Murong Zhao, emperor of Beishuo, and Xie Lin, emperor of the Southern Dynasty, were once each other’s only light in their youth. One was a hostage prince from the northern frontier, enduring and biding his time deep within the Southern Dynasty’s palace; the other, a crown prince who had lost his mother, carefully navigated the undercurrents of court. A piece of osmanthus cake shared on a freezing night, half a volume of an old book they read together, and a pair of warmers carved with cloud patterns had all once seemed like warmth enough to withstand the world.
But the Battle of Yanmen Pass changed everything. His elder brother died, and his homeland was disgraced. Murong Zhao fled back to Beishuo, covered in wounds, while blood buried the affection they had once shared. Three years later, he had become a battle-hardened ruler of the northern frontier, his sword pointed straight at the Southern Dynasty. Xie Lin, too, ascended the throne, struggling to bear the weight of his realm beneath the shadows of powerful ministers, all while carrying a secret no one understood.
The vast realm between them was the deepest chasm; their lingering feelings were each other’s most painful weakness. When a letter of state arrived, the words “trade the blood of my heart for the grasslands” tore away every pretense. Xie Lin resolutely traveled north, while Murong Zhao clutched the warmer in the dark. Upon their thrones, they were emperors of enemy states, locked in mortal opposition. In the midnight hours, they were still the boys in the plum grove who had hoped to “see peace across the land together.”
With love and hatred intertwined and political schemes closing in, will this entanglement, born in youth and trapped by their imperial identities, end in blood, or can they find a trace of the warmth they once shared beyond those vast lands?
