The north wind whipped up the yellow sands, rattling the dry grass along the official road. After the triumphant return from Youzhou, the army had been divided to regroup and resupply. Li Tianyuan, accompanied by Fu Yuan, Mu Changfeng, and Mu Xueyin, was tasked with escorting the dispatches of military victory back to the capital.
The imperial decree awaited them in the city, proclaiming that his achievements were to be acknowledged and his office as National Fate Inspector legitimized. Yet all of them knew in their hearts that the deep palaces and political corridors of the capital held dangers no less lethal than any battlefield.
Along the way, Li Tianyuan's thoughts were in turmoil. Though he had accomplished great feats in Youzhou, he had also seen the nightmare array of the Envoy of Dreams and heard that icy warning: "The Holy Lord knows of your existence."
Those words were like nails driven into his mind, keeping him awake at night.
"Tianyuan."
Mu Xueyin's gentle voice came from her white horse. The wind tousled her hair, yet her brow was furrowed with worry.
"Since returning from Youzhou, you have seemed restless. Is it because of what the Envoy said?"
Li Tianyuan forced a smile, shaking his head.
"I'm just concerned… returning to the capital won't be any easier than the battlefield."
Mu Xueyin stared at him, hesitating. She understood the weight on his shoulders but could not share it. After a long silence, she whispered,
"No matter what happens… I will stay by your side."
Her words were like a breeze over a stormy lake, calming the dark waters in his chest.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Mu Changfeng snorted beside them, riding in step.
"Sister, are you worrying for him—or causing trouble? The decree is imperial. No matter your burdens, Tianyuan must follow it. And what can you really do to help?"
Mu Xueyin's expression stiffened, yet she said nothing. Li Tianyuan's gaze flicked to Mu Changfeng, meeting the sharp edge of his brother-in-law's eyes—unmasked judgment and hostility.
Several days later, the group arrived outside Yanmen Pass. Night had fallen, and in the vast desert, a lone campfire flickered in the wind.
Suddenly, the rush of wind brought the faint but ominous sound of movement.
"Alert!" Fu Yuan called in a low voice.
In an instant, over ten black-clad figures shot through the night. Their hands glowed with demonic markings. Cold steel and fury aimed directly at Li Tianyuan.
"Inverse Spirit Sect!" Mu Changfeng roared, drawing his sword. Its blade shimmered like frost, cutting two attackers in half midair.
Mu Xueyin's sleeves fluttered; talisman papers ignited into fiery butterflies that struck at the assailants.
Li Tianyuan's heart tightened. He planted his feet, drawing his spear. Dingli surged through him, golden energy erupting from his body. With a bellow, his spear swept through the darkness, hurling two attackers into the sand as blood and mist exploded.
The lead assassin hissed,
"So it truly is… the master of Dingli."
Li Tianyuan's anger flared.
"Who sent you?"
The figure only laughed coldly, igniting a plume of blood mist that instantly detonated into black smoke. The shockwave rattled the entire camp.
The remaining assassins, unwilling to fight further, self-destructed, vanishing into crimson clouds.
Silence fell, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the acrid scent of scorched earth and blood.
"Tianyuan… are you all right?" Mu Xueyin asked, pale-faced.
He shook his head, feeling the Dingli within him still stir violently, barely restrained. He clenched his fists, sweat beading his forehead.
Fu Yuan gazed into the night sky, voice low and grave.
"You see now… this journey back to the capital will not be peaceful."
The next morning, they resumed travel, the air heavier than before.
Halfway through, Li Tianyuan felt the reins tug lightly. He looked back to see Mu Xueyin, concern etched across her face.
"If you hadn't acted last night, the assassins would have broken into the camp… but when your Dingli erupted, the force almost… frightened me. Tianyuan… are you still in control?"
Li Tianyuan was silent for a moment, answering softly:
"I don't know."
It was the most honest answer in his heart.
Mu Xueyin's lips trembled, and her eyes reflected a mixture of fear and worry.
"If one day… Dingli turns against you… what will you do?"
Li Tianyuan paused, then spoke with difficulty:
"If that day comes… I would rather disappear myself than harm others."
Mu Xueyin's face drained of color, as if pierced by a needle. She bit her lip but said nothing further.
From afar, Mu Changfeng rode in step, watching the two silently. Sunlight glinted coldly off his sword; a trace of suppressed anger lay in his gaze.
Three days later, the party reached the first relay station within Da Zhou's territory. While the soldiers rested, Fu Yuan led Li Tianyuan into a nearby grove.
"Tianyuan," Fu Yuan said, eyes piercing, "have you noticed that the Dingli is merging with your blood?"
Li Tianyuan's chest tightened.
"What… do you mean?"
Fu Yuan's voice dropped, slow and deliberate:
"This power is not just residing in you—it is consuming your foundation. If you cannot fully control it, one day it will dominate you instead."
Li Tianyuan's fist clenched.
"Then… there is no way?"
Fu Yuan's gaze hardened.
"All power comes at a cost. If you wish to see the end, you must bear a heavier burden than anyone else. Retreat, and you can leave the spear behind. Press on… and you may only walk a path of death."
Li Tianyuan remained silent for a long while, his eyes growing resolute.
"I will not retreat."
Fu Yuan studied him, unreadable, before turning and walking away.
Several days later, the distant silhouette of the imperial capital appeared. Towering walls, crimson gates, and palaces glittering in the morning sun.
Mu Xueyin looked at the city, her voice barely above a whisper:
"Finally… we're almost home."
Her tone carried both relief and unease.
Li Tianyuan stared at the capital, emotions churning. He had seen the endless tides of the Youzhou battlefield and the perilous cruelty of men. Returning to the capital, he did not know what awaited him—honors or assassination, favor or a trap.
The wind swept across the plain, clouds gathering overhead.
In that moment, a thought solidified in his mind: the capital is no safer than the battlefield.