The Great Khan sits in the center of his camp, lifts his head, and gazes at the firmament. His white hair hangs down, braided into strands, which merge into a large bundle trailing behind him. He sits on a rock, watching the sky and stars.

In utter disarray.

Not just disarray, it feels like being chased around everywhere.

Sometimes, when the Great Khan thinks back on these messy months, he can’t help but laugh: "It truly is shameful, Mu Zhahe, it reminds me of us in our younger days."

"But back then, our opponents weren’t so tough."

"We could still come and go freely, unlike now, being chased around like an old dog, haha, what a misfortune and disgrace."

During these months, he tried many times, repeatedly attempting ambushes and counterattacks. He and his kin charged across the lands like in the days of their youth, yearning to find their path, to find their vitality.

But the response was nearly cruel.

This time, the Central Plains’ battle formation against the grassland was almost lavish.

Jiang Su, Li Guanyi, Li Zhaowen, Chen Tianqi, followed by many other first-rate warriors, Chen Wenmian, Yue Qianfeng, and others were also present.

The only thing was that both sides still held back some of their famed generals.

Yuwen Lie and He Ruoqinhu from Ying Country.

Yue Pengwu, the top commander under Prince Qin.

After all, in a world of contention, despite deploying enough military might to punish the grasslands, there is still a sword confronting the other side, carrying out the act of heroic valor, yet also with a hint of caution.

Having come this far, can there be truly simple-minded people?

However, even if none are simple-minded.

Will they do things in front of the grand scheme and righteousness that seem somewhat foolish in the eyes of the grasslanders?

Central Plains people, Central Plains people...

Truly, cannot understand, cannot understand!

The Great Khan lifts his head to gaze at the moonlight.

In the battle between the Central Plains and the grassland, before this engagement, they already led a sufficiently formidable army, claiming a million troops externally, vast and mighty, while the Great Khan had less than two hundred thousand left. Though still considered a substantial army, it was absolutely no match for the opponent.

"Mu Zhahe, oh Mu Zhahe, tell me, what should I do?"

"Mu Zhahe."

"Tell me, if back then I hadn’t chosen to try to divide the Central Plains, but stayed quietly in my Great Khan Golden Tent, watching beauties dance and sing, drinking fine wine from all over the world, living out my life joyfully, leaving the responsibility of facing the unified ruler of the Central Plains to the next generation, would it have been better?"

"Surely, it wouldn’t have been better."

The Great Khan’s face bears a serene smile.

He plants Mu Zhahe’s arrow in the ground, rises, and mutters to himself: "If the divided Central Plains can have such cohesion, then after I’m dead and the Central Plains becomes unified, can my descendants, our posterity, resist the unified Central Plains?"

"That’s impossible."

"In my era, resisting a divided Central Plains results only in this way, and after my death, facing a unified Central Plains, we might not even have the spirit we do now."

"Ashina and the others have surrendered to Prince Qin, such weak children."

The hero of the grassland still has eyes as sharp as a hawk, with a smile: "A true man should die on the battlefield for his homeland and nation."

"But, should I also thank him?"

"Because of his willingness, the blood of the grassland people can continue to exist, but this child still doesn’t understand how terrifying the Central Plains is; those Turkic people he brought into the Central Plains might become Central Plains people in three generations."

The Great Khan looks at the white snow, finally cradling his weapon, resting it against his forehead, kneeling on the ground on one knee, facing the vast grassland and sky, chanting reverently: "Longevity Heaven, I am about to complete my battle."

"I am about to fulfill my kingly duties, my blood shall flow into the earth, my flesh shall return to the sky, my name..."

The Great Khan opens his eyes.

No longer does he say like he used to, wishing for his name to forever be sung in the wind across the grassland.

He merely shows a faint smile: "May my name."

"Be buried in this chaotic dust."

Picking up his weapon, the valiant Khan plans to fight desperately for his country, a direct confrontation is out of the question, the only possibility lies in charging the formation actively in the night, when the Central Plains is slack.

If they break through, there is still a chance to keep roaming, like their ancestors did, wandering across this grassland.

Survive.

Maintain the grassland’s wild spirit, uphold the Turkic courage; survive.

Rather than being absorbed into the Central Plains like Ashina.

As long as they survive, one day when the Central Plains descends into chaos again, they can rise, they can rebuild their own legend, reconnect with their royal tent on the grassland.

Yet just when he holds the heart of death, from the far reaches of the grassland, a mournful horse head fiddle suddenly sounds, accompanied by a poignant song in Turkic language, singing the folk tune of the grassland.

Singing of the vast grassland, the endless sky.

It’s the embrace of the mother, the breeze of the earth, the homeland, yearned for but unreachable.