Chapter Forty-Nine: Bringing an End by One’s Own Hand

In less than the time it took for a cup of tea to cool, everyone had assembled. The anxiety that had plagued their hearts for the past two days seemed to settle as soon as they saw Zhongli Yu. He held a thick stack of memorials in his hand, which he handed to Lihun, signaling him to distribute them according to the names written on each. Only after every person had received their own did Zhongli Yu speak at last, his voice calm and steady.

“These are your instructions for tomorrow. I’ve written everything out clearly in these documents. Once I have exchanged myself for the people of Dongling, you are to do exactly as I have outlined. Do not abandon the fight just because I am gone—you must drive back the marauders from Xiyuan and force them to surrender. His Majesty should have already dispatched someone here; within three days at most, my replacement will arrive. Until then, Liu An will serve as acting commander, and you are to follow his orders. Dongling does not belong to me alone; even without me, we can defeat Xiyuan. All that is required of you tomorrow is to fight with all your might.”

“My lord, you—” The words caught in their throats, and none could continue. It was as if the prince were making his final arrangements—and such a notion was almost unbearable. Liu An felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders, so much so that he wondered if he could bear it at all.

“There is no need for sorrow,” Zhongli Yu said quietly, casting a glance at Liu An. “In war, there are always casualties; this is nothing extraordinary.” Over the days they had worked together, he had come to see that Liu An possessed some talent, which was why he had chosen him. He only hoped Liu An would not disappoint him—though, if he did, perhaps he would not be there to see it.

“My lord, is there truly no other way? Must you trade your life for theirs?” someone finally asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

“It has been two days. Have any of you devised a better plan?” Zhongli Yu’s gaze swept slowly over them all.

Every head bowed. They had not stopped searching for an answer, but there simply wasn’t one to spare both sides. If they abandoned the tens of thousands of people in Wangcheng, the entire populace of Dongling would lose faith in the royal family, with consequences more dire than they could bear. But sending Zhongli Yu to his death was just as unbearable.

“That is enough. Today’s council is over. Tomorrow, do as I have instructed, and ensure that this battle ends in victory over Xiyuan. You are all dismissed.” Zhongli Yu waved them away, unwilling to speak further.

The men left with the instructions Zhongli Yu had written, the weight of the documents matched only by the heaviness in their hearts. These were men who had slain countless enemies on the battlefield, yet never before had they felt such helplessness. In battle, they fought with all their might, unafraid of death—never had they been forced to watch their leader threatened in such a despicable way. Their sense of injustice blazed in their chests.

“My lord, do you truly intend…” After the others had left, Lihun could no longer hold back his question. But the rest of his words caught in his throat. The four chief guards stood with him, all gazing at Zhongli Yu with faces full of despair.

“Lihun, she must have heard the news by now, back in the capital, hasn’t she?” Zhongli Yu murmured. “She must be heartbroken. I hate to cause her such pain. If I had never married her, she would not have had to endure all this. Have I made a mistake?” He knew what Lihun wanted to ask, but did not answer directly.

“My lord, if you know the mistress will be heartbroken, then do not go to your death,” Lihun pleaded urgently.

“Lihun, do you think I have a choice? If I am so afraid to die that I abandon the people of Wangcheng, how could I live with myself?” Zhongli Yu looked up at him.

Lihun fell silent, unable to find any words. He felt as if a great stone weighed on his heart, stifling him. Liying, Lilan, and Liting were equally lost for words, only able to look at Zhongli Yu in silence.

“That’s enough. When I am gone, you must protect the mistress well. Don’t let anyone bully her, or let her suffer any grievance,” Zhongli Yu said evenly.

“Yes, my lord,” the four replied in unison.

“Lihun, when you return to the capital, give this to the mistress. I regret that I could not see her one last time before I die. This letter is my farewell.” Zhongli Yu handed Lihun an envelope—his final letter to Zhanyan.

“My lord…” The four men could not hold back their tears.

“That’s enough. Go now. After tomorrow, you are all to return to the capital.” Zhongli Yu waved them away. For two days and nights he had arranged troops and positions, checking each detail to avoid any oversight. Only once he was certain that nothing had been missed did he allow himself to rest, and only then did he realize how truly weary he was.

Looking up at the sky beyond the door, Zhongli Yu saw that the sun had set and night had fallen. Once again, longing flooded his heart. He knew that after tomorrow, he might never have the chance to think of her again. The pain in his chest was sharp and unrelenting, like a dull blade cutting into flesh, making even breathing a struggle. Tonight, he would give himself over to thoughts of her, even if it hurt—let the pain come, he thought. Perhaps, to feel pain at all is its own kind of happiness.

