breath. Deep within his dantian, the Azure Moon Mirror floated lazily, gradually being refined with every passing moment. Zheng directed his qi through the eight primary meridians of his body, looping it back and forth, creating a continuous flow of power. As he did, the motion resonated with the qi in the outside world, drawing it in and merging it with his own internal energy.
He recalled a lecture he had once eavesdropped on at the Liu family palace. It was a beginner-level class for children, but Zheng had been watching to improve his understanding of the world. "The early stages of cultivation are all about accumulating qi," the lecturer, an old woman with a sharp gaze, had said. Her eyes swept across her students, ensuring they were paying attention as she continued. "As the quantity and density of qi within the body increases, it brings miraculous changes. This is what we call body reformation and spirit refinement. As the body is reformed, it becomes better equipped to handle more qi. And as the spirit is refined, the cultivator's ability to use this qi grows rapidly."
She paused, waiting for questions. The children were attentive, but none spoke up. With a small smile, she went on. "From Qi Condensation to Foundational Establishment—that is the path of cultivation. In the Qi Condensation stage, a cultivator's qi is like air—light and easily controlled. With every layer of improvement, it grows denser and more potent. Using the qi in the environment, known as jing, a cultivator can take in and increase the amount of qi in their dantian and meridians to the point where the body can no longer absorb it. This is the peak of Qi Condensation, reached at the twelfth layer."
The children listened intently as she continued, her voice growing more serious. "Once no more qi can be taken in, the cultivator must use all their willpower to compress the energy into a small point in their dantian. If successful, the qi condenses into a liquid, nourishing the body. This stage is called Foundational Establishment. Until this point, a Qi Condensation cultivator is simply someone who can use qi. But a Foundational Establishment cultivator is reborn in it. They go from having a drop of qi to having a whole lake of it in their dantian." She smiled faintly. "Of course, very few reach this stage. If any of you do, children, it will be your great fortune."
A bold child had piped up, "But teacher, what about the Golden Core realm? I heard my father say the new patriarch is in that realm."
The old woman's sharp eyes fixed on the child, but she sighed. "I suppose it's natural to be curious. Very well..." She paused, her tone turning somber. "In our times, the peak of natural cultivation has been fixed at Foundational Establishment. But this wasn't always the case. In the ancient era, cultivators could naturally progress beyond Foundational Establishment to the Golden Core or Core Formation stage—and even beyond that to the Nascent Soul realm. Legends even speak of cultivators who went further—immortals who lived among the people like living gods. What's more, cultivating in those times had miraculous effects on lifespan. Even a Qi Condensation cultivator could live for two centuries."
The children gasped in awe, their excitement palpable. But the teacher's tone grew even more grim as she continued, "However, all of this changed. It's unclear how, but a great calamity befell the world, and the origin qi of the world was poisoned. Since then, all great cultivators perished, and no one has been able to progress beyond the Foundational Establishment stage. It was only through the efforts of our ancestors, like the legendary Liu ancestor, that we survived. They passed down the entirety of their cultivation to future generations through powerful artifacts. These artifacts were handed down from the ancestors to each subsequent family head—like how the power of our legendary Liu ancestor has been passed right down to the current patriarch. That is how he ascended to the Golden Core realm, by depending upon the power of the Liu ancestor."
Zheng had stopped paying attention after that, when the lesson shifted to practical exercises on drawing jing from the air and turning it into qi. He already knew how to do it from the original's memories and had no need for basic instruction. However, the core of the lecture had stuck with him. If Qi Condensation was like gas, and Foundational Establishment like liquid, then qi during the Golden Core stage was like solid—except solid qi couldn't circulate. It was more like molten metal, thick and heavy, flowing through his meridians.
Zheng could cycle it naturally now, but his primary focus was maintaining control over his aura. He had learned enough during his early days in the City to get by, but half-hearted attempts wouldn't cut it anymore. He needed to master this completely. Thankfully, he was close to that stage now.
