Twelve years later…
The name Long Wei no longer needed banners.
It was etched into stone. Carried by the wind. Revered in whispered prayers from villages saved and feared in the nightmares of kingdoms lost. He had led countless campaigns, won battles against beasts, rebels, sorcerers, and foreign emperors alike. The Empire of Jiǔtiān stood vast and unbroken—because the Godborn Prince stood unshaken.
But even legends receive letters.
Inside the Imperial Court
The morning sun filtered through golden latticework and painted long shadows across the jade floor. Ministers and nobles murmured in their designated columns as incense swirled lazily toward the high ceiling of the Court of Celestial Harmony.
Then came the voice of an eunuch.
"A letter… from the northern war front!"
All voices ceased. The eunuch, robed in black and gold, stepped forward and dropped to his knees, raising a sealed scroll in trembling hands.
Emperor Long Diān, older now but no less regal, opened it without a word. His eyes, once fiery as a storm, remained unreadable as they swept across the calligraphy. After a long pause, he read aloud:
"To His Majesty,
Your son, Long Wei, Prince of Jiǔtiān, has led half of the Northern Army in pursuit of an invading force seeking to claim our territory near the Fenglin Plains. He meets them with four of his sworn warriors at dawn.
Victory shall belong to Jiǔtiān."
A soft gasp spread through the room.
From behind the veil of a beaded curtain, Empress Han Meiyin listened in silence. Her expression did not break. But her fingers curled tightly around the silk drape. Twelve years… and still, the court sent him again and again, as if the warfront were his cage and the battlefield his birthright.
She turned slightly—and there she was.
Consort Li Xiu, the Second Queen, dressed in soft lavender, her lips curving into a delicate smile.
"Your son does well at the edge of the world," she said smoothly. "Let's hope he does not die there."
The words fell like poisoned rain.
The Empress said nothing. Her gaze lingered for only a breath, cold and unreadable, before she turned and walked away.
She had no time for viper tongues.
Fenglin Plains – The War Front
The wind screamed across the open plains, wild and sharp. Dust rose beneath galloping hooves, and steel glinted in the first light of dawn.
At the center of the ridge, mounted on a midnight-black steed, rode Prince Long Wei—his crimson cloak flowing like bloodied silk, his armor engraved with phoenix wings. Behind him stood his elite guard, his most trusted warriors—a band of four who had fought beside him since the age of fifteen.
Jin Mu – the Iron Fang; power over earth and endurance, unmatched with twin axes.
Bai Feng – the Ghost Wind; fastest blade in the kingdom, able to vanish and reappear with each strike.
Ren Kai – the Thunder Fist; brute strength and electricity coursed through his fists.
Yue Lan – the Silent Bloom; a lone female warrior, her weapon was grace, her power: illusions that bent reality.
They sat in formation, gazing across the battlefield.
Opposite them, across the blood-dry grass, thundered the enemy—a cavalry of three hundred thousand, armed with fire-hardened spears and dark banners. Their general, clad in spiked black armor, radiated an aura of madness and power. His face hidden beneath a wolf-shaped helm.
"The Empire sends a boy to fight a war of men!" the enemy general bellowed.
Long Wei raised a hand.
And without speaking, he drew Tiān Míng, the sword of Heaven's Will.
It burst to life—its edge glowing with divine light, the air cracking with every pulse of its energy. No words needed to follow.
Because at that moment, the sky split.
The Battle
Swords clashed. Thunder echoed. Magic screamed.
Long Wei moved like a phantom of fire and light, wielding no shield, letting his body absorb impact and return it tenfold. He extended his hand—a blade of raw energy sliced out from his palm, severing steel and bone alike.
Bai Feng vanished and reappeared behind enemy lines, cutting down generals before they could blink. Ren Kai smashed through enemy horses with lightning wrapped around his fists. Jin Mu raised stone walls and crushed cavalry under their own charge.
And Yue Lan—
Her eyes glowed violet.
A sea of enemy soldiers suddenly turned their blades on one another, seeing demons that weren't there.
The enemy general surged forward, spear aimed at Long Wei's chest.
They clashed—a titanic shockwave exploding outward, tearing trees from the soil, throwing soldiers into the sky.
