The Double

Chapter 228: Ceasefire

Yin Zhan said nothing, lifting the wine jar to toast Ji Heng from afar before tilting his head back to drain it completely.

Ji Heng raised his cup with a smiling grace, his movements elegant and composed—a stark contrast to Yin Zhan’s rugged boldness. Two entirely different temperaments, yet they shared an uncanny harmony.

“Yin Zhili must be preparing to raise his troops,” Ji Heng remarked idly after finishing his wine, setting down the cup. “Let me think—tonight, aside from dealing with me, you have the Empress Dowager in the palace. The Emperor is like a tiger with its fangs pulled, entirely at your mercy. Yin Zhili will rise from Qingzhou, using the Long River as a boundary. Even if he can’t take Yanjing for now, he can establish a new dynasty as Southern Yan. I wonder, though, what title the Prince of Xia will hold? Will the Prince of Xia take the throne, or will Yin Zhili?”

Yin Zhan’s expression remained unchanged as he chuckled. “If I live, I will take it. If I die, my son will!”

“Then why not guess whether you’ll live or die tonight?”

His tone remained gentle, the only one composed amidst the tension. Yin Zhan asked, “What does Duke Su think?”

“Before leaving, I cast a divination. The omen said: ‘Surviving a great calamity does not necessarily bring future blessings.’” Ji Heng spoke lightly. “It seems, at least for tonight, I need not die.”

Yin Zhan laughed. “Duke Su has always been confident.”

Tonight, within this red mansion, dangers lurked at every turn—no one knew how many ambushes lay in wait. Yet even knowing it was a trap, both men had willingly come. Only by using each other as bait, risking their lives, could they draw close. And the sole purpose of braving such peril was to ensure the other’s demise. As long as the other lived, neither could rest easy.

A thorn in the flesh must be cleanly plucked. If they failed and died here, it would be a worthy death. At worst, both would suffer, perishing together.

Consort Yu walked outside the tent, lifting her head to sing: “I see my king asleep in his tent, fully dressed. Stepping outside, I stroll to dispel my sorrow. Lightly, I tread forward to the desolate wilds. Lifting my gaze, I behold the clear moon in the azure sky. Look—the clouds part, the bright moon surges forth. What a splendid autumn scene!”

Ji Heng raised his cup, gazing at the wine within, and said calmly, “If I do not die tonight, I will first kill the Prince of Xia, then use the Empress Dowager’s life to threaten Yin Zhili. When Yin Zhili walks into the trap, I will kill him too. As for your Yin family’s troops, those who surrender will be absorbed; those who refuse will be slaughtered.”

“Duke Su is too young and thinks too simply. I pave the way for my son with my life—he will not walk into a trap for the Empress Dowager. Moreover, you underestimate Rongjia too much.” He sighed softly, like a kind elder humoring an ignorant junior, half-amused, half-explanatory. “As for the Yin family’s troops, not a single one will surrender.”

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

“Duke Su should beware of accumulating too much bloodshed.”

Ji Heng raised an eyebrow. “So what? I have a tough fate.”

Silence fell.

Yin Zhan opened another jar of wine and drank deeply.

Consort Yu’s singing stretched on: “Alone here, lost in thought, I suddenly hear the songs of Chu from the enemy camp. Ah! Wait—why are there songs of Chu in the enemy’s camp? What could this mean? I suspect something is amiss. I must return to the tent and inform my king.”With a flick of his finger and without even a glance, Ji Heng sent several pearls from his fan flying down from the second floor, landing precisely in the emerald porcelain bowl below. The pearls gleamed against the jade-green surface, shimmering with light.

Yin Zhan laughed heartily and said, "No more talk—let's drink!"

Ji Heng picked up the wine jug.

One was elegant, the other rugged; one composed, the other unrestrained. It made for a striking scene. The entire hall fell silent, as if the world had suddenly gone mute, leaving only the performers on stage tirelessly acting out tales of joy and sorrow.

This was an ambush and assassination both had long anticipated. Each knew the other had backup plans, but neither knew when it would begin or end.

It wasn't until Yin Zhan finished the last jar of wine, holding it in one hand with a bright, handsome smile—still reminiscent of the fearless Zhaode General from his battlefield days—that in that very instant—

He lunged abruptly at Ji Heng!

Ji Heng seemed to have anticipated it. Without even pausing the movement of his fan, he retreated with his chair, narrowly evading the flash of Yin Zhan's blade.

In an instant, the guests throughout the hall slammed their tables and rose to their feet, clashing noisily as they fought amongst themselves. At the center were Yin Zhan and Ji Heng—one clad in coarse armor, the other in fluttering crimson robes. Neither could gain the upper hand.

