The landscape was clear, dotted with spring blossoms.
The winter snow had gradually melted, and the streams in Jihe Valley swelled with rising water. Fang Pingzhai had a large drum set up on either side of him, striking them with casual enthusiasm. The muffled drumbeats were unexpectedly tender, blending seamlessly with the murmuring stream, captivating the soul. Since Liu Yan had taught him the basics of drumming, he had developed his own style, making rapid progress. Though not yet masterful, he could now play with effortless ease.
Two foxes lurked stealthily behind the rocks, sniffing the air while curiously watching Fang Pingzhai. The vibrations of the drumbeats had drawn them in, and for some reason, they did not flee at the sight of him.
Birds fluttered about, circling overhead. Fang Pingzhai gazed up at the blue sky, admiring the blooming spring flowers. With the little foxes peeking out beside him and swallows dancing in the air, his heart warmed, and every inch of his body felt at ease.
A faint tap sounded—a ripple in the stream caused by the drumbeats was disrupted as a pebble slid down from above and splashed into the water. The two foxes startled and vanished without a trace, while the low-flying birds took off in a flurry of wings. Fang Pingzhai pressed his hand against the drumhead and looked up. Dark clouds gathered over the valley ridges, the sky darkened, and suddenly, the wind picked up, followed by rain.
In an instant, the downpour was torrential. Heavy raindrops struck the drums on either side of Fang Pingzhai, producing deep, resonant beats. The rain danced, the drums boomed, and Fang Pingzhai leaned against the drums as the rain soaked his clothes in moments. The vastness of heaven and earth stretched endlessly, the cold water flowed ceaselessly, and a wave of melancholy washed over him. Then, with a soft clink , something slipped from his sleeve and fell to the ground.
He bent to pick it up—it was a ring, made of gold and set with a purple gemstone that gleamed brilliantly even in the heavy rain. Most purple gemstones were not particularly valuable, but this one was pure and soft in hue, flawless in texture, exuding a regal aura that complemented the gold beautifully. It was a rare treasure. The band was extremely small, too tiny even for an adult’s pinky finger—clearly meant for a child. Engraved on the golden band were three characters: "Ji Wang Fu" (Prince Ji’s Residence).
Fang Pingzhai picked up the ring, clenched it in his palm, sighed deeply, and tucked it back into his robe.
In the pouring rain, memories surged like ghostly illusions, one after another. The dark clouds churned, the drumbeats haunting and mesmerizing. Many years ago, there had been a day just like this—a day of heavy rain when he had been carried from a resplendent palace to a desolate temple.
The rain that day was the same as today. Soldiers and horses came and went, the heavy hoofbeats echoing from afar like distant drumming.
"These two..."
"General, these children are innocent. This old minister is willing to take them in."
"But..."
"General... Your Majesty, this old minister kowtows to you. I dare to speak plainly—the late emperor showed Your Majesty great kindness. With benevolence and righteousness as your guiding principles, surely you would not harm orphans and widows."
"Enough. Minister Lu speaks wisely. Take these two children, along with Zongxun, to Tianqing Temple."
"Thank you for Your Majesty’s mercy."
The sound of many footsteps faded away. He and another, even younger child were carried by palace maids, watching the hurried, chaotic steps and retreating backs of the crowd.
That year, he was four years old—but he had already foreseen his fate.Yu Konghou said, "Sixth Brother, you possess the abilities that both Eldest Brother and I lack." Gui Mudan spoke of waiting to share a cup of wine with him. At times, he would forget everything, believing it stemmed from brotherly affection, or perhaps from hope and trust.
But when the rain poured down relentlessly, memories surged forth, and the truth became painfully clear. Hope and trust, brotherly affection... perhaps they were merely born of ambition, or perhaps...
Because he was Prince Ji, Chai Xijin.
The world knew well how the late emperor had donned the yellow robe, how Chai Zongxun abdicated the throne, marking the rise of the Great Song. Yet his original surname was Chai—he was the second younger brother of Chai Zongxun. After Chai Zongxun relinquished the throne, he was sent by Zhao Kuangyin to Tianqing Temple. But he did not remain there long before the monks escorted him out. It was said that Chai Xirang had been adopted by General Pan Mei, unaware of his true origins, while he himself was taken away by his father’s maidservant and fled to Baiyun Valley. His youngest brother had vanished without a trace—whether he had perished in the chaos was unknown. As for his eldest brother, Chai Zongxun, he had died suddenly at Tianqing Temple at the age of twenty, under suspicious circumstances.
