The Blood Crown - Chapter 12

In the end, the Yuan brothers managed to pass off their simultaneous hand burns as an accident when they knocked over the charcoal brazier. Fortunately, the injuries were only superficial and not serious.

Yuan Mao, their father, had been too busy to supervise them lately. During the twenty days that Prince Jingyuan had been stationed in Guangningwei, Yuan Mao had to deal with countless administrative matters and prepare for the winter. Liaodong was an extremely cold region, and as winter approached, the preparations for defenses, provisions, weapons, and horses all needed to adapt to the changing seasons. Just handling the matters related to keeping warm was a busy task. The preparation of supplies for the Feng family’s army had already been delayed for quite some time.

With two thousand fine horses now assembled and ready, Prince Jingyuan was about to break camp and return to Datong. All the officials and soldiers in Guangningwei felt a sense of relief.

But there were two individuals who couldn’t find any joy in the situation, two small figures.

At this moment, they were once again in the horse pasture. Feng Ye was roughly grabbing at the grass on the ground, causing his palms to turn red, yet he seemed unaware, muttering, “Why don’t you take your time with your horsemanship?”

Yuan Sikong sighed, “That would delay military matters.”

“But I don’t want to leave yet,” Feng Ye looked at Yuan Sikong with big, round eyes that held a hint of sadness. “I haven’t seen the silver flowers you mentioned covering the trees, haven’t galloped on the ice, and there are many places and fun things you haven’t shown me.”

Yuan Sikong felt just as frustrated inside. Feng Ye was his first friend, despite the vast difference in their status and the absurd circumstances of their meeting. Feng Ye was so sincere and adorable, sharing his broad outlook on the world. Yuan Sikong doubted he would ever meet someone like him again.

With a heavy heart, Yuan Sikong hung his head, not knowing what to say to dispel the heavy atmosphere.

Suddenly, Feng Ye grabbed Yuan Sikong’s sleeve, and his eyes sparkled with pure determination. “Why don’t you come with me to Datong? When we grow up, you can be my strategist!”

Yuan Sikong smiled wryly. “You have quite the wild imagination.”

“How am I having a wild imagination? I’ll go talk to my father right now,” Feng Ye said, starting to get up.

Yuan Sikong pulled him back gently and spoke softly, “Feng Ye, I can’t leave my father and mother, and I don’t want to leave Liaodong.”

Feng Ye pouted, “But they’re not your real parents.”

“But they’ve treated me as their own,” Yuan Sikong looked into the distance, his eyes filled with a burning determination. “If I ever leave Liaodong, it will be to take the imperial examination. When I come back, I will return with honors to repay their kindness in raising me.”

Feng Ye’s eyes dimmed, and he understood that Yuan Sikong couldn’t easily leave his parents and homeland. However, the thought of them parting soon, with no certainty of when they would meet again, weighed heavily on him. He murmured, “When will we be able to meet again?”

“We will meet again,” Yuan Sikong mustered his spirits. “Just as Prince Jingyuan said, one day in the future, you and I might serve in the same court.”

“What difference does it make if we serve in the same court? You’ll be in Shuntian, and I’ll be in Datong. How many chances will we have to meet in this lifetime?”

“We will meet,” Yuan Sikong said with confidence. “I have a feeling that we will definitely meet again.”

Feng Ye fell silent for a moment, then suddenly grabbed Yuan Sikong’s hand.

Yuan Sikong winced in pain.

Feng Ye quickly released his hand, asking, “Did I hurt you?”

Yuan Sikong looked at the white bandage wrapped around his hand and replied, “It’s fine.”

“I wanted to give you this.” Feng Ye handed him a short dagger. The hilt of the dagger was exquisitely carved and adorned with precious gemstones, clearly of significant value.

Yuan Sikong hesitated for a moment and gently pulled out the dagger. While he didn’t know much about blades, he could see that this blade had an exceptional quality, sharp as frost, and exuded a chilling aura. It must be a valuable weapon. He quickly sheathed it and said, “This dagger is too precious; I can’t accept it.”

