Looking at the present-day Zhongdu, prosperous and bustling, with merchants from the frontiers coming and going like shuttles — what a flourishing scene of abundance and wealth. Yet who could have foreseen that only a few years later, a reckless and arrogant new emperor, insisting on personally leading a campaign, would be captured by Beirong. The gates of the realm fell, the mountains and rivers shattered, and barbarian cavalry with iron hooves trampled across the Central Plains.
In the vast sweep of thousands of years of history, if one were to ask which dynasty’s people suffered the most — during times when foreign invaders plundered, enslaved, and even ruled — the answer is clear.
First came the Xiongnu ravaging China, then Kublai Khan’s Yuan dynasty, and later the humiliations brought by a certain island nation’s “short, carrot-headed dwarfs.”
The book Gu Wan found herself in was originally titled *Beauty’s Tragedy in Chaos*, later renamed *Ballad of Dust and Storms*.
This novel was written for a female audience and initially told the tragic love story between Prince Xiaoshan, Li Yi, and Yu Manzhen—a peerless beauty from a fallen aristocratic family, whose lineage was obscure but whose looks were breathtaking.
Li Yi, Prince Xiaoshan, had a difficult upbringing yet harbored lofty ambitions. Outwardly, he remained dutiful within his princely manor, but in truth he roamed the land under false identities. Officially, he commanded border troops; secretly, he visited scholars and sages, gathering loyal followers and death-defying retainers, steadily building his strength.
When the emperor was captured and the nation’s gates fell, Li Yi seized the opportunity. First, he became a powerful minister, consolidating forces that had long pledged allegiance to him in secret. He rose as a leader resisting the invaders. He ultimately led his soldiers and people south across the great river, founding the Nan Dynasty—preserving the flame of Yan and Huang’s descendants. In short, he was a man of remarkable ability.
Yu Manzhen, meanwhile, was left alone after her family perished, a peerless beauty adrift in a chaotic world. Captured by a county magistrate, she was presented to Li Yi, who had already established his power in the region. By this stroke of fate, she survived.
What followed was a storm of tragic love, bitter entanglements, and jealous rivalries among wives and concubines — details too lengthy to recount here. But what of Xie Ci?
Xie Ci was one of the two male leads. Yes, this novel had two male protagonists.
The familiar setup of a tragic romance at the beginning — but as the story went on, the scope grew larger and larger, and another male character’s popularity rose higher and higher, until in the end it became a dual‑male‑lead novel.
The land lay shattered, the nation in peril. Yet there was one man, clad in white, wielding a silver spear, who suddenly emerged from nowhere. By his own strength alone, he held back the iron hooves of the barbarian cavalry for five whole years, buying precious time for the people to cross south of the river and for the court to relocate. It could be said that he alone saved millions. Unyielding as steel, brilliant as the sun. In the end, he fell in battle by the Huai River, when he was only twenty‑three years old.
When the novel was adapted into a drama, its release ignited the entire internet, becoming the most popular series of the year, dominating screens for twelve months, adored by audiences young and old, men and women alike.
This nameless silver‑masked war god stirred countless tears and debates. But sharp‑eyed fans soon uncovered the subtle foreshadowing woven into the original text. Later, the author even wrote a long prequel side story to confirm the readers’ suspicions.
This silver‑armored youth who appeared out of nowhere was none other than Xie Ci, the young heir of the Duke’s household — once the darling of the capital, adored by thousands of maidens. Radiant in youth, looking back, dazzling with a single smile.
“The gallant youths of Wuling vie for the headscarf; countless songs of red silk resound. In crimson robes he rides home with the wind, smoke and rain trailing behind.”
Such was the life Xie Ci should have had. Born into a family of loyal generals, the Xie clan produced heroes for generations, guarding the passes, defending the rivers and mountains, standing tall with iron bones and spears in hand. But tragically, this house of loyalty was betrayed by corrupt courtiers seeking power. The men of the Xie family were executed, and the entire clan was exiled three thousand li. At that time, Xie Ci was not yet sixteen.
Gu Wan knew that in very rare circumstances, under certain bodily conditions, a dying person might exhibit a “pseudo‑death” syndrome. Ordinary examinations would register them as dead.
Xie Ci — whether from injury or strangulation — must have been in that rare state of pseudo‑death. This youth, once arrogant until his father and brothers were imprisoned, had already shed his pride. No one knows how he struggled through those years, but it was not because he lacked the will — only because he was unable. He could not.
