Chapter 1240: Intrigue and Strategy Hidden in the Forbidden Palace, Heroic Women Guarding Peace (Part 4)

Chapter 1240: Chapter 320: Intrigue and Strategy Hidden in the Forbidden Palace, Heroic Women Guarding Peace (Part 4)

The autumn wind outside the window stirred several early fallen ginkgo leaves. In his daze, he recalled Shi Feiyang standing atop the sea of clouds, the aura of Bright Jade Technique swirling around him like a Banished Immortal. A complex expression flashed across his face — jealousy, reluctance, and a touch of indescribable hatred. “Shi Feiyang, ah Shi Feiyang,” he murmured to himself, a sinister smile twisting the corner of his mouth as the pen finally descended. “This time, it’s beyond your power to become that ‘great hero’.”

The early autumn grassland resembles an ink-painted long scroll, the blue sky washed clean, lazily floating with several cotton-like white clouds.

The distant mountains wear a smoky blue veil, the pastureland underfoot shows a blend of golden and dark green hues, rising and falling with the autumn wind, akin to ocean waves. Herds of cattle and sheep are scattered over the grassland like stars embellishing this vast earth, while the shepherds’ lengthy tunes drift with the wind, adding a touch of poetry to this expanse.

Autumn sunlight slants over the grassland, where the cluster of the Naiman Tribe’s royal tents is akin to radiant pearls.

At the very center stands the main tent adorned with gold edges, its scarlet canopy embroidered with a fierce heavenly wolf totem fluttering in the wind, exuding a majestic aura.

The silver eagle head adorning the tent’s top reflects dazzling rays in the sunlight; the five-colored prayer flags hanging from the eagle’s beak dance with the wind, their fluttering sound mingling with the crisp chime of copper bells. In front of the tent, the bluestone altar bears ritual instruments made from cow skulls and agate, emanating a cold light, while the burning wolf dung beside the altar sends up thin blue smoke, weaving a mysterious ambience in the air.

Surrounding are exquisitely carved bronze wine vessels, and the sheepskin carpet still carries traces of last night’s bonfire ashes; several glossy warhorses leisurely chew fodder, occasionally neighing, infusing vibrancy into the tranquil grassland.

The copper bell hung on the gilded tent hook softly trembles, whispering of unwilling farewells.

Shi Feiyang, clad in dark, sleek attire, stands before the tent, the Hundred Victories Saber at his waist gleaming with a cold and sharp light, accentuating his posture, upright like a pine.

Sunlight spills down, casting a gold sheen over his handsome face, drawing the lingering gaze of several madams who find it hard to look away.

Yili, in a fiery red robe resembling the sunset clouds on the horizon, stands peerless in beauty. She steps lightly, the ruby tassels among her hair swaying gently with her movement, further brightening her captivating eyes.

Reaching Shi Feiyang’s side, she tenderly wraps a graceful white jade hand around his arm, speaking softly, “Husband, every day and night on this grassland, I’ve longed for your return. Now you embark on a journey; my heart feels scattered like dandelions blown away by the wind. But don’t worry, as long as I’m here, the Naiman Tribe will stand strong and steadfast, just waiting for your triumphant return.”

As she speaks, she lifts her head, her eyes filled with affection and resolve, seeking to lock him in her gaze.

Liu Guihua sways the Spirit Snake Whip in her hand, its tips tracing graceful arcs in the air, producing a crisp sound.

With a playful smile, she leans closer, her eyes curving like a blooming rose. “Husband! Should anyone dare to cause trouble behind your back, my Spirit Snake Whip is the first to disapprove! You can stride boldly forward, and when you’re tired or weary, look back and see, I’m always here behind you. Should anyone dare to make you frown, I will let them know that offending Madam Shi is no trifling matter!”

Her gaze, fiery and bold, freely expresses her protection and love for Shi Feiyang.

Bai Zhi, dressed in Miaojiang’s distinctive attire, shines silver adornments in the sunlight with a delicate radiance, adding a touch of mysterious charm with their tinkling sound.

She gracefully approaches Shi Feiyang, her voice gentle like the spring breeze. “Husband, mountain high and road distant as you go, who knows how much danger lies ahead. You must be extra careful, protect yourself at every turn. Whenever you face hardship, remember me and the gu techniques I learned in Miaojiang; they can help solve your worries. No matter when or where, my heart is closely tied to yours.”

With these words, she softly takes Shi Feiyang’s hand, presses a small Gu Insect Talisman into his palm, her eyes full of concern and care.

Xue Qiuchun stands aside, her cheeks slightly flushed, her gaze shy yet burning.

Holding a cloak she personally stitched, she timidly steps forward. “Shi Lang… I made this cloak overnight, although it’s not as luxurious as those fine silks, it’s my heartfelt gesture. Autumn grows deeper, wearing it will be like having me by your side, shielding you against the chill. You… you must return safely. I… I’ll wait here for you every day.”

Her voice grows quieter as she speaks, almost a whisper, yet brimming with sincere affection.

Shi Feiyang gazes at the graceful and deeply affectionate madams before him, his heart filled with emotions and warmth.

Sincerely holding each lady’s hand in turn, he says deeply, “With you by my side, I, Shi Feiyang, have the greatest fortune in my life. When I return, I promise to compensate you well, and share the beauty of the world with you.”

Each madam’s eyes welled with tears, snuggling closely beside Shi Feiyang, wanting to deeply imprint this moment of warmth and affection.

After a long time, Shi Feiyang reluctantly releases their hands, and mounts his horse.

On horseback, he looks back to see the madams standing in front of the royal tent, their figures growing smaller yet still distinctly visible, eyes filled with anticipation and reluctance that linger in the autumn wind, weaving threads of deep sentiments around his heart, refusing to scatter.

All the way, autumn winds brushing his face, his steed gallops, kicking up flurries of dust.

In the Lindan Tribe, Princess Gugla clad in magnificent Mongolian attire, adorned with exquisite headpieces, is like the most vibrant Gesang flower on the grassland.