His current mother was Fang Hongyang, his father’s maidservant, who remained fiercely loyal to the Great Zhou. From her words, he learned that his brother’s sudden death as an unmarried adult was far from simple. The two generations of Great Zhou emperors had shown immense kindness to Zhao Kuangyin’s family, yet he had seized the throne while the ruler was still young. Fang Hongyang harbored deep hatred for him, and from the age of four or five, as he began martial training, she never ceased to remind him that he bore the responsibility of restoring the Great Zhou—that the Great Song and his Chai family were sworn enemies.
The people of Baiyun Valley were all descendants of Great Zhou’s high-ranking officials, though they presented themselves as descendants of the Great Han, living as ordinary folk. Every household regarded him as their master, and every household had shown him immense kindness. He was not ignorant of his identity, yet he could not bear the weight of such expectations and hopes. So at sixteen, he left for the jianghu, becoming a wandering swordsman.
It was an escape, and he knew it well.
In the jianghu, he made sworn brothers and brought them back to his hometown for a drink. On the night he got drunk, Zhu Yan slaughtered the Wu family. From then on, he vowed to kill Zhu Yan—that was... the first time he realized he was a descendant of the Great Zhou. The nation could fall, but its subjects must not be humiliated.
For the first time, he understood his duty—to reclaim the lives and dignity of the Great Zhou’s people, to protect those who had shown him boundless kindness and placed their hopes in him.
Yet the price of awakening was unbearably heavy. The method he chose to protect his people was to leave decisively and never return. If he did not bring disaster upon them, disaster would not come. Baiyun Valley could continue its uneventful existence, free from midnight sword-wielding killers.
This, too, was another form of escape, and he knew it just as well.
Choosing to shoulder responsibility required immense courage... but deep down, he harbored no desire to become an emperor. Thus, he could not bring himself to walk the path of war and smoke, a road of no return. Fang Hongyang wanted him to restore the dynasty, Gui Mudan wanted him to raise an army, Yu Konghou wanted him to be a compliant puppet—yet he could do nothing, nor did he wish to.Being Chai Xijin was so exhausting. He had been running away for nearly twenty years—must he continue to flee in the future? Being Fang Pingzhai was so ordinary and humble. Wandering the martial world left him lost; he didn’t know what he sought or what he desired. Why did happiness always elude him? He was gradually losing himself, drifting aimlessly, unable to find purpose in this life. He was Chai Xijin, yet not Chai Xijin; he was Fang Pingzhai, yet not Fang Pingzhai. He couldn’t forsake his bloodline, yet he couldn’t abandon himself either.
The rain was cold, drenching him thoroughly. Fang Pingzhai leaned against a large drum, his feet propped up on another, eyes closed as he savored the downpour. Outwardly, he appeared utterly at ease.
"Sixth Brother, you truly are carefree." Through the heavy rain, someone approached step by step from the other side of the stream. "I’ve brought wine. I wonder if you’re in the mood to share a drink with me?" Fang Pingzhai jolted in surprise. Amid the drumming of the rain, he hadn’t heard the footsteps of the newcomer. Opening his eyes, he saw a figure clad in black robes embroidered with glaring red peonies—Gui Mudan. Ever since intruders had breached Chicken Coop Mountain Manor, he knew this place was no longer safe, but he hadn’t expected Gui Mudan to arrive so quickly.
Gui Mudan’s face was fearsome, yet it bore a strangely serene smile, an unsettling contrast. A wine gourd hung at his waist, and he carried no murderous intent. Fang Pingzhai sighed. "Why won’t you give up? Must you insist on plying me with wine? Don’t you know I’m in a foul mood? Drinking when upset might lead to drunkenness, and drunkenness might lead to recklessness—harming others and myself."
"I’ve brought Sixth Brother some news. After hearing it, you might just ask me for that wine, because the news is truly grim—heartbreaking, even." Gui Mudan sat down beside Fang Pingzhai, glancing at the two large drums. "Congratulations on mastering the Sound Assassination Technique. Truly, a rare genius. Big Brother is quite envious."