This night would be a sleepless one for many. Hundreds of thousands of imperial soldiers could not rest; none of the commanders in Ningcheng could close their eyes, nor could Zhongli Yu’s four loyal guards. And out on the road, a lone rider and her horse pressed on through the darkness—Zhanyan and Tengyun. They, too, would not sleep.

No matter how much everyone wished otherwise, dawn finally arrived. Zhongli Yu walked slowly out of the command headquarters in Ningcheng. The great army stood assembled, row upon row. Today he wore not the gleaming golden armor of battle, but a pale blue brocade robe embroidered with pear blossoms. Standing at the city gate, wind in his hair, he looked as otherworldly as ever—set apart from the crowds, pure and untouched by the dust of the world. He had put aside his armor; when he was gone, he would no longer be Prince Chun bearing the weight of the nation, but only a simple man—a husband to his beloved.

“Let us go,” Zhongli Yu said softly.

The vast army marched toward Wangcheng. Two hours later, they arrived at last. Yang Qi and Yan Kuan were already waiting.

“Zhongli Yu, you’re here at last. I have waited long enough,” Yang Qi called out, his voice loud.

Zhongli Yu sat tall on his horse, the pale blue robe striking and regal among the hundreds of thousands of troops, giving him the imposing presence of a king before a city. He glanced coldly at Yang Qi, then let his gaze fall on Yan Kuan, the imposter Prince of Zhennan.

“As promised, I am here. My life is yours to take, but you must ensure the safe return of the people of Wangcheng and its defenders. If not, Dongling will lead her iron cavalry and flatten Xiyuan to the ground,” Zhongli Yu declared, his voice ringing with authority.

“Agreed. I only want your life. The lives of those wretches mean nothing to me,” Yang Qi replied arrogantly.

“Then release them first. I keep my word,” Zhongli Yu said.

“Do you take me for a child?” Yang Qi retorted.

“What do you propose?”

“End your life first, and I will release them immediately.”

“My lord, no! Yang Qi, you go too far!” General Liang Ruhai shouted, furious enough to wish he could tear Yang Qi and Yan Kuan apart with his bare hands. But he was tightly bound and could not move.

“Very well, I agree. I only hope you keep your word,” Zhongli Yu replied, drawing his sword.

“My lord, don’t—” The soldiers of Dongling could not help but cry out.

“Silence! One man for over ten thousand lives—it is a worthwhile exchange, is it not?” Yang Qi bellowed. The crowd fell silent at once.

“Bring them out for all to see, so they can decide if it’s worth it.” At Yang Qi’s signal, Xiyuan soldiers led the hostages out, each gripping a captive tightly. There were truly more than ten thousand, not even sparing the youngest children.

The soldiers of Dongling watched, their eyes blazing red with fury. If they moved even a little, the sharp blades would cut the hostages’ throats. Their hands gripped their weapons so tightly that veins stood out; nothing had ever enraged them more.

“Second Prince, you must value my life highly, to exchange it for so many others. Since that is the case, I hope you keep your word. Once I am dead, you must release them immediately.” Zhongli Yu slowly raised his sword, turning it toward his chest.

“My lord, don’t!” Lihun and the others rushed forward, desperately trying to restrain his hand.

“Let go,” Zhongli Yu commanded, his voice grave.

“No, if you must die, then kill me first!” Lihun locked arms with him, refusing to let go.

“Stand aside! Have you forgotten the task I gave you?” Zhongli Yu shouted, kicking Lihun away, then kicking aside the others in turn.

“Zhongli Yu, enough stalling! How much longer will you drag this out?” Yang Qi was growing impatient.

“Very well, I will do it now. Soldiers of Dongling, bear witness. I, Zhongli Yu, have lived up to the people of this land. If the villains of Xiyuan break their word and refuse to release them, Dongling’s iron cavalry will grind Xiyuan to dust—this will not end until one side is destroyed!” Zhongli Yu’s voice carried far, so that every soul in Wangcheng could hear him. With those words, he raised his sword and plunged it into his chest. The blade pierced clean through, the tip emerging from his back. Blood poured forth, staining his pale blue robe in brilliant crimson, blooming like red plum blossoms—striking and unforgettable.

“My lord—!”

“Your Highness—!”