Chapter 15: The Noble Young Master
The sniveling Young Master Zhao wiped his tears with the back of his hand while muttering curses under his breath. His legs were so weak from fear that he nearly stumbled when dismounting.
A servant rushed to support him, asking, "Young Master, are you alright?"
Young Master Zhao kicked out angrily, "Do I look alright to you?!"
"That was truly terrifying just now," He Yan said with sincere remorse. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't insisted on racing with you, you wouldn't have been frightened." She bowed her head apologetically. "Please don't hold it against me."
Hold it against her? What could he even say? She was his savior—how could he possibly blame her? Young Master Zhao forced a smile, though resentment still simmered in his chest. When his gaze fell upon the culprit—his own horse, still peacefully grazing—his fury flared anew. With a wave of his hand, he barked, "This ungrateful beast nearly got me killed! Drag it out and slaughter it! I'll have it chopped into pieces and dried into jerky!"
He Yun Sheng frowned slightly, and He Yan's smile cooled.
To a military commander, a horse was more than just a mount—it was a comrade-in-arms, sharing life and death. Though they could not speak, they carried soldiers into battle. Though they could not communicate, they would mourn their fallen masters with sorrowful whinnies, even starving themselves to follow them in death.
They were loyal to their riders, just as their riders cherished them.
The pampered young master, having never witnessed the brutality of the battlefield, could never understand the bond between a soldier and his steed. To him, people were already divided by status—how much less regard could he have for a mere animal? Killing it was nothing to hesitate over.
"...This is a fine horse," He Sui interjected, attempting to mediate. "Young Master, please reconsider."
"This is my horse," Young Master Zhao sneered, seizing the chance to vent his anger. "I'll do as I please!" He drew a dagger from his waist, its blade glinting coldly. "Not only will I kill it—I'll do it right here!"
The dagger's hilt was inlaid with a pigeon-egg-sized ruby, and its sheath was crafted of gold, exuding extravagance. Now, its sharp tip was aimed at the unsuspecting horse, still peacefully grazing, flicking its tail in contentment.
Young Master Zhao's eyes gleamed with murderous intent, convinced this was the perfect solution. The horse had humiliated him—now, by slaughtering it on the spot, he could both vent his rage and reclaim some dignity, proving his decisiveness.
"Hold it down for me!" he roared at his servants.
He Yan's fingers twitched, her hand unconsciously moving toward the iron-headed staff at her waist.
She couldn't... she couldn't just watch this horse die because of her. But if she acted, what justification did she have?
The horse was quickly restrained by several servants. The lead servant turned and shouted, "Young Master, we've got it! Strike now!"
Young Master Zhao stepped forward, dagger raised high, its cold edge poised to slash down at the horse's neck—
Clang!
A crisp metallic sound rang out as something struck the ground. He Yan quietly retracted her outstretched hand. The dagger had fallen from Young Master Zhao's grip, and he now clutched his wrist, howling in pain.
"Who—who was that?!" he shrieked, hopping in agony but still managing to curse. "Who the hell shot me?!"
"It was me."
A voice answered from behind.This voice... He Yan's heart stirred slightly as she turned to look.
Behind her, two figures had appeared on horseback without her noticing. The youth on the left wore a round-collared, slanting robe in licorice yellow—a color that would overwhelm most, yet on him, it looked vibrant and lively. His lips were red, teeth white, his smile radiant, and his eyes clear and bright, carrying a rare childlike innocence. He was a spirited young nobleman.
As for the young man on the right... He Yan's eyes brightened.
It was spring, with willows fresh and green, ice and snow melted away. Amidst the city's vernal beauty, someone parted the blossoms and brushed past the willow branches, stepping forward as if treading on flowers.
The youth in yellow was already exceptionally handsome, but this man’s features were even more exquisite. His face was like fine jade, his eyes bright as stars. The shape of his eyes was gentle, yet the outer corners lifted slightly, like autumn waters reflecting light—a gaze that could stir hearts, yet his expression was as cold as frost.
Unlike the lively youth, he wore a silver crown, his dark hair cascading smoothly. His riding attire was the color of withered grass, with golden threads embroidering an intricate vermilion bird at the collar, exuding an imposing aura. His high boots were deep black, and at his waist hung a gleaming sword. Astride a white horse with golden reins, he stood tall and noble like jade. At the moment, his slender, well-defined fingers toyed with a dark green sachet, its contents tinkling softly.
What a peerlessly elegant nobleman, his grace rivaling the fragrance of orchids!
He Yan was silently marveling when suddenly, realization struck like lightning. She swiftly lowered her head, the white veil fluttering slightly, concealing her startled gaze.
Just then, the fawning yet fearful voice of Young Master Zhao rang out: "So it’s Commander Xiao... My apologies."
In He Yan’s mind, an image surfaced from many years ago—on a spring day just like this, with orioles singing and swallows dancing, in a courtyard of willows and swings. She had looked up in childish wonder as a handsome youth in white robes and embroidered boots glanced down from the treetops. Even his impatience couldn’t overshadow his striking presence.
The spring light was lazy, the breeze and sunlight dazzling. He was like a jade figure from a painting, dimming the city’s spring splendor.
Xiao Jue, Xiao Huaijin—her adversary in a past life, her former classmate, and the illustrious Right Army Commander, General Feng Yun.
Jue: second tone.
Uncle has appeared—are you all still lurking? [frowns]
(End of chapter.)
OpenNovel