"What news?" Fang Pingzhai’s gaze remained fixed on the wine gourd at Gui Mudan’s waist. "Where did you get that?" Gui Mudan patted the gourd. "This? I picked it up from White Cloud Gully. Ah, it’s the fine vintage your Uncle Zhang hid in his cellar, waiting for your return to drink." Fang Pingzhai’s pupils contracted slightly. "Why did you go to White Cloud Gully?" Gui Mudan replied, "Seventh Brother and I have always cared deeply for you and your mother. Surely you know that ever since you stormed out in anger ten years ago, Seventh Brother has been the one supporting her? I’m the most informed about news from White Cloud Gully." Fang Pingzhai scoffed. "How very kind of Seventh Brother to fulfill my filial duties in my stead. I’m eternally grateful—oh, so grateful."
"Seventh Brother and your mother corresponded regularly—a letter every ten days without fail. But thirteen days ago, the letters from White Cloud Gully suddenly stopped." Gui Mudan continued, "Seventh Brother was heading to Good Cloud Mountain and couldn’t investigate himself, so I went instead." He untied the wine gourd from his waist. Fang Pingzhai stared intently at it—the red sash around its middle was stained with dark spots. What were those? "After arriving at White Cloud Gully, I realized just how horrifying war truly is. Rivers of blood, fields of corpses—it’s no exaggeration.""What happened to Baiyun Valley?" Fang Pingzhai asked in a low voice, his gaze still fixed on the spots on the wine gourd. By now, his sharp eyes had confirmed they were indeed dried bloodstains.
"Baiyun Valley was overrun by imperial troops. A thousand soldiers swept through, leaving five hundred and twenty-five corpses out of five hundred and thirty-two people. The rest were just scattered limbs—too many to count." Gui Mudan waved his hand, uncorked the wine gourd, and took a satisfied sip. "Good wine, truly good wine. Your Uncle Zhang died in front of his house, clutching his grandson who wasn't even two years old. His body was cut in half at the waist. Your Uncle Yang held onto a flagpole—probably bearing the banner of Great Zhou—but both he and the flag were burned beyond recognition. Even your Great Zhou's banner couldn't survive. The most tragic was your mother. Auntie was—" Before he could finish, Fang Pingzhai cut him off. "Baiyun Valley lived in seclusion and never raised arms in rebellion. Why would imperial troops find it? Why kill everyone?"
"Auntie was tied to a horse and dragged until her bones showed. In the end, she was torn in two by the horse and hung in front of your house—likely as a warning to you." Gui Mudan, undeterred, finished describing Fang Hongzhang's death with almost gleeful relish, then laughed. "Baiyun Valley was loyal to the Chai family. Though you had no intention of restoring the dynasty, they all harbored such ambitions. Had you been there, you could've saved them with the imperial pardon granted to the Chai family. But you weren't. Without you, Baiyun Valley's five hundred stood no chance against two thousand elite soldiers. It was inevitable."
"How did the court learn of Baiyun Valley?" Fang Pingzhai asked, each word deliberate. "For over twenty years, no one touched Baiyun Valley. Why suddenly send two thousand troops?" Gui Mudan opened the wine gourd and handed it to him. "Naturally, someone informed the court that Baiyun Valley was plotting rebellion."
"Who? You?" Fang Pingzhai frowned, his voice low.
"Me? If I wanted to inform, I could've done so long ago. Why wait till now?" Gui Mudan extended the wine gourd, but Fang Pingzhai didn't take it. "The troops were sent by Zhao Zongjing."
"Zhao Zongjing?" Fang Pingzhai's eyes narrowed slightly. "How did Zhao Zongjing get the information?"
"Who knows?" Gui Mudan shook the wine gourd. "Do you want to see your mother's remains?"
"I..." Fang Pingzhai trembled slightly. Gui Mudan smirked. "You're shaken." Fang Pingzhai pressed his hand against the drumhead, his smile gone. "Where did you bury her?"
"Burial is a solemn affair. Naturally, it should be arranged by you." Gui Mudan said. "Her body is at Piaoling Mei Yuan. You can bury her whenever you return." Fang Pingzhai pressed his fingers down, leaving five indentations on the taut drum surface, and murmured, "Is this a threat?""I came specifically to tell you that if you have no intention of restoring the kingdom, some will blame you, some will die with grievances, but none will thank you." Gui Mudan sneered. "Even if you don’t wish to restore the kingdom, can your heart truly remain at peace knowing Baiyun Valley was destroyed because of you, your eldest brother died mysteriously, your second brother changed his surname to Pan, and your fourth brother was left wandering without a home? Your father showed immense kindness to the Zhao family, yet they seized your throne and brought ruin to your family. As the last hope of the Chai family, you idle away your days, wandering the rivers and lakes, living carefree. Your life may be free and easy, but what of your parents and relatives in the afterlife, your loyal retainers and servants, the wronged souls of the Great Zhou? Who have you been fair to? Have you been fair to Fang Hongzhang? To Empress Fu? To your father, Chai Rong? To your eldest brother, Chai Zongxun? Or even to yourself?"
