Chapter 58

Under the breaking light of dawn, a fierce wind swept through billowing smoke, and a hawk soared across the gray clouds.

Xie Ci strode forward quickly.

The repeated baptism of war had forged his presence into something as cold and unyielding as the tip of a silver spear—decisive, relentless, his cheeks stained a dark red, his shoulders broad and back straight, filling out the weighty black armor. He was becoming more and more like his elder brother, Xie Hua, in those days.

Xie Ci had acted on impulse.

But he felt not a shred of regret.

No matter how carefully he considered, how rational he tried to be, it was all an illusion. In the end, Xie Ci realized he was not as forbearing as he’d imagined. He refused to distance himself; in the desperate moment of battle, his only thought was that, even if he died, he wanted to die by her side.

Of course, her safety outside was a blessing.

But if his soul were to drift east of the Clear Mountains, alone and solitary, he feared he would wander forever, unable to find her again. Once, he had been afraid she would see the depths of his feelings, that they could never return to what they’d been. But now—let her see. Xie Ci had no regrets!

After thirteen days of upheaval and life-or-death struggle, by the end, he was running on reckless courage and burning blood, ready to risk everything.

Xie Ci’s state of mind underwent a tremendous change. Enough thinking—so be it! He closed his eyes, then opened them again: “Where is Lu Xinyi?”

Xie Feng’s body was covered in wounds, the lower edge of his armor nearly shredded, one side of his face caked with dried blood—not clear if it was his own or another’s—but at these words, a surge of hot blood rushed through him. He fell to his knees with a slap, crying, “Master, are we to avenge our old master and the eldest young lord?!”

Xie Ci looked east, to where the peaceful darkness of dawn still veiled the distant turmoil. He replied, “Yes.” His voice, worn raw and dry from thirteen days of battle, now brimmed with a thirst for blood.

All this time, Xie Ci had never forgotten the moment, imprisoned in the central capital, when he learned his father and brother had been dismembered. The agony had frozen his blood to ice.

From stumbling out of the Iron Gate Temple’s outer prison to this day, he had finally reached the eve of taking vengeance with his own hands.

Lifting his gaze, a depth of hatred burned in Xie Ci’s eyes like never before.

He turned and walked back quickly.

Whatever Xun Xiao knew, he, too, understood. The man they’d captured was in his hands, but the two prisoners, unable to endure torture, had recanted again and again; neither could withstand a public trial.

Even the matter of falsely accusing and executing generals before battle could bring Lu Xinyi down.

But none of these were what Xie Ci truly desired.

Lu Xinyi had framed his father and brother for collusion with the Northern Rong.

What Xie Ci wanted most was to return the favor—have Lu Xinyi die in disgrace, condemned for the very same crime!

The first rays of morning pierced the lingering haze, casting light over the blood-soaked plains. Xie Ci said quietly, “Lu Xinyi must be desperate now; let’s give him a push.”

Lu Xinyi indeed found himself precisely as Xie Ci had predicted—uneasy and flustered. He had risked everything to salvage the situation, only to be doused by Lord Lin’s cold water. He was consumed by rage, but defeat was defeat, and there was nothing more he could do.

As the war neared its end, all hidden dangers were about to surface. Years of careful maneuvering might be swept away in an instant. Everything he’d tried so hard to protect might be lost.

Lu Xinyi agonized over it repeatedly. After the war, he would likely be demoted; then, Xie Ci, Qin Xian, and others would have no trouble acting against him.

Once the pursuit was handed off to the second wave of reinforcements, he returned to camp and immediately sought out Lord Lin.

The main forces were already arriving at the former Wei encampment. Supplies and troops, once the situation at Qing Shui and Long Mountain passes became clear and the alerts lifted, also moved onto the battlefield to help pursue the defeated Northern Rong army.

Lord Lin, too, had arrived, currently stationed in the hastily restored Wei camp.

“Lord Lin! You must help me this time!” Lu Xinyi paced anxiously, like an ant on a hot pan.

“You think I don’t want to help?” This time, Lord Lin truly did not wish to abandon him. Lu Xinyi was the greatest of their party within the northern army. Only now had Lord Lin learned of Lu Xinyi’s execution of the generals, and he was furious: “In front of everyone, with no proof—killing generals, even under the pretense of military urgency, is still a grave offense!”

