At the end of the Yuan Dynasty, they called me a demonic monk.

Meanwhile, Yan Timur stood alone on the white jade steps outside Emperor Wenzong's palace. The setting sun cast a ghostly silhouette of his figure on the smooth, mirror-like ground. He stood motionless, as if turned to stone, only the surging resentment and turmoil in his eyes betraying the turmoil within him. He recalled the late emperor's unwavering obedience to him; now this patron lay in his tomb, leaving him with a fatal dilemma. Dusk deepened, enveloping him in gloom, mirroring his current state of mind.

That evening, Yan Temur decided to test him one more time, so he came to "visit" him in person again. This time, Toghon Temür knelt down to pay his respects, but was helped up by a pair of strong hands.

"Your Highness, please do not perform such a grand gesture." Yan Temur's gaze was sharp as he carefully examined the seemingly frightened young man before him. "Raise your head."

Toghon Temür looked up as instructed, only to be met with a pair of sharp, hawk-like eyes. He trembled and made to kneel down again, but Yan Temur held his arms firmly, preventing him from moving.

"So alike, so very alike of Emperor Mingzong," Yan Temur suddenly laughed, his laughter carrying a hint of unfathomable meaning. "Does Your Highness know why I summoned you to the capital so urgently?"

"I...I don't know..." The boy's voice trembled slightly, and his eyes darted away.

"With the late emperor gone, the country cannot be without a ruler for even a day." Yan Temur stepped closer, scrutinizing every subtle expression on his face. "Your Highness is the eldest son of Emperor Mingzong and is rightfully entitled to inherit the throne."

Toghon Temür trembled violently and took two steps back, stammering, "I...I can't...I really can't..."

"Whether it works or not is up to me." Yan Temur patted his shoulder heavily, the force making the young man sway slightly. "Your Highness only needs to remember one thing—be obedient, and you will enjoy endless wealth and honor."

His fingers lingered on the boy's shoulder for a moment before releasing them, leaving behind a meaningful smile, before turning and leaving. The moonlight, like quicksilver, illuminated Yan Timur's departing figure with exceptional clarity. The court robes faded into the night, while the boy stood alone, the vermilion gates of the mansion slowly closing behind him, as if shutting out the entire world.

The resolute and patient Toghon Temür had long understood that "they" only wanted to use him as a pawn. During the journey to the capital, he often had nightmares, dreaming of his father bleeding from all seven orifices. Before this, he had told himself that the blood could not be shed in vain. And today, having just entered the capital, an unknown person secretly conveyed a message to him: his younger brother, Yilinzhiban, was dead. Another blood debt had been added to his record.

When Yang Huaijian first stepped into Tuotuo's private armory, he walked with a slight limp—it was because his calf had been cut by the curved swords of the Mongol warriors during the training ground competition.

"The standard bamboo bow of the Han army can only be drawn with a force of three and a half shi (a unit of dry measure)." Tuotuo's fingertips swept over a row of carved bows on the sandalwood shelf, and suddenly he pulled out a black iron bow. "This bow is called 'Bengyue' (崩岳), and it requires five shi of force to draw its string."

The moment Yang Huaijian caught the bow, a heavy chill ran through his palm. When he drew it back three inches, a burst of blue light suddenly erupted from the bow arm—it was a composite lamination process incorporating black iron, a method that had been lost long ago with the fall of the Jin Dynasty.

"This bow was a relic of the monk Wanyan Chen," Tuotuo said sincerely. "Now it's yours. In the future, I want to see you use it to shoot through iron armor."

To demonstrate his "sincerity," Yan Timur actually proposed a marriage alliance. Within three days, his daughter, Boyawu, was escorted to his residence in a grand sedan chair to become the wife of Toghon Temür. The wedding was a grand affair, known to everyone in the capital—Prime Minister Yan Timur had betrothed his daughter to the soon-to-be-crowned king. It was clear to everyone that this was an attempt to secure the future empress's position as well.

"Your Highness is now the Prime Minister's son-in-law," a servant in the manor said obsequiously, his eyes revealing a hint of pity. Toghon Temür simply smiled faintly and personally poured a cup of nuptial wine for Boya Wushi. He knew perfectly well that this marriage was nothing more than another exquisite shackle.

Before he was absolutely certain, Yan Temur secretly issued an order: "Postpone the coronation ceremony, saying... the celestial phenomena are unfavorable, and there may be some misfortune."

Having not seen Fang Yingyu in the city for some time, the Ruan siblings came to visit her. The three of them went to the hillside behind Sanlipu Village. Fang Yingyu skillfully started a campfire and roasted the wild rabbit she had just hunted over it. The oil dripped into the fire, sizzling and filling the air with a fragrant aroma.

Ruan Shanruo rested her chin on her hand, gazing at the misty mountains in the distance, and suddenly whispered, "If only it could always be like this..."

Fang Yingyu paused slightly as he flipped the roasting meat. He didn't reply, but instead gazed at the flickering flames. Over time, his heart had gradually become clear; such moments, for him, were ultimately stolen fleeting pleasures. The young lady of the Ruan family and the country boy were worlds apart, like heaven and earth. She was like the brightest star in the sky, high above, visible to him, yet forever out of reach.

Seeing Fang Yingyu remain silent, a hint of disappointment flashed in Ruan Shanruo's eyes, but she quickly smiled again: "How have you been lately, Young Master Fang? I heard you've become my Master Song's apprentice?"

When martial arts were mentioned, Fang Yingyu relaxed a little: "I have to thank Miss Ruan. If it weren't for you, my master probably wouldn't even know who I am. However, I am really dull and my skills are not good enough."

"You're too modest," Ruan Shanruo said, her eyes sparkling. "Yichen always says you're a promising martial arts talent!" Ruan Yichen joked, "Now we're fellow disciples, not the other way around. I'm the senior brother, and you're the junior brother." The three of them burst into laughter.

The three chatted for a few more minutes, but Fang Yingyu still didn't dare to take out the wooden hairpin from her bosom. It wasn't until Ruan Yichen said it was getting late and they had to go back that he mustered his courage: "Miss Ruan, tomorrow...tomorrow there's the temple fair in the city, will you be going?"

Ruan Shanruo's eyes lit up: "Yes, my brother promised to take me."

"Then...see you tomorrow." Fang Yingyu only said a few words, but her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.

Back home, Fang Yingyu sat by the window, examining the wooden hairpin again in the moonlight. He sighed, took a small wooden box from under the bed, and carefully placed the hairpin inside. This box was where he kept his secrets.

"Yingyu, are you still awake?" Fang Xiaohe pushed open the door and came in, holding an oil lamp in his hand.

Fang Yingyu hurriedly closed the box: "I'm going to sleep right away."

Fang Xiaohe, with his sharp eyes, spotted the wooden box: "What's that?"

"It's nothing." Fang Yingyu stuffed the box under her pillow.

Fang Xiaohe looked thoughtfully at his younger brother's bright red ears, and suddenly realized something: "It's still that wooden hairpin?"