After being reborn, the aloof prime minister was once again forced by a tyrant.

The journey from the northern border to the capital was so urgent that two horses died during the 800-li express courier service. Shen Hanzhou arrived at the palace gate on the evening of the sixth day.

He dismounted, tossed the reins to the imperial guards at the gate, and strode toward the imperial study.

Shen Hanzhou was an anomaly in the Northern Shuo army. He was someone Xiao Jingyuan had personally rescued from a pile of corpses.

Back in the war against the Western Rong, Shen Hanzhou was just a sixteen-year-old recruit. He charged into the enemy lines with the vanguard, where he was pierced in the shoulder by three stray arrows and then in the thigh by a spear. He was pinned to a dead horse, his blood pooling on the ground.

As Xiao Jingyuan led his light cavalry on a charge, he passed by the pile of corpses and heard someone humming a tune.

He reined in his horse for a moment, looked down and saw a young man covered in blood lying face up among the corpses, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, grinning at him: "Your Highness, my leg is broken and I can't get up. Could you lend me a hand?"

Xiao Jingyuan glanced at him and said, "You're not afraid of death."

Shen Hanzhou spat out the grass stem and smiled even more brightly: "If you were afraid of dying, you wouldn't have joined the army. Your Highness is really handsome, even more handsome than the rumors say."

Xiao Jingyuan rode away expressionlessly. After taking ten steps, he reined in his horse and turned back, ordering his guards to dig the boy out of the pile of corpses.

From then on, Shen Hanzhou stayed by his side. They fought their way from the Western Rong to the capital, from princes to emperors. On the night Xiao Jingyuan killed his father and brother, Shen Hanzhou guarded the palace gates for him all night.

After ascending the throne, Xiao Jingyuan appointed him as General Zhenbei, stationed to guard the northern border, and forbidding him from returning to the capital without an imperial edict.

This ban was requested by Shen Hanzhou himself. He said he couldn't control his mouth and that staying in the capital would eventually lead to his execution for saying things he shouldn't have, so he might as well go to the northern border and eat sand.

At that moment, Shen Hanzhou pushed open the door of the Imperial Study. Xiao Jingyuan was standing by the window, gazing absently in the direction of Tingxue Pavilion.

He hadn't changed his black dragon robe for days; the cuffs were stained with vermilion ink, and a bluish stubble had sprouted on his chin.

"Your Majesty," Shen Hanzhou knelt on one knee and saluted, "This humble general, Shen Hanzhou, is here to return to the capital by imperial decree."

Xiao Jingyuan turned around without exchanging pleasantries. He picked up a sword from the imperial desk and placed it in front of Shen Hanzhou.

The scabbard was made of ebony, without any ornamentation, except for a band of black iron inlaid at the scabbard opening. That band of black iron had been polished to a shine. The leather cord wrapped around the hilt was of varying shades of color—marks left by blood that had been soaked in, dried, and then soaked in sweat again.

Shen Hanzhou recognized the sword. No one in the Northern Shuo army didn't recognize it.

This is a sword that Xiao Jingyuan forged himself when he was seventeen years old.

At that time, Xiao Jingyuan was still an out-of-favor prince. The late emperor disliked his birth mother, Lady Shen, and by extension, regarded this son as a thorn in his side. At the age of seventeen, he was sent to the Northern Army for "training"—in other words, a disguised exile, leaving him to fend for himself on the border. The Protector-General of the Northern Border was adept at judging people by their status, and he arranged for this unfavored prince to be stationed in the most remote iron mine camp, ostensibly to "supervise the manufacture of military equipment," but in reality, it was no different from being exiled.

It was there that Xiao Jingyuan supervised the work at the iron mine during the day, and after resting at night in the camp, he would spend three months working alone by the fire in the blacksmith's shop, hammering away. No one taught him; he would squat in the corner of the blacksmith's shop and watch how the old blacksmiths stacked steel, how they quenched it, and how they tempered it. After watching, he would try it himself, ruining one blacksmith's tool after another, his fingers covered in burn scars and frostbite.

Three months later, he returned to the capital with the sword. Alone, he carried it into the palace.

The next morning, the late emperor passed away, and the crown prince died suddenly. All the imperial relatives knelt on the ground and supported the new emperor to ascend the throne.

This sword has no name. Xiao Jingyuan didn't name it; he simply sharpened it himself before each campaign.

"Go and see someone for me. He was sick and has just recovered, but he's been cooped up in the courtyard all day and his bones are all limp. Your swordsmanship is decent, so go and spar with him a couple of times to stretch your muscles."

Xiao Jingyuan paused for a moment before speaking, his voice slightly hoarse, "Take this sword to him. If he finds it acceptable, ask him to name it for me. If he doesn't like it—take him to the sword room, where he can choose any sword he wants."

Shen Hanzhou took the sword and weighed it in his hand.

"Your Majesty," Shen Hanzhou began tentatively, "this sword has been with you for eleven years, you—"

"I know," Xiao Jingyuan interrupted him, his tone still indifferent. "If he asks, don't mention the sword's origin; just say I gave it to him casually. He doesn't like these fighting and killing things."