He completed another cycle, letting his qi surge and flow through his body, but externally, there was no sign of it. His aura remained fully contained. Finally, he opened his eyes.
Rising to his feet, Zheng felt a wave of refreshment. This was one of the side effects of cultivating that he enjoyed most—when done without the aim of advancing, it became a calming, restful exercise. Best of all, his aura was fully under his control. He'd continue practicing every day until he reached the Great Wall, but for now, he was confident in his progress.
Grinning at his success, he stretched his limbs, satisfied.
His room aboard the ship wasn't so much a single room as a suite of interconnected chambers, all crafted from rich mahogany and teak, divided by arches draped in shimmering silk. Bamboo was used generously for doors and pillars, not for structural strength but for aesthetics. The ceiling was studded with spirit stones, each emitting a bright light that bathed the room in a warm glow. One entire section of the side wall was covered with flowers that seemed to grow right out of the surface—pink and purple petals releasing a fresh, fragrant scent. Any petals that fell to the floor instantly dissolved into light.
The floor was covered with plush carpets made from the finest furs, their patterns reminiscent of mythical creatures. A grand canopy bed dominated one corner, its frame crafted from glacial jade and draped with translucent curtains that shone with a subtle, otherworldly sheen.
Zheng made his way to an ornate table and picked up a bowl of spirit candy. These simple, sweet treats were popular in the city, and Zheng had developed a taste for them. Since gaining weight was much harder the higher one's cultivation, he could indulge freely without worrying about his figure. He would have to eat a truly prodigious amount to put on any weight.
Sucking on a candy, he made his way to what he considered the best feature of the room: a massive, circular window that stretched from floor to ceiling. It was made of qi-forged glass, and through it, Zheng could see the landscape rushing past below. The Azure Moon Mirror could offer a similar view—far better, in fact—but there was something uniquely enjoyable about sightseeing from a flying ship.
Through the expansive qi-forged glass windows of the flying ship, Zheng watched as the world below shifted. The vessel sailed over a lush tapestry of verdant forests and winding rivers, occasionally interrupted by signs of human civilization.
As the ship moved steadily northward, Zheng's eyes caught sight of a cluster of ancient trees amidst the greenery. Their canopies were a striking ruby red, a burst of color that broke the monotony of the landscape. Birds, wreathed in flames with ash trailing in their wake, perched on the branches or soared lazily around the trees, their movements resembling a celestial dance. Zheng pressed himself closer to the glass, wide-eyed, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight. He could never have imagined such a scene in his past life.
As the ship continued its northern course, the terrain began to shift. Dense woodlands and towering peaks slowly gave way to rolling hills. These gentle slopes were adorned with wildflowers, patches of golden and violet petals scattered across the green like a painter's brushstrokes. Yet Zheng knew that these hills, too, would soon give way to vast, open grasslands, broken only by the occasional snow-capped peak—clear signs that they were approaching the Yuan Grasslands.
Watching the scenery shift from forest to field, from crimson-canopied trees to windswept hills, Zheng wondered how things would go. War was on the horizon, but it was only a portion of his worries. More importantly, he was considering how much things would change compared to the story he had read in his past life. There was a subtle pull of anticipation in his chest; worry yes, but mingled with expectation. He was playing a dangerous game, and soon enough time would tell whether he was right in his actions or wrong.
....................
The Great Wall of the Celestial Phoenix Empire stretched for countless miles, a silent sentinel along the empire's northern frontier. The wall was not grand in appearance, but Zheng could sense the power of the formations anchored to it. Together, they had shielded the empire from the depredations of the Yuan time and again. Every Khan who had managed to invade the empire had first broken their forces on this wall, and each time it broke, the wall had been rebuilt – taller and stronger.
Even those stationed to guard it bore its pride. For every criminal or exile condemned to serve at the wall, there was a warrior who stood by choice—devoted, fierce, and ready to defend the homeland. The commander of the Center Fort was one such man.
He stood, arms folded, singularly unimpressed despite the presence of some of the empire's most noble and powerful figures crammed into his spartan office. Duke Long led the discussion, the imperial scroll already unsealed and spread across the commander's desk.
