The Great Khan sits in the center of his camp, lifts his head, and gazes at the firmament. His white hair hangs down, braided into strands, which merge into a large bundle trailing behind him. He sits on a rock, watching the sky and stars.
In utter disarray.
Not just disarray, it feels like being chased around everywhere.
Sometimes, when the Great Khan thinks back on these messy months, he can't help but laugh: "It truly is shameful, Mu Zhahe, it reminds me of us in our younger days."
"But back then, our opponents weren't so tough."
"We could still come and go freely, unlike now, being chased around like an old dog, haha, what a misfortune and disgrace."
During these months, he tried many times, repeatedly attempting ambushes and counterattacks. He and his kin charged across the lands like in the days of their youth, yearning to find their path, to find their vitality.
But the response was nearly cruel.
