"Mother?"
The youth in the pool of blood suddenly turned his head, gazing at the woman sitting high upon her horse. The northern wind swept across the land, and a heavy snowfall instantly descended, swirling and drifting like cotton floss. The woman was dressed in white, purer than snow, her flowing sleeves like clouds, her jet-black hair cascading down her back like the finest Huai Song silk. Though nearly forty, her face, as pure as a white lotus, appeared remarkably youthful. Her eyes were as gentle as a mountain spring atop a snowy peak, and even the faint crow's feet at the corners of her eyes exuded a serene tenderness.
The woman dismounted gracefully and walked to Yan Xun's side. The guards on either side seemed stunned, not one stepping forward to stop her. She cradled Yan Xun's head, gently wiping the blood from the youth's face with her pristine sleeve, and offered a warm, mist-like smile. "Xun'er."
Tears instantly streamed down Yan Xun's cheeks. The youth who had not even flinched before thousands of soldiers now broke into loud, heart-wrenching sobs. He clutched her sleeve tightly and cried out, "Mother, why? What has happened?"
"Xun'er," she whispered tenderly, wiping the blood from the corner of his eye, "do you trust your father?"
Yan Xun nodded through his sobs. "I do."
"Then do not ask why," the woman said, holding her child as her calm eyes swept over the nobles on the execution platform. "In this world, not everything can be explained. Just as a tiger eats a wolf, a wolf eats a rabbit, and a rabbit eats grass—there is no reason to be found."
"Mother!" Yan Xun abruptly turned, his cold gaze fixed on the lavishly dressed nobles, his voice icy and deliberate. "Is it them? Did they destroy Yanbei?"
The youth's eyes were as sharp as ice, piercing through the swirling snow in an instant. For a moment, every noble of the empire shuddered simultaneously. They watched the ethereally beautiful woman, who smiled faintly and wiped the tears from her child's eyes. "Xun'er, do not cry. The children of the Yan family shed blood, not tears."
"General Meng, allow me to identify the bodies. Those above are my husband, my son, my daughter, my kin. I believe there is no one in this world more qualified than I to do this."
Meng Tian's brow furrowed deeply, dark currents churning in his eyes. Gazing at the woman's flower-like face, the empire's most iron-willed soldier found himself speechless. Tumultuous memories surged through his mind like a tidal wave. He remembered that early spring, when he, Shi Cheng, and the man whose name could no longer be spoken had encountered this transcendent woman by the clear waters of Biantang's lake. They were so young then. The girl, poling a boat, wore a lake-green dress, her pants rolled up to reveal calves as white as jade. Laughing loudly, she called out to the three dumbstruck youths, "Hey! You three tall ones, want to come aboard?"In the blink of an eye, thirty years had passed—so many storms of blood, so many battles and steel blades, so many cunning schemes. The three of them had stood shoulder to shoulder, carving a path through the thick, dark mist. Back then, perhaps they never imagined that thirty years later they would face such a fate. Had they known, would they still have shared joys and sorrows, stood united as one, and risked life and limb together? Could it be that everything they did in the past was only to prepare them to raise their swords against each other one day and strike off each other's heads?
Meng Tian let out a slow sigh and said in a low voice, "You shouldn't have come."
"He said he wouldn't restrict my freedom in the capital. As long as I don't leave Zhenhuang City, no one will stop me. General Meng, this is a royal decree—you cannot defy it. Just as when you led troops to slaughter your way into Yanbei, whether you were willing or not, you did it."
The woman lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped onto the high platform, one step at a time. Her movements were so light, yet her footsteps on the ground seemed unbearably heavy.
"Mother!" Yan Xun cried out in alarm, immediately rising to his feet to rush forward. But before he could take a single step, he suddenly collapsed to the ground, letting out a pained groan.
Seeing this, Chu Qiao instantly broke through the circle of soldiers who were no longer blocking her and rushed forward. She supported Yan Xun's body and asked anxiously, "How are you?"