"You understand, then, Commander," the Duke said, his voice clipped with frustration, "the importance of my mission? The reports of increased Yuan activity came from your men, and now you deny me a guide to the plains?"
The commander scoffed. Though only in the mid-stage of Foundation Establishment—making him the weakest cultivator in the room—he held himself with the unshakable confidence of a man used to command.
"A guide to the plains?" he repeated, voice dry. "You may as well ask me to lasso the moon and gift it to the princess as a bauble. We guard the border. We do not go gallivanting into the north chasing ghosts."
He leaned forward slightly, voice low and steady. "Out there, a single Yuan can outrun any of my men—and they never come alone. They travel in packs of hundreds. That's a hundred Qi Condensation cultivators, led by a few at Foundation Establishment. Which of my men could charge into that and come back alive? I ask you again, Duke—what guide?"
Duke Long ran a hand through his hair, irritation flickering across his features. "Regardless of how far your men have or have not ventured into the plains themselves, they remain the most knowledgeable about what lies beyond the Wall. And as for danger—look around you. What threat do you imagine could befall your man with us at his side?"
The commander exhaled, slow and deliberate, then swept his gaze across the room. Zheng held his expression carefully neutral, thoughts tucked away behind a composed mask. The rest of their party mirrored his restraint, silent and unreadable. Only Marchess Qiao offered the commander a smile—wry and lined with age, her eyes crinkling with amusement.
No matter how stubborn the commander was, even he wasn't fool enough to pretend the group before him was weak.
And in truth, Zheng thought, Duke Long had already been more patient than necessary. They held an imperial edict—an unsealed command bearing the Emperor's seal. With it, they could requisition any personnel from the garrison as they saw fit. Even the commander couldn't defy that authority.
The man seemed to recognize it as well. Resignation settled over his face, and his shoulders slumped in quiet defeat.
"Fine," he said. "You win, Duke. I'll assign Kong Tian to accompany you north. But mark my words—this is a fool's errand. We should be reinforcing the border, expanding the army, not chasing illusions. A new Khan has risen. That means war. Nothing short of that will contain the Yuan."
Duke Long laughed, his mood lifting the moment he got what he came for. He flicked his hand through the air, as if swatting away an insect.
"Don't trouble yourself. A force like this hasn't been assembled in decades. If we succeed, there may be no war at all. Take the Khan's head before he cements his power, and the victory is ours. The Yuan will scatter without a leader, and no new Khan will rise for a hundred years."
The commander merely shook his head, his silence saying more than any words. He clearly thought the Duke was being dangerously optimistic.
"Regardless," he said at last, voice dry, "the hospitality of the Wall is yours—what little we have of it. I assume you'll be heading out as soon as possible, to keep word from spreading?"
The Duke gave a curt nod, but the commander was already moving on.
"Then I'll open the Stalwart Tower for you. It's not fancy, but it'll serve. Quiet, out of the way. You can leave directly from there without drawing attention at the main fort. I'll have Kong Tian sent over as soon as he's ready."
"That sounds excellent. Thank you for your help, Commander," Marchess Qiao said, her tone warm, a touch of diplomacy to soften the tension.
The Duke said nothing, already rolling up the scroll with practiced nonchalance as he turned to leave. Zheng and the others fell in step behind him, boots echoing softly on the stone floor as they exited the office.
Outside, the wind cut sharp across the ramparts, carrying with it the faint smell of frost and something older—ashes, perhaps, from battles long past. Zheng glanced up at the wall looming overhead, then toward the northern horizon, where the plains stretched out like a promise and a threat.
The mission had begun, and whether the commander was right or not, it was already too late to turn back.
.......................
"…and the mine produces enough spirit stones each year to keep the caravans coming back. Most are sold to the surrounding cities, but we always set aside a portion to ensure the trade routes stay active. Back in my great-grandfather's time, there were fears the mine would run dry. Fortunately, a new vein was discovered just in time, and the crisis passed. Still, ever since then, it's become tradition to focus as much on trade as on extracting local resources.
