Time flowed and stars shifted, flowing clouds transformed, and atop the mountain peak once again stood two figures—one in black, one in white. The playful words of years past still echoed in their ears, yet those once carefree youths had quietly changed beyond recognition.
Now, one had become an unfathomable emperor, the other a general bearing humiliation and heavy burdens. Even returning to this old place, only layers of wariness and cold confrontation remained between them.
The Imperial Guards finally withdrew into the forest under Zhao Yan’s rebuke. Xiao Du shifted his gaze from those retreating figures, arrogantly lifting his chin and gripping the silver bow tightly in his hands.
The sunlight reflecting off the bow’s surface made Zhao Yan squint slightly, though he wasn’t worried that Xiao Du would harm him. He understood this man too well—even if he could disregard their past friendship, he still carried the burden of tens of thousands of lives from the Marquis residence and Xiao family army, and would never act rashly.
So Zhao Yan smiled slightly and said, “How did Chong Jiang know I would come here today?”
Xiao Du replied, “I merely guessed that on Your Majesty’s birthday, you would come to hunt on Zhong Mountain, so I took a shortcut and waited here in advance. Who would have thought it would disturb Your Majesty’s presence—surely Your Majesty won’t hold this against me?”
Zhao Yan pretended not to hear the sarcasm in his words, only showing a wistful expression: “Over ten years have passed in a flash. How carefree we were when we rode and hunted on this mountain—it all seems like yesterday.”
The mockery on Xiao Du’s face grew thicker: “At this point, why must Your Majesty put on such a pretense? I came today wanting to know only one thing—please, for the sake of our past friendship, tell me honestly: All these years, in all their scheming, did you participate or not!”
Zhao Yan hadn’t expected him to be so direct, and his expression became somewhat ugly. He only sighed deeply with profound eyes, but gave no answer.
From his expression, Xiao Du read the answer. Though he had considered this possibility thousands of times, at this moment he still felt his heart being cut by knives. He gripped the bow handle tightly, yet his fingers trembled uncontrollably: “Very good. You indeed knew everything. It really was you…” He bit down hard, unable to continue.
Zhao Yan suppressed the grief in his heart and turned to quietly observe Xiao Du. This was his blood brother—they shared the same blood. When Mother Empress had told him this news with a face full of hatred, his first reaction had actually been relief. So they truly were brothers—no wonder they felt such natural affinity and understanding. But Mother Empress had shattered his fantasy with a slap, pointing at him with blood-red painted nails and shrieking: “Remember this—this realm belongs to you, and no one else may covet it! That bastard should never have been born. He must die!”
Until the Battle of Pingdu Pass, when Mother Empress deliberately ordered Chancellor Xia to delay supplies, intending to trap Xiao Du to death in Shuyang City. He had knelt in her sleeping chambers begging for an entire night, hoping only that she would spare his brother’s life.
At dawn, Empress Dowager Xia emerged with her long robes trailing on the ground, her expression cold and indifferent. She held her head high without even glancing at Zhao Yan kneeling on the ground, merely taking him to a certain place.
It was Jingyang Palace, where the deposed Crown Prince had once lived. The desolate palace was indescribably cold and terrifying, with wild grass covering the blue bricks and no sunlight able to enter. Occasionally a few rats would scurry out, brazenly stepping over broken porcelain bowls and gnawing on unidentifiable insect corpses.
Zhao Yan felt coldness seeping up from his feet—he had never known such a terrifying place existed in the palace. Seeing his frightened eyes, Empress Dowager Xia said coldly: “This is where the former Crown Prince, your uncle, hanged himself. Back then, wasn’t he also one person below the emperor and above all others? In the end, what happened? Didn’t he still meet mutual destruction, dying at the hands of his own brother? Since ancient times, whose throne has come cleanly? Think carefully about whether you want the throne or this cold palace. Remember this well—if you show even the slightest softness, the one who dies will be you!”