Yin Zhan’s weapon was a blade that appeared immensely heavy, its hilt carved with a ferocious wolf’s head, yet it moved as lightly as a feather in his hands. He scoffed at Ji Heng’s gold-threaded fan, laughing loudly, "Nephew, your weapon reeks too much of feminine charm!"

Ji Heng smiled faintly. "As long as it works." As the fan snapped open and shut, it grazed past Yin Zhan, leaving a thin trail of blood on his face.

Wiping away the blood indifferently, Yin Zhan remarked, "Such a treacherous hidden weapon!"

"After all, Uncle’s treachery was something my parents experienced firsthand. How could I, as their son, afford to let my guard down?" Ji Heng replied lazily.

The blade gleamed like silver snow, accentuating the wolf head’s murderous aura. Having followed Yin Zhan onto countless battlefields, the weapon had claimed innumerable lives and radiated a savage ferocity. Yet, entangled with it was an ornate fan—its edges as deadly as the blade itself. After several exchanges, both bore wounds.

Below the stage, an actor sang, "Oh, my consort! Little do you know! In the past, when heroes fought separately, I could crush one force and seize another. But now, all armies unite to attack us. With few troops and exhausted supplies, we cannot hold this place. Though my eight thousand warriors were fierce and brave, alas, they have all scattered. In this battle against the rebels, victory or defeat is uncertain. Ah, my consort! By the look of things, this may be the day we part!"

Pearls fell into the jade bowl, gold dropped into the silver plate. With a loud roar from Yin Zhan, dozens of armored soldiers leaped out from behind the beaded curtains of the red pavilion. Ji Heng laughed, "Uncle’s deceitfulness truly lives up to its reputation."

"As the new wave pushes the old in the Yangtze River," Yin Zhan retorted, "all is fair in war. Take this!"

Ji Heng chuckled in response—a laugh tinged with mockery—as from behind the beaded curtains on the upper floor, a group of young men in brocade robes and jade belts emerged in unison.

If Yin Zhan had his killing move, so did he.Yin Zhan’s face showed no particular surprise, as if he had long anticipated this moment. Both of them were fully aware of each other’s intentions—it was merely a contest of luck and resilience. Ji Heng was ruthless, but so was Yin Zhan. A man who could harm his own flesh and blood, betray and murder his brothers and friends—how could he be considered soft-hearted?

The Red Chamber was instantly filled with the clashing of blades. The blooming hibiscus-red candles toppled to the ground, and the pristine woolen carpet was already soaked with blood. Corpses lay scattered, flesh and blood flying everywhere. And in the midst of it all, the two men fought relentlessly, each strike aimed to kill, with no intention of backing down.

“After all, you are decades younger than I am,” Yin Zhan laughed. “No matter how brilliant you are, you are still too soft-hearted.”

“Likewise,” Ji Heng chuckled softly. “Compared to me, it seems you have more weaknesses.”

Yin Zhan’s smile stiffened. His weakness—Lin Roujia was his weakness. Yin Zhili was also his weakness. He had many vulnerabilities, whereas Ji Heng, heartless and unprincipled, seemed to have no one close to him. Even his only grandfather was not someone he held dear. Perhaps Jiang Li had become an exception, but that was a gamble—no one knew how much she was truly worth.

He wanted to kill Ji Heng. Ji Heng’s existence posed too great a threat to Yin Zhili. With Ji Heng dead, the Hongxiao Emperor would be no cause for concern, and the world would fall into his grasp. But today, as he faced Ji Heng, he knew he would not leave this place alive. This young man had lain in wait for decades—his patience was terrifying. The debt he had come to collect was one Yin Zhan could not evade.

Yet, even in death, he would clear the path for Roujia and Yin Zhili! He would drag Ji Heng down to hell with him—they would perish together!

On the stage, the concubine Yu’s gentle voice sang: “I urge the prince to drink and listen to Yu’s song, to dispel your worries with a graceful dance. The Qin dynasty fell through tyranny, heroes rose on all sides to take up arms. As the old saying goes, it does not deceive—success and failure, rise and fall, are but a moment. Drink with ease and sit in the treasure tent.”

As he fought fiercely with Ji Heng, Yin Zhan revealed a strange smile and shouted, “Burn!”

The torch, meticulously crafted into the shape of a mythical beast, was carelessly thrown onto the hanging red curtains, and a raging fire soared into the sky. The pavilion was made of wood, and the second floor was instantly engulfed in flames.

“You truly have no intention of returning alive,” Ji Heng remarked with a derisive laugh. “You’ve even burned your own escape route.”

“As long as I can kill you,” Yin Zhan replied, “my death will be worth it.” His blade lunged straight at Ji Heng. His subordinates, locked in combat, could flee, but on the second floor, Yin Zhan stubbornly hindered Ji Heng’s steps, leaving him no way to escape. Or perhaps Ji Heng had never intended to flee. His fan traced exquisite arcs through the sea of flames, like the graceful dance of a beauty or the legendary assassin poised to strike when the moment was right.

