Nine Years in the Northern Frontier

Chen Jiu spent three years as a cook in the Ninth Battalion of the Northern Army. He stoked the fire, cooked porridge, and took abuse. He had not awakened a single spark. A piece of iron was sewn onto his chest. His father had left it to him, saying only: “Take it with you. Don't lose it.” The iron was cold. It stayed cold for three years. Then, one night, the barbarians broke through the pass. The iron grew hot. He grabbed a spear shaft and stabbed the first barbarian. He couldn't fight. He didn't know how to use a blade. He couldn't even cook porridge thick enough. But he stood his ground. Later, Old Zhou, who had taught him the blade, died. As he lay dying, he shoved the blade into Chen Jiu's hands. “Don't practice the ninth form. Once you do, there's no turning back.” Chen Jiu practiced it. He survived. He had a reason he couldn't die. One Spark: Kindling. He burned his life. Each time he did, he lost several years. From Broken Cliff Pass to Iron Gate Pass. From the northern frontier to the Central Plains. From the frontier army to the imperial court. He didn't become emperor. He didn't change the dynasty. He didn't claim a throne or rule as a king. He held the northern frontier. Later, he headed north. To find the man who burned through the heavens three thousand years ago, and ask him one question. “Would you be willing to burn your life alongside us?” Nine Years on the Northern Frontier. A cook, a blunt blade, and a piece of iron. In a world where spiritual energy is fading, he stands in place of everyone and bears the winter of the north.