“I wish I could help you, but can I?”

With Feng Kun’s arrival, holding the imperial edict, Lord Lin, the temporary governor of the Northwest, was immediately sidelined. Under Feng Kun’s watchful eye, there was little room for maneuver. Too much interference would only taint him.

Last night, Lord Lin and his trusted advisors discussed through the night and concluded: Lu Xinyi must be abandoned. Lu Xinyi knew too much, but as for Xie Ci—let that be dealt with later.

With Feng Kun abruptly turning his spear, tension between the two factions reached a breaking point; Lord Lin could not afford to hand over any leverage. At last, he said, “No matter what happens, I will see your wife and children cared for.”

Lu Xinyi’s heart turned to ice.

He was filled with fury, wanting to rage, wanting to laugh bitterly. If he hadn’t made that fateful decision for the sake of the battle, how would he have ended up like this? “Heh…”

He laughed coldly, turned on his heel, leaving all the anger behind in the tent.

The rolling smoke of battle was dissipating under the wind. Standing before the battered gates, facing the ruined field, the stabs of pain in Lu Xinyi’s waist, legs, and face reminded him of unbandaged wounds.

“General, what should we do?” Chen Fen had returned, standing just outside the tent, hearing everything. He was visibly anxious.

Lu Xinyi sneered, “Figure it out yourself.”

When fury and desperation reached their limit, Lu Xinyi grew cold inside. Glancing at the anxious Chen Fen, he realized he could only try with all his might to save himself now. Lu Xinyi lowered his gaze. “Take a blank map and go find Hu Yande.”

Driven into a corner, Lu Xinyi had no other recourse. Only if the Northern Rong provided "intelligence" at the right moment—proving the two generals had indeed committed treason—could he clear himself of blame for his own bodyguards and the deputy’s actions.

A military map was the highest secret, of immense value. If Hu Yande could deliver, Lu Xinyi would hand over the real northern border map: “Proof for proof, the map for evidence.”

Forced by desperation, Lu Xinyi finally risked everything.

Xie Ci gave a cold laugh: “Send word to Liang Fen and Feng Yu—pursue the Northern Rong king’s forces, coordinate for a pincer attack.”

As the battle reached its end, Xie Ci all but took over Lu Xinyi’s command. The prestige of the Xie clan far exceeded Lu Xinyi’s, and he lived up to the name.

Once the order was passed, Liang Fen and Feng Yu hesitated only a moment before obeying.

At last, the Northern Rong army was routed. Their king, Hu Yande, struggled to regroup his forces, refusing to withdraw through Malian Pass or return north, stubbornly resisting. When the two sides clashed by the royal banner, Xie Ci captured Chen Fen alive.

The moment the news arrived, Lu Xinyi’s last hope was dashed. He knew how slim the chances had been. Now that this final sliver of hope was gone, it was as if ice from beneath a glacier filled his veins, freezing even his blood and teeth.

He stood rigid for a moment, then burst out laughing—whether at himself or others, it was impossible to say. When the laughter faded, he overturned everything in the tent, then called out, “Someone, bind my wounds and bring fresh armor.”

On the second day after the battle, the seventh day of the fifth month, scattered rain washed the smoke and dust from the plains. But the overcast sky loomed, gray clouds drifting and dispersing.

Evening fell early; pinpricks of lantern light and campfires rekindled life in the Wei army’s main camp. Gu Wan arrived at Xie Ci’s tent, smiled, nodded to Xie Ping, and after a moment’s hesitation, knocked gently on the doorframe.

“Xie Ci?”

She hadn’t meant to come. Her careful strategy had collapsed after Xie Ci’s confession—a grief-tinged kiss after the battle. Yet she was also relieved that everyone was safe. Her feelings were complicated, and she didn’t yet know what to do next. Just now, Li Yi had sent her a message.

—Once Chen Fen was captured, he was immediately sent to Feng Kun. The action was swift, no major moves before the war’s end, but Lu Xinyi’s men had been thoroughly replaced, and Lu Xinyi himself was under house arrest. Li Yi reported him as seriously injured and sent word to Gu Wan: tell Xie Ci—they could execute Lu Xinyi.

