The Blood Crown - Chapter 1

On this night, torrential rain poured from the sky, and the Milky Way seemed to cascade down. The thick curtains of rain obscured the faint moon halo, and within Guangning Wei, there were few lights to be seen. Ominous dark clouds pressed upon the city, as if threatening to crush it.

It was just past the hour of the Tiger, a time when people were deep in their slumber. Suddenly, a series of loud and violent knocks on the door pierced through the rain. Chen Bo, who had been dozing off, was startled, and he jolted upright.

Awakening from his drowsiness, he lit a lamp and grabbed an umbrella. He hurried to the door, not yet uttering a word of inquiry, but the person pounding on the door had already shouted in a booming voice, “Milord Qianhu, it’s me, Hu Baicheng! There are refugees causing trouble within the city!”

Chen Bo opened the door and said, “Lord Hu…”

Hu Baicheng’s voice matched his rugged appearance, and he was drenched, with raindrops clinging to his beard. His voice trembled as he continued, “Hurry, wake up your master!”

“Yes, yes,” Chen Bo nodded repeatedly and turned to enter the house. He was well into his old age, and his steps were somewhat unsteady. He had to be careful to avoid the puddles on the ground.

“Hey!” Hu Baicheng couldn’t wait any longer upon seeing Chen Bo’s condition. He disregarded etiquette and rushed towards the main building.

Just as he reached the eaves, there was a creaking sound, and the door to the bedroom opened from the inside. A tall and upright man stood in the doorway, dressed only in his inner garments. He spoke in a deep voice, “What is the cause of such panic?”

In the pitch-black darkness, his face was obscured, but on this chilly autumn night, dressed so lightly yet without a hint of trembling, and his voice unwavering despite being roused from slumber, his mere presence exuded an imposing steadiness. He was Yuan Mao, the commander of the Guangning Wei, holding the rank of Qianhu.

Hu Baicheng bowed and said, “Lord Yuan, there are refugees gathering and causing trouble within the city, right near Lord Qian’s yamen.”

“Let’s go take a look,” Yuan Mao turned and headed back into the room.

The room lit up with a lamp, and a graceful and gentle woman walked over. She held a jacket in her hand and asked, “Master, is there trouble in the city?”

Yuan Mao, dressed himself, turned to face her and replied, “It’s the refugees from Taiping again.” He appeared to be in his early thirties, with a broad forehead, a high nose, sharp eyebrows, and striking features, combining both handsomeness and a remarkable air of sharpness.

She sighed softly and said, “These days, refugees have been pouring into Guangning, causing unrest in the city. It’s hard to say when this will end.” She draped the jacket over Yuan Mao’s shoulders and carefully fastened the buttons. “The rainy night is quite cold. You should put on an extra layer.”

Yuan Mao spoke with a serious tone, “I’m still just a son-in-law for now. If I don’t handle this situation properly, these refugees may turn into bandits, and that would be a disaster.”

She looked concerned.

Yuan Mao adjusted the shawl on her shoulders and said, “Qingshuang, go back and rest now. Don’t catch a cold.”

Yue Qingshuang nodded, “Master, please take care.”

Yuan Mao smiled gently and ran his fingers through her hair. “Madam, don’t worry.” He grabbed his rain hat and left.

As he stepped out, the side door suddenly opened, revealing half of a young, fair face with a pair of lively big eyes. A soft voice called out, “Daddy.”

Yuan Mao said, “Yuer? Why are you up? Go back to sleep.”

“When will Daddy be back?” The voice was filled with a strong sense of curiosity.

“I’ll be back at dawn,” Yuan Mao replied, taking a step, then hesitated. “Daddy will bring you some special pastries when he returns.”

The eyes curved slightly, and a soft “Okay” followed before the door was gently closed.

The sound of galloping hooves splashed through the puddles, creating waves over a foot high. Yuan Mao and his riding party rode silently through the pouring rain. They were all clad in raincoats, their waists adorned with swords. Their hat brims were pulled low, obscuring their expressions, but it was clear that they were very serious.

Not long ago, the Jin Dynasty had defeated the Sheng Army, and Qiengzhou had fallen. Surprisingly, the imperial court had ordered the abandonment of the seven northern Liaobei provinces, retreating the army and evacuating the people, fortifying their defense south of the Huang River.

