“Mother?”
The youth in the pool of blood suddenly turned his head, looking toward the woman high on horseback. The north wind swept across the land, and a heavy snowfall instantly descended, drifting and sprinkling like white cotton fluff. The woman was dressed in white that outshone the snow, her sleeves flowing like clouds, her black hair cascading behind her like the finest Huai Song satin. Though nearly forty years of age, her face, like a white lotus, remained so youthful. Her eyes were as gentle as the clear springs atop snowy mountains, even the faint crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes appeared gentle and serene.
The woman dismounted gracefully, her movements light, and walked to Yan Xun’s side. The guards on both sides seemed stunned, with no one stepping forward to block her. The woman lifted Yan Xun’s head, using her pristine sleeve to gently wipe the blood from the youth’s face, smiling warmly like a wisp of cloud: “Xun’er.”
Tears instantly fell from Yan Xun’s eyes. This youth, who hadn’t flinched even when facing thousands of troops, suddenly burst into loud sobs. He tightly grabbed the woman’s sleeve, asking loudly: “Mother, why? What exactly happened?”
“Xun’er,” the woman gently wiped away the clotted blood from the corner of his eye, asking softly: “Do you believe in your father?”
Yan Xun nodded chokingly: “I believe.”
“Then don’t ask why,” the woman embraced the child, her peaceful eyes sweeping over each of the nobles at the execution viewing platform, saying softly: “In this world, not everything can have its reasons explained, just as tigers eat wolves, wolves eat rabbits, and rabbits eat grass—there’s no logic to it.”
“Mother!” Yan Xun suddenly turned his head, coldly looking at those nobly dressed aristocrats, enunciating each word icily: “Was it them? Did they harm Yan Bei?”
The youth’s gaze was as piercing as ice and snow, instantly cutting through the wildly flying snow mist. At that moment, almost all the imperial dignitaries simultaneously shuddered. They looked at the woman with her beautifully ethereal face like an orchid, only to see her smile faintly, wiping away the tears from the corner of the child’s eyes: “Xun’er, don’t cry. Children of the Yan family shed blood, not tears.”
“General Meng, let me verify the bodies. Those above are my husband, my sons, my daughter, my relatives. I believe that in this world, no one has more right to do this than I do.”
Meng Tian’s brows tightened, his eyes rolling with turbulent black undercurrents. Looking at the woman’s flower-like face, this most iron-blooded soldier of the empire suddenly found himself speechless. Those tumultuous past events rushed through his mind like a tide. He still remembered that early spring, when he and Shicheng, along with a man whose name could no longer be directly uttered, encountered the transcendent woman by the clear waters of Bian Tang Lake. At that time, they were all so young. The girl was poling a boat, wearing lake-green clothes, her trousers rolled up to reveal jade-white calves, laughing loudly at the three dumbfounded youths: “Hey! You three big guys, want to come aboard?”
In the blink of an eye, thirty years had passed—so much blood and slaughter, so many schemes and conspiracies. The three of them had fought side by side, cutting a bloody path through the thick black fog. Back then, they might not have known they would face such circumstances thirty years later. If they had known, would they still have shared their joys and sorrows? Would they still have stood as one? Would they still have risked their lives for each other? Was everything they did in the past only so they could raise swords against each other and cut off each other’s heads in the future?
Meng Tian slowly sighed, saying in a low voice: “You shouldn’t have come.”
“He said he wouldn’t restrict my freedom in the imperial capital. As long as I didn’t leave Zhen Huang City, no one would stop me. General Meng, this is an imperial edict, you cannot disobey it. Just as when you led troops into Yan Bei—whether you wanted to or not, you did it.”
The woman lifted the hem of her dress and walked up the high platform step by step, her movements so light, yet her footsteps landing on the ground seemed so heavy.
“Mother!” Yan Xun was greatly alarmed and immediately stood up, about to rush forward, but before he could take a step, he suddenly fell to the ground, letting out a painful groan.