Gu Wan called out, then lifted the curtain.

A single lamp glowed, and Xie Ci sat alone behind his desk, leaning against the chair, silently turning a thumb ring in his hands.

The oil lamp’s light barely reached beyond its circle. The tent felt vast, empty, cold. The thumb ring Xie Ci played with—Gu Wan recognized at a glance—it had belonged to Xie Xinchong.

Brought by Xie Yun not long ago, Xie Xinchong had worn it for many years, and it was still stained with blood—likely from his throat.

Gu Wan dared not dwell on it, unsure what Xie Ci felt, seeing those stains as he turned the ring over and over. Normally so alert, tonight he didn’t sense her presence until she lifted the curtain.

He stood, forcing a faint smile, and after hearing Gu Wan’s message, gripped the ring tightly.

Staring at the flickering flame, he exhaled a long breath, then turned to Gu Wan. Only then did she notice his eyes were slightly red. Xie Ci struggled to suppress his surging emotions and whispered, “A’Wan, will you go with me?”

No matter how complicated her feelings, in that instant her heart softened. Gu Wan felt a pang of sadness and nodded. “All right.”

Xie Ci closed his eyes, then slid the ring onto his right thumb, fastened his goose-feathered saber to his waist, and said, “Come, let’s go now.”

He strode swiftly out of the tent.

They were not alone. Qin Xian, half paralyzed, upon hearing the news, struggled up from his couch, supported by Su Zhen and Kou Wenshao, stumbling along the road.

He was determined to confront the traitor—if not for Xie Ci, he would have killed Lu Xinyi himself.

The drizzle gradually faded, leaving the earth wet and muddy. Xie Ci walked forward, step by step.

On the seventh day of the fifth month, this was the Dragon Boat Festival rain. If not for the upheaval that had overturned his life, Xie Ci would now be at home in the capital, eating sticky rice dumplings with salted egg yolk.

The family would never all be together—father and brother often in the north—but dumplings had already been sent to them. Unless duties intervened, they would always eat the same festival treat.

But now, to share the same dumplings could only be done with offerings on the road to the underworld. Before killing Lu Xinyi, Xie Ci yearned to ask him: why?

He had known Lu Xinyi since childhood; he had called him Uncle Lu. Whenever his own father was present, so was Lu Xinyi.

Unlike Xun Rongbi, Lu Xinyi had little patience for children; he didn’t even hold his own, but when he saw the brothers, he’d grumble and scoop them up under the arms, pretending to be annoyed.

He and Xie Xinchong were not blood brothers, but closer than if they were, far closer than with Xun Rongbi—together in everything, sharing the same fate.

So from the beginning, if not for vested interests, neither Qin Xian nor Zhao Heng would have doubted him, nor would Xie Ci. How had things come to this? When had it all changed?

That Lu Xinyi would send father and son of the Xie family to their deaths was almost unbelievable.

Xie Ci halted suddenly, lifting the curtain of the main tent.

Within the vast command tent, all the maps and military documents had been cleared away, the screens removed. The space felt empty but for a few tables, chairs, boxes, and a single bare bronze mirror.

Lu Xinyi had shed his armor, wearing only his ordinary blue-black checked robe and a matching headscarf. At a glance, he looked more like a scholar than a military officer.

He sat quietly at the table. With the screen gone, his seat was reflected in the large bronze mirror. For a moment, gazing at his own image, Lu Xinyi seemed to see his younger self.

Xie Ci’s eyes darkened. From youth, Lu Xinyi had loved blue clothes with checked patterns—his customary attire for years.

There had been so many times: Xie Xinchong in blue or black, Lu Xinyi in blue, always trailing behind, talking and laughing. Xie Ci had even been a little jealous—his father, always stern, would laugh more with Uncle Lu than with anyone else.

He had once confided in his mother. She had hugged him and explained: this is brotherhood, as close as sleeping foot to foot. His father had no blood brothers, but Uncle Lu was his true brother.

How, then, had things come to this?

The sound of the curtain startled those inside. Lu Xinyi turned sharply, seeing Xie Ci, Qin Xian, Chen Yan, and other familiar yet distant faces.

