Chapter 17

Page 1/3

Night had fallen thick and heavy, a huge, slightly blood-tinged moon hung prominently in the sky.
Every month, there were a few nights when the moon glowed a fierce scarlet.
Wei Liuyi hunched over, suppressing the dull ache in his chest as countless fragments of memories surged forth.
The days when Ah Han was bound to the cold, icy bed of the Jade Pavilion were also nights of a full moon.
And on such nights, Ah Han was always unbearably cold.
How much pain must he have endured? Yet he always gritted his teeth, never uttering a sound.
Because he was long accustomed to it... even if he cried out in pain, it was useless, wasn’t it?
A whole year.
Mu Guanghan’s bandages, usually wrapped only to his wrists, would sometimes extend all the way to his slender fingertips.
He noticed but never asked.
On full moon nights, when Mu Guanghan had to bleed for Ye Jintang’s treatment, he would stay shut in his room, only allowing a servant to carry out a bowl of blood.
He thought Mu Guanghan was just sulking at him.
The next day, he would anxiously and guiltily bring many gifts.
For an entire year, he didn’t know.
He didn’t know that every full moon night, as the poisonous marks spread, Ah Han would tremble alone, curling up in agony, restless and overwhelmed by pain.
All memories related to Mu Han during that year were of a blazing summer, of firelight. Of warmth and searing brightness.
They composed poetry, played the zither, drank wine together.
When Mu Han was drunk, his eyes held a misty brightness as he smiled at him. Under the night sky of Hengcheng, the great fire illuminated half the heavens like a splendid sunset, and he sat atop the city wall.
He said, “Liuyi, look, I’ve driven them away. Am I impressive?”
Behind those smiling eyes, pain and humility were always concealed. He was not as skilled at hiding his feelings as he pretended, so Wei Liuyi always saw it—this person had never been treated well by anyone. Thus, whenever someone treated him even a little kindly, he would be so happy, so joyful.
His heart pounded fiercely, a suffocating, tearing pain.
He shouldn’t have treated him that way.
Knowing full well... he should have treated him better. There was no one who cared for him, no one who loved him, yet he had been unkind...
Wei Liuyi endured the pain, reaching out, trying to grasp a fleeting illusion of the past, to pull that person close and hold him tight. But all that was within reach was the gentle drizzle falling from the sky.
Mu Guanghan finally fell asleep.
Chu Danxi tucked him in, extinguished the candlelight, and stepped outside.
He gazed at Wei Liuyi, his cold, handsome face restrained with hatred: “Even if I kill you now and then kill that person, he will never recover. For the rest of his life, he must endure this pain!”
The sound of rain pattered persistently.
Each word pierced Wei Liuyi’s heart.
He wanted to say something, but from deep in his throat came only an incomprehensible sound.
He tried to stand but staggered unsteadily.
The cold still lingered on his arm where he had held that body moments ago. Closing his eyes, he could still see those restrained, slightly reddened, yet calm eyes.
Suddenly, Wei Liuyi went mad.
He stumbled forward wildly, desperate to reach Mu Guanghan’s room. He wanted to embrace him, stay with him, never leave his side.
Chu Danxi, furious, struck him back hard with the hilt of his sword, sending him sprawling in the rain.
“If you truly care for him, don’t come near him again!”
“I...” Wei Liuyi’s voice was rough and rusty, his breathing heavy as he glared fiercely at Chu Danxi. This guard knew nothing; he knew nothing about him and Ah Han! He had made mistakes, but it wasn’t this man’s place—
“Let him be. Let him live on his own. He will live much better, just like...”
Chu Danxi smiled bitterly. Just like me, who let him go.
Wei Liuyi was struck as if by lightning.
In that instant, he was certain that this guard had once been involved with his Ah Han. In his eyes, there was someone as flawed as himself, irreparable and full of regret...
At that moment, he wanted to strangle the man before him.
Ah Han was his. His one and only!
Their summer valley, the firefly-lit nights—no one else could compare. This man was nothing but a lowly guard. How dare he think he could have the same as him? How dare he?
Chu Danxi only chuckled lightly, eyes full of disdain and pity.
The light rain continued, soaking them through.
...
Yizhou · Youlan City.
