PREVIEW
... plush, wide-eyed puppet of Dao Xuan Tianzun—perched on Bai Mao’s shoulder armor, staring north toward a lonely city wrapped in the winter light.
Hequ had become an island of stone and defiance.
Nineteen imperial camps—more than twenty thousand soldiers—ringed the city in a perfect circle, cutting off every road, every courier, every whisper of help.
That was the tax for calling yourself King.
Once, Wang Jiayin had swaggered at the head of three hundred and fifty t ...
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