When the novel’s white‑clad young man first appeared, his eyes were still covered with a white gauze veil. Only half a year later did he finally heal enough to remove it. He wore a half silver mask. When Yu Manzhen asked, he said his face bore scars, and he did not wish to frighten others.
From a radiant Wuling youth in fine clothes and spirited horses, to one who had survived death itself, rising from despair to seek light in darkness — at first, the only reason he was willing to serve Li Yi was because Li Yi had buried the Xie family.
His eyes not yet healed, he groped his way for a thousand li, only to touch a few cold gravestones. He wanted to uncover the truth of that year, but everything had changed; the traces had vanished. After exhausting himself to find one or two clues, he discovered they led to the imperial father‑in‑law. And the new emperor had only just fought against opposition to overturn the case and clear the Xie family’s name.
Gratitude and hatred, loyalty and duty — yet the dynasty itself was as fragile as an eggshell. With all factions entangled, if he acted recklessly, the tottering edifice would collapse in an instant. The passes and the nation, guarded by generations of the Xie clan with their blood and lives, would be shattered and lost forever.
He had strength in his body, unmatched martial skill, the ability to shake heaven and earth — yet there was one thing he could not overcome. His grief, his hatred, his wounds — no one could know. And yet, when the land was broken and the people withered, it was still he alone, with one horse, who stood forth to turn the tide. He commanded the armies, fought for the rivers and mountains, deployed troops at Wu Yuan, and held back countless foes. In his fury, he walked a road he knew had no return.
With the blood of one man, he wrote a tragic song upon the land.
The author wrote these two male leads as contrasts:
Li Yi — keenly aware of the times, skilled at weighing gains and losses, preserving himself to plan for the future.
Xie Ci — knowing it was impossible yet still doing it, unyielding as iron, standing alone against the tide, shaking heaven and earth, holding the dynasty, the nation, and the people for five years.
The author never said who was right or wrong. These two men, who rose like dragons when the storm came — one ultimately founded the Nan Dynasty, while the other died by the Huai River, living forever in the hearts of heaven, earth, and men. Yes, this silver‑armored war god, no less than Li Yi, finally fell at the Huai River and was posthumously honored as Prince Zhenbei. He and the original heroine, Yu Manzhen, had little connection, except that she was rescued along with others during the Battle of Minzhou. Yet such a legendary man was enough to become the only light and color in Yu Manzhen’s storm‑tossed, tragic life.
*A glance lasting ten thousand years, ten thousand years contained in a glance.*
This was originally a **BE** (bad ending) story — the beautiful heroine died in the end, dashing herself against a monument. But now the problem is: the beauty seems to have been reborn, and she apparently does not wish to walk the tragic romance path again. Moreover, she tricked the original host into suicide.
Gu Wan already knows this. And Yu Manzhen — not “seems,” but clearly — knows that she has “died and come back to life.”
Gu Wan: “…”
…
The vast sound of rain and the sweeping downpour merged into one. Through the curtain of water beneath the eaves, the world seemed a white haze of mist.
It enclosed this small patch of black tiles and yellow walls, as if forming a little world of its own. Behind, the windowsill glowed with the warm yellow halo of an oil lamp, and the cheerful voices and laughter became faint and blurred within the roar of the rain.
Gu Wan leaned against a pillar, sitting on the stone steps under the corridor, chin in hand, stretching out her bare feet to let the rain wash over them.
Smoke curled from the kitchen chimney. Xie Ci poked at the fire, kneaded dough, wrapped buns, and steamed them. Once cooked, he picked them up one by one and placed them on plates, delivering them to each room. The last plate he carried along the narrow corridor toward Gu Wan.
“Yuan‑niang?”
*Yuan* means “first.” In ancient times, women were often addressed as Yuan‑niang, Er‑niang, San‑niang. The original heroine had no childhood name, so her family called her Yuan‑niang.
Gu Wan turned her head. A tall young man carried a clay plate, walking toward her through the fine mist of rain, against the dim yellow lamplight.
“Why are you sitting here in the rain?”
The narrow eaves could not block the splashing drizzle. He opened a half‑worn oil‑paper umbrella over her head. Gu Wan took it, and he sat down beside her, pulling off his boots and stretching his feet into the rain as well.
Nothing more — simply because it felt comfortable.
So he said nothing, just joined her.
He picked up one of the big buns, choosing one with a flower mark for her, while he himself took one without.