Seeing this, Chu Qiao instantly broke through the circle of soldiers who were no longer restraining her, running forward in a few steps to support Yan Xun’s body, asking anxiously: “Are you all right?”
Heavy snow drifted down, the north wind howled, and eagles screeched mournfully. The ground was covered with fresh blood, tattered banners, and overturned fire basins. Thousands of eyes focused on the back of the woman walking step by step up to the Nine Abyss execution ground. The long wind lifted her dress, making it flutter like a white bird hovering in the wild wind.
The woman’s fingers touched the first golden box. The man’s sword-like eyebrows were stained with blood, a dark red, but it didn’t look particularly ferocious or frightening. His eyes were tightly closed, as if he were merely sleeping. His nose was high and straight, his lips pressed together as if there was something he wanted to say but never did. The woman looked at her husband, her fingers hovering lightly below as if there was still a majestic body there. She didn’t cry, but tilted her head, smiling tenderly, saying softly: “This is my husband, the hereditary feudal king of Yan Bei, the twenty-fourth generation descendant of Emperor Pei Luo, the Grand Marshal of the Imperial Northwest Army, the five hundred and seventy-sixth tablet holder of Cheng Guang Ancestral Temple in Sheng Jin Palace, the King of Yan Bei, Yan Shicheng.”
Snowflakes fell on the woman’s eyebrows and temples but did not melt. Her face was somewhat pale, but her voice remained gentle. Her eyes gazed at the Yan King’s head like water, as if he might open his eyes and smile at her at any moment. Her hand traced over his face. On his ear, there was a small scar, seemingly from many years ago, almost imperceptible without close inspection.
“This scar here was from when he was stabbed with a sword at the Hidden Door of Sheng Jin Palace during the Cang Lan King’s rebellion. That year, His Majesty was ambushed and poisoned with Ghost Soul Grass, leaving him weak. Shicheng and General Meng charged in from the east and west gates to rescue him. Shicheng was the first to find His Majesty, who was then still the Crown Prince. He carried the unconscious prince on his back and single-handedly broke through three thousand soldiers surrounding Sheng Jin Palace. He suffered over thirty sword wounds on his body and hands, and it took half a year of recovery before he could get out of bed and walk. That year, he was just seventeen.”
“This here was left from the Battle of White Horse Pass,” the woman’s hand brushed over a noticeable red mark on the chin, continuing: “In the 447th year of the Bai Cang calendar, the empire was paying homage at the ancestral temple of Yao Water. All the noble elders of the Council of Elders and royal relatives were present. But the Jin Jiang King chose this moment to rebel, betraying the country by opening the Bai Cang Pass to let the Dog Rong people in. Three hundred thousand Dog Rong troops surrounded Yao Water. When Shicheng heard of this, he led his army from Yan Bei, marching for seven days and seven nights without removing his armor or dismounting, day and night without rest, leading his soldiers personally to save Yao Water from danger. Your emperor swore on the spot at the White Horse Pass of Yao Water that the empire and Yan Bei would remain loyal to each other for generations, never abandoning one another. Most of you here were present at that time.”
A stir immediately ran through the imperial ministers below the platform. Those dust-covered past events were suddenly brought to light, exposed under the broad daylight. Their aging eyes seemed to see that afternoon many years ago—the sunset as pale as blood, the lion flag of Yan Bei roaring in the wind as they slaughtered the Dog Rong barbarians until none remained. At that time, they were all still young, excitedly crowding around to pat that young man’s shoulder, laughing and drinking strong wine.
“This, here, was cut by you, General Meng, at noon on the sixteenth day of the fourth month at Fire Thunder Plains. General, you are in your prime, commanding armies and making decisive judgments. Would you not recognize your sword? Would you not know whether this wound was made by you, whether this person is Yan Shicheng?”
Meng Tian was suddenly speechless, his face as gray as iron, unable to utter a word.
“I confirm that this person is my husband, Yan Shicheng, King of Yan Bei, without any falsehood.” After speaking, with a “bang,” the golden box’s lid was immediately closed by the woman, who then turned to walk to the next box.
