Preface

Endless starry skies have always been a place people longed for and wished to understand, from ancient times to the present day. Against the night, the heavens shimmered with brilliance, the Milky Way stretched across the darkness, as though recording the totality of history.

Deep within the cosmos, beyond the endless blackness and eternal desolation, what else might there be? In that cold, empty void, did gods and demons once exist? And if so, what are they doing now?

Perhaps immortality lies at the farthest edge of the stars. Or perhaps, on the other side of the sky, there exists another self—a reflection, gazing silently upward at the same night, with innocent eyes that could cross the endless rivers of stars and meet your own.

A young girl’s gaze was pure and bright. She reached out toward the night sky, as though trying to grasp the imagined gaze she felt.

Beyond the reaches of the stars, all was withered and desolate. Wreckage of warships drifted aimlessly, a severely twisted and deformed hatch slowly floated past; three terrifying claw marks had raked deep gashes into its surface. On the other side of the hatch lay half the corpse of a brute beast, its monstrous visage frozen in a snarl, eyes wide as lakes, filled with both rage and unwillingness.

Farther off, a shattered celestial body was being stripped away by force fields, destined soon to become dust. The star that once blazed now dimmed, while savage beasts circled it. Fierce eyes swept across the void, where all around, other vicious beasts and black-armored beings drifted, unmistakably the remnants of an interstellar force that had just survived a battle to the death.

From among these beings, a tall, shadowy figure emerged. Tendrils floated behind its back, and its cyan eyes were cold as ice, exuding an overpowering aura that made the universe tremble.

At the sight of this figure, the surrounding beings parted to either side, bowing their heads in respect—this was their king.

The figure surveyed the ruined star systems, then slowly raised a hand. The others began to roar in frenzy, though in the cosmic silence, their voices could not be heard—yet the fervor was unmistakable.

Suddenly, the figure’s right hand clenched into a fist. The star behind him instantly extinguished, collapsing inward at an alarming rate. Time itself seemed to pause. Then, the star exploded, flames flaring in every direction, the devastation sweeping all before it.

The shadow turned, its gaze piercing into the depths of a grand nebula. Through its thickness, he saw a solitary tomb, bound tightly by over a dozen chains. His eyes grew colder. He turned away, looking deeper into another part of the cosmos, his gaze sharp and frigid, as if seeking the next star system to conquer.

He looked down at his palm, where he held a scrap of cloth, upon which were written two ancient characters. Looking closely, they read: “Xuanyuan.”

On Earth, the young girl’s eyes shone, but she was nearly frozen by a sudden chill, her upraised hand suspended in the air, unable to move or collect herself for a long moment.

“Qianqian.” A middle-aged voice called out.

The girl turned. The man wore simple clothes, his hair streaked with gray, his features gentle and kind as he looked at her.

She stood up, her childish voice saying, “Papa, I was talking to the stars. But…the stars didn’t seem friendly at all. They felt fierce.”

“Is that so… a fierce feeling…” The man clasped his hands behind his back, gazing at the night sky. With deep meaning, he said, “A troubled age descends, times of unrest—an era for heroes and kings among the stars.”

Time slipped by. Ominous winds swept across the land. The Eight-Nation Alliance, the Sarajevo incident, the coming of the Great War—in the space of mere decades: the Northern Expedition, the Chinese War of Resistance, the Pacific War, the North African campaign, one after another. Then, the world was remade, and a new China was born.

In deep mountain forests, an elderly man with snow-white hair sat before a chessboard, his brow furrowed in contemplation as he took a deep breath, lost in thought.

A beautiful young woman entered, seating herself beside him. “Papa, you’ve been playing this game for a hundred years—haven’t you finished yet?”

The old man opened his eyes, glanced at the board, then looked up at the night sky. He smiled slowly: “When it’s over, it’s over. What must come can never be escaped. The decline of Xuanyuan is fate. The battle for survival is at hand.” As he spoke, he picked up a white piece and placed it on the board with a crisp “pa.”

Then he rose and walked aside. The young woman tilted her head, carefully studying the game. Suddenly, she said, “Papa, why do you always look for defeat? That white stone shouldn’t go there, it should go here.” She moved the piece, and the game came alive.

Seeing her persistence, the old man smiled helplessly, glanced at the board, and said, “Qianqian, sometimes you can’t only chase victory—you must learn to leave a path behind. My play may seem to drive myself into a corner, but in nine deaths there is still one life. You must learn to find that one chance. Come, Qianqian, it’s time for us to leave the mountain.”