The opera performers on stage remained oblivious, as if they neither saw the raging fire nor the embers falling from the second floor. They were singing the most thrilling scene of the play, as Concubine Yu declared: “Alas, my king! How could I bear to burden you? If this campaign fails, retreat to Jiangdong and plan your next move. I beg you, draw the sword at your waist and let me fall upon it before you, so you need not worry about me any longer!”The hero cried out in anguish, "This... my consort... you must not take your own life!"

"Alas, my king! The Han troops have seized the land, the songs of Chu echo on all sides. When the monarch's spirit is broken, how can this humble consort bear to live alone?"

The songs of Chu echoed on all sides, on all sides! The path downstairs was nearly consumed by flames, and the very ground beneath their feet threatened to ignite. Locked in a desperate struggle amidst the sea of fire, their remaining subordinates were each embroiled in their own bitter battles, unable to spare a moment to assist. Both men were covered in wounds, yet they seemed oblivious to the pain, continuing their relentless fight as if they would never tire, until the entire red mansion burned to ashes.

Just then, another figure burst in from outside the mansion. He arrived bearing the chill of wind and snow, his hair white as if frosted by the snowfall or perhaps simply aged. Wielding a three-foot green blade, he charged straight toward the second floor. Though his movements lacked the agility of younger soldiers, they were remarkably nimble. As if blind to the towering flames, his resolute back showed no hesitation.

Amid the inferno, Ji Heng's fan sliced open Yin Zhan's neck, causing blood to flow freely, while Yin Zhan's blade slashed across Ji Heng's back, soaking his red robes. Neither would relent. Yin Zhan grinned ferociously and said, "Good nephew, since you insist on fighting to the death, why not join me in hell? The vast lands of Northern Yan shall be left for my son to enjoy!" At that moment, Ji Heng's fan pierced his chest but had not yet been withdrawn. Yin Zhan paid it no mind and instead seized the opportunity to thrust his blade toward Ji Heng's back.

Yet he did not succeed.

In that instant, a figure rushed up to the second floor. He was already advanced in years; no matter how vigorous he might appear in daily life, he tired easily. Forcing his way through the flames had been a tremendous strain. Seeing the scene before him, he could only manage to shove Ji Heng aside, his own sword lunging straight at the opponent.

Yin Zhan's blade plunged into his back, while his own sword pierced through Yin Zhan's throat.

Yin Zhan fell to the ground with a thud.

"Grandfather!" Ji Heng cried out in despair.

On the stage, the actor playing Consort Yu had already taken her own life, and the scene had reached the final act where the Conqueror arrives at the Wu River. The peerless hero sang, "I have suffered a great defeat—what face have I to see the elders east of the river? Send my warhorse across the river and let it roam free."

Old General Ji collapsed to the floor. Yin Zhan, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, managed only to emit a guttural "heh... heh" before his head lolled and he breathed his last, a bizarre smile still etched on his face.

Ji Heng carried Old General Ji downstairs. The lower floor was also a scene of carnage, littered with corpses in disarray. He held Old General Ji gently and laid him on the bloodstained woolen carpet, calling out, "Grandfather."

His voice trembled.

Old General Ji's blood flowed incessantly from his wound, dyeing the white carpet crimson. In his youth, he had fought countless battles on the battlefield, sustaining innumerable injuries. Time and again, he had brushed with death, only to return unscathed. He had always been full of vitality, his laughter soaring high. Even when the Ji family faced inexplicable calamities, even when he spent his remaining years guarding the desolate Duke's residence, he never seemed to take it to heart.

He should have been roaring with vigor, "Fetch a physician for this old man at once!" as if he were utterly indestructible, as if a physician's care would surely have him back on his feet in no time, once again the cheerful old rascal of the Duke's residence.Yet his wound was so deep, the gaping hole horrifying to behold, as if it would drain all the blood from his body. Yin Zhan’s target in this mutual destruction was Ji Heng. He had left Ji Heng no other path—the strike he mustered with all his strength, the strike bought with his own life, defied all remedies, leaving no hope of salvation.

“Ah... A-Heng...” Old General Ji called out Ji Heng’s name.

Ji Heng grasped his hand.

“I know... you resent me... When I was young, I clearly knew who was involved, clearly knew who killed Minghan and Hongye, yet I refused to avenge them. You are the Ji family’s only heir—I couldn’t let you face danger. I endured for over twenty years, waited until you grew up, until Yin Zhan returned on his own... I... I could finally avenge Minghan.” He coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Ji Heng looked at him, a single tear falling onto Old General Ji’s face.

