The Age of Peace After the Cauldrons Were Split

The snow on the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month was red.

Yan Jingchen would never forget that color. When the New Year's Eve feast at the border became a banquet of beheadings, and his superior's blade swung toward his father's neck, he clenched his teeth and swallowed his final words: "Take care, General."

Blood and snow splattered across his face, scorching hot as a brand.

A year later, the capital's most sought-after strategist, "Chen Ping," raised his wine cup and smiled at his enemy, now the Deputy Commissioner of the Privy Council.

"Lord Han, do make sure you enjoy this cup of peace."…