Starting with a Wei Wu soldier

The early summer night breeze, carrying the freshness and warmth of the fields, swept through Xinghuo Fortress. To celebrate the great victory over the Black Mountain Army, consolidate its foundation, and welcome representatives from newly allied factions, the fortress held its grandest banquet since its founding. The venue was the newly built drill ground outside the fortress, where bonfires were lit, illuminating the surroundings as if it were daytime.

Long wooden tables were joined together and laid out a lavish spread of dishes, simple yet substantial: large pots of tenderly stewed mutton, whole roasted rabbits and pheasants, freshly harvested vegetables, steamed cakes mixed with beans and millet, and several jars of turbid wine obtained from spoils and trade. The key figures of Xinghuo Fort, the managers of various garrisons, the heads of the artisans' workshops, officers of the rank of centurion and above, as well as several newly recruited former chieftains and elders, were all gathered together. The clinking of rough earthenware bowls, hearty laughter, and boisterous drinking games mingled with the sizzling of oil on the flames, creating a raw yet vibrant picture of chaotic merriment.

As the lord of the fortress, Chen Xing was naturally the center of the banquet. He had changed out of his usual, more practical military uniform and into a more formal dark blue robe, his hair tied up and wearing a crown. He looked less stern on the battlefield and more composed as a ruler. Holding a wine bowl, he moved between the tables, engaging in brief conversations with the people, accepting toasts, offering words of encouragement, and inquiring about details of daily life. Wherever he went, people rose to their feet, their eyes filled with awe, gratitude, and eagerness. Whether they were longtime comrades or newly joined leaders, everyone truly felt that they were part of a rising, promising new power.

Murong Mingyue sat alone in a slightly secluded spot, with wine and meat laid out before her, but she ate very little, only slowly sipping the slightly cloudy wine in her bowl. The firelight reflected on her still-bright red dress and radiant face, but seemed unable to illuminate her calm eyes that gazed at the flickering campfire. The surrounding liveliness seemed veiled by an invisible curtain. Several of her former subordinates were at another table not far away, laughing and talking loudly with the officers of the Starfire Battalion, playing drinking games and having a friendly drinking contest. Seeing her subordinates blend in so naturally, the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, as if with satisfaction, or perhaps something else entirely.

Her gaze involuntarily fell once again on that figure in the crowd.

Watching him clink bowls with Zhao Tiezhu, Zhao Tiezhu's face flushed with excitement as he gulped down the wine; watching him pat Chen Wei's shoulder and whisper something to him, Chen Wei solemnly accepting the order; watching Wu Xuejiu stroke his beard and talk to him, both men showing thoughtful expressions; watching him even stop and speak earnestly with a carpenter who had just been richly rewarded for improving the spinning wheel, the carpenter so excited he was at a loss for words…

He was no longer the "man who appeared out of nowhere" he had first met, decisive yet unable to conceal his panic and alienation. In just one year, he had become the leader of thousands, commanding a powerful army, enforcing his laws, and drawing the attention of those around him. He established rules, yet seemed not entirely bound by them; he valued order, yet encouraged innovation and breaking through social barriers; he was kind and compassionate to his own people, yet ruthless and decisive to his enemies; he knew how to be patient and strategic, and could also make a desperate, all-or-nothing move at crucial moments, unstoppable in his advance.

Murong Mingyue recalled their long conversation under the moonlit night on the grassland, their bloody battles side by side at Wild Wolf Slope, his resolute killing of the Black Mountain envoy, his meticulous planning and arrangements for the envoy, and his focused profile as he sat alone by the lamp studying those strange "blueprints" late at night... Little by little, like a trickle, it had unknowingly gathered into a lake rippling in her heart.

She was the daughter of the Murong tribe, raised on horseback from a young age, and accustomed to the plunder, feuds, alliances, and betrayals among tribes. She believed in strength, admired heroes, but also deeply understood the coldness of power and the fickleness of human relationships. Her initial cooperation with Chen Xing was forced by circumstances and also for the sake of the tribe's survival. She admired his abilities and magnanimity, was willing to fight alongside him, and even gradually relinquished command of the tribe's warriors. This reflected not only her recognition of Xinghuo Fortress's development but also a degree of trust in him personally.

But from some point onward, this admiration and trust quietly changed. Seeing him wounded would cause her heart to tighten; hearing his decisions would subconsciously prompt her to consider how to cooperate; seeing him tirelessly working on the fortress's defenses would give rise to a desire to share the burden… until, at Wolf Slope, when she recklessly led her cavalry into the enemy lines, her mind, besides the tactical objective, was also tinged with a anxiety that she didn't want him to face the risks alone. When he returned safely, standing before the captured weapons to discuss the next steps with her, what filled her heart was not merely the joy of victory.

Yes, it was after that that this unfamiliar feeling became clear, like spring grass breaking through the soil, impossible to ignore. She, Murong Mingyue, had actually fallen for a Han Chinese man, a fortress lord who had risen from humble beginnings.

This thought left her somewhat bewildered and self-deprecating. She was a noblewoman from her tribe, he was a Han Chinese lord, and between them lay the barriers of ethnicity, customs, and even the responsibilities they each bore. How should she place these feelings? And where could they lead?