This city lay south against the Yushan mountain range, bordered east by the Xiliang Yun Mountains, controlling the Luo River—a vital strategic point and a coveted prize for any military force.
Unlike the fine rain of Jiangnan, today Yizhou was clear and bright, the sky a vast expanse of pure blue.
King Yan Zhi of Xiliang, clad in a dark cloak, stood atop the city wall. His disheveled white hair had a small, twitching tail tied at the ends, but the restless wind of the plains had ruffled it all over again.
“Chanchan, do I look good?”
He leaned close to the hawk, pressing his nose affectionately against its beak.
The sea eagle let out a disdainful “caw” and turned its face away.
Today, the King of Xiliang’s face was painted.
Everyone knew that General Zhao Hongyao of the Tiger Guard liked to paint herself as various cats, while King Yan Zhi loved to paint himself as all kinds of colorful rabbits.
Some were split-colored, white, orange, or mottled. No one had heard of him liking rabbits or eating them—no one knew where the whimsy came from.
“Pfft...”
The bird’s disdain made Zhao Hongyao snicker.
“...”
Yan Zhi sighed helplessly and lifted the bird higher. “I’m not asking you to look at me, look down! See this beautiful landscape—doesn’t it look splendid?”
Below the city wall, the Luo River surged on, its thousand-mile stretch of mountains and rivers shimmering jade-green in the endless morning sun. If one hadn’t seen such beauty atop a mountain, who could understand the heart of a ruler?
Indeed, the land was like a painting that intoxicated the soul.
At the farthest edge of the view, a patch of fiery red flickered.
A blazing inferno—the largest granary of Marquis Yingzu of Yizhou.
Actually, it was only set ablaze after most of the supplies had been moved—the Xiliang people were always resourceful.
But future histories would only record: In the twelfth year of Tianxuan, King Yan Zhi of Xiliang burned nine million grains of supplies at Yingzu’s Youlan camp, leading to Yingzu’s defeat, and Xiliang’s unification of Yizhou.
...
Page 2/3

Luo Prefecture · Xiucheng City.
Yingzu led seventy thousand troops out but returned with fewer than five thousand. Though fifteen thousand elite soldiers remained in the camp, morale was low after such a defeat. He himself was tormented by the shame of being ambushed, fearful and restless each night.
But he did not yet know this was far from the bottom.
The next day, someone staggered in with news: Youlan City of Yizhou had fallen.
It was none other than the allied Xiliang forces—King Yan Zhi had launched a swift night raid, tricked open the gates, seized Youlan, and rapidly captured many surrounding cities. Now his cavalry was marching south toward Qianjun City, the capital of Yizhou.
A very bad premonition gripped Yingzu.
Only then did he suddenly notice that the alluring Xiliang courtesan who always whispered in his ear had disappeared.
“That wretched woman! She was...!”
It was over.
Completely over.
He suddenly realized: “We’ve all been played by that Yan Zhi!”
He, Suizhou, and the Tuoba tribe—
All had been tricked. Yan Zhi had merely offered them a small city’s crumbs, painted a grand picture of the rest of Luo Prefecture, and they had all fallen for it, unknowingly tailoring their own funeral shrouds for Xiliang!
“Youlan is lost, but the capital must never fall! All troops prepare at once—march back overnight and defend Yizhou to the death!”
But it was too late.
Not long after setting out, Yingzu received news that Qianjun City had fallen.
...
Another day passed.
At the city tower of Qianjun, Yingzu’s wife, children, and elders were bound. The great Xiliang banner fluttered, and General Zhao Hongyao, her cat-painted face wearing a large wolf’s head, shouted loudly: “Surrender now and your family will live!”
At that moment, Yingzu recalled many things.
His wife had followed him since youth, but as she aged and lost her beauty, he had scorned her. Half a year ago, after he killed Shao Zijian in the Tianchang battle, she tearfully pleaded: “Yizhou and Luo Prefecture depend on each other like lips and teeth; how can you betray your decades-long friendship with the Marquis of Luo under the sway of King Yan Zhi?”
He ignored her, calling her woman’s folly.
As she left, she lamented: “A fool like you will one day taste the same bitterness.”
Now her words had come true.
Yingzu gritted his teeth as he looked at the young white-haired man painted on the city walls, full of youthful arrogance. After a lifetime of honor and disgrace, he never imagined being toyed with by a younger generation!
