Chapter 599: Dark Currents! The Steps of Yuan

The grasslands, the headwaters of the Wan'an River, a newly erected golden tent of the Borjigin Tribe.

Inside the tent lay thick wolf and bear pelts, while the central fire pit burned large dung cakes, driving off the bitter wind outside.

The air was filled with the fragrant aroma of roasted meat, the strong potency of mare's milk wine, and a more intense scent—the aura of desire belonging to power and conquest.

Ye sugai sat on the chief's seat draped with white tiger hide, more composed than a few months ago, the solemn aura between his brows growing even heavier.

Before him lay several items.

A gem‑inlaid scimitar from the distant Western Regions.

A hat embroidered with gold thread in intricate cloud patterns, seemingly a silk cap that had flowed out of the Zhongyuan imperial court.

There were also several letters written on parchment in different ways but with largely the same meaning—a surrender document from the surviving chief of the western Kerey tribe, a peace envoy's letter from the eastern Tatar tribe, and blood‑oath letters of allegiance from several southern tribes.

All of this took place within a single short autumn‑winter.

It happened so fast that even the oldest shaman on the grasslands muttered in private, wondering whether Eternal Heaven had sped up the wheel of time.

Ye sugai himself often felt a sense of unreality in the dead of night.

The tribe's growth, the alliance's cohesion, the enemy's collapse or submission—everything proceeded with unbelievable smoothness.

It seemed as if an invisible hand in the darkness was clearing his path, compressing what would have taken years, even decades, into just a few months.

What that hand brought was not merely opportunity.

... but also a restless heat and longing hidden deep in his heart, growing day by day.

He gazed south.

Whenever his gaze turned southward, the land called Zhongyuan by the Jin people, seen as the fundamental fertile land by the Han Chinese farther south, his heart would uncontrollably quicken.

It was as if a voice whispered from the depths of his soul, urging him:

Go there.

Conquer it.

Let the iron hooves of the grasslands trample every mountain and river there.

Let the wolf‑head banner be planted on its city walls.

"Father."

A youthful yet steady voice interrupted his thoughts.

Ye sugai lifted his head and looked toward the tent opening.

A boy about seven or eight years old stood there, his build far sturdier than other children his age; his cheeks were flushed red by the cold wind, but his eyes shone as brightly as the stars on the grassland night sky.

He was his eldest son, Tiemuzhen.

"It's cold outside, come in." Ye sugai waved, his tone gentle.

Tiemuzhen entered, performed a proper salute, then his eyes were drawn to the silk hat.

"Father, what is this? It's really beautiful."

Ye sugai picked up the hat and examined its fine embroidery.

"It's what the Han emperor of the south wears."

He paused, then gently placed the hat on Tiemuzhen's head.

The hat was a bit large, almost covering the child's eyes.

"Do you like it?"

Tiemuzhen straightened the hat and nodded vigorously: "I like it! I'll wear one like this from now on!"

Ye sugai smiled, his smile carrying a complex meaning.

"It's not just the hat."

He stroked his son's head, his gaze once again turning to the southern sky beyond the tent, his voice low and firm.

"To the south there are things ten, a hundred times more beautiful than this."

"There's endless food, endless silk, endless gold and silver, and… houses warm enough to survive winter without burning dung."

Tiemuzhen lifted his face, his eyes shining even brighter.

"Then let's go take it!"

The child's words were innocent and direct, yet they voiced the grasslands' thousand‑year‑old law of survival.

Ye sugai did not scold him; he simply patted his son's shoulder firmly.

"That day will come."

"And it won't be far off."

That restless heat in his heart, inexplicably catalyzed, seemed to have found an outlet.

Outside the tent, the cold wind howled.

Around the golden tent, the newly added felt tents spread like white mushrooms, thick and endless to the eye.

The shouts of the archers and the thunder of hooves continued day and night.

An unprecedented, unified power core on the grasslands was swelling at a speed far beyond historical norms, rapidly taking shape.

Its gaze had already passed the crumbling northern border wall of the Jin state, turning toward the fertile lands farther south.

And in the Chen dynasty's Bei Jing,

On the wasteland outside Zhenbei Pass, a brief but fierce clash had just taken place.

A detachment of about fifty Chen dynasty border cavalry suddenly encountered an equal number of scouts whose gear and horsemanship were utterly different.

The battle erupted quickly and ended just as fast.