Zhao Yan couldn’t remember how he fled in panic from Jingyang Palace. That night he had many nightmares—sometimes of Chong Jiang being disemboweled by enemies at the frontier, sometimes of himself with a fierce expression plunging a knife into his own heart. Finally he awoke from the dreams in a cold sweat, gazing at the deep, boundless night and silently telling himself: From now on, on this path of emperorship, he would have no friends and no brothers.
So Zhao Yan closed his eyes heavily, and when he opened them again, only indifference remained: “If it were possible, I too would wish to be brothers with you for life. Unfortunately, fate plays tricks on people, and I only did what had to be done.” He offered no further explanations for himself. Since he had chosen to climb onto that throne that could only hold one person, he had no right to speak of being unable to help himself.
“What about Yuanxi!” Xiao Du couldn’t help but burst out, his eyes reddening: “If you wanted to deal with me, why involve an innocent woman! She bears the Xia surname after all!”
Zhao Yan thought of that intelligent and stubborn woman and felt some reluctance, but only said lightly: “It wasn’t my idea, but I always knew about it. Mother Empress didn’t want you to father legitimate heirs, so she arranged very early to sacrifice a daughter of the Xia family to marry you, ensuring she would be incapable of bearing children.”
“Is that so?” Xiao Du struggled to suppress the desolation in his heart, saying coldly: “How could you guarantee I wouldn’t divorce her and marry another wife?”
Zhao Yan smiled bitterly: “They didn’t expect you to discover this so quickly. The dosage of medicine they used should have been extremely difficult for imperial physicians to detect. But even if you divorced and remarried, they would certainly have ways to respond. I suspect Chancellor Xia would seize the opportunity to create difficulties and find ways to deal with you.”
Xiao Du said no more, only staring at him for a long time before suddenly setting down his silver bow and bowing with hands tucked in his sleeves: “Thank you, Your Majesty, for your honest account. Today being Your Majesty’s birthday, shall I present you with one more grand gift?”
Seeing the cold gleam in his sleeves, Zhao Yan’s heart turned cold and he quickly stepped back. But then he saw Xiao Du drag out a tiger-hide cloak from the bushes behind him. He stared in amazement—he could see clearly that this cloak was made from the hide of the Tiger King they had captured together that day. Xiao Du’s hand flashed with cold light, and in an instant he split the tiger hide cleanly in half. Then Zhao Yan heard him say word by word: “Since this tiger hide was hunted by Your Majesty and me together, it was wrong for me to keep it all. Today I return half to Your Majesty. From now on, we owe each other nothing.”
Zhao Yan struggled to maintain his surface composure, but when he saw that tiger hide split in two with his own eyes, he still couldn’t help but feel his eyes grow moist. That had been a birthday gift won for him with a life—he seemed to see those days of fine clothes and spirited horses, of sincere treatment, all severed along with it.
Cutting robes and severing righteousness—never to return!
Xiao Du paid no attention to the emotion in his eyes, only shouldering his half of the tiger hide and mounting his horse. Suddenly remembering something, he raised his riding whip and cracked it in the air: “However, Your Majesty can certainly put their minds at ease—in this lifetime, I, Xiao Du, will only have Xia Yuanxi as my wife. And all the harm they have inflicted upon her, I will personally collect retribution for!”
Zhao Yan jerked his head up to see Xiao Du’s tall figure blocking the sunlight, carrying an aura of looking down upon the world. In that moment, fear suddenly arose in his heart, and he almost wanted to immediately summon the Imperial Guards waiting in the forest to strike him down. But he knew all too clearly that if Xiao Du died, the frontier would surely fall into chaos, and the Xia clan would become even more unrestrained. So he couldn’t kill him yet.
Zhao Yan stood in uncertainty and suspicion for a long time, until the Imperial Guards came to ask whether to return to the palace. He regained his composure and mounted his horse, glancing at the half tiger hide on the ground and coldly ordering: “Useless thing—take it away and throw it out.”