“Go where?” the young woman exclaimed in surprise.

The old man thought for a moment, then said with meaning, “To seek that one chance.”

1962, the vast Gobi of Xinjiang. A squad of PLA soldiers gripped their Type 56 rifles. The company commander, his face dark and stern, scanned the endless wasteland through binoculars.

Beside him, the radio operator whispered, “Commander, I have a strange feeling about this place.”

“What do you mean?” The commander kept his gaze on the horizon.

The operator frowned, glancing around. “It’s hard to say—something unsettling, almost eerie. It’s too quiet. Not a sound, and the air feels oppressive. Those bandits came here and, logically, in such an open space with no cover, we should have spotted them quickly. But now they’ve vanished without a trace.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking the same. The geology here makes digging tunnels unrealistic, so they must be hiding somewhere nearby. Tell everyone to be careful—don’t open fire rashly. These bandits have professional Soviet training; their combat skills aren’t to be underestimated,” the commander said quietly.

The PLA squad moved swiftly across the Gobi. At a pile of rocks, the commander signaled the team to hit the ground. Through his binoculars, he saw a corpse—more precisely, half a corpse—lying atop the stones. Two soldiers, rifles at ready, carefully advanced. Reaching the body, they frowned in disgust.

It was the upper half of a bandit’s corpse, face twisted in terror, half the skin torn from his skull, his waist ripped apart as if by something that had torn him alive. It was horrific. His AK rifle lay discarded nearby, its magazine still full—he’d never even fired before being torn apart.

After confirming the area was safe, the rest advanced and quickly established a perimeter. The commander crouched by the body, rubbing his nose. This was no work of man—who could have the strength to tear someone in half?

Just then, gunfire erupted in the distance, snapping the squad to full alert. The commander led the charge toward the sounds.

Rounding a field of rocks, the squad witnessed something they would never forget.

Three black, two-meter-tall humanoid creatures with thick, long tails were slaughtering the remaining bandits. Their movements were terrifyingly swift, like black arrows skimming the ground, and the bandits’ bullets were useless. Razor-sharp claws swept out, severing arms and legs in a spray of blood. One bandit, out of bullets, was seized by the head and decapitated with a flick of the monster’s wrist—a scene that chilled the soldiers to the bone.

In moments, all the bandits lay dead. The monstrous beings prowled among the corpses. One sniffed the air, turning toward the stone where the squad was hiding; dagger-like teeth ground together, sickening saliva dripping from its jaws, it advanced step by step.

“Damn,” the commander muttered as all three creatures drew near. He slowly reached for a grenade, while the others gripped their rifles tightly. These were men forged in war, but still—they had never faced anything like this.

Just as the creatures approached and the commander was about to order the squad to fire, a figure dropped from the sky—a white-haired old man in a long robe. He landed amid the monsters, swiftly traced a circle on the ground with his right foot, then stomped hard. A burst of golden light erupted—a giant Taiji diagram expanded to cover a ten-meter radius, freezing the monsters and the soldiers alike in place.

In a flash, a second figure darted through the monsters like a bolt of lightning, leaving only afterimages. She stopped at the old man’s side, sheathing her dagger. The old man slid his foot, and the Taiji vanished, releasing the squad from its grip. Looking up, the soldiers saw the three creatures frozen in place. A moment later, their heads tumbled to the ground and their massive bodies collapsed.

The squad was dumbfounded, but the tense situation demanded caution—any sudden appearance in such times could not be taken lightly.

The white-haired elder watched as the soldiers swiftly surrounded him, guns trained on every vital spot. Unfazed, he smiled calmly at them, while the young woman protested, “Hey, my father and I just saved you!”

“Who are you?” the commander demanded, knowing these were no ordinary people—the squad might not be their match, but identity had to be established.

The old man’s tone was serene: “I am Xuanyuan Yi, and this is my daughter, Xuanyuan Qianqian. We have come down from the mountains to make contact with Beijing. Rest assured, we will not interfere in ethnic disputes. But some matters are not about such conflicts.”

The soldiers exchanged glances. With fierce fighting in the southwest and Soviet pressure in the northwest, the nation was already in turmoil—and now, mysterious masters emerged from nowhere. No one dared take them lightly.

After persuading the commander to escort them back to camp, Xuanyuan Yi glanced back at the depths of the Gobi. Amid the dusky earth and sky, a distant silhouette of a high cliff loomed, deepening the shadows in his heart.

“A troubled age, a battle for survival…” Xuanyuan Yi murmured, his voice full of worry.