The attacking scouts were extraordinarily brave, their horse archery flawless, their coordination seamless—nothing like the loose tactics of ordinary steppe tribes.

The Chen dynasty patrol cavalry, relying on superior armor and standard crossbow bolts strengthened by dark energy, suffered over ten casualties before driving the enemy back and leaving several corpses behind.

At this moment, Zhao Lao Nian crouched beside a scout's corpse, his brow furrowed.

The corpse's leather robe was ancient and crude in style, and its weapons were typical steppe curved swords and bone arrows.

But Zhao Lao Nian's gaze fell on an inconspicuous black mark on the corpse's neck, as if burned in by some sharp instrument.

The mark resembled a simplified, twisted silhouette of a crow.

"Again this mark…"

He muttered, using a specially made tweezer to lightly scrape off a bit of the charred skin tissue at the edge of the mark, placing it into a transparent chip case.

"Teacher, the residual yin energy radiation detection on the battlefield is complete." An assistant walked over, handing up a freshly drawn chart: "The intensity is extremely high, and the waveform characteristics……are seventy percent similar to the source waveform of large-scale yin energy convergence we detected in the north."

Zhao Lao Nian stood up, brushed off the dust on his hands, and his eyes were sharp.

"These are not ordinary steppe bandits, nor even the elite of ordinary tribes."

"They are 'seeds'."

The assistant was puzzled: "Seeds?"

"They are 'seeds' deliberately catalyzed, strengthened, and deployed to the front." Zhao Lao Nian gazed toward the vast northern horizon, his voice grave: "Used to probe, to spread fear, and also……to transmit some kind of signal."

"The steppe wolf king has already sharpened its claws."

"And behind him stands the shadow that catalyzed all of this."

He turned and walked toward the interior of the pass.

"Send the corpse and all test data urgently to Zhang Xiang and the ruler."

"Also, issue orders to all border monitoring posts and patrol units: when encountering such riders bearing special marks and abnormal combat ability, prioritize self-preservation and gathering intelligence, avoiding unnecessary entanglement."

"The true wolf pack……has not yet arrived."

Luoyang, the newly established Joint Army Commander's Residence.

Chen Wen stood in the courtyard, looking up at the overcast northern sky.

The mother token in his sleeve emitted a continuous, faint tremor with a warning connotation.

In the Shi Yong, the black "turbid current" representing the north has already seen its edge clearly and frequently rubbing and colliding with the azure "qi" representing the Chen dynasty's national fortune.

Countless tiny ripples symbolizing conflict and death continually rose along that contact line.

Meanwhile, the sprouts of some new, darker, more violent "momentum" seem to be silently sprouting in the north of False Song's rapidly decaying territory.

This vaguely echoes the unfamiliar and terrifying flags and attire he occasionally glimpsed in the causal fragments.

Yue Fei walked out from the hall, came to his side, with an equally solemn expression.

"Northern scouts report that the steppe tribes have unified, their chief Ye sugai frequently convening assemblies of all tribes, feeding horses and sharpening weapons."

"Moreover, in the Huabei and Jingdong Circuit regions of False Song, several bands of unfamiliar, fierce horse bandits have recently appeared, coming and going like the wind, plundering villages and towns, even attacking small detachments of official troops. Local officials are at a loss, rumors……that the bandits' attire bears considerable resemblance to that of the steppe people."

Chen Wen withdrew his gaze and looked at Yue Fei.

"Not horse bandits."

His voice was calm, yet carried a chill of insight.

"They are outposts, they are feelers."

"What the Iron Crow Army has catalyzed is not only the northern wolves."

"They have also, in advance, buried……even more vicious nails on the southern ruins."

Yue Fei's eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Chen is saying……"

"The northern wolves, the southern nails—ultimately, what we must deal with are ourselves."

Chen Wen gazed westward—that was the direction of the Chen dynasty, and also the direction of False Song.

"They want to use these two torrents, forcibly engendered and spanning reality and illusion, to form a pincer momentum that will overwhelm all variables."

"Footsteps……are drawing ever closer."

A cold wind swept through the courtyard, lifting the fallen leaves.

The two men's robes fluttered in the wind.

In the distance, atop Luoyang's city wall, the great flag of the Northward Aspiration-Yue Joint Army still flew high beneath the overcast skies.

But those beneath the flag all know.

The joy of restoring Luoyang has not yet faded.

A heavier, darker shadow has already approached from both south and north at once.

The true test may have only just begun.