Yin Zhan said nothing. He lifted the wine jar and raised it in a distant toast to Ji Heng, then tilted his head back and drank it completely dry.

Ji Heng raised his cup in return with a smile. His movements were elegant and composed, completely different from Yin Zhan’s rough boldness. Two entirely different styles, yet there was a strange harmony between them.

“Yin Zhili should be preparing to raise troops by now.” Having finished a cup of wine, Ji Heng set down his cup and asked casually, “Let me think—tonight aside from me, you have the Empress Dowager in the palace. His Majesty is like a tiger with pulled teeth, at your mercy. Yin Zhili raises troops from Qingzhou, using the Yangtze as the boundary. Even if he can’t capture Yanjing for now, he can establish a new dynasty as Southern Yan. I just don’t know what Prince Xia’s title will be. Will this emperor be Prince Xia, or will it be Yin Zhili?”

Yin Zhan’s expression didn’t change. He smiled and said, “If I live, I’ll do it. If I die, my son will do it!”

“Then why don’t you guess—will you live or die tonight?”

His trailing tone remained gentle. In the tense atmosphere, only he remained completely at ease. Yin Zhan said, “What does the Duke think?”

“Before leaving, I cast divination. The hexagram said surviving great calamity doesn’t necessarily bring future blessings.” Ji Heng said lightly, “I think at least I won’t die tonight.”

Yin Zhan said with a laugh, “The Duke is always so confident.”

Tonight in this red pavilion, murderous intent filled the air. Who knew how many ten-sided ambushes would be staged? Yet even knowing it was a trap, both had to willingly come. Because only when they mutually served as bait, risking themselves in danger, would there be a possibility of approaching each other. And the reason they were willing to take risks and come was for only one purpose—to put the other to death. As long as the other lived, neither could rest easy.

A thorn in the eye and flesh must be pulled out cleanly and decisively. If they failed to pull it out and died here, that would be dying in a worthy place. At worst, both would be injured and perish together.

Yu Ji walked outside the tent, tilting her head back to sing: “Seeing the King sleeping fully clothed in the tent, I come outside to disperse my melancholy. Lightly stepping forward, I stand in the desolate wilderness. Suddenly looking up, I see the azure sky with bright moonlight. Look—clouds gather in the clear sky, the ice wheel just emerged, what a fine autumn scene!”

Ji Heng raised his cup, looking at the wine in his hand, and said indifferently, “If I don’t die, tonight I’ll first kill Prince Xia, then use the Empress Dowager’s life to threaten Yin Zhili. Yin Zhili will walk into the trap himself, and then I’ll kill Yin Zhili. As for the Yin family’s troops, those who surrender will be absorbed, those who don’t will be eliminated.”

“The Duke is too young and thinks too simply. I use my life to pave the way for my son. My son definitely won’t walk into a trap because of the Empress Dowager. Moreover, you underestimate Roujia too much.” He sighed lightly, like a kind elder hearing words from a junior who didn’t know better, half amused and half explaining. “As for my Yin family’s troops, not one will surrender.”

“Then it’s even simpler.” Ji Heng smiled faintly. “I’ll first kill you, then kill the Empress Dowager, then kill Yin Zhili, and finally kill all one hundred thousand Yin family soldiers.”

“The Duke should beware of too much killing karma.”

Ji Heng raised an eyebrow. “So what? I’m a person with a hard fate.”

Then silence.

Yin Zhan opened another jar of fresh wine and tilted his head back to pour it down.

Yu Ji sang with a long melodious voice: “I alone think and ponder in this place, suddenly hearing Chu songs from within the enemy camp. Alas, wait! How can there be Chu songs from within the enemy stockade? What is the reason for this? I think there must be something suspicious about this matter. I should enter the tent and inform the King.”

With a flick of his fingers, without even looking, several pearls from Ji Heng’s fan flew down from the second floor, continuing to land in that jade-green porcelain bowl. The pearls against the jade created a lustrous flowing light.