Xie Ci’s features were as cold and sharp as a winter frost, with a blade-like severity, but now fully grown—his broad brow and eyes so striking, it was as if Xie Xinchong had returned to life.

Lu Xinyi’s heart trembled.

He laughed hysterically, slapping the table, tears streaming down his face. But the laughter soon turned to sobs: “Aren’t you curious? Why did I betray your father? Why send them to their deaths?!”

The tears would not stop, yet he laughed madly, hoarse: “Because they were doomed to die anyway!!”

He was determined to live—he could not die with them!

Xie Xinchong had been dead more than two years, but at his name, Lu Xinyi’s emotions overwhelmed him—he was not as unmoved as he appeared.

In the end, as his life’s work fell to pieces, he broke down, voice raw: “I tried to persuade him, over and over, to let go of his stubbornness! He would die otherwise! But he wouldn’t listen! He even hit me—”

Lu Xinyi pointed to a scar at the corner of his mouth. “See this? He gave it to me!”

They had quarreled countless times in private, even coming to blows—Lu Xinyi had lost two molars to a punch. “I don’t blame him. Hit me if you want. But my father was dead—I couldn’t die with him!”

Lu Xinyi’s body shook with cold laughter. “We fought for our lives, on the front lines. All these old scars—who among the northern generals doesn’t have them?”

This cut deep—Xie Ci’s fists clenched.

Lu Xinyi slumped into his chair. “I warned him repeatedly: the court now rules the military with civil officials. No more rotating generals into the capital—no more path for advancement. I begged him not to petition anymore; he would only make enemies. But he wouldn’t listen!”

In the past, border generals rotated in and out of the capital. When Xie Ci was young, his father and Xun Rongbi took turns—one in the capital, one on the frontier. But Lord Lin, hungry for sole power, destroyed anyone who could rival him and abolished the rotation system, instituting civil control over the military.

Lu Xinyi pointed outside. “Ask any of the commanders out there—they all admired him, but still kept silent.”

Their silence was for their own interests. Lord Lin’s aggression worried them, but with the old military system collapsing, many places had already resorted to hiring mercenaries disguised as regular troops.

Under Lord Lin’s tongue, the court issued orders allowing for recruitment as necessary, and soon after, new decrees for local fundraising and tax allocation, or appointing military governors as regional officials.

With constant generals and constant troops, the military governors now held all the power—military, civil, and economic. Xie Xinchong saw the dangers; though he could have become the greatest of them all, his loyalty to the state drove him to petition the court repeatedly, hoping to prevent the center from losing control.

He was a fool!

One order destroyed any hope of advancement—who could accept that? Only Xie Xinchong. Anyone else would have been ousted long ago.

Lu Xinyi fought for composure, sneering: “And what did he get in return?”

Did anyone see his loyalty? They only saw him as a stubborn obstacle!

Lu Xinyi laughed bitterly. He saw He Yuan and He Rong behind Xie Ci. “Disaster relief grain—do you think we embezzled it? Never! The court never sent enough! We barely had enough for ourselves, let alone for Guiyi Prefecture!”

That’s why he’d begun smuggling—to trade with the Northern Rong for rare gems and gold, to exchange with southern merchants for grain. Without it, he couldn’t even feed his troops!

But your father found out and was furious—demanded I confess and accept punishment! I refused, cut off my own little finger, and only then did he believe me. That’s when resentment took root.

He both loved and hated Xie Xinchong—enraged by his stubbornness. “Do you know how my father died?” he cried.

He pointed to himself, suddenly wild: “The court never tolerated those who held power too long—he was too stubborn. The Emperor hinted he should abandon the Crown Prince for the third prince, but he refused!”

The old Emperor was nearly seventy, on the throne nearly forty years. For the first decade, there was still a retired Emperor—father against son, brother against brother. When that ended, the cycle of factional struggle continued. At first, the Emperor wanted Xie Xinchong to support the Crown Prince—he did so, out of loyalty. But when the Emperor changed his mind, Xie Xinchong defiantly knelt in the throne room, refusing to switch sides.

Tears streamed down Lu Xinyi’s face: “Do you know what pressure Qin Xian endured to get you grain from Lingzhou?”