Shen Hanzhou paused for a moment, then hugged the sword to his chest, a sly smile on his face: "Your Majesty, rest assured, I am very discreet. However—I would truly like to meet the person who would make Your Majesty give away your sword. May I ask who this distinguished person is?"

"You'll know when you get there." Xiao Jingyuan turned his back.

Shen Hanzhou raised an eyebrow.

Xiao Jingyuan's tone sounded nonchalant, but in all the years he had followed Xiao Jingyuan, he had never seen Xiao Jingyuan specially transfer a general back from the Northern Border for anyone—just to keep someone company and stretch their muscles.

"Your Majesty, you know my swordsmanship. Aside from being unable to defeat you, no one in the world can withstand thirty of my moves." Shen Hanzhou slung his sword over his shoulder, grinning nonchalantly. "Aren't you afraid I might lose control and injure someone?"

Xiao Jingyuan finally turned his head and glanced at him. There was a very faint, barely noticeable schadenfreude in his eyes.

"If you can touch even a corner of his robe, I will give you this dragon throne. Go, and don't cry if you lose."

Shen Hanzhou laughed heartily, picked up his sword, and strode out of the hall.

As he walked onto the palace path, he slung his sword over his shoulder, humming a tune from the Northern Army, his steps long and unrestrained, like a wolf that had been locked up for too long and was finally released from its cage.

He mentally went through the possible figures in the capital—several members of the imperial family whose swordsmanship was among the best in Beishuo, several well-known swordsmen from the martial arts world, and even the shadow guard commanders who never showed their faces around Xiao Jingyuan.

No matter who it is, Shen Hanzhou has never lost to anyone else in his life except Xiao Jingyuan.

He was led by palace servants to the entrance of a very secluded palace.

The gate to Tingxuexuan was ajar.

Shen Hanzhou pushed open the door and entered. The crabapple blossoms in the courtyard were in full bloom, and the pink and white petals were scattered all over the ground.

A man sat beneath the tree, dressed in a moon-white brocade robe, head bowed, polishing a longsword in a silver sheath. His fingers were long and steady, the movements fluid and graceful. The blade gleamed with a clear, cold light in the sunlight, reflecting half of his handsome, jade-like face.

Shen Hanzhou had seen countless people on the battlefield—blood-soaked warriors, cunning strategists, and ruthless assassins. But he had never seen anyone like this. Sitting in the shadow of the crabapple blossoms, polishing his sword, he exuded an aura of utter detachment, yet even from a distance, he sent chills down one's spine.

The man heard footsteps and looked up.

His eyebrows were like distant mountains, his eyes like cold pools. He was clearly a man, yet he was more exquisitely beautiful than the most beautiful woman in Beishuo. But there was not a trace of tenderness in his eyes, only a cold, unapproachable light.

Shen Hanzhou's mind went blank for a moment.

Having endured so much hardship in the North for so many years, he had hardly ever seen a decent-looking woman, let alone a beautiful one. Now, unexpectedly encountering such a face, his uncontrollable mouth immediately began to run wild.

"Oh." He put the sword on the stone table, lifted the hem of his robe, sat down on the stone bench, crossed his legs, and laughed like a lecher. "When did Your Majesty hide such a beauty in the palace? If I had known there was such a beauty in the capital, why would I be guarding the northern border? I would have climbed over the wall and come back long ago."

Xie Qinglan stopped wiping her sword.

Shen Hanzhou, completely unaware that he had just walked through the gates of hell, continued with a grin: "Beauty, don't look at me like that, I can't stand being looked at. If you look at me like that, my soul will fly away."

He moved forward a little.

"May I ask your name, beautiful lady? How old are you this year? Are you married? If not—oh, what do you think of me? Although I am a rough man, I am not too ugly. I have a few horses and a few acres of land in the North—"

"Did His Majesty send you?" Xie Qinglan interrupted him, her tone as cold as ice.

"Yes, yes, I am General Shen Hanzhou, the General Who Guards the North. I have come to deliver this sword on His Majesty's orders." Shen Hanzhou pushed the ebony scabbard toward Xie Qinglan. "His Majesty said that this sword has no name, and that the beauty should name it. If the beauty does not like this one, she can choose any sword in the sword room."

He lowered his voice, as if he were talking about some huge secret.

"My beauty, let me tell you a secret—this sword was forged by His Majesty himself when he was seventeen, and no one else has ever touched it. His Majesty considers you one of his own."

Xie Qinglan did not respond.

His gaze fell on the sword. It had an ebony scabbard, a black iron hilt, and the leather cord wrapped around the hilt was worn smooth. He reached out, grasped the hilt, and drew the sword from its sheath.

The moment the sword was drawn, a chilling killing intent swept over us.

It's not the coldness of a new sword, but the chill of a sword that has drunk blood.

He lowered his eyes and sheathed his sword.

"It's a fine sword. I'll think of a name for it later."