The seven northern Liaobei provinces were considered the natural barrier protecting the Central Plains from the incursions of nomadic tribes, a vital defense line since ancient times. Once abandoned, there would be hardly any defenses left in the northern border, and even if it meant selling out the country, one wouldn’t dare to do so openly.

Yuan Mao had discussed this matter in great detail with Qian Anrong, the Governor of Guangning. Governor Qian believed that the imperial court’s decision was likely due to the fear of depleting the national treasury due to simultaneous threats from the Wala and Jin forces. The fall of Qiengzhou was the last straw that broke the camel’s back, and the decision to contract the defense line was a reluctant one. Furthermore, there must have been some foolish advisors confusing the emperor to make such a short-sighted decision.

Abandoning the seven northern Liaobei provinces would not only harm the nation for the current generation but also bring eternal shame upon them.

However, it was a pity for the people of the seven provinces, led by Taiping, who had cultivated that land for centuries. They were forced to leave their ancestral lands, which had been their livelihood. On the day of the forced migration, it was said that the wailing cries filled the fields, leaving behind a sense of desolation.

Most of these refugees had flowed into Guangning, and the once strategically important Guangning Wei, which had served as the logistics base for the seven northern Liaobei provinces, was now separated from the Jin forces only by the Huang River.

Yuan Mao had not been able to sleep peacefully for a long time due to the challenges of managing the refugee crisis. While the refugees were certainly a headache, what worried him the most were the fierce barbarian tribes on the borders…

For a moment, Yuan Mao’s scattered thoughts didn’t allow him to notice a dark figure that had suddenly appeared in front of him. When he finally focused his gaze, it seemed to be a child. However, by the time he realized it, the horse was dangerously close. His heart raced, and he pulled on the reins abruptly. The horse, startled, let out a sharp neigh that cut through the rainy night. Its front hooves lifted, almost standing upright.

Yuan Mao was thrown off and fell heavily into the cold rainwater.

The followers behind him also hastily grabbed their reins. If not for their training, they might have collided in a chaotic mess.

“Milord!” Hu Baicheng quickly jumped off his horse to help Yuan Mao. “Are you alright, Milord?”

“I’m fine…” Yuan Mao’s hat had fallen off, and rainwater splashed across his face. He wiped the water from his face and squinted to look at the small dark figure ahead.

Hu Baicheng cursed, “How dare they startle Milord’s horse!”

Yuan Mao waved his hand, saying, “It seems to be a child.” He stood up and walked toward the dark figure, while his followers approached with a lantern. When they shone the light, it indeed revealed a child crouched in the ankle-deep water, huddled and trembling, barefoot.

On this cold, rainy night, the child was in tattered clothes, frail and weak, with visible ribs protruding like scales.

Hu Baicheng furrowed his brow. “Why did you suddenly rush out? What’s your intention?”

It wasn’t unreasonable for him to be cautious. This child was likely a refugee, and they had been dealing with various troubles caused by refugees, so who knew if this child might have been sent to cause trouble.

The trembling child reached out a feeble hand and pointed towards Yuan Mao’s feet, whispering, “Fish…”

His voice was extremely weak.

Yuan Mao lowered his head to look, but it was far from being a fish, just a piece of wood vaguely resembling a fish shape.

This child was probably starving to the point of delirium. Yuan Mao sighed inwardly. There were too many refugees from the seven northern Liaobei provinces, and the grain allocated by the imperial court was skimmed off layer by layer from top to bottom. By the time it reached Guangning, it was simply inadequate. Even if he wanted to sympathize, there was too much suffering to address. He had heard that many refugees had died of disease along the way, and those who made it to Guangning were considered lucky. However, with the harsh winter approaching, a child like this might not survive.

Yuan Mao instructed his followers, “Give him something to eat, and let’s continue.”

One of the followers pulled out some dry rations and tossed them to the child. The child pounced into the rainwater, grabbed the dry rations, and began to tear into them frantically.

“Step back quickly,” the follower scolded.

While still gnawing on the food, the child retreated to the side.

Yuan Mao walked over to his own horse.

“…The horse has a leg ailment,” the child said.

Yuan Mao paused, then turned to look at the child. “What did you say?” He thought he might have misheard.

“The left front heel is swollen, touching the ground causes pain, and the pain makes it restless.” The child’s voice remained weak, but Yuan Mao heard it clearly. He observed his horse and noticed that it had been pawing at the water uneasily.

“You little rascal, what nonsense are you spouting?” Hu Baicheng scolded.