You’re lucky to always have people on your side. My father had no one—

His voice choked with grief. “My father died in the Yuhping Rebellion, his guts spilling out, and they still accused him of incompetence!”

It wasn’t true! His father had tried to salvage the battle till his last breath, yet was condemned with false charges.

Lu Xinyi shouted, “What have three generations of the Lu family done for the Li dynasty? For what?!”

Lu Jingzhao and Xie Xinchong were the same—Lu Jingzhao died in the end.

Lu Xinyi was Lu Jingzhao’s own son, but in the end, it was Xie Xinchong who inherited his will. “I tried to persuade him countless times, but he was beyond hope!”

With bitter hatred, Lu Xinyi said, “Emperors are heartless, the court rotten from top to bottom—men like us are not allowed to survive! Refuse to change, and you die!”

“My father died, and I refused to die with him!”

Your father chose death—I would not follow.

Deep feelings had soured; they walked opposite paths. Lu Xinyi’s eyes were blood-red. Now, his greatest regret was not being ruthless enough, not changing soon enough. He should have eliminated Xie Ci and Xie Mingming to prevent future trouble, but at first, did nothing when Xun Xun offered.

When the battle turned, his first thought had been to save the situation, not himself. If only he hadn’t executed those generals, none of this would have happened.

The contest between him and Xie Ci was not yet finished.

He felt his wounds crack open, blood soaking the bandages, old injuries flaring with new pain—a torment that kept him awake night after night.

He had done so much—men with bodies full of scars seldom lived long anyway. If others wronged him, was it so wrong to try to secure something for himself?

At this final moment, what rose up from memory was Xie Xinchong’s face, etched deep in his heart, coming to him in dreams—fragile, agitated, appearing when least expected.

Lu Xinyi had no regrets, but the pain within was unbearable.

At last, he told Xie Ci: “About your father—it was Zheng Shoufang who first hinted at smuggling, Lord Lin and his son who contacted me, and together we orchestrated it.”

Lord Lin and his son, thwarted by Xie Xinchong, wanted total control of the capital’s military and devised the end of rotating generals. Even that wasn’t enough; they targeted Xie Xinchong directly.

Of course, for all the resentment, what finally made Lu Xinyi resolve to act was an unexpected secret letter from Zheng Shoufang’s confidant.

Pressing a clasp on his belt, Lu Xinyi snapped open a bronze buckle, pulled out a small copper tube, and tossed it to Xie Ci.

Xie Ci opened it—and his blood ran cold. There was a private seal he couldn’t quite place, but the paper was unmistakably imperial—Jade Spring paper, pure white, reserved for the Emperor alone.

To use it without permission was a crime equal to wearing dragon robes.

Xie Ci had seen such paper only in imperial decrees and edicts received by his father.

On the narrow jade slip were a few words: “Find a way to remove the loyal and brave Duke Xie Xinchong.” Lu Xinyi laughed through his tears. “Only then did I realize Zheng Shoufang was one of the heads of the internal security.”

He held military power so long, yet still could not act at will. Would they keep him in the end?

Lu Xinyi wasn’t sure if Zheng Shoufang had deliberately given him the tube, but he knew that if he kept following Xie Xinchong, he would die too.

So, in the end, he proved by his actions that he had cut ties with Xie Xinchong. He just hadn’t expected to die by Xie Ci’s hand in the end.

Lu Xinyi laughed bitterly: so be it. “Kill me—avenge your father!”

In the dim tent, unlit but for the faint daylight stirring the curtain, Lu Xinyi looked at Xie Ci—now as tall and broad as his father and brother, the light falling across his face as he slowly lifted his head from the secret letter, breath burning, frozen in place.

This was Xie Xinchong’s own son. Save for the simple-minded Fifth Brother, the last one.

Lu Xinyi no longer knew what he felt, but as he spoke, tears poured down. In his mind, he saw the young Xie Xinchong, and his own father, Lu Jingzhao.

Would you still serve the court? This world has no place for loyalty and righteousness. If you are like your father, you are doomed.

A slant of light etched a long black shadow behind him. Xie Ci stood rigid. Lu Xinyi straightened his robe and said, “Take up your sword and kill me.”