The barbarian camp, a wooden hut.
Mysterious white vapor curled and drifted through the hut, spilling outside.
Wang Yang sat in the doorway, wreathed in white vapor as though seated amid a sea of clouds.
Dusk glowed gold. The slanting sunlight shone upon the rising mist, refracting into hazy halos that gilded Wang Yang's silhouette with an ethereal outline.
At this sight, the barbarians queuing to beg the Divine Envoy's blessing held their breath, knelt, and prostrated themselves as though worshipping the Lord of Heaven!
The two ranks of saber-bearing barbarians standing on either side looked immensely proud, basking in his reflected glory.
Wang Yang raised his eyes with a faint smile, radiant as morning splendor reflected on snow. His robes stirred, and he shone like a god.
In a corner inside the hut lay piles of bamboo segments. Xiao Baoyue frowned and puffed out her cheeks, her face smudged with soot. Gnawing a coarse flatbread while poking at the bamboo in the fire, she looked every inch a downtrodden little servant. Every so often, she shot Wang Yang a deeply resentful glare.
Each bamboo segment had a small hole drilled in it, with one end thrust into the fire and the other buried in wet mud. As the air inside heated and expanded, it evaporated the moisture in the mud, producing steam that was forced out through the hole to become Wang Yang's "immortal aura."
So there was no such thing as peaceful, carefree days-merely someone else shouldering Wang Yang's burdens...
"Don't say 'I hope.' Say 'I will.'"
Wang Yang looked at the scrawny barbarian boy kneeling five paces away, his voice growing stern.
The boy grew even more frightened. His thin shoulders hunched, and he flattened himself against the ground, stammering:
"I... I really hope..."
"Don't say hope!"