Yuan Mao asked, “How do you know it has a leg ailment?”

The child remained silent and continued to munch on the dry rations. He only wanted to repay the kindness of the food.
“Look up,” Yuan Mao raised his voice.

The child paused, then slowly raised his face.

Rain poured down, creating a blurry wall of water between Yuan Mao and the child. The flickering light from the lantern was feeble, casting the child’s face in shadow. However, at that moment, a lightning bolt lit up the sky, followed by a deafening thunderclap. The horses became startled, and the surroundings were suddenly as bright as day. In this split second, Yuan Mao saw the child’s face clearly.

His heart skipped a beat.

The child’s pale little face had been washed clean by the rain, and despite the sunken cheeks and lifeless eyes due to hunger, you could still see his delicate and beautiful features.

Yuan Mao, filled with excitement, grabbed the lantern from one of his followers and walked up to the child, carefully examining that face. His voice trembled as he asked, “What… is your name?”

“Yan Sīkōng,” the child’s voice was as soft as a mosquito’s hum.

Yuan Mao pricked up his ears to decipher it. “Sī…kōng. What does that name mean?”

When asked about his name, a faint glimmer appeared in the child’s eyes. He straightened his back as much as possible, wiped the rainwater from his face, and looked at the tall and dignified man before him. With neither servility nor arrogance, he replied, “Sīkōng sees far, unyielding when desireless.” Raindrops fell, making a pattering sound, and the child’s voice was like a clear string, gently echoing in the ears of those present.

“…Was your father an educated man?” Yuan Mao asked.

“My father became a scholar in the ninth year of the Zhaowu era.”

“Do you study as well?”

“My father taught me.”

“Why did you know that my horse had a leg ailment?”

“My mother is a healer.”

“Healing horses?”

“Healing people,” the child lowered his head, focusing on the coarse and hard dry rations in his hand, responding with brief sentences.

“Since she’s a healer, how can she diagnose horses?”

“All are built of bones and covered in flesh; there are commonalities,” the child couldn’t hold back and took another big bite of the dry rations.

Hu Guangcheng urged, “Milord, we shouldn’t delay here.”

Yuan Mao took a deep breath, his heart pounding like a drum. He felt a rush of determination and made a decision that would alter the fate of many, perhaps even the destiny of the Great Sheng Empire: “Come with me.”

The child looked bewildered.

Yuan Mao gazed down at him, speaking from a higher position. “Come with me, and you won’t have to go hungry. But from today onwards, I am your father, and your name will be Yuan Sīkōng.”

The child remained in a daze, perhaps due to hunger or the suddenness of the offer. He didn’t know how to react.

Yuan Mao reached out his hand.

The child hesitated for a moment, just a moment, before grabbing onto that large hand. The promise of not going hungry was simply too enticing. Then, his body felt lighter as Yuan Mao lifted him into his arms, wrapping his frail and cold form in the raincoat.

The child’s mind went blank. That chest was solid and warm, the arms that encircled him were firm and powerful, making it the safest place in the world. He even questioned if he was in a dream.

From Tai Ning to Guang Ning, a thousand-mile journey, he watched familiar neighbors fall one by one, followed by his family, and finally his parents. The life of comfort and plenty had turned into nothing overnight. He, who had never known hardship, was now far from his homeland, living on the streets, enduring hunger and cold, worse off than a stray dog.

But he wanted to survive. His father’s teachings were still fresh in his ears, and his mother’s gentle caresses were forever etched into his memory. They both hoped he would survive, and he wanted to live.

The horse resumed its gallop, and he cautiously held onto Yuan Mao’s clothes. He yearned for that warmth he hadn’t felt in so long but was too afraid to get too close. He could only keep himself stiff.

Suddenly, a large hand gently touched his wet hair. He blinked in surprise, and his eyes welled up with hot, silent tears.

He let go of his guard and nestled in Yuan Mao’s arms, full of trust, feeling drowsy.

Yuan Mao’s hand moved from the child’s head down to his thin back, overwhelmed with mixed emotions.

The child couldn’t remember much about what happened next. After all, he was only nine years old at the time, and he was both hungry and exhausted. In a daze, he seemed to see soldiers wielding swords driving away the refugees.

Only the name “Yuan Sīkōng” remained, flashing in his blurry consciousness, becoming clearer with each passing moment.

Yuan Sīkōng… From today onwards, he was called Yuan Sīkōng.