Yin Zhan laughed freely. He said, “Enough talk—drink!”

Ji Heng picked up the wine pot.

One elegant, one rough and bold. One composed, one unrestrained. It was indeed a fine scene. All the guests at the table were quiet, as if the world had suddenly fallen silent. Only the people on the stage tirelessly performed joys and sorrows, partings and reunions.

This was an ambush and assassination both understood from the start. Each knew the other had backup plans, just not knowing when it would begin or end.

Until Yin Zhan drank the last jar of wine. He held the jar in one hand, his smile hearty and handsome, as if still that fearless General Zhaode on the battlefield from years past. Yet in that very instant—

He suddenly struck out toward Ji Heng!

Ji Heng seemed to have sensed it early. His movement playing with the folding fan didn’t change at all. His entire body and chair moved backward, exactly avoiding Yin Zhan’s blade!

In an instant, all the guests at the table rose up. With crashes and clangs, they all began fighting among themselves. In the center were Yin Zhan and Ji Heng—one in coarse armor, one in flowing red robes. Neither could overcome the other.

Yin Zhan’s weapon was a blade. The blade looked extremely heavy, the hilt carved with a ferocious wolf’s head, yet when he wielded it, it was light as a feather. He looked down on Ji Heng’s golden silk folding fan and laughed heartily, “Nephew, your weapon is far too feminine!”

Ji Heng smiled faintly. “As long as it works.” As the fan opened and closed, it swept past Yin Zhan’s side. Yin Zhan’s face immediately bore an additional bloody mark.

He wiped away the blood unconcernedly and said, “This hidden weapon is truly vicious!”

“After all, Uncle’s despicable methods have already been experienced by my parents. As a nephew, I dare not be careless.” Ji Heng replied lazily.

The blade’s gleam was like silver snow, making even the wolf head seem full of killing intent. Probably because it was a blade that had accompanied Yin Zhan to battlefields, with countless souls fallen beneath it, the blade itself was like a fierce demon. Yet tangling with the blade was a magnificent fan. The blade edge injured people, the fan wind also injured people. After several exchanges, both bore wounds.

The actors below the stage were singing: “My lady, what do you know! Previously, heroes from all regions fought separately. I could extinguish one place, then occupy another. Now all forces have united their strength to attack. Here at Gaixia, with few troops and no provisions, we absolutely cannot defend. Although the eight thousand sons and brothers are fierce and strong, they have all scattered. When I lead troops out to battle with those thieves, victory or defeat is uncertain. Alas, my lady! Looking at this situation, this is the day you and I must part!”

Pearls entered the jade bowl, gold fell onto the silver tray. Yin Zhan gave a great shout, and from the red pavilion above, from behind several beaded curtains, dozens of armored soldiers leaped out simultaneously. Ji Heng smiled. “Uncle’s despicable nature truly doesn’t deceive me.”

“The waves behind the Yangtze push the waves ahead,” Yin Zhan also said. “All’s fair in war—take this blade!”

Ji Heng also laughed once. With this laugh, as if mocking, from the upper floors and from within the beaded curtains, young men in brocade robes and jade belts appeared in unison.

He had a killing move—but didn’t Ji Heng as well?

Yin Zhan’s face showed no particularly surprised expression, as if he had anticipated this moment long ago. The two of them indeed both understood clearly what the other wanted to do. It was merely a matter of whose luck was better, whose fate was harder. Ji Heng was ruthless, but wasn’t Yin Zhan the same? Someone who could act against his own flesh and blood, who could betray and murder his own sworn brother and friend—how could he be softhearted?

The red pavilion was instantly filled with the sounds of blades and swords. All those blooming lotus candles toppled to the ground. The snow-white wool carpet had long been covered with human blood. Bodies lay in all directions, flesh and blood flying. And in the center, those two people, each strike aimed to kill, refusing to rest until death.

“Nephew is still several decades younger than me.” Yin Zhan laughed. “Even if you’re supremely clever, you’re still somewhat softhearted.”