Snow fell thick and fast, the north wind howled, and eagles cried mournfully. The ground was littered with blood, tattered flags, and overturned braziers. Thousands of eyes were fixed on the woman's back as she ascended step by step toward the Nine Nether killing ground. The long wind lifted her dress, making it flutter as if about to take flight, like a white bird hovering in the gale.
The woman's fingers brushed against the first golden box. The man's dashing brows were stained with blood, a dark red that did not appear particularly ferocious. His eyes were tightly shut, as if he were merely asleep. His nose was tall and straight, his lips pressed together, as though he had something to say but had ultimately been unable to speak. The woman gazed at her husband, her fingers gently stroking the empty space below, as if a majestic body still lay there. She did not cry but tilted her head and smiled tenderly, saying softly, "This is my husband, the hereditary feudal lord of Yanbei, the twenty-fourth generation descendant of Emperor Peiluo, the Grand Marshal of the Northwestern Army of the Empire, the five hundred and seventy-sixth memorial tablet in the Chengguang Ancestral Temple of Shengjin Palace, the Prince of Yanbei who guarded the west—Yanshicheng."
Snowflakes settled on the woman's brows, temples, and hair, but they did not melt. Her face was somewhat pale, yet her voice remained gentle. Her eyes, clear as water, rested on the head of the King of Yan, as if he might open his eyes at any moment and smile at her. Her hand traced his face, and near his ear, there was a small scar—seemingly many years old, almost invisible if one didn't look closely.
"This scar here was from a sword wound at the Youwei Gate of Shengjin Palace during the Canglan King's rebellion. That year, the Emperor was ambushed and forced to consume wandering soul grass, leaving him weak and powerless. Shicheng and General Meng fought their way in from the eastern and western gates to rescue him. Shicheng was the first to find the Emperor, who was still the Crown Prince at the time. Carrying the unconscious Emperor on his back, he alone broke through the encirclement of three thousand troops at Shengjin Palace. He suffered over thirty blade wounds on his body and hands, and it took him half a year to recover enough to walk again. That year, he was just seventeen years old.""This," the woman's hand brushed over a distinct red scar on her chin, continued, "was left from the Battle of White Horse Pass. In the 447th year of the Baicang Calendar, the empire held ancestral worship ceremonies at Yaoshui. All noble elders of the Elder Council and imperial relatives were present. Yet the King of Jinjiang chose this moment to betray the empire, colluding with the enemy to open the Baicang Pass and allow the Quanrong People to enter. Three hundred thousand Quanrong troops surrounded Yaoshui. Upon learning this, Yanshicheng led his forces from Yanbei, riding seven days and seven nights without removing his armor or leaving the saddle, never resting day or night, charging at the forefront to lift the siege at Yaoshui. Your emperor swore on the spot atop the White Horse Pass at Yaoshui that the empire and Yanbei would remain sovereign and subject for generations, never abandoning each other. Most of you here were present at that time."
The imperial ministers below immediately grew restless. Those dust-covered memories were suddenly unearthed, exposed under the broad daylight. Their dim, aged eyes seemed to see again that afternoon many years ago, the setting sun bleak as blood, the lion banners of Yanbei roaring in the wind, annihilating the Quanrong barbarians without leaving a single fragment behind. Back then, they were all still young, and had excitedly crowded around to pat that young man on the shoulder, laughing heartily while drinking strong liquor.
"This," she continued, "was cut by your own hand at noon on the sixteenth day of the fourth month, on the Fire Thunder Plains. General, you are in your prime, strategizing and making decisive judgments in warfare. You cannot fail to recognize your own sword. Would you not know whether this wound was made by you, whether this person is Yanshicheng?"
Meng Tian was suddenly rendered speechless, his face turning ashen green, unable to utter a word.
