Gerong and Mo Chen’s party galloped back to the Heaven Dou Imperial City, racing toward the palace without pausing for rest.
The Heaven Dou Imperial Palace was solemn and imposing. The elderly Great Emperor Xueye, now well into his seventies, sat upon the dragon throne that symbolized supreme power and authority. His hair was white, and though his face bore the marks of time, his gaze remained as sharp as a falcon’s, radiating a dignity born of a life through many trials.
"Speak if you have a memorial; if not, the court is adjourned," Great Emperor Xueye’s voice, slightly frail, resonated slowly. Despite his age, his natural, unforced majesty caused the civil and military officials below to tremble, not daring to show the slightest negligence.
Silence descended upon the court.
Within this suffocating stillness, a figure emerged shakily from the back. "Reporting to Your Majesty, Marshal Gerong and General Mo Chen have returned!"
The words were like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, instantly stirring up a thousand waves. The previously quiet court erupted in an instant, with cries of surprise and heated discussion filling the air. Even Great Emperor Xueye, who had been sitting steadily on the dragon throne, suddenly opened his eyes wide, a flicker of surprise and joy crossing his face.
"Good!" Great Emperor Xueye exclaimed involuntarily. "The two beloved officials have returned in triumph; this will surely bolster our national prestige!"
He waved a hand, issuing a decree eagerly. "Why delay? Summon them at once! I wish to see them immediately!"
A heavy, muffled sound of doors opening echoed through the hall. Two figures emerged like gods of war stepping out of the darkness, walking with steady, powerful strides into the solemn court. Both were clad in ink-black armor, the cold metallic sheen emitting a chilling light that inspired awe. Normally, armor was strictly forbidden in the presence of the monarch, but these two were exceptions—a special privilege granted by Great Emperor Xueye himself.
Gerong was over fifty. Though time had etched deep wrinkles into his face, it could not hide the majesty in his piercing eyes. Throughout his life, Gerong had fought countless battles, winning repeated honors through his exceptional military talent and dauntless fighting spirit. His Soul Power was now on the verge of breaking through the 80-level threshold; such strength proved he was worthy of his title as Imperial Marshal.
Mo Chen, by contrast, was only twenty, yet his Soul Power had already reached level 80, with a faint trend toward further advancement. While Mo Chen had earned many merits—repelling foreign enemies, suppressing Soul Beast riots, and reclaiming lost territory—it had to be admitted that when it came to commanding troops, he preferred charging onto the battlefield as a vanguard rather than sitting in the rear controlling the grand strategy.
The court’s attention was fixed upon these two legendary figures. Though they had changed into new armor before entering the palace, the scars and the weathered, battle-hardened exhaustion remained clearly visible.
"Minister Gerong, pay respects to Your Majesty!"
"Minister Mo Chen, pay respects to Your Majesty!"
Their voices boomed like bells, echoing through the entire hall. Unlike other officials, they only bowed slightly, without kneeling or kowtowing—another honor specifically bestowed upon them by the Great Emperor.
After a long and tedious process of formalities and the granting of rewards, Gerong chose to return to the border to guard the frontier, while Mo Chen opted to remain in the imperial capital. In Gerong’s words, Mo Chen was still too young to spend his entire life at war.
When Mo Chen stepped into his residence with heavy, weary steps, a sense of familiarity and peace washed over him. Inside the bathroom, he skillfully unbuckled his heavy black armor; the plates clattered softly as they fell to the floor. Standing before a large copper mirror, Mo Chen gazed at his reflection. The sight was shocking: his body was covered in crisscrossing scars, some jagged and horrific, as if torn by the claws of a beast, others finer, yet all witnesses to the cruelty of war. It was no exaggeration to say there was hardly an inch of flawless skin on his body.
Mo Chen gently touched his face, feeling the warmth of his own fingertips. Suddenly, the corner of his mouth curled into a faint smile. "It’s a good thing this face is still intact," he murmured softly, "otherwise little Rongrong would surely have blamed me." His words betrayed a deep longing and care for someone.
After a brief pause, he stepped into the bath, immersing his body in the warm water. The flow brushed gently against his scarred skin, washing away blood and grime. He closed his eyes, savoring this rare moment of tranquility.
Moments later, Mo Chen emerged, wiped himself dry with a clean towel, and, once dressed, walked to the door. "Prepare the horses!" he shouted.
"Yes, Master!" a steady, powerful voice replied from outside. A flurry of footsteps followed as a servant hurried off.
At that same moment, in the bustling streets of the Heaven Dou Imperial City, the thoroughfares were crowded with people and carriages. Amidst the hubbub, a bright, beautiful figure stood out. Ning Rongrong was pulling a white-haired young man along, darting in and out of clothing stores.
"Xiao Ao, can you walk any faster?" Ning Rongrong hurried ahead, leaving Oscar behind by several paces. She stopped, turned around, hands on her slender waist, and pouted at him.
Oscar was draped in colorful shopping bags of all sizes, looking like a fruit tree bowed down by a heavy harvest. Faced with her urging, he could only offer a bitter smile and quicken his pace.
"We have to report to the Heaven Dou Royal Academy tomorrow, so I have to make sure all my clothes are ready today!" Seeing Oscar catch up, Ning Rongrong winked playfully and reached out a fair, jade-like hand, taking some of the burden off him.