“The same to you,” Ji Heng smiled softly. “Compared to me, you seem to have more weaknesses.”

Yin Zhan’s smile stiffened slightly. His weaknesses—Lin Roujia was his weakness. Yin Zhili was also his weakness. He truly had quite a few weaknesses. In comparison, Ji Heng was heartless and ruthless, truly without any close ones. Even his only grandfather, he wasn’t particularly warm toward. Perhaps now there was one more—Jiang Li—but this was also a gamble. No one knew how much Jiang Li was worth as a bargaining chip.

He hoped to kill Ji Heng. Ji Heng’s existence posed too great a threat to Yin Zhili. As long as Ji Heng died, Emperor Hongxiao wasn’t worth fearing, and the world would be within their grasp. But today when he saw Ji Heng, he knew he couldn’t walk out of here alive. This child had lain in wait for decades with frightening patience, and the debt he sought to collect was inescapable.

But even if he died, he would clear all paths for Roujia and Yin Zhili! He would take Ji Heng to hell with him—he would perish together with Ji Heng!

On stage, Yu Ji sang softly: “I advise the King to drink wine and listen to Yu’s song, dispelling your melancholy with this dance. Tyrannical Qin without virtue broke the empire, heroes from four directions rose in rebellion. The ancient saying doesn’t deceive me—success and failure, rise and fall happen in an instant. Drink at ease sitting in this precious tent.”

Yin Zhan, entangled with Ji Heng, revealed a strange smile and shouted loudly, “Burn it!”

That torch, the carefully prepared torch shaped like a fantastical beast, was thrown without even a glance onto the hanging red curtains. Immediately towering flames shot skyward. The pavilion was a wooden structure—the second floor instantly became a sea of fire.

“You truly don’t plan to return alive,” Ji Heng smiled mockingly. “Even burning your own escape route.”

“As long as I can kill you,” Yin Zhan answered, “even if I die, it’s worth it.” His blade thrust directly at Ji Heng. Those subordinates entangled in combat could escape, but on the second floor, Yin Zhan firmly blocked Ji Heng’s steps, preventing him from escaping. Or rather, Ji Heng never intended to escape at all. His fan in the sea of flames traced out exquisite arcs, like a beauty’s graceful dance, or like the legendary assassin of kings, waiting only for the dagger to be revealed when the map unrolled.

The theater troupe actors on stage remained completely oblivious, as if they saw neither this towering fire nor the sparks falling from the second floor. They were singing the opera’s most spectacular scene. Yu Ji said, “Alas, Your Majesty! How could this concubine burden the King? If this campaign proves unfavorable, retreat to Jiangdong and plan again. I wish to use the precious sword at Your Majesty’s waist to kill myself before you, so you won’t worry about this concubine!”

The hero cried out painfully, “This… my lady… you must not seek such a short path.”

“Ai! Your Majesty! The Han troops have conquered the land, Chu songs sound from all sides. The King’s spirit is exhausted—how can this lowly concubine continue living!”

Chu songs from all sides, Chu songs from all sides! The path down to the lower floor had almost been consumed by fire. Where the two stood, flames were beginning to ignite beneath their feet. Fighting desperately in the sea of fire, their other subordinates were each locked in bitter combat, unable to spare attention to help. Both were covered in wounds, yet as if feeling no pain, they continued this tireless struggle, until the entire red pavilion burned to ashes.

Just then, from outside the red pavilion, another person suddenly charged in. This person carried wind and snow all over, white hair covering his head—whether from snow or from age, one couldn’t tell. He held a three-foot green-edged precious sword and headed straight for the second floor. His movements weren’t as agile as the young soldiers, yet were extraordinarily nimble. As if he simply didn’t see the towering flames, his back was resolute and determined, without the slightest hesitation.