"I confirm that this person is my husband, Yanshicheng, the Prince of Western Pacification of Yanbei, without any falsehood." With that, a loud bang was heard as the woman slammed the golden box shut, then turned to walk toward the next box.
"This is my son, the hereditary sub-king of Yanbei, twenty-fifth generation descendant of Emperor Peiluo, Northwestern Pacification Commissioner of the empire, the 577th memorial tablet in the Chengguang Ancestral Temple of Shengjin Palace, Yanting, eldest son of Yanshicheng, Prince of Western Pacification of Yanbei. He was twenty-one years old, enlisted at thirteen starting as a low-ranking soldier. Over eight years, he was promoted twenty-four times, repelled sixty-seven invasions by the Quanrong People, and achieved countless military merits of all sizes. He received seven commendations jointly from the empire's Shengjin Palace and Elder Council. At eighteen, he was appointed as Pacification Commissioner, leading troops to guard the empire's northern borders, never once failing. On the fourteenth of April, he was trampled by ten thousand horses at Xunlie Plateau, his head and face rendered unrecognizable, leaving only bloody pulp."
"This is my son, the hereditary sub-king of Yanbei, twenty-fifth generation descendant of Emperor Peiluo, Deputy Northwestern Pacification Commissioner of the empire, the 578th memorial tablet in the Chengguang Ancestral Temple of Shengjin Palace, Yanxiao, third son of Yanshicheng, Prince of Western Pacification of Yanbei. He was sixteen years old, enlisted at thirteen, following his father in battles north and south. He campaigned three times against the northern barbarians, fought on the front lines, vowed to serve the country unto death, never retreating a single step. He bore over forty blade wounds, all sustained for the people of Yanbei. On the sixteenth of April, he was struck by a catapult from the western expedition army, his spine shattered, legs severed, bleeding to death.""This... this is my daughter." The woman's voice suddenly choked with sobs. The head in the golden box appeared pale and swollen, as if soaked in water, with purple blood clots at the corners of her eyes and nostrils. "Yanbei's hereditary princess, twenty-fifth generation descendant of Emperor Peiluo, five hundred and seventy-ninth ancestral tablet in Shengjin Palace's Chengguang Ancestral Temple, Yanshicheng - the Guardian Prince of Western Yanbei's eldest daughter Yan Hongxiao. On April sixteenth, she rode to rescue her kidnapped mother. While crossing the floodwaters of Wei River, she was intercepted by Mu He Xitian's troops from the Fourth Field Army of the Western Expedition Force. After being gang-raped to death, her body was dumped into the floodwaters."
The snowstorm suddenly intensified, the woman's voice growing more mournful, her face increasingly pale. Each word seemed to be spoken through blood and tears. The howling wind swirled with flying snow as countless Eagle Vultures fluttered their wings in unison, beating against the dark, low-hanging sky alongside the fluttering Black Dragon Battle Flag.
"These are all Yanbei's soldiers. They have betrayed their lord and country - they are treacherous rebels. General Meng, carry out the execution!"
The massive bronze cauldron was carried up to the Nine Nether platform, flames roaring fiercely. Meng Tian frowned deeply before finally speaking in a heavy voice: "Carry out the execution!"
Twenty golden boxes were immediately thrown into the giant bronze cauldron. Yan Xun's eyes suddenly blazed like fire, a beast-like scream tearing from his throat as he tried to stand and charge forward. Imperial guards rushed forward to block his path while Chu Qiao desperately clung to Yan Xun's body. The stubborn youth could no longer hold back, tears streaming down his face. Held in the child's embrace, the young man let out mournful cries, kneeling on the ground as he punched the stone slabs of Golden Wings Plaza with bloodied fists, unaware of his bleeding wounds, his terrifying screams echoing through the air.
The woman turned to look at the fiercely burning bronze cauldron, her restrained tears finally falling. She reached out to gently touch the scorching cauldron surface, her expression full of sorrow, then turned back to gaze tenderly at her son below the platform before speaking slowly to Meng Tian: "Brother Meng, tell him not to forget what he promised."