To surrender like this would only earn ridicule in history. Thus, at least... he would die standing, refusing to become a prisoner!
“Father, please reconsider!”
His son pleaded beside him, but Yingzu’s will was set.
“Kill me! I’d rather die on the battlefield than surrender! Yizhou and Xiliang shall never coexist!”
Yan Zhi muttered: “...This man is mad.”
Even after years of scheming, one must know that victories and defeats are common in war. As long as you survive, there is always a chance to turn the tide. There have been those who rose in their sixties and became kings in their seventies and eighties. Such rashness was unwarranted.
Clearly, this man had reached his end.
...
This battle held no suspense.
Only the tens of thousands of ordinary soldiers were pitiful, buried in nameless graves for their lord’s pride.
Within two days, Xiliang had swallowed the capital and half the territory of Yizhou.
King Yan Zhi, a master of total conquest, pressed northward. Even the previously gifted Xiucheng was sent under siege by his sea eagle to General Shi Yuanliao of Tangsha, so he could retake it while Yizhou’s troops retreated.
Flap flap.
Several days later, Chanchan returned flying.
Yan Zhi read the letter, paused, then rubbed his forehead and laughed softly.
...Why was he not surprised at all?
Zhao Hongyao was well acquainted with some of King Yan Zhi’s expressions.
“What’s Lord Yuehua done now? Has he taken Xiucheng by chance? But how did he know...”
Yan Zhi only raised an eyebrow.
If it was Lord Yuehua, nothing he did would surprise him.
He was used to it.
“Never mind, the whole of Yizhou is bound to fall anyway. He’s only gained one city.” Zhao Hongyao patted him, “It’ll be recovered soon, right?”
Though she said that,
Why did the words, paired with her cat-painted lips curled into a smirk, seem so sarcastic and gleeful?
...
Mu Guanghan had been muddle-headed for days, haunted by a dream.
He dreamed of many cold, icy pasts.
Doubting life, he even doubted his own judgment of people back then.
What kind of people had he liked?
Fortunately, the dream ended with a hint of warmth.
Someone with very long hair, tied at the ends like a little tail. They smelled faintly of orchids.
That person liked to hug him from behind, their hot body holding him possessively, smiling as they kissed the nape of his neck, their hair tickling him gently.
“Good boy, hold me tighter.”
“Good boy” was a term from the Southern Yue dialect, reserved for one’s most beloved and cherished, not a comment on one’s temperament.
But one had to love someone so deeply to call them “good boy.”
In the dream, Mu Guanghan blushed silently, feeling absurd.
Though he had always wished for genuine love, he never expected to be spoiled. The term “good boy” made him want to hit someone, but because the other was so beautiful, he held back.
Though beautiful, he couldn’t quite see the person’s face clearly in the dream.
Yet he somehow felt they were a high-status but not particularly elegant beautiful bastard.
“Bastard” in Southern Yue had a meaning similar to “damned” or “scoundrel.”
When he awoke, tears streaked his face.
Mu Guanghan froze, hastily wiping them away.
Only delicate beauties like Ye Jintang could move hearts with tears; if he cried, it would only annoy people. Besides, it was just a ridiculous dream—no need to embarrass himself.
Page 2/3

The guard watching by the bed—no need to look at him with pity. Really, it was nothing!
Chu Danxi helped him up to take some restorative medicine, then lowered his gaze and said, “Master, we’re in Xiucheng now.”
Mu Guanghan momentarily relaxed.
They had taken Xiucheng! Qian Kui and A Ling had truly been obedient and reliable.
“Did you capture the inside man as well?”
“Yes.”
“Search thoroughly again; make sure none slip through.”
...
Two more days passed.
Mu Guanghan was completely recovered, acting as if nothing had happened.
Though “recovered” was relative—the poisonous marks crawling over him during full moon nights had not fully faded. His face and body were mottled blue and purple. He had to wear a full-face mask covered by a veil just to go outside.
“Cover more, don’t scare anyone.”
His tone was light, but Chu Danxi’s throat tightened. He recalled long ago, someone curled up in a dark room, hiding, “Don’t look at me...”
Now, he was open and unashamed, calm as the breeze.
Mu Guanghan was not without sorrow.
