The Blood Crown - Chapter 189

After taking Mao Ren, Feng Ye didn’t give Qianzhou a chance to dispatch troops for reinforcements. He quickly reorganized his forces and sent Yuan Nanyu to lead an army to surround Qianzhou.

With the additional 10,000 troops brought by Yu Shenglang from Datong, Qianzhou now had fewer than 20,000 soldiers, and their supply lines were cut off. However, Qianzhou had its own advantages: the terrain was high and formidable, forcing Feng Ye to fight uphill, which was highly unfavorable. Additionally, they had ample provisions, enough to last for a year, so they could afford to wait it out. As long as Qianzhou relied on its strategic position and remained on the defensive without engaging in battle, Feng Ye would be helpless.

The art of war states: when you outnumber the enemy ten to one, surround them; when five to one, attack; when double, divide. Currently, Feng Ye had consolidated nearly 80,000 troops from the three counties of Qianzhou and the Feng family army, making his forces four times that of Qianzhou’s. This was barely sufficient to launch an attack, but whether or not the city could be taken, the losses would undoubtedly be severe. If they laid siege for a year, the cost would be enormous.

As it stood, the best strategy was to lure Qianzhou’s forces out of the city for a decisive battle. The optimal strategy, however, was to destabilize Qianzhou from within, which was precisely what Yan Sikong had meticulously prepared for.

A few days after Qianzhou was surrounded, news came from Datong that Chahar had surrendered to the imperial court. But it was too late; even if Xue Ronggui were to lead troops to aid them now, by the time they arrived at Qianzhou, his forces would be exhausted and vulnerable. Feng Ye wouldn’t even give them the chance to set up camp, and would surely take advantage of the situation to annihilate them. Everyone knew that Xue Ronggui would not dare to recklessly march to his death.

After a few days of stalemate, Qianzhou sent emissaries to negotiate. Feng Ye treated them to fine food and drink but dismissed them without letting them see him. 

Qianzhou was unable to discern Feng Ye’s intentions. Upon hearing that Yan Sikong was under house arrest, they dared not take any rash actions and decided to focus on defending the city.

Feng Ye, on the other hand, neither persuaded them to surrender nor provoked them. He sent troops to drill outside the city every day, demonstrating the ferocity and combat readiness of the Feng family army, seemingly without any intention to attack. Yet, the more he acted this way, the more it instilled fear, as they couldn’t help but suspect that he might be deliberately lulling them into complacency, just as he had done when he launched a surprise night attack on Mao Ren. As a result, the defenders of Qianzhou became even more vigilant.

Feng Ye and Yan Sikong’s plan was to leave Qianzhou to stew for a while, giving the impression that Feng Ye intended to besiege the city for a long time without rushing into battle. This would amplify Qianzhou’s anxiety, setting the stage for Yan Sikong to return to the city and secretly turn Yu Shenglang against them, thereby taking the city without bloodshed.

However, just as winter set in, Qianzhou’s emissary came again. Feng Ye was secretly pleased, thinking that Qianzhou was starting to crack under the pressure. But to his surprise, the emissary came bearing a letter for Yan Sikong, along with a request to see him.

Feng Ye had his men take the letter and treated the emissary to a meal before sending him back, this time with a message: he demanded that Emperor Zhaowu grant him the Hetao region as his fiefdom, and in return, he would accept the imperial summons.

Feng Ye returned to the posthouse with Yan Sikong’s letter in hand, arrogantly pushing open the door to his room. The guards, recognizing him, immediately withdrew.

There was no one else who could behave this way except Feng Ye. Yan Sikong didn’t even lift his head, keeping his eyes on the book in his hand as he calmly said, “Greetings, Wolf King.”

Feng Ye tossed something onto the table.

Yan Sikong glanced at it. “What’s this?”

“Your family letter, sent from Qianzhou.”

Yan Sikong was momentarily startled but quickly guessed the contents of the letter. He instinctively set down his book, conveniently covering the letter, and deliberately changed the subject, “What did the emissary say? What was his attitude, and how did you respond?”

Feng Ye leaned on the table with both hands, looking down at Yan Sikong. “Aren’t you going to read the letter?”

“No need. It’s nothing important.”

Feng Ye snatched up the letter and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing important? If that’s the case, I’ll read it for you.” With that, he tore open the letter.

“Feng Ye!” Yan Sikong stood up and tried to grab it.

Feng Ye pushed his hand away and shook open the letter, quickly scanning the inked words. The more he read, the darker his expression became.

Yan Sikong lowered his gaze.

Feng Ye’s fingers tightened, crumpling the thin letter into a ball. His voice was icy as he said, “Congratulations, Prince Yan, congratulations indeed. Princess Wanyang has given you a little princess.”

Yan Sikong took a deep breath, not daring to meet Feng Ye’s eyes. He and She Zhun had planned this in advance, with She Zhun arranging to buy a child from the countryside just in time for Princess Wanyang’s supposed “due date.” It had to be a daughter—if it were a son left in the capital, he might be used as leverage in the future. Judging by the time, it was indeed time for the child to have been “born,” though Yan Sikong had been so consumed with schemes and plots that he had almost forgotten.

Despite his resentment towards Feng Ye, Yan Sikong dared not provoke him at this moment. He simply said, “I understand.”

Feng Ye threw the letter in Yan Sikong’s face, his eyes cold yet tinged with hidden pain. “Xi’er is waiting for you to name her.”

Yan Sikong slowly picked up the letter, smoothed it out, and glanced over it briefly. The baby girl had already been granted the title of ‘Xiwen’ by Emperor Zhaowu, with the nickname Duo’er. From now on, she would be his… daughter. He had never thought he would have any descendants, but now he had a child, albeit a daughter. He couldn’t quite describe how he felt—certainly not joy.

Feng Ye observed Yan Sikong’s calm expression, his fists clenching and unclenching, before he