PROLOGUE - ALMOST PRISONER

The desert threatened to swallow her whole, the brutal sun turning her skin to parchment with each passing second. Xiyang gasped for breath. Her water pouch had long been empty and the lack of water, along with the punishing heat, made her head spin. The air was so dry that it burned her lungs, and the shimmering dunes made her vision blur. She didn't know how much longer she could hold on.

Xiyang’s mind wandered to the day she decided to enlist as a soldier in the army. It had been at a fateful summer party, where talks of the ‘Killer God of Susha’ filled the air. There was praise, reverence, jealousy – but also deep respect – for her brother, Feng Suige, the eldest prince of Susha and the commander of the Feng battalion, their most formidable military power.

Feng Suige’s war achievements were legendary. He was both feared and revered throughout the kingdom. His battalion was the reason Susha remained prosperous, free from external threats – except for Jinxiu, their western neighbour and sworn enemy.

‘He’s the only one of the three royal heirs, who is worthy of the title,’ one courtier had claimed.

‘Oh, but one is a princess and the other barely a child, how can you be so harsh to them?’ another had rebuked.

But in the end, nearly everyone had agreed that Feng Suige was the natural successor to the throne. Xiyang had seen her father’s expression then - His face a mirror reflecting immense pride and joy at having an illustrious son like Feng Suige.

And so, that very evening Xiyang had foolishly decided to follow in her brother’s footsteps – to prove herself worthy of being the princess of Susha.

The blazing wind slapped her back to reality.

Clutching her heavy sword and the Su Sha insignia at her chest, Xiyang whispered the infantry’s survival code under her breath:

“A soldier dies standing.”

Yet her fear seeped through. Her trembling hands, cracked lips and uneven steps shook her resolve as she forged on ahead. The harsh climate threatened to crush her willpower like a candle flame caught in a storm.

Xiyang’s body protested, her eyes refusing to focus. For a moment she thought she saw the familiar gold and red fluttering through the haze.

Hope soared—then collapsed. The crest was wrong. It wasn’t the phoenix of Susha, but the sun, of Jinxiu.

She had been found by the enemy.

Soldiers of Jinxiu swooped in like vultures circling the dead, stirring up the sand as they closed in for a fatal strike. Xiyang spun wildly, swinging her broken sword, desperation leaking out of her like blood from an open wound.

Each laboured breath felt like knives plunged across her chest, ragged and sharp.

The dust, the scorching heat, and the jeers of the enemy, all began blending in as Xiyang’s senses closed down – numb from the shock of her predicament. She knew she was at death’s door, but she wouldn’t back down without a fight, just like a soldier of Susha would do.

At least, when her brother came to collect her body, he’d be proud of her unwavering courage till the end.

But suddenly, a horse’s hooves cut across the dunes, halting the taunts of the soldiers. They fell silent, standing down as if their bloodlust was ripped off by some invisible force. A lanky and unyielding figure moved into her periphery, wearing a different uniform than the rest.

Xiyang dropped to her knees, the last of her strength draining away at the momentary calm. She lifted her face as the figure approached her, shielding her eyes from the punishing sunlight.

Feng Xiyang had only seen portraits of the Jinxiu prince, but now, the man that stood before her seemed carved from something finer than paint could capture.

Xia Jingshi’s face was all clean lines and control — high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a mouth that was a stern line, tight with rigidity.

A pair of dark and unfathomable eyes regarded her without warmth, framed by long, precise brows. Even the fall of his hair — black as lacquer, tied back with quiet precision — spoke of a man who measured every breath, every glance. His persona seemed quite out of place amidst the group of uncouth soldiers.

Time froze for a heartbeat, restricting movement – even Xiyang’s, as if the world itself waited for his command.

Xia Jingshi studied the cowering soldier from atop, clinging stubbornly to the broken sword. Something about him stood out like a sore thumb – his age, posture, body language or maybe the effeminate features – Jingshi couldn’t nail the exact reason but he knew for sure that this young person was not a soldier, at least not the textbook definition of it.

Perhaps a eunuch, he thought, or a particularly young recruit who hadn’t even reached his youth. He chose silence, merely gesturing his soldiers to take the boy and proceed to camp.

On the way, the young soldier did not utter a word or even show resistance. When a soldier asked his name, it was answered with a single word “Liang…” The voice was softer than any normal boy. Jingshi’s suspicion grew as he glanced at the young boy, noting the long hair coiled beneath the ill-fitting helmet, and the delicate set of his shoulders.

Barely more than a child.

For a moment, Jingshi’s memory blurred – he was back in his childhood, cherished and pampered by his beloved mother, running through palace corridors while she chased after him playfully. Then came the day when bloody swords rained down, claiming her life and tainting everything in his world with a dark, poisonous red.

Reality snapped him back. His jaw tensed, caught between the recoil of the past and the bleakness of the present.

Could be a trap. Just like that fateful day.

Susha had never lacked for tactics, and none utilized it better than its prince, Feng Suige – clever, ruthless, and unflinching. To him, sending a mere youth disguised as a defenceless soldier into the Jinxiu camp wasn’t despicable – It was strategy.

Letting him go could cost Jinxiu everything.

Yet Xia Jingshi also saw something else: fear and pride intertwined in his movements, a spark of raw courage that could either betray or cooperate.

“Come with me,” he said, voice steady and cold. “Make no mistake – any attempt to deceive me will end badly.”

Xiyang froze, startled by the steel in his voice. Her pulse accelerated — not just from fear, but from an odd feeling that rooted her in place. Here was a man who could see through her lies easily, yet he still chose restraint over violence. Against all sense, she felt a flicker of awe, a reluctant admiration, burning through the haze of confusion and terror.