In that sea of fire, Ji Heng’s fan slashed open Yin Zhan’s throat, blood flowing freely. Yin Zhan’s blade also wounded his back, soaking the red robes. Neither would give up. Yin Zhan laughed savagely, “Good nephew, since you and I won’t rest until death, why not go to hell together with me? Leave Northern Yan’s magnificent rivers and mountains for my son to enjoy alone!” At this moment, Ji Heng’s fan had precisely pierced his chest but hadn’t yet been withdrawn. He himself paid no attention to this. Instead, taking advantage of the fact that the fan hadn’t been withdrawn, he reversed his blade to stab toward Ji Heng’s back.

But he didn’t succeed.

In that moment, a figure was charging up to the second floor. Though aged and seeming vigorous on normal days, he tired easily. Having forced himself to charge into this sea of fire, he was already extremely strained. Seeing this situation, he only had time to push Ji Heng away. The precious sword in his hand thrust directly at the opponent.

Yin Zhan’s blade stabbed into his back. His precious sword pierced through Yin Zhan’s throat.

Yin Zhan fell with a crash.

“Grandfather!” Ji Heng cried out in shock.

On stage, the actor playing Yu Ji had already committed suicide. It had reached the final scene where the Hegemon King arrived at the Wu River. That peerless hero sang: “I am utterly defeated—what face do I have to see the elders of Jiangdong? Send my warhorse across the river and let it go free.”

Old General Ji fell to the ground. Blood flowed from Yin Zhan’s mouth. He only managed to make “heh… heh” sounds before his head tilted and he breathed his last, still wearing a strange smile on his face.

Ji Heng carried Old General Ji downstairs. Downstairs was also a scene of tragic death, bodies lying scattered everywhere. He held Old General Ji and gently placed him on the blood-stained wool carpet, calling, “Grandfather.”

His voice was trembling.

Old General Ji’s blood continued flowing ceaselessly from the wound, staining the snow-white carpet red. In his youth, campaigning on battlefields, he had suffered countless wounds. How many times had he walked before the King of Hell’s palace and returned unscathed? He was always vigorous and spirited, his smile flying. Even though the Ji family had encountered so many inexplicable calamities, even though the rest of his life was spent guarding the lonely Duke’s manor, he never took it to heart.

He should have been shouting at people full of vigor: “Quick, find a physician for this old man!” As if he absolutely wouldn’t die, as long as a physician came to treat him, he would surely stand up quickly again and still be that cheerful old child in the Duke’s manor.

Yet his wound was so deep, the gaping hole shocking to see, as if it would drain all the blood from his body. Yin Zhan’s target for mutual destruction was Ji Heng. He gave Ji Heng no other path. The strike he made with all his strength, the strike exchanged for his own life—no medicine or divine power could save him now.

“Ah… Ah Heng…” Old General Ji called Ji Heng’s name.

Ji Heng grasped his hand.

“I know you resent me… When I was young, I clearly knew who was involved in this matter, clearly knew who killed Minghan and Hongye, yet I refused to avenge them. You’re the Ji family’s only descendant—I couldn’t let you be in danger. I endured for over twenty years, endured until you grew up, until Yin Zhan returned himself. I… I finally could avenge Minghan.” He spat out a great mouthful of blood.

Ji Heng looked at him. A tear dropped onto Old General Ji’s face.

No one had ever seen Ji Heng cry. This child seemed born unable to feel sadness, fear, or tears. It seemed that aside from his completely ignorant infant days, he never cried again. Even Old General Ji had never seen Ji Heng cry.

“Why cry…” Old General Ji smiled once. “Doesn’t seem like a man.”

After Yu Hongye died, Old General Ji had also investigated. The reason he didn’t let Ji Minghan continue investigating was that he felt after Yu Hongye entered the palace, her corpse mysteriously appeared at their own gate—this must have been done by palace people. He feared Ji Minghan would be impulsive and fall into others’ traps. But he didn’t know Ji Minghan couldn’t tolerate his wife being insulted and murdered, and would rather break with the entire clan than find the true culprit.