“Just keep it,” Feng Ye insisted, pressing it into his hands. “My father gave it to me, and now I’m giving it to you. Someday in the future, you’ll use it to identify yourself to me.”

Yuan Sikong hesitantly gripped the dagger. “But…”

Feng Ye put on a stern expression. “Are you going to disobey me?”

Yuan Sikong chuckled. “Feng Ye, thank you. But… I don’t really know how to use a dagger.”

“That’s not difficult,” Feng Ye said as he swiftly drew the dagger, made a quick thrust, and then flipped it into the air. He performed a somersault and caught the dagger with ease, smoothly slicing through the empty air. His movements were agile and graceful.

Yuan Sikong applauded, “Impressive.”

Feng Ye examined the dagger in his hand, nearly as long as his forearm. “What’s this? I’m better with swords. Someday, I’ll wield sabers, meteor hammers, and long spears for the Feng family’s wolf banner to conquer the world!”

Yuan Sikong was inspired by Feng Ye’s determination and said with enthusiasm, “You have your ambitions, and I have mine. Someday, with a brush in my hand, I can also make a difference and leave my mark.”

“Good!” Feng Ye raised the dagger, pointing it northwest, and in his youthful yet resolute voice, he declared, “Yuan Sikong, let’s make a pact. In ten years, you’ll become a high official, and I’ll become a great general. Together, we’ll maintain peace, protect the country, defeat enemies, pacify the world, and achieve deeds that will be remembered for generations! How about it?”

Yuan Sikong’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Achieve deeds that will be remembered for generations! It’s a deal!”

In that moment, the two youths filled with high spirits and aspirations shone brighter than the blazing sun.

The day of parting had finally come.

Yuan Sikong and Yuan Mao joined the others outside the city.

As the adults raised their cups and made toasts, Feng Ye and Yuan Sikong stood aside, preparing to say their goodbyes.

“Feng Ye, I don’t have much to give you…” Yuan Sikong took out a book. “This is ‘The Art of War’ with my own annotations, compiled from the wisdom of past scholars. I haven’t commanded armies, so my annotations may not be perfect, but they should make it easier to understand.” In truth, this book was used by Yuan Sikong to teach Yuan Nanyu. The commentaries of ancient military strategists like Sun Tzu were precise but often too brief, making them challenging for children to comprehend. Yuan Sikong had read many annotations from various scholars to create this version.

Feng Ye accepted the old book and caressed its yellowed and curled edges. “Alright, I’ll read it carefully.”

Yuan Sikong watched Feng Ye, a thousand thoughts and emotions welling up inside him, unsure of which words to say.

Feng Ye suddenly pointed at him. “No crying, remember? ‘A man’s tears should not flow lightly.'”

Yuan Sikong blinked hard. “You too. Whoever cries is a crybaby.”

Feng Ye, with tears in his eyes, smiled. “Sikong, I’m leaving. The next time we meet, you’ll no longer be my opponent.”

Yuan Sikong also smiled. “The next time we meet, we won’t be opponents.” They would be friends and colleagues fighting side by side.

Feng Ye suddenly lunged forward, tiptoed, and hugged him tightly before swiftly turning to leave. He waved vigorously and shouted, “Until we meet again!”

Yuan Sikong looked at the departing Feng Ye and sighed, then bent down and lifted the small Feng Ye into his arms. Feng Ye clung to Yuan Sikong’s neck, burying his face in the man’s shoulder, motionless.

In Yuan Sikong’s blurred vision, Feng Ye mounted his horse and gradually rode away with the Feng family’s army. The Feng family’s wolf banner fluttering in the cold Liaodong wind became an image he would never forget in his life.

Yuan Mao patted Yuan Sikong’s head, and Yuan Sikong hugged Yuan Mao’s waist, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Feng Ye, until we meet again, we will surely meet again.