“This is my son, hereditary prince of Yan Bei, twenty-fifth generation grandson of Emperor Pei Luo, Imperial Northwest Pacification Commissioner, five hundred and seventy-seventh tablet holder of Cheng Guang Ancestral Temple in Sheng Jin Palace, Yan Ting, eldest son of Yan Shicheng, King of Yan Bei. He was twenty-one this year, enlisted at thirteen, starting as a low-ranking soldier. In eight years, he was promoted twenty-four times, repelled the Dog Rong invasions sixty-seven times, established countless military merits large and small, and was jointly honored by the imperial Sheng Jin Palace and the Council of Elders seven times. At eighteen, he was appointed Pacification Commissioner, leading troops to protect the northern border of the empire, never failing. On the fourteenth day of the fourth month, he was trampled by ten thousand horses at Xun Lie Wall, his face unrecognizable, reduced to a bloody pulp.”
“This is my son, hereditary prince of Yan Bei, twenty-fifth generation grandson of Emperor Pei Luo, Deputy Commissioner of Imperial Northwest Pacification, five hundred and seventy-eighth tablet holder of Cheng Guang Ancestral Temple in Sheng Jin Palace, Yan Xiao, third son of Yan Shicheng, King of Yan Bei. He was sixteen this year, enlisted at thirteen, following his father in campaigns north and south. Three times he fought against the northern barbarians, killing enemies on the battlefield, vowing to die for the country, never retreating a single step. He had more than forty sword wounds on his body, all sustained by the people of Yan Bei. On the sixteenth day of the fourth month, he was hit by a catapult from the Western Expedition Army, his spine shattered, both legs cut off, dying from blood loss.”
“This, this is my daughter.” The woman’s voice suddenly became choked. The head in the golden box was pale and swollen as if soaked in water, with purple bloodstains at the corners of her eyes and nostrils. “Hereditary princess of Yan Bei, twenty-fifth generation granddaughter of Emperor Pei Luo, five hundred and seventy-ninth tablet holder of Cheng Guang Ancestral Temple in Sheng Jin Palace, Yan Hong Xiao, eldest daughter of Yan Shicheng, King of Yan Bei. On the sixteenth day of the fourth month, she rode to rescue her captive mother. When passing by Wei Water Hong Lake, she was intercepted by the Fourth Field Army of Mu He Xi Tian from the Western Expedition Corps, raped to death, and finally thrown into Hong Lake.”
The snowstorm suddenly intensified. The woman’s voice grew more mournful, her face paler. Each word seemed to be wept out in blood. The wild wind howled, snow swirled, and countless eagles flapped their wings together, battling alongside the fluttering black dragon battle flags in the pitch-black, looming sky.
“These are all warriors of Yan Bei. They betrayed their lord and country; they are rebellious ministers and thieves. General Meng, carry out the execution!”
A huge bronze cauldron was carried up to the Nine Abyss Platform, blazing with fire. Meng Tian’s brows were tightly furrowed, and he finally said in a deep voice: “Execute!”
The twenty golden boxes were immediately thrown into the giant bronze cauldron. Yan Xun’s eyes suddenly blazed like fire, a beast-like scream burst from his throat as he tried to stand up and rush forward. The imperial guards collectively stepped forward, blocking Yan Xun’s path. Chu Qiao firmly embraced Yan Xun’s body. The stubborn child finally could no longer hold back, tears pouring down. The youth, held in the child’s arms, cried out in anguish, kneeling on the ground, stretching out his veined fist to pound desperately on the stone slabs of the Golden Wing Square, unaware of his bleeding hand, screaming in a terrifying voice.
The woman turned back, looking at the roaring bronze cauldron, tears of bitter endurance flowing down. She reached out, lightly touching the hot cauldron, her face sorrowful. Then she turned back, looking tenderly at her son below the platform, and then slowly said to Meng Tian: “Elder Brother Meng, tell him not to forget what he said.”