That's why Green Bamboo City has such a diverse population. Merchants, travelers, craftsmen from all across the empire settle there. We even have a small contingent from the Southern Plateau—monks, naturally."
Zheng paused, suddenly aware of how dry his throat had become. When Marchess Qiao had asked about his territory, he hadn't meant to speak at length—but she was a skilled conversationalist, and somehow, he'd been drawn into her rhythm.
The Marchess nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's quite distinct from my Redflower City. Our lands are blessedly fertile, so we focus on growing crops and cultivating spiritual herbs. We trade only for what we can't produce ourselves. It may be several times the size of Green Bamboo City, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that yours is wealthier."
Zheng chuckled, shaking his head. "You flatter me, Marchess, but I doubt it. I've long heard tales of Redflower City—the pride of the Qiao clan. It's the breadbasket of the realm."
Marchess Qiao simply smiled at his flattery, not taking it to heart. Zheng was quite impressed with her. She had sought him out for a talk, while simultaneously controlling the flying ship they were all on board of. The Wind God Flying Crane was the fastest flying ship in the entire empire, and it belonged to the Qiao clan. Marchess Qiao was at the late-stage of the Golden Core relam, and she directed the ship skillfully, cutting across the sky swiftly. Compared to her, Zheng's job of cloaking the ship to enbsure it remained hidden was far simpler.
"Speaking of tales," she continued, voice light, "it's Duke Long's territory that truly inspires awe. Lake Danchi still stands as one of the three great mystical sites in the empire. I've heard that each year, a dozen carps leap the waterfall and become dragons. How can our Redflower or Green Bamboo cities compare to that?"
Her tone was warm and teasing, but Zheng had no doubt the comment was meant for Duke Long's ears.
And sure enough, a moment later, the Duke entered, accompanied by the last two members of their party. One was a lean, sharp-featured man with a touch of gray at his temples—Viscount Qing, the Lord of Nightgold Valley and one of Duke Long's closest allies. The other was Kong Tian, the guide they had recruited from the Wall. Zheng had barely formed an impression of him; a quiet cultivator at the eleventh stage of Qi Condensation, Kong Tian rarely spoke unless spoken to, and carried himself with practiced deference.
Duke Long let out a dramatic sigh as he caught the tail end of Marchess Qiao's words. "Those dragons are more trouble than they're worth," he grumbled. "As valuable as they are, herding them is a nightmare. If even a single scale gets damaged, their value drops by half. Do you know the princess asked for one as a pet last year? I spent nearly two weeks at that damned lake trying to catch the most beautiful one for her."
He shook his head, as if reliving the trauma.
Viscount Qing snorted, clearly unimpressed. He had remained mostly silent thus far, sticking close to the Duke, and Zheng hadn't spoken with him beyond a brief introduction.
"That's your own fault," the viscount said dryly. "You were the one who boasted about the dragons and promised the princess one. Even the Emperor warned you not to."
Duke Long laughed sheepishly, spreading his hands in mock surrender. "What was I supposed to do? She looked at me with those big eyes. How could I say no?"
Zheng shook his head discreetly, a flicker of amusement passing through him. He had expected this journey to be formal and tense, the kind of trip where every word had to be measured, every gesture weighed. But this—this easy camaraderie, the casual banter—suited him far better.
None of the cultivators present were arrogant or quick to take offense. They carried themselves with quiet assurance, the kind that came from power long held and rarely challenged. They weren't blind to politics—far from it—but they didn't need to posture or snap at imagined slights.
It made it easier for Zheng to blend in, to observe, and to speak freely when he chose. Of course, there were some downsides—like the Duke's next comment.
The Duke flashed a sly grin, clearly returning Lady Qiao's earlier teasing. "I must say, My Lady, I'm quite pleased to see you befriending young Lord Zheng. He's just become a city lord, and your friendship and advice will be invaluable to him. And of course, your granddaughter is of similar age, poised to take over for you soon, so I suppose it's only a matter of time before both Redflower and Green Bamboo are draped in red silk."