A resonant hum echoed as the drumhead snapped back. Fang Pingzhai’s face turned pale as he stared fixedly at the drum beneath his hands. Had he truly been wrong all along? "Go back..." The path he had taken was too far to turn around now. How could he retrace his steps to the road he had abandoned twenty years ago? To "go back" was not merely about burying Fang Hongzhang—once he returned, there would be no turning back.
Could he still ignore the wronged souls of Baiyun Valley? Could he simply abandon Fang Hongzhang’s remains? Were his father’s figure and his eldest brother’s voice and smile nothing but illusions unrelated to him? If he did not cast these aside, he could not be Fang Pingzhai. But if he did cast them aside, could he still continue as Fang Pingzhai?
Only now did he realize that from the very beginning, "Fang Pingzhai" had been nothing more than a dream, an expectation of Chai Xijin—never reality.
Even if he was lost and aimless.
"Sixth Brother, I know you have no desire for the throne. Seventh Brother and I have already made arrangements to help you restore the kingdom. Once it is done, you can find your second and fourth brothers, pass the throne to either of them, and then live the rest of your life as Fang Pingzhai or Yuan Pingzhai—no one will interfere, and you need no longer blame yourself." Gui Mudan grinned darkly. "I’ll be honest—I’m helping your Chai family reclaim the throne, but I expect equal compensation. Once it’s done, I want to stand above all but one."
"You and Seventh Brother possess such great abilities—why do you need me?" Fang Pingzhai said slowly. "Why not claim the throne for yourself or Seventh Brother? Wouldn’t that be better than standing second to one?" Gui Mudan replied, "If I or Seventh Brother took the throne, countless would rise against us. But if you took it, only the descendants of the Zhao family would oppose you. The Great Zhou fell barely twenty years ago—restoration is not an absurd notion." Fang Pingzhai said, "Calculated too precisely—this must be Seventh Brother’s idea. You want to stand above all but one—what does he want?" Gui Mudan answered, "He said he wants to wage war against Liao, reclaim Youyun, and subdue the Khitans—nothing more." Fang Pingzhai asked in surprise, "He schemes and risks everything, plotting rebellion just to wage war against Liao? With Seventh Brother’s talents, serving the Great Song would have brought him rapid success. Becoming a general and leading campaigns for the Song wouldn’t have been difficult—he could have swept north against the Khitans, marched south, conquered the east, or subdued the western regions. Why resort to rebellion?""I can't fathom his thoughts either. In short, everything he's done is just to gain the capability, status, and opportunity to send troops against Liao and reverse our dynasty's consecutive defeats," Gui Mudan said with a sinister tone. "Isn't this also a good deed that benefits the people? What's wrong with it?" Fang Pingzhai remained silent for a long while before sighing, "Let me think carefully. This is a very difficult and arduous choice—I need time." Gui Mudan thrust the wine gourd into his hands. "Fine. If you can abandon Fang Honghuang's corpse and ignore the wronged souls of Baiyun Valley who died unjustly, and still refuse to come, even I, Gui Mudan, would admire you. Hah!" With that, he retreated abruptly, his figure vanishing instantly into the heavy rain.
The wine gourd in his hands still retained a human warmth, feeling strangely comforting to the touch.
Fang Pingzhai sat in the rain, lifting the fine liquor left behind by his old friend and taking a sip.
Lost in confusion, the sky darkened further, and the rain intensified, lashing down so fiercely it chilled him to the bone, leaving his skin stinging.
In his daze, the world spun. He had always been a lightweight when it came to alcohol—today, perhaps, he didn’t even need to drink to claim he was drunk. And yet, he had truly downed an entire gourd of wine.
What exactly was the taste of fine liquor...?
Pouring down his throat, it was just as fiery and scalding, as if a branding iron had clamped around his neck, choking him until he nearly suffocated.
Perhaps drinking blood tasted the same—because blood, like wine, was hot, and carried the warmth of life.
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