As the banquet intensified, the atmosphere grew increasingly lively. Some began singing off-key country folk songs, while others, emboldened by the alcohol, boasted of their military exploits. Zhao Tiezhu, pulling several newly recruited leaders aside, loudly recounted how their lord had led them to victory against overwhelming odds. Chen Xing had returned to his seat, a faint smile on his face. Observing the bustling yet realistic scene before him, a hint of the detachment and caution typical of a transmigrator lingered deep within his eyes.

Just then, Murong Mingyue suddenly stood up. Her movement was subtle, but her unique, aloof demeanor still caught the attention of people at nearby tables. The noise subsided slightly.

She picked up the untouched, full bowl of wine in front of her, and walked steadily through the crowd to the head of the table.

All eyes involuntarily followed that striking red. Zhao Tiezhu stopped boasting, Chen Wei put down his wine bowl, Wu Xuejiu paused slightly while stroking his beard, and even the people playing drinking games in the distance lowered their voices.

As if sensing something, Chen Xing raised his eyes and looked at Murong Mingyue walking towards him. The firelight danced behind her, gilding her with a shimmering golden edge, making her face appear exceptionally clear and serene in the light and shadow.

Murong Mingyue stopped about three steps away from Chen Xing's table. She didn't speak immediately, but instead picked up the wine bowl with both hands, raised it to eyebrow level, and then slowly and solemnly bowed. This gesture was neither a Hu (non-Han) custom nor a completely Han custom, but it was full of solemnity and sincerity.

The entire place was almost completely silent, except for the crackling of the campfire.

"Lord of the Fortress," Murong Mingyue's voice rang out clearly, not loud, but loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Mingyue respectfully offers this wine to the Lord of the Fortress."

She paused, raised her eyes, and looked directly into Chen Xing's eyes. Gone was the sharpness of her battlefield days, and the composure she displayed when discussing military affairs. Instead, her gaze clearly reflected the flickering firelight and a complex, unspoken emotion—admiration for her leader, trust in her comrade, and a touch of tenderness and affection that belonged to a woman.

"Lord Jing turned the tide and saved Mingyue and her people from dire straits." Her voice was steady, and she enunciated each word clearly.

"The Lord of Jingbao established rules and clearly defined rewards and punishments, thus creating this spark of prosperity and giving hope to countless displaced people."

"I respect the Lord of the Fortress... for his great talent and lofty character." Her voice lowered slightly at the last sentence, but became even more resolute. "It is Mingyue's honor to fight alongside the Lord of the Fortress. My heart... Mingyue respects the Lord of the Fortress."

After saying that, she didn't say anything more, held the bowl with both hands, and drank the wine in one gulp. A few drops of wine slid down her chin, but she didn't care. Her bright eyes were still fixed on Chen Xing.

Chen Xing looked at the woman before him. He wasn't an naive youth; he could naturally read the affection in her eyes that far surpassed that between allies and subordinates. Their time together, their shared experiences, Murong Mingyue's valor, decisiveness, loyalty, and occasional moments of sensitivity had already left an indelible mark on his heart. However, living in a chaotic world, burdened by the lives of thousands, and burdened by system missions, he had always suppressed this budding affection, focusing instead on survival and development.

At this moment, at this highly anticipated celebration banquet, she solemnly expressed her feelings through wine, words, and her gaze.

Chen Xing's heart stirred slightly; the sense of alienation that belonged to a transmigrator seemed to be warmed by this ardent and sincere gaze. He also picked up the wine bowl in front of him and stood up.

He didn't offer many pleasantries, but met Murong Mingyue's gaze and said in a deep voice, "Commander Mingyue, you're too kind. Xinghuo Fortress's current success is inseparable from everyone's concerted efforts, and even more so from Commander Mingyue's invaluable assistance and valiant fighting. This wine," he raised his bowl, "is a toast to Commander Mingyue, and to all the brothers and sisters who shed blood and sweat for Xinghuo Fortress! May our Xinghuo illuminate the road ahead, and may my comrades never betray us, even in life and death!"

After saying that, he tilted his head back and drank the wine in one gulp.

"May my sparks illuminate the path ahead! May my comrades never fail me, even in life and death!" Chen Wei, Zhao Tiezhu, and others were the first to react, shouting in unison. Soon, the entire banquet hall echoed with shouts of agreement, pushing the atmosphere to another climax.

Murong Mingyue watched Chen Xing finish his wine, saw the clear response and appreciation in his eyes, and watched him raise his arm and shout to the crowd. She knew that, given his status and the occasion, this was the best response. That declaration, "I will not betray you even in death," reassured her even more.

She lowered her head slightly, concealing the barely perceptible moisture in the corner of her eye and the smile playing on her lips, took a step back, and returned to her seat. The weight that had been hanging over her heart for so long seemed to have quietly been lifted. Her mind was clear; whatever the future held, she was willing to face it with him.

The banquet's clamor continued, the alcohol intensifying. But many observant individuals had already witnessed and remembered the scene unfolding. Wu Xuejiu and Li Shu exchanged a meaningful glance, while Zhao Tiezhu grinned broadly, only to be slapped on the back of the head by Chen Wei beside him. Murong Mingyue's former subordinates exchanged knowing glances, their expressions invigorated.

The bonfire roared, illuminating countless faces filled with hope and intoxication, the calm gaze of the young lord at the head of the table, and the softening profile of the woman in red not far away. In this chaotic world, besides the cold swords and the cruelty of survival, a warm and resilient bond seemed to be beginning to emerge.