Summoning from Another World: A Grand Ambition

As Mu Yunlingyuan's fingertips touched the animal hide edict bound with gold thread, the sound of approaching hooves could be clearly heard amidst the howling wind outside the tent.

The hoofbeats were light and nimble, not the heavy sound of a warhorse charging, but the delicate and agile sound of a horse galloping on the grassland, interspersed with the clear, tinkling sound of silver bells, as melodious as jade chimes, each sound seeming to strike the tip of one's heart.

Mu Yun Lingyuan could recognize the voice even with his eyes closed.

For twelve years, through countless lonely mornings and snowy evenings, the sound of these silver bells brought him snippets of news from the outside world—a book, a greeting—one of the few warm thoughts he had during his cold and icy life as a proton.

It's the mandala.

Before heading to the Golden Tent, he did indeed send her a secret message about the important matters they might discuss that day, but he never expected her to arrive so swiftly.

This undisguised concern stirred a warm current deep within his heart after a cold negotiation filled with calculations, only to be quickly replaced by even deeper, more complex emotions.

Guli Khan clearly recognized who it was, and a knowing yet meaningful smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, which was hidden by his bushy beard.

He laughed loudly, his voice echoing within the golden tent, like an elder teasing a younger person:

"Listen to the sound of those hooves, they're as hurried as a doe chasing the wind, it must be that girl Mandala."

You two grew up together in the royal court since childhood. She taught you to speak the Hu language and identify celestial phenomena, while you told her stories from the Central Plains, the Book of Songs, and the Chu Ci. You can be considered rare confidants who can talk about the same things in this snowy northern frontier.

She must have heard that the Xiongnu envoy had arrived, and, thinking of you so dearly, she couldn't wait even a moment longer, and has been waiting outside in the wind and snow.

Before the words had even finished, the heavy embroidered gold wolf head felt curtain was gently lifted by a pale white hand.

It wasn't fully rolled up; only a small gap was left, just enough for a slender figure to slip in sideways.

In an instant, a biting wind carrying snowflakes rushed in from outside the tent, bringing a refreshing scent.

The scent is quite unique, combining the chill of northern winds and snow with a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance of ink, as well as the cool, bitter scent of dried sea buckthorn blossoms.

The scent of ink was all too familiar to Mu Yun Lingyuan. It was the smell of the Central Plains scrolls on his desk, worn and brittle from years of reading, and the scent that mingled with their breaths when they sat together on countless nights of reading by candlelight, deciphering ancient seal script.

The fragrance of sea buckthorn flowers comes from the sachet that Datura always wore at her waist. She said that sea buckthorn is cold-resistant and has a strong vitality. Although its flowers are small, their taste is bitter but long-lasting, just like the nature of the people of the Hu region.

For twelve years, this taste has become almost her unique mark.

A figure in moon-white robes appeared, seemingly draped in wind, snow, and moonlight.

She was not wearing the brightly colored brocade robes commonly seen on noblewomen of the Hu ethnic group, which were inlaid with elaborate gemstones, but rather a modified Hu-style everyday dress.

The moon-white brocade was cut into a wide-sleeved, cross-collar style, with only a few mandalas in various poses sparsely embroidered in silver thread at the collar and sleeve edges. The branches and leaves were spread out, and the flowers were half-closed, exuding vitality in its simplicity.

A plain brocade belt was tied around her waist, outlining her slender figure. A small dagger with a jade handle, no more than the length of a palm, hung from the side of the belt. The scabbard was made of smooth ebony, without any patterns, but it gleamed with a warm luster from years of handling.

Her jet-black hair was not fully styled into the elaborate bun of a Hu woman; it was simply loosely tied into a half-bun and secured with a seemingly ordinary wooden hairpin, the end of which was carved into the shape of a budding datura flower.

Her remaining black hair cascaded down her shoulders and back like a waterfall, the ends still adorned with tiny, unmelted snowflakes that shimmered in the candlelight within the tent.

Perhaps because she had arrived in such a hurry, her fair cheeks still bore the faint blush of riding a horse, her nose was slightly red, her breathing was a little rapid, and her almond-shaped eyes were clear and bright, her gaze anxiously scanning the tent.

