Jingrong held Muruo’s corpse, that ice-cold armor stained with blood.

Time passed—who knows how long.

Not until Muruo’s body gradually grew cold did Jingrong finally release him.

Lowering his gaze to look at that pale face.

Jingrong spoke in his ear: “Muruo, I will avenge you.”

Saying this, he gently laid Muruo’s cold body on the ground.

That man who day and night treated wine as his companion would never wake again.

Jingrong clearly remembered how he would always say the same thing—that he wasn’t drunk!

Indeed!

In truth, Muruo had never been drunk.

He had always been clear-headed.

How Jingrong wished that one day, he could still converse freely with him beneath the moon.

But now everything had become an impossible dream!

Because for anything, there are no “what ifs.”

Jingrong slowly rose and pulled out the sword Muruo had thrust into the ground.

Cold light flashed!

At the same time, fresh blood from the sword dripped down along the blade!

Staining red the grass on the ground.

Making one shudder.

The surrounding soldiers all made no sound—more accurately, they dared not make a sound.

Jingrong’s bloodshot eyes stared intently at the long sword in his hand. In his heart, like a flame continuously burning, it scorched his body, his blood boiling within him.

He shifted his feet and turned to look.

His gaze fell upon the captured Ji Huan.

Ji Huan looked at him with immense astonishment.

Even now, he still hadn’t recovered!

He couldn’t believe Jingrong was still alive. Having jumped into the River of the Dead, how could he possibly still be standing here?

Moreover… he had brought so many troops.

Where had these troops come from?

His mind was filled with countless questions!

Just hoping Jingrong would explain it all to him one by one.

Jingrong, holding Muruo’s long sword, walked before him, his eyes filled with bloodthirsty killing intent.

As if he wanted to flay him alive.

Or even dismember him into eight pieces—it wouldn’t be surprising!

Yet that impulse was hidden between Jingrong’s stern brows, brimming with towering rage!

Yet desperately suppressing it.

“You…” Ji Huan stared wide-eyed at him, his body seized by others, completely unable to move.

He didn’t intend to struggle either, and in his gaze toward Jingrong was not a trace of regret or plea for mercy.

In fact, Ji Huan was just like Ji Li—stubborn! And unafraid of death!

Jingrong approached him, his eyes sharp and cold.

Ji Huan opened his mouth to ask: “Why are you unharmed?”

Why?

His heart was confused.

Jingrong spoke in a low tone: “I too thought I would die. But Heaven opened its eyes and let me retrieve this life.”

“Impossible!”

“Are you disappointed?”

Of course!

Ji Huan gritted his teeth, his body leaning forward as he said: “You should have died! Actually, that day I should have killed you with my own hands. I should have used your head to make offerings to my eldest brother.”

In the end, Ji Huan’s heart was still filled with hatred.

It could not dissipate!

Though Jingrong’s eyes were full of killing intent, he still maintained his current composure, saying: “You may never have that chance again.”

“Hehe.” Ji Huan laughed once, his gaze sweeping around at those soldiers. “Then these troops? Where did you obtain these forces?”

“You couldn’t possibly not recognize the troops from the Northwest Frontier?”

What?

The Northwest Frontier?

Ji Huan trembled violently, looking around. Those people surrounding him—he saw that on the armor on their arms was carved the character “Kong.”

Ah!

Ji Huan immediately understood.

“They’re… Kong Qu’s troops?”

That man stationed at Yicheng in the Northwest Frontier who, for his merit in saving the emperor, was enfeoffed by the late emperor as “General of Cavalry and Chariots”—Kong Qu.

Despite all Ji Huan’s calculations, he had still missed this move!

“But how could you possibly mobilize troops from the Northwest in just these few short days?” He remained puzzled in his heart.

Jingrong’s eyes flickered with a ghostly cold light. “Since you want to know, fine. I’ll let you die with understanding. As early as the day we deployed troops to Houliao, I had already secretly sent word to the Northwest, borrowing ten thousand troops from Kong Qu for emergency use!”

Complete understanding!

Ji Huan laughed coldly, with a measure of wretchedness, and said: “Jingrong, all of this was personally ordered by the Emperor. He wants you dead!”

Wei Yi wanted him dead!

What cruel words.

What a cruel decision!

Jingrong furrowed his sword-like brows, his eyes filled with bloodshot veins, saying: “If only I had been a bit more ruthless back then, today, this Western Sai grassland wouldn’t have become like this. Now, I cannot let this continue any further.”

Hmm?

What did he mean?

Ji Huan’s eyes widened: “Are you going to rebel?”

Jingrong said: “This realm was mine to begin with—what rebellion is there to speak of?”

Ah!

Ji Huan was momentarily stunned, not from fear, but because of these words from Jingrong.

He digested this for quite a while, his face revealing an expression of facing death.

Then he grinned with wolf-like fangs, utterly fearless, raising his head to look at Houliao’s azure sky.

He laughed loudly.

“In the end, I miscalculated by one move!”

The two soldiers gripping him released their hands.

His entire person collapsed downward.

Jingrong said: “For the rest of your life, you’d best not bear the surname Ji.”

Having spoken.

Jingrong raised the long sword that belonged to Muruo in his hand and struck down at Ji Huan.

Immediately, the head fell to the ground!

…

This war had finally ended!

But the Western Sai grassland was already riddled with wounds, never able to recover its former spirit.

Atop a hill.

Stood a gravestone.

Written on it: Muruo and Tang Si.

A joint tomb!

The epitaph’s characters were carved by Jingrong himself for Muruo and Tang Si.

The assembled people stood before the gravestone, saying nothing.

Jingrong had not removed his armor, holding two swords in his hands—one his own, one Muruo’s.

After a long while—

He thrust Muruo’s sword into the ground beside the gravestone.

“Muruo, in our next life we’ll continue as brothers!” His hand touched that ice-cold gravestone.

The chill raced swiftly through the fine lines in his palm, also chilling his entire body.

Ji Yunshu, looking haggard, held in her arms the infant still in swaddling clothes.

The infant was already asleep.

That delicate little face had some of Muruo’s heroic spirit, and also some of Tang Si’s playfulness.

Ji Yunshu looked at the gravestone before her.

Thinking of long ago…

At that time, he and Muruo were outside a ruined temple.

Muruo sat in the corridor outside, one foot propped up, leaning against a pillar with his head tilted back drinking wine.

In the sky, inky light spread. Through the threads of rain flowing down from the tiles, it fell dimly upon his shoulders.

Appearing somewhat desolate.

Ji Yunshu silently walked over, sitting down across from him, raising her head to watch the continuous rain.

She said: “Green plums ripen in season, rain falls endlessly, in a small boat, a gentleman drinks wine.”

The corners of her mouth held a smile, and in her deep eyes flowed a woman’s gentle warmth like water.

Muruo laughed once.

He poured a mouthful of wine into his mouth. “So Master Ji is not only excellent at solving cases, but also quite good at composing poetry.”

“A few simple verses—anyone could compose them.”