The marked buns had more meat; the unmarked ones had less.
Gu Wan accepted the bun and heard him say: “Yuan‑niang, once Mingming’s injuries heal and the household is settled, I plan to inform my mother that I’ll go to the frontier.”
To the frontier — naturally, to investigate the Xie family’s case.
But that was not the main point of his words. After stating his plan, he continued softly: “And then, let’s divorce.”
Their marriage was too short. They had not even shared a room. Their understanding of the relationship remained superficial, and it felt little different from being unmarried.
Xie Ci knew that Gu Wan did not like him. During this time, though they had shared a bed, he could tell. He had even overheard her casually mention opening a small tavern someday. Sharp as he was, he immediately understood that this was her future plan.
Originally, the Xie family arranged for Gu Wan to marry him so she would have lifelong security. But now that the Xie family had fallen, stability was out of the question. Xie Ci’s gratitude was beyond words; the only thing he could do for her was this.
“I’ll explain everything clearly to my mother and sisters. Don’t worry.”
Finally, he looked at her and said earnestly: “Thank you.”
Though it sounded distant, and perhaps not pleasing to her, all of Xie Ci’s countless thoughts condensed into that single phrase. Softly, he added: “Later, I’ll make sure to register you as a female household head.”
Long ago, he had already mentioned this. He had sensed Gu Wan’s intentions early on.
Gu Wan was surprised, turning her head to see Xie Ci smiling at her.
“In the future, whatever you command, Xie Ci will give his utmost — never refusing!”
No time limit, no conditions, no count of occasions — this promise was for a lifetime.
Gu Wan should have been delighted, because this was exactly her original plan. She didn’t even need to ask; Xie Ci, understanding her heart, had offered it himself. It was not in vain that she had traveled a thousand li with him and exhausted herself to save the Xie family. Yet at this moment, Gu Wan felt a pang of discomfort in her heart.
As they looked at each other, from this angle Gu Wan could see the dim lamplight cast across his profile. He spoke with such seriousness, and the youthful lines of his face already showed the beginnings of strength and distinction.
The boy before her would one day become a man like a hero of the ages — only, he would die too young— at just twenty‑three.
The dynasty wronged him, wronged the Xie family. Yet in the final moment, it was still the sons of Xie, still him, who stood forth to turn the tide, bearing everything upon his shoulders.
Though it was somewhat surprising, Gu Wan believed this outcome, because the Xie Ci she knew was exactly that kind of person. She had not forgotten the scene when he broke out of prison, forced to kill the pursuing guards, then knelt in the snow, sobbing uncontrollably. She remembered how he lodged in a hunter’s wooden hut. Though the hunter was long dead, and even if he had descendants, they were not filial, Xie Ci had borrowed the man’s house and used his firewood. Yet he still split the great logs the old hunter had been unable to chop for years, neatly stacking them into a woodpile, sweeping the house clean, ready to leave at any moment. When he stole a horse, he felt uneasy, carefully noting down the owner’s signboard so he could repay them double in the future.
On their journey together, at first he only knew how to light a fire and skin prey. But now he could cook, knead dough, and prepare meals. Later, most of the work along the road fell to him. Even when making buns, he left the ones with more meat for her. He was good. Xie Xinzhong and his wife had truly raised their children well.
Gu Wan could not help but let out a long sigh. Her heart felt heavy and uncomfortable.
“Yuan‑niang?” Xie Ci’s voice.
Gu Wan came back to herself, met his gaze, suppressed her tangled emotions, and forced a smile. “Mm.”
After informing his parents and writing the divorce agreement, she would part ways with the Xie family. It might not mean never seeing each other again — Madam Xun and the others might not even feel at ease letting her live alone — but overall, Xie Ci’s fate would no longer be tied to hers.
He would head to the frontier, stepping into the rolling dust of the world. She, once she had saved enough capital, would open a tavern, selling wine at the counter, becoming a small proprietress. With so many lives of the Xie family stained in blood, Gu Wan had no reason to persuade him not to go. Her feelings were complicated, but since Xie Ci had spoken so clearly, she decided to first agree and settle the matter of divorce before anything else. Only, she had not expected that by evening, Xie Ci’s second sister‑in‑law would come to see her.
This young woman, handsome and spirited, dressed in a half‑worn brown short tunic, stood beneath the corridor. Smiling, she said: “Yuan‑niang, Fourth Brother insists on going to the border army. I want to ask you — could you go with him?”