Zheng sputtered, choking on his own spit.
Lady Qiao's face shifted halfway between exasperation and embarrassment. In the Celestial Phoenix Empire, red silk was reserved for weddings, and the Duke was clearly insinuating that she was trying to arrange a match between Zheng and her granddaughter. Judging by her flustered reaction, the Duke wasn't entirely off the mark.
Lord Qing, noticing Zheng's discomfort, took pity on him. He cleared his throat and cut through the banter with a sharp, measured tone.
"Amusing as your bickering is, we should focus. My All-Seeing Dharma Eye has picked up signs of a Yuan encampment. Since the Yuan rarely form permanent settlements, this might be a move by the Khan himself. I thought it worth investigating."
Zheng was deeply grateful for the change in topic. He made a mental note to do something nice for Lord Qing someday soon.
Duke Long's expression turned serious, all humor vanishing from his face. "I was just speaking with Kong Tian about that. He says that at this depth in the plains, only the truly strong tribes roam. That means at least one of the bestial Yuan is leading each herd. An encampment in this area would have been destroyed long ago without a powerful authority like the Khan forcibly keeping the peace."
He turned to Kong Tian, who visibly flinched under the weight of so many eyes upon him. Zheng could understand the discomfort—every person in this room was so far above Kong Tian in power and status that the poor man might as well have been an ant. It was hard not to feel the crushing pressure of being around those who could end your life with a mere flick of their will.
Despite the discomfort, Kong Tian gathered himself, bowing low to the group. "It's as the great lord says," he said, his voice steady but thick with unease. "In the depths of the plains, the tribes fight each other constantly. Only a single, unifying will can keep them from destroying each other. If the Khan is not here, then he's not far either."
The words seemed to make Kong Tian ill, but he said no more, his eyes darting to the floor as if trying to retreat into himself.
"We have already passed a dozen tribes roaming the plains till now, but this is the first time I am hearing of anything resembling a city. It's worth a look, regardless." Lady Qiao said, nodding along at Kong Tian's words.
Zheng agreed as well, though he was internally worried. His Azure Moon Mirror had kept them from being discovered by anyone as the flying ship had progressed deeper into the plains, but now, for the first time, he found himself truly unsure if it would be enough.
Lord Qing nodded grimly, then closed his eyes. His golden irises began to glow brighter as he pushed the limits of his All-Seeing Dharma Eye. In the center of the cabin, a bubble of pale gold shimmered into existence, its surface flickering with hazy, half-formed images. Slowly, they sharpened into clarity—revealing the Yuan city sprawled below them like a beast at rest: vast, open, and unmistakably alive. Its heartbeat pulsed through the land.
There were no walls or gates. No rigid symmetry like the cities of the Empire. The settlement was centered around a low, stony hill, with massive tents radiating outward in careful, rippling rings—like waves on a still pond. But these were no military encampments. The tents were enormous, many larger than manor houses, stitched from scaled leather, beast-hide, and bone. Smoke coiled upward from fire pits between them, and even from above, the air shimmered with heat and motion. Hundreds—no, thousands—of Yuan moved through the camp or soared above it.
Zheng's breath caught in his throat.
It was one thing to avoid scattered tribes of them in the outer steppes. Another to see them like this—in numbers, in strength, in full.
They were monstrous, and magnificent. Chimeric in form, they resembled centaurs—but no horse had ever looked like this. They bore dragon-scale limbs, talons like carved jade, and heads twisted into draconic visages—horned, fanged, and crested. Their scales shimmered in iridescent hues, glinting like oil on water, and golden fire blazed around their four clawed feet as many of them hovered in the air on trails of burning qi.
And they were far from idle.
They sparred in open arenas, traded exotic goods at stalls built from beastbone and stone, or gathered around storytellers and musicians. The music rang out across the plain—deep, thrumming drums and high, shimmering tones that seemed to echo from the bones of the earth itself. It was not a scene of chaos, nor savagery. It was civilization, alien and ancient, shaped by rules entirely their own.
