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Nine Flames Tribe, Western Extremities.
A woman with kind eyes but a hopeless gaze sat in the snow, clutching a long flute. The melody she played was soft and distant, drifting away with the falling snow.
When the final note faded, it left behind only heartbreak. She lowered the flute, lips parting as if to speak, but she had long forgotten the words.
Three years ago, she was the revered Khatun of the Nine Flames.
Three years later, she was just a woman adorned in faded glory, forgotten by the world.
They still honored her, still gave her the highest privileges. She could do anything she wanted. But what was left for her to do? To others, it looked like she had the greatest freedom in the world. But in truth, she'd been granted the greatest loneliness.
This woman was Jen’gal Snow.
Now, her heart was like cold ash. Detached. Hollow. Her man had died, in that grand, blazing celebration dancing in front of the withered bonfire. And she knew very well why.
Her grandson, Jen’gal Tengsur, was being raised by the Wolfmother, Meng Xingxian. She, the grandmother, could do nothing to help.
Her son, Jen’gal Naran, had seemingly gone mad. Day and night, he buried himself in cultivation or drilled with the...
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