Relieved, Oscar gained a free hand, but before he could catch his breath, Ning Rongrong grabbed his hand and rushed off toward another store like a gust of wind.
"Oh, Rongrong, slow down, slow down..." Oscar panted, struggling to keep up.
...
"Master, I have inquired. Miss Ning is currently in the Heaven Dou Imperial City, but..." The butler hesitated, unsure whether he should share what he had learned.
Mo Chen was inspecting his warhorse, stroking its scales and the black mane at its neck. "Just say it."
The butler took a deep breath. "A year ago, Miss Ning went to a place called Shrek Academy. There, she fell in love with... an auxiliary-system Spirit Master named Oscar."
The words struck like a thunderbolt. Mo Chen’s hand, which had been gently stroking the horse’s coat, froze in mid-air as if bound by a spell. He went rigid, time seeming to solidify. After a long while, he turned his head as if waking from a dream, looking at the butler with a mixture of shock and disbelief. His lips parted, and his voice trembled. "Wh-what?"
"Miss Ning... she has a new love," the butler repeated cautiously.
Every word felt like a heavy hammer against Mo Chen’s heart. In an instant, a suffocating burst of Soul Power erupted from his body. It surged outward like a ferocious beast breaking free from its cage. With a loud *boom*, the surrounding air seemed to tear, forming visible ripples. At that moment, his aura surged, breaking through the level 80 bottleneck and stepping into the ranks of level 81.
The butler was pale with terror, shivering as sweat dripped from his forehead. Mo Chen was a renowned figure on the battlefield, a man whose coldness and ruthlessness when killing enemies could stop children from crying in enemy lands.
Mo Chen flashed onto his horse. Sensing its master’s fury and urgency, the steed neighed, reared its hooves, and shot forward like an arrow from a bow. They leaped over the tall walls in a blink, racing toward the busy streets. The thunder of hoofbeats echoed through the air, causing passersby to stare, but Mo Chen ignored them all. He had only one thought in mind.
Feeling the horse was too slow, Mo Chen vaulted into the air. Eight grey Soul Rings swirled around him; his Martial Soul manifested, boosting his speed to a terrifying level. They were indeed grey—a color that made it impossible for anyone to guess his Soul Ring configuration. People across the city looked up to see a massive black dragon soaring overhead, yet nobody felt fear.
Mo Chen’s purple dragon eyes scanned the ground below, repeating a single name in his heart. When his gaze fell upon a café, the scene before him made him feel a profound sense of estrangement.
Ning Rongrong was happily clutching a man’s arm. Because the man’s arms were full of shopping bags, she was tenderly holding a cup of coffee to his lips.
Dismissing his Martial Soul, Mo Chen stood outside, watching silently. He clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to storm in and demand an explanation, but his feet felt rooted to the spot.
Ning Rongrong seemed to sense a strange gaze and looked toward the window. Her smile vanished the moment she saw Mo Chen, her eyes filled with shock.
Oscar noticed the change and followed her gaze, but saw nothing. "What is it, Rongrong?"
Faced with his concerned inquiry, Ning Rongrong felt a surge of panic. She stood up, her eyes darting away, unable to meet Oscar’s gaze. "Xiao Ao, just wait for me here. I’ll be back soon." She hurried out, fleeing like a startled fawn, racing in the direction where she had last seen Mo Chen.
"Mo Chen! Stop right there!" she shouted, weaving through the crowd.
Finally, she caught up to him at the entrance of a quiet alley. Mo Chen stood with his back to her, as if he had known she would follow.
"Brother Mo Chen... Mo Chen," she called out softly. When she tried to add the word "brother," she hesitated and couldn't bring herself to say it. "When did you get back? Dad and the others have been talking about you, saying that when you returned, we’d have to have a few drinks together." She forced a smile, trying to change the subject and prevent him from dwelling on what he had just seen.
Mo Chen turned slowly, his gaze deep and tender. He was about to mention the promise they had made as children, but Ning Rongrong’s expression turned unusually serious.
"Mo Chen, you should understand, how could those childhood jokes be taken seriously?" she bit her lip, her tone firm.
Yes, it was just a joke, how could it be taken seriously? Yet, who could have guessed that a casual, careless remark would become the foreshadowing of a turning point in fate?
Mo Chen had been away at war for two full years, surviving countless tests of life and death, his heart always filled with thoughts of her. But upon his return, he found that everything had changed. The innocent, pure Ning Rongrong who had always followed him, sweetly calling him "brother," was gone. Her eyes were no longer clear; her smile was touched by worldly coldness, and her tone had become distant and polite.
Two short years had changed so much. Was this "stranger" before him really the pure and lovely Ning Rongrong of the past? As the image of her growing distant filled his mind, Mo Chen felt a sharp, piercing pain in his heart.
Having received his answer, Mo Chen knew there was nothing left here for him. He turned away, his feet feeling as heavy as if they were carrying a thousand pounds.
Ning Rongrong opened her mouth as if to call him back, but the words were stuck in her throat. She could only watch as Mo Chen walked away, disappearing into the boundless darkness.
He left without looking back, leaving the items he had brought from the border right where they were, as if laying down a past obsession. As he walked away, the objects were gradually swallowed by the night.
Ning Rongrong looked at the wooden box left behind, the box upon which the likenesses of their childhood selves were still carved.