Zheng felt a chill despite the heat of the viewing chamber.
He remembered the old stories: how, millennia ago, an immortal beast descended from the bloodline of the legendary Kirin had died here after some unimaginable battle. Its power had seeped into the land like ink into cloth. Those who lived here learned to cultivate by drawing on that buried power—and the stronger they became, the more of their humanity they lost to the instincts of the beast. The only exception was the Khan: the chosen inheritor of the Kirin's heart, who bore the lion's share of its power and commanded the loyalty of all Yuan. He alone could retain his mind, and elevate his followers to the Golden Core realm. But there could only ever be one Khan. When he died, the legacy passed on.
The image shifted, drawing closer to the central hill.
A man stood at its peak.
Unlike the others, he bore no monstrous features. He was tall, his robes flowing crimson and gold, dark hair tied behind him with a clasp of carved fang. His face was sharp, almost inhumanly symmetrical, and his silver eyes gleamed even through the scrying veil. He raised one hand as he spoke—and the crowd below fell utterly silent.
Zheng didn't need confirmation. He knew. The man's appearance matched the one he remembered from the story as well. One of the avatars of the immortal of slaughter. Ogedei Khan.
Duke Long leaned forward, eyes locked on the figure in the vision. A grim smile curled his lips. "So," he said, voice low. "That's the new Khan. He looks the part, at least."
As if summoned by the very words, the man's silver eyes turned—sharply, suddenly—directly toward them. A ripple of qi swept over the flying ship, as though a great beast had brushed its nose against them. No explosion. No attack. Just… acknowledgment.
Everyone froze. Faces went pale. Lord Qing's jaw clenched. Kong Tian collapsed backward, twitching, eyes wide in horror.
"He sees us," Lady Qiao said tightly, all color draining from her face.
"Move," Duke Long barked. "We're compromised!"
The Wind God Flying Crane banked hard. Its elegant frame twisted in the sky as Marchess Qiao poured her qi into the controls, no longer conserving strength. The ship responded with a shriek of pressure and light.
Below them, the Yuan moved. Hundreds of them erupted into the sky on blazing trails of golden flame. They leapt from tents, bounded from stone, burst forth like a swarm unchained. The Khan rose at their head. His form shifted, skin giving way to green scales, and a snout twisting his features into a terrifying visage. He rose without effort, carried by qi alone, his expression calm, almost curious. His aura crashed over them all; late stage Nascent Soul.
A roar split the sky behind them as the Yuan gave chase. The ship surged forward, faster than Zheng thought possible, as stealth gave way to sheer desperation.
Even as they fled, the aura behind their backs increased in intensity. More and more Yuan joined the flock, called by the Khan's presence. Worse of all, the distance between them was shrinking.
"They're gaining!" Lord Qing snapped. "Too fast – we can't outrun the Khan. He's bringing the others along."
"Then we split," Duke Long said suddenly, already moving.
"Absolutely not—" Lady Qiao began.
"We split," he repeated, his voice iron. "The Khan will come after me since I am the biggest threat. I'll take Kong Tian with me as well; I swore to see him back to the wall safe and sound. The rest of you scatter. Hide. Survive. We'll meet again in the war to come."
No one argued. They couldn't. He was right.
Zheng's stomach twisted. Against the Khan, their odds were already thin. Together they had a chance—but not against this many. They exchanged grim looks. Then Duke Long scooped up Kong Tian and slammed a hand against the window. It flared open under Lady Qiao's command—and he was gone, vanishing in a streak of golden light. Half the Yuan swarm veered off, the Khan at their head, streaking after the falling light of Duke Long. Thunder cracked as qi tore the sky apart.
The other half of the swarm came after them. One by one, they split – Lord Qing leapt, vanishing in a streak of white qi, while Marchess Qiao held the ship steady. Zheng jumped last, veiled by the power of the Azure Moon Mirror. He spared one glance back—at the sea of golden fire closing in—then vanished into the sky.