That night at Hongshan Temple, besides going himself, Ji Minghan also brought the seventy-two Red Sky Riders who followed him. When Yin Zhan’s archers ambushed them, all seventy-two Red Sky Riders were annihilated. The last survivor brought Ji Minghan back to hide him. A year later, he managed to contact Old General Ji and inform him of the truth. Several years later, that person died, entrusting his son to Old General Ji. That person was Wen Ji’s father.

Old General Ji knew the entire truth, but he could do nothing. Lin Roujia had already given birth to a child. He had no evidence. Most importantly, Ji Heng was young—once Lin Roujia became aware, she would act against Ji Heng first.

In the Ji family’s future, only Ji Heng remained. He couldn’t let Ji Heng make any mistakes.

Ji Heng grew up day by day. He was even cleverer than Old General Ji thought. From when he learned of his parents’ strange disappearance, he had been investigating. He must have discovered something—Old General Ji could sense it. Day by day he became gloomy and reluctant to speak, moody. From his youth onward, he no longer grew close to anyone. He obtained what he liked, but didn’t cherish it once obtained. He regarded human life as grass, appearing completely indifferent, yet actually clear-minded about everything.

“You blame me… Ah Heng, I’m sorry…” Old General Ji said. If not for his tolerance, Ji Heng wouldn’t have learned the truth so early. He entered hell through absolutely cruel means—this child was his own creation.

“I don’t blame you.” Ji Heng said softly. “If it were me, I would have done the same.”

Old General Ji looked at Ji Heng, looked for a very long time. He had never seen this child so gentle, without any sharp edges. He looked at him with eyes that could forgive everything.

“This sword…” He struggled to touch the precious sword beside him. “Qingming—this is my sword… also your father’s sword. You must protect it well.”

Yin Zhan’s subordinates had all been dealt with. Among those brocade-robed young men, quite a few would also never wake again. Zhao Ke and Wen Ji stood at Ji Heng’s side. They were also covered in wounds, yet remained silent and refused to speak, staring sadly at Old General Ji.

This old general was about to die.

Ji Heng grasped that sword, his voice so soft as if afraid to startle him. “Yes, Grandfather.”

“This opera… very good, very good.” As Old General Ji spoke, his gaze fell on the sky, as if something was there. He laboriously stretched out one hand, pointing distantly toward the sky, smiling. “Minghan, Hongye, my wife, you… you’ve come to receive me…”

That hand suddenly dropped. Old General Ji closed his eyes.

The corners of his mouth still held a smile, his expression very peaceful, as if very happy, or as if he had put down a burden of many years, finally relieved of a heavy weight in this moment.

Ji Heng knelt to the ground. Facing Old General Ji, he deeply kowtowed. He didn’t rise again, but remained prostrate on the ground, not rising for a long time. Whether he was weeping or unable to make a sound due to grief, one couldn’t tell.

Xiang Yu sang: “Alas! General! The eight thousand sons and brothers have all scattered. The Wu River has a crossing, but I cannot go. How can I face the elders of Jiangdong? Better to die and end this remnant life!”

He committed suicide. On the banks of the Wu River, this hero existed no more. The victorious sang: “Withdraw the troops!” Yet the audience felt no joy for this victory. No one applauded. The entire hall was silent.

This opera had ended.

On the table in the first row, gold ingots were stacked neatly and orderly on the silver tray—exactly filling one tray. White pearls were piled layer by layer in the jade bowl—exactly filling one bowl. This was the payment for this opera.

And also two human lives.

The vast fire blazed up, burning above the red pavilion like calamity clouds in the ninth heaven. The actors dispersed. This opera opened to a full house, but few heard it through to the end.

The general in the opera remained on the banks of the Wu River. The general outside the opera perished in the red pavilion, among jade rings and pearl surrounds. No one remembered the high aspirations of those years.

A general dying on the battlefield, upright and honorable—this was a good opera. A beauty committing suicide before the tent, with deep loyalty—this was a good opera. The victor sheathing his blade and withdrawing troops, returning triumphant to court—this was a good opera.

But of those watching the opera, only one person remained for the rest of his life.