Meng Tian’s body trembled. This simple “Elder Brother Meng” instantly brought him back thirty years. No heart-wrenching words could make him show the slightest emotion, but this simple address made the man’s hands tremble uncontrollably. He stepped forward, calling out as if in a nightmare: “Bai Sheng…”
But at that moment, the white-clothed woman suddenly turned, moving as swiftly as a shooting star, and smashed her head against the bronze cauldron!
“Bai Sheng!” “Mother!” “Ah!”
Great cries of alarm rose simultaneously. On the Golden Wing Square, thousands of people shouted at once. The woman’s forehead spurted blood like a fountain. Her hand clutched the cauldron as she softly collapsed.
“Quick! Quick! Call the imperial physician!” Meng Tian held the woman’s body, his steadfast expression finally gone, shouting in panic to the guards below.
“Mother!” Yan Xun staggered up to the Nine Abyss Platform, throwing himself onto the woman, forcefully pushing the general away, and shouting.
Heaven and earth roared in anger, and grass and trees grieved. Rolling thunder rumbled on the horizon, the north wind wailed on the ground, and heavy snow drifted down from all over the sky. The woman slowly opened her eyes, looking at the child’s face, smiling gently, only causing more fresh blood to gush out.
“Mother!” Yan Xun’s eyes shed tears. Everything he touched was covered in blood. He shouted desperately: “Why? Why must it be like this? Father is gone, eldest brother is gone, and all our relatives are gone, are you also leaving Yan Xun? Mother! Why?”
Tears slowly fell from the woman’s eyes. She struggled to raise her hand, holding her child’s. “Xun’er… promise me, you must live on even if life is worse than death, you must live on. Don’t forget, you still have many things left to do.”
“Mother!”
The woman’s eyes instantly became unfocused. She lay on the black indigo stone, her white clothes covered with blooming bloodstains, like fiercely blossoming winter plum. Her face was like an orchid, white to the point of transparency. She smiled gently, her voice barely audible, saying like a mosquito’s buzz: “I always thought what I loved most was the Qing Shan Cliff of Bian Tang, where there’s no winter, no snow, no four seasons in a year, no autumn or winter. But now, I know I was wrong. Everything I love most is in Yan Bei. Now I’m going back to find them.”
In a trance, she seemed to see the clear sky above the layers of dark clouds, to see the distant Yan Bei grassland, where that bright-eyed man rode on horseback, running toward her from afar. His voice penetrated the sunlight, echoing in the green grassland, with the distant mountains responding in unison, all shouting with his voice: “A-Sheng…”
“A-Sheng, I want to give you the best things in the world. Tell me, what do you like most?” The man sat on horseback, laughing heartily.
Fool, I already have the best things in the world—our home, our children, and our Yan Bei.
Her wrist fell weakly. The mournful north wind suddenly swept like a blade across the sky of Zhen Huang. Eagles flew angrily into the wind, the black feathers on their wings scattered by the hurricane, howling down with the blizzard!
“Mother!” The youth held the woman’s body, his eyes like blood, instantly falling into an endless, long night!
The eight-year-old child protected his side, her fists tightly clenched, her small face pale and bloodless. The cold wind came mournfully, blowing away the disheveled hair before the child’s eyes. She suddenly raised her head, her eyes fiercely looking toward the Sheng Jin Palace in the north. There, solemn and majestic, heavy and imposing, filled with overwhelming dignity and oppression.
That day, a sharp thorn was suddenly, forcefully planted in the child’s heart. She clenched her fists, pressed her lips tightly together, remaining silent for a long time. But a seed in her mind took deep root and began to grow, carved by years, watered by storms. One day, it would grow into a towering ancient tree with luxuriant branches and leaves!
In the wind and snow, the funeral bell rang continuously. In the majestic Cheng Guang Ancestral Temple of Sheng Jin Palace, a black figure slowly turned around, walking step by step along the long corridor into the heart of Great Xia. The flickering lights cast his shadow long behind him.