When the gaze finally settled on Mu Yunlingyuan, the ice and snow in his eyes seemed to melt away instantly, turning into a pool of warm spring water.

Mu Yunlingyuan's fingers, hanging at his sides, twitched almost imperceptibly for a moment before slowly relaxing. The deep pool of his heart, frozen by power struggles, seemed to have been stirred by a small pebble thrown into it by that gaze, creating subtle yet undeniable ripples.

For twelve years, this most noble princess of the Hu tribe never regarded him as a "hostage" or an "outsider".

She would deliberately pass by and intervene when he was enduring provocation from the sons of the nomadic nobles.

When he was ill, she would send his trusted maidservant with precious medicinal herbs that even the most skilled shamans of the Hu tribe could not prepare.

When he is feeling down and missing his homeland, she will take him to the highest grassy slope in the west, point to the starry sky in the south, and tell him that that is also his home.

She was the only unguarded glimmer of light in his long, dark night in the land of Hu, a vibrant splash of color in his monotonous life as a proton.

Mandala's gaze swept quickly over her father on the throne, and she curtsied in a simple yet standard Hu salute, her voice clear and crisp like icicles striking each other: "Father Khan."

Immediately, she practically ran to Mu Yunlingyuan, disregarding all formalities, and eagerly looked him up and down as if to confirm his safety, her almond-shaped eyes filled with undisguised concern.

"I heard General Huyan has arrived, and you've come to the Golden Tent... Is everything going smoothly? Has no one given you any trouble?" Her tone was familiar and friendly.

"Thank you for your concern, Princess. Everything is in order." Mu Yunling bowed slightly, his tone noticeably gentler than when he had spoken to Guli Khan. The distant politeness had faded, replaced by a tacit understanding and familiarity that had been built up over the years, requiring no further words.

Some friendships have already seeped into the bones, needing no fancy words; a glance or a simple greeting can convey a thousand words.

"Mandala, you've come at the perfect time," Guli Khan said at the opportune moment, his voice booming, carrying an unmistakable mix of joy and authority.

"Your father has already discussed with your brother Lingyuan that once he returns to the Muyun tribe in the east and establishes himself, he will formally marry you."

From this day forward, my Hu tribe and the Muyun tribe—no, we are the future ruler of the Xiongnu—are father-in-law and son-in-law, bound by blood, sharing both fortune and misfortune! You two are not only childhood friends, but will also be husband and wife for life. Is such a perfect match made in heaven?

"A...a marriage contract?!" Mandala suddenly raised her head, her almond-shaped eyes wide open, the faint blush on her face from running and the cold...

Her face flushed crimson instantly, the color spreading all the way down to her ears and neck.

She abruptly turned to look at Mu Yunlingyuan, her eyes instantly filled with disbelief and astonishment, which then transformed into a tangled mess of emotions.

Panic, embarrassment, helplessness, and a faint sense of loss that even she herself might not be able to clearly discern.

This sudden marriage was like a boulder crashing into the clear pool of friendship in her heart, stirring not only ripples but also turbulent waves that left her helpless.

She never imagined that the pure and warm affection between her and him would one day be labeled with such a heavy and realistic political title.

Mu Yun Lingyuan clearly saw the turmoil in her eyes. How could he not understand her thoughts? He also understood his own feelings.

After twelve years of companionship, that friendship has quietly changed and fermented into a deeper and more indescribable emotion.

However, given his awkward position, uncertain future, and drifting like a duckweed, how could he dare to easily touch this seemingly close yet unattainable bright moon?

All he could do was bury that quietly growing affection deep in his heart and, in the name of a close friend, protect her in practice.

Now, this thin veil has been torn down by Guli Khan in the most direct and undeniable way, and tied to the cold interests of the tribe. This gives him both a sense of relief that the dust has settled, and a deep sense of helplessness and worry that this sentiment may be tainted.

"Ling Yuan..." Mandala took a few deep breaths, barely managing to calm her wildly beating heart and churning thoughts. She took two steps forward, stood in front of Mu Yun Ling Yuan, and looked up at him.

Those usually clear and bright eyes were now misty with a thin layer of moisture, carrying a cautious probing and a desperate expectation.