He had always been ugly, and now even fewer would like him. But he had no time to be sad today—
Because King Yan Zhi had caused him a huge problem, delivering a “big gift.”
Literally, alive.
Yingzu, alive.
Mu Guanghan laughed bitterly. This Yan Zhi was truly the most sinister and despicable man he’d ever met in his life!
Only Shao Xiaoling had been foolish enough to take an axe and try to “avenge his enemy.”
Mu Guanghan rolled his eyes and pulled him back.
“Think about it—why would Yan Zhi send him now? What’s his real intention?”
In the Tianchang battle, the Marquis of Luo had been betrayed by the combined armies of Yizhou, Xiliang, and Suizhou. But in the hearts of the Luo people, who was the implacable enemy?
Only one: Marquis Yingzu of Yizhou.
Whoever killed him was the enemy.
“If Yingzu dies by our hands, who do you think the remaining Yizhou loyalists, his clan, and other scheming nobles will blame?”
They would ignore Yan Zhi’s conquest of Yizhou and focus their hatred on the soft target, Luo Prefecture—‘you killed him, so you’re to blame.’ A perfect ploy to divert blame.
“For now, the best plan is to send him back, intact!”
Put aside national hatred and family grudges for now.
Letting him escape from Jade Valley before was a mistake; killing him now would be unwise. Even sending him back intact was a poor plan, given his age and the harsh journey. What if he died en route—who would be held responsible?
But better that he die on the road.
Better than having a hot potato die in Luo Prefecture. Imprison him? That would be humiliating—feeding and guarding an enemy, preventing poisonings and assassinations, and still letting Luo take the blame!
Mu Guanghan’s head ached.
Only a man like King Yan Zhi could devise such a treacherous scheme—despised by all, even birds wouldn’t eat him if chopped up.
“Caw—”
Just as he spoke of birds, the sea eagle flapped back.
The letter attached to it was official, talking about “knowing the deep blood feud with Luo Prefecture and sending this traitor for disposal...” and so on.
But the note tied to the bird’s leg was far more sincere.
A black ink drawing of a crooked, mocking smiley face.
Mu Guanghan recognized that smile.
Every time he saw it before, it meant he was not far from meeting King Yan Zhi.
Li Gouling said that on the day they captured Xiucheng, half an hour in, Xiliang’s strategist Shi Yuanliao arrived, furious at the city’s theft, shouting curses below the walls. But Li Gouling ignored him completely.
Of course, with Yan Zhi’s temperament, he wouldn’t personally punish someone just for losing a city.
Their mutual grievances and grudges were far deeper.
They were, unspoken but understood, major stumbling blocks in each other’s lives.
Such a significant threat should be extinguished early. Otherwise, if one grew stronger, it could bring disaster later. Better to cut the weed at the root than to fight a desperate battle down the line.
...
Is fresh pork belly really that delicious?
At least the bird thought so. After a few bites, it would flap happily in the sky. Truly joyful to the heavens.
After all, it was Yan Zhi’s bird—hadn’t the king ever fed it good things?
Mu Guanghan shielded his eyes from the glaring sun.
The back of his hand was bruised and purple. It was scorching hot today, and he was too lazy to wrap it up—let people be frightened if they must.
A nemesis is a bitter medicine that drives one forward.
Now his mind was filled with how to deal with King Yan Zhi; no time to lament his own ugliness. After all, while he wallowed in sorrow, Yan Zhi was relentlessly expanding.
If this continued, Yan Zhi would be the one to finish him in the end.
He could not afford to lose to him.
Mu Guanghan still did not reply to Yan Zhi’s letter.
There was a reason for this. Yan Zhi’s letters were either hideously ugly drawings or riddled with grammatical errors.
He... didn’t like communicating with illiterates.
Though Xiliang’s script was ancient and barbaric, most Xiliang people could speak and write Central Plains characters. Yan Zhi’s poor writing showed he was a barbarian who disliked studying.
Fine.
Whether he replied or not, Yan Zhi always understood his meaning.
The bird lingered with him for several days, growing so fat it could barely fly. One dusk, it finally left.
Mu Guanghan watched the brilliant sunset in the northwest sky.
“I’m waiting here for you.
A deadly fight to the end—no matter what, we’ll meet.”
Page 3/3