Meng Tian trembled violently. This address of "Brother Meng" instantly transported him back thirty years. No amount of heartbreaking words had moved him, but this simple form of address made the man's hands shake uncontrollably. He stepped forward as if in a nightmare, murmuring: "Bai Sheng..."
But at that moment, the woman in white suddenly turned with Meteor-like speed and smashed her head against the bronze cauldron!
"Bai Sheng!" "Mother!" "Ah!"
Great cries of shock erupted simultaneously. On Golden Wings Plaza, thousands of people screamed together as they watched blood gush like a spring from the woman's forehead before she slumped against the cauldron and collapsed.
"Quick! Quick! Summon the imperial physicians!" Meng Tian held the woman's body, his resolute expression finally breaking as he panickedly shouted orders to the guards below.
"Mother!" Yan Xun stumbled up the Nine Nether platform and threw himself upon the woman, roughly pushing the general aside as he cried out loudly.
Heaven and earth raged together, nature itself mourning as distant thunder rumbled and northern winds wailed sorrowfully. Amid the swirling snow, the woman slowly opened her eyes to look at her child's face. Her gentle smile only prompted more blood to spray forth."Mother!" Tears streamed down Yan Xun's face as his hands touched blood everywhere. He cried out in despair, "Why? Why must it be this way? Father is gone, elder brother is gone, all our relatives are gone—must you leave Yan Xun too? Mother! Why?"
The woman's tears fell slowly as she struggled to raise her hand and grasp her child. "Xun'er... promise me you'll live on, even if life becomes worse than death. You must live. Don't forget, there are still many things you haven't accomplished."
"Mother!"
The woman's eyes grew unfocused. Lying on the dark Moran stone, her white robes blossomed with bloodstains like fiercely blooming winter plums. Her plain face resembled orchid grass, so pale it seemed almost transparent. She gave a faint smile, her voice barely audible as a mosquito's hum: "I always thought my greatest love was for the green cliffs of Biantang, where there is no winter, no snow, no seasons, no autumn or winter. But now I know I was wrong. Everything I love most is in Yanbei. Now I'm going back to find them."
Suddenly, she seemed to see clear skies beyond layers of dark clouds, the distant grasslands of Yanbei. A bright-eyed man galloped toward her on horseback, his voice piercing through the sunlight, echoing across the green pastures as the distant mountains echoed in unison, calling with his voice: "A Sheng..."
"A Sheng, I want to give you all the finest things between heaven and earth. Tell me, what do you love most?" The man laughed heartily from his horse.
Fool, I already possess the finest thing between heaven and earth long ago—our home, our child, and our Yanbei.
Her wrist fell limply. A piercing northern wind suddenly swept over Zhenhuang like a blade. Eagle Vultures soared fiercely against the wind, their black feathers scattered by the gale, swirling down with the raging snow!
"Mother!" The youth clutched the woman's body, his eyes bloodshot, instantly plunging into endless, prolonged darkness!
An eight-year-old child stood protectively beside him, small fists clenched tightly, her face pale and bloodless. The bitter wind swept fiercely, blowing the disheveled hair from her eyes. She suddenly lifted her head, her gaze sharp as she looked toward the Shengjin Palace in the north—solemn, majestic, and imposing, filled with overwhelming authority and oppression.
That day, a sharp thorn was brutally driven deep into the child's heart. She clenched her fists, pressed her lips together, and remained silent for a long time. Yet a seed took root in her mind, carved by time and nourished by storms—one day, it would grow into a towering ancient tree with lush branches and leaves!
Amid the wind and snow, funeral bells tolled continuously. Within the majestic Cheng Guang Ancestral Temple of Shengjin Palace, a black figure slowly turned and walked step by step along the lengthy corridor into the heart of Daxia. The flickering lights cast a long shadow behind him.
OpenNovel