No one had ever seen Ji Heng shed tears. This child seemed born without the capacity for sorrow, fear, or weeping. Except perhaps in his infancy, when he understood nothing, he had never cried again. Not even Old General Ji had witnessed Ji Heng’s tears.

“Why cry...” Old General Ji smiled faintly. “It’s not like a man.”

After Yu Hongye’s death, Old General Ji had also investigated. The reason he stopped Ji Minghan from pursuing the matter further was that he believed Yu Hongye, after entering the palace, had her body inexplicably appear outside their home—clearly the work of someone from the palace. He feared Ji Minghan’s impulsiveness would lead him into a trap, unaware that Ji Minghan could not tolerate his wife being dishonored and murdered, even if it meant severing ties with his entire clan to find the truth.

That night at Red Mountain Temple, aside from going alone, Ji Minghan had also brought along the seventy-two Chixiao Riders who followed him. Yin Zhan’s archers lay in ambush, and the seventy-two Chixiao Riders were annihilated. The sole survivor brought Ji Minghan back and hid him. A year later, he managed to contact Old General Ji and reveal the truth. Several years later, that man passed away, entrusting his son to Old General Ji—that son was Wen Ji’s father.

Old General Ji knew the full truth, but he could do nothing. Lin Roujia had already given birth to a child, and he had no evidence. More importantly, Ji Heng was still young. If Lin Roujia sensed anything, she would target Ji Heng first.

In the future, the Ji family would have only Ji Heng left. He could not let Ji Heng make a misstep.

Ji Heng grew day by day, proving even more intelligent than Old General Ji had imagined. From the moment he learned of his parents’ mysterious disappearance, he had been investigating. He must have uncovered something—Old General Ji could sense it. Gradually, he grew somber and withdrawn, his moods unpredictable. From his youth, he no longer grew close to anyone. What he desired, he obtained, yet he never cherished it. He treated human life as worthless grass, appearing indifferent on the surface, yet acutely aware of everything.

“You blame me... A-Heng, I’m sorry...” Old General Ji said. If not for his tolerance, Ji Heng would not have learned the truth too early. He had entered hell in the most brutal way—this child was a product of his own making.

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

Old General Ji gazed at Ji Heng for a long, long time. He had never seen the boy so gentle, without any sharp edges. Ji Heng looked at him with eyes that seemed capable of forgiving everything."This sword..." He struggled to grasp the sword beside him, "Qingming, this is my sword... and your father's sword too. You must protect it well."

Yin Zhan's men had all been dealt with, and many of those silk-robed young masters would never wake again. Zhao Ke and Wen Ji stood by Ji Heng's side, also covered in wounds yet remaining silent, their sorrowful gazes fixed on Old General Ji.

The old general was dying.

Ji Heng grasped the sword, his voice so soft as if afraid to startle him, "Yes, Grandfather."

"This play... was excellent, truly excellent." As Old General Ji spoke, his gaze drifted upward as if seeing something there. With great effort, he raised a hand, pointing toward the sky as he smiled, "Minghan, Hongye, my dear wife... you've... you've come for me..."

The hand suddenly fell. Old General Ji closed his eyes.

A smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth, his expression utterly peaceful, as if he were very happy, or as if he had finally laid down a burden carried for many years, finding relief in this moment.

Ji Heng knelt on the ground, kowtowing deeply to Old General Ji. He didn't rise again, but remained prostrate on the ground for a long time, unmoving. Whether he was weeping or rendered silent by grief, none could tell.

Xiang Yu sang: "Alas! My general! Eight thousand followers all scattered, the Wu River has a ferry but I cannot cross. How can I face the elders of Jiangdong waiting? Better to end this life with death!"

He fell on his sword and died. By the Wu River, this hero was no more. The victors sang: "Withdraw the troops!" Yet the audience took no joy in this victory—no one applauded, the entire hall remained silent.

The play had ended.

On the front row table, gold ingots were neatly stacked on a silver tray, filling it perfectly, while white pearls piled grain upon grain in a jade bowl, exactly filling the vessel. This was the reward for the performance.

And two human lives.

A great fire blazed across the sky, burning over the red tower like heavenly calamity clouds. The actors dispersed—this play had begun with full house applause, but few remained to hear its final notes.

The general within the play remained by the Wu River, while the general outside the play fell in the red tower. Amidst jade ornaments and pearls, none remembered the heroic spirit of bygone years.

A general dying on the battlefield, standing firm between heaven and earth—this makes good theater. A beauty falling on her sword before the tent, full of passion and loyalty—this makes good theater. The victor sheathing his sword and returning triumphant to court—this makes good theater.

But among the audience, only one person remains for the rest of their life.

(End of Chapter)