The lush green of trees that stayed flourishing year-round, the bright prosperity, the birds that passed by, the ranges of mountains extended up and down uninterrupted, like the curve of a beauty’s back.

This place was South Xinjiang.

Under an old tree that had to be at least a hundred years old sat a South Xinjiang boy with perfect posture; he was around ten and was doing assignments. He might be young but his determination was bursting, as he had been focused for two hours now, looking like nothing could disrupt his work.

Next to the table was a deck chair arranged horizontally, and on it was a man resting with his eyes closed. He was dressed in robes like someone from the central land, and between his thighs was an old open book.

At the man’s feet was a small sable. Being ignored by everyone, it chased its own tail in boredom.

At that moment, a warrior walked to them, letter in hand. Seeing the sight before him, his steps got quieter and he waited by the side in silence.

The man on the deck chair opened his eyes. He looked halfway over twenties, his long narrow eyes¹ carrying a hint of amusement. When he looked around, he was truly an exceptional beauty. The small sable nimbly jumped into his embrace and climbed up his shoulders, its tail stroking his chin.

The warrior presented the letter with politeness. “My Lord, it is a letter from Head Butler Song.”

“Lord Seventh” uttered a word in assent and opened the letter with only mild interest, but halfway through reading, he abruptly sat up, the look in his eyes sobering, “Is it really him?”

The small sable upon seeing the mysterious paper in front of it reached out its claws, but was held back by its owner by the neck and gently thrown onto the table by which the boy was sitting.

Only then did he raised his head, “Who is it, father?”

The man didn’t answer right away. He stood up and took two steps forward, leisurely folding the letter while talking about something completely off-topic, “Lu Ta, did you remember what I told you last time about the principle of this world, about how division precedes unity and vice versa like a circle?”

The young man seemed to be used to his father’s habit of speaking nonsense before reaching the focal point, so he played along. “You say that it is simply like how after sitting for a long time, one has to stand up, and when they can’t stand anymore they sit down again. There is no philosophy to it, just that us humans are born to suffer.”

A satisfied smile appear on the man’s face, and he said to the dazed South Xinjiang warrior, “Axinlai, go find your Great Shaman for me and ask him if he thinks what I said is reasonable.”

Axinlai’s face was of pure confusion. “Huh?”