During the Northern Song Dynasty, turmoil erupted on the frontier. Amidst the clash of swords and horses, the Song Empire stood on shaky ground.

　　During the blooming of peonies, he chanced upon a gentle woman. A tender first love brought about a soul-stirring upheaval. Imperial tombs, prophecies, palace shadows, power, tenderness...

　　A glimpse of the mysterious and ethereal Shambhala iceberg threads through the tangled web of love and conflict.

　　As the Five Dragons appear, Tubo, Daxia... even Khitan and Dali are drawn in, minds clashing in a battle of wits. Schemes and intrigues abound, all in pursuit of the secret of the Five Dragons and the unraveling of the Shambhala dream.

　　Yet Diema remains elusive—does Shambhala truly exist, or is it but a shadow?

　　Paradise or hell? Tragic blood, yet heroic passion!

　　The Eight Heavenly Dragons, the secret sects of Northern Tibet, the five-colored feathered arrow that determines the throne—only the horizontal blade can compete!

　　He shoulders the deep trust of his sworn brother, harbors the ambition to pacify the world, forges a blood oath with the emperor, and, for pure and sincere love, makes a life-and-death promise. Amidst the fierce battles on the frontier, he is inevitably drawn into the struggle for the Five Dragons...

Volume One: Song of the Rainbow Dress

Chapter One: Desperate Struggle

　　Late spring. The orioles lazed while the swallows busied themselves, darting back and forth like weaving threads. The warm wind ran wild, stirring the delicate blossoms and willows, frolicking across the land.

　　Suddenly, the clanging of gongs rang out, startling a few birds from the shade of the trees and breaking the languor of spring. Even the frenzied willow catkins seemed to awaken from a dream, drifting lightly down into the stream, following the falling petals away.

　　By the stream stood several large locust trees. Beneath them was a wooden table, in front of which stood several men dressed as imperial guards from the capital, each with the words "Xiaowu" tattooed on their left cheek. Though they were beating gongs, their expressions were somewhat indifferent. In front of them stood two large banners—one emblazoned with "Recruitment," the other embroidered with "Volunteers." It turned out these men were selecting candidates for the imperial guard.

　　Beside the banners stood two wooden mannequins, clearly used to compare the physique of the recruits. Behind the table sat a man, slumped over and snoring. At the sound of the gongs, he woke, yawned, and stretched. While he looked unremarkable asleep, once he stretched, it was clear he was broad-shouldered and thick-backed, with a full, bristling beard—a truly imposing figure. He glanced at the roster on the table, frowned, and said, "Why is it still just these few people? Brothers, put in a bit more effort. Recruit another ten or so, and we can go back."

　　A skinny man replied, "Commander, it seems the common folk don't want to come. Recruiting another ten sounds easy, but it's hard to do."

　　The bearded man yawned again and said, "Just do your best."

　　A bald man asked, "Mr. Carter, why not recruit from the local militia instead of picking from the commoners here?"

　　The bearded man replied, "I originally wanted to pick some men from the local militia to replenish the Xiaowu Army, train them well, and not let those bastards look down on us. But the local magistrate is so stingy—he only sent me the worst of the lot: lazy, greedy, and slippery. I'd rather pick my own men from the commoners."

　　The skinny man suddenly brightened and said, "Someone's coming."

　　The bearded man quickly looked up and saw someone approaching from across the stream. He smiled and said, "Looks like persistence pays off. That lad's got a good build—he's a real prospect. Bring him over."

　　The man was wading across the stream, intending to skirt around them, but as soon as he reached the bank, several imperial guards pounced on him like wolves, startling him. "Officers, I haven't done anything wrong," he said. He was tall and young, with a handsome face and a smile as warm as the spring breeze.

　　The guards grabbed him, laughing. "No one said you were a bandit. Young man, want to be a soldier?"

　　At the words "be a soldier," the man's face changed. He glanced sidelong at the recruitment banners nearby, and his expression grew even more alarmed. The bearded man stepped forward, slapped him heavily on the shoulder, and barked, "Kid, I can tell you've got extraordinary bones—one in a million. You're perfect soldier material. I feel a connection with you. Normally, anyone wanting to join the army has to go through layers of selection, and to get into the imperial guard, you have to be picked from the militia. But I'll make an exception for you. You don't even need to take the test—just go home, pack your things, and I'll take you to the capital. From then on, you'll eat well, drink well, and enjoy endless riches and honor. For a commoner to go straight into the imperial guard—your ancestors must be smiling down on you. Huh... what's wrong with your eyes?"

　　From a distance, the bearded man had noticed the newcomer's tall, thin frame—taller even than the wooden mannequin—and was already pleased. But now, though the man was good-looking, his eyes were crossed, like a blot of cow dung on a beautiful landscape painting—a flaw in an otherwise perfect picture.

　　The newcomer coughed repeatedly, thinking, "Is this recruiting soldiers or bandits dragging people into their gang? How did I get so unlucky to run into these guys?"

　　"Officer, I'm frail and sickly. I'm afraid your kindness would be wasted on me."

　　"Too skinny? Just eat more and you'll fatten up. Sick? Take some medicine and you'll be fine. Someone, register his name!" The bearded man was clearly not picky.

　　The bald man asked, "Name?"

　　The man replied offhandedly, "Henry Sullivan."

　　The bald man nodded. "Good name. Place of origin? No need to ask—this is Xihe County, Fenzhou. You must be from here." With a flourish, he wrote Henry Sullivan's name in the register. Henry Sullivan suddenly realized what was happening, hurriedly grabbed the bald man's brush, and cried, "Officer, you've made a mistake—I don't want to join the army!"