"Your strength is unnatural!" the general spat.
"No," Long Wei answered calmly, pushing him back."It's the strength of a crown not yet stolen."
With a roar, the prince thrust his hand forward, sending a spiral of sword-shaped qi energy straight through the general's chest.
The battle continued for hours.
But the tide had turned.
By nightfall, the enemy lay broken.
And the Godborn Prince, once again, stood unbeaten beneath the stars.
Victory left behind a strange silence.
The battlefield was empty now, save for the wind that rustled through scorched grass and the distant hum of torches crackling in the dark. The campfires of the Northern Outpost burned bright across the plain, casting warm glows over tents stitched with the emblem of Jiǔtiān — the golden phoenix upon red silk.
Inside the largest camp circle, drums pounded and laughter filled the night air. Soldiers drank from carved gourds of spiced wine and tore into roasted meat, voices hoarse from war now lifted in song. Some danced, others sang off-key, but none went untouched by joy.
They had survived.
They had won.
Prince Long Wei sat at the center of it all — the flamelight glinting off his shoulder plates, his long black hair tied loosely behind him. Tiān Míng, his divine blade, rested beside him on the wooden table.
With him sat the four who had become more than just comrades — his sword in battle and shield in silence:
Jin Mu, still eating loudly and laughing harder.
Ren Kai, trying and failing to beat everyone at drinking contests.
Bai Feng, calmly sipping wine with the poise of a ghost.
And Yue Lan, the only one among them with a perfectly composed face, though even she smiled tonight.
"To the brothers and sisters we lost," Jin Mu said, raising his cup."And to the prince who never let us fall," Yue Lan added quietly.
"To Jiǔtiān!" they all echoed.
They drank together.
For a while, it felt like peace had finally come.
Midnight Stillness
But peace had its own weight.
Long after the fires dimmed and the camp grew quiet, Bai Feng stirred from his tent, his instincts sharpening at the sight of a flicker outside.
He stepped into the night air, the cold breeze brushing against his robe. Just ahead, under a withered tree, he saw Long Wei — still dressed in armor, unmoving, holding a small knife in his hand.
It was not Tiān Míng.
This blade was simple. Elegant. Worn with age.
A gift.
From his mother.
Nearby, a guard standing watch whispered, "He's been there since the celebration ended. Hasn't said a word."
Bai Feng approached quietly, stopping a few paces behind him.
"Can't sleep, Your Highness?"
Long Wei didn't turn.
"Didn't want to."
"You've been holding that blade for hours," Bai Feng said, watching the silver glint in the moonlight. "Your mother's?"
Long Wei gave a soft nod.
A beat passed.
"Are you missing home?" Bai Feng finally asked.
The prince exhaled slowly, still not looking at him.
"I'm sure no one isn't missing home."
Bai Feng gave a small smile.
"You hide it better than most."
From the shadows, the night guard added with a quiet chuckle, "At least we're still here. Together. I like to think the ones we lost… they're the ones guarding us now."
No one replied.
But for a moment, all three looked up at the sky — quiet stars above them, distant, ancient, and watching.
The Morning After
The sun rose golden and steady across the northern sky. Soldiers lined the training field with wooden spears, shouting commands, running drills. The smell of boiled rice and herbs drifted from the camp kitchens.
A sharp caw pierced the morning air.
From the clouds, a large eagle, marked with royal red bands on its claws, descended like an arrow toward the camp.
Yue Lan, returning from the morning perimeter check, turned sharply as the bird landed on a post, a scroll tied to its leg.
Her brows furrowed.
Only three kinds of scrolls came with red-banded eagles — urgent messages from the capital.
She untied it gently and scanned the seal.
Imperial crest. Immediate eyes of the First Prince.
Without hesitation, she crossed the field and approached Long Wei's tent. Guards bowed as she entered.
Inside, Long Wei was already dressed — seated cross-legged with a pot of tea beside him. His eyes lifted as Yue Lan handed him the letter.
He took it silently.
He broke the seal.
Unrolled the scroll.
His eyes moved.
Stopped.
And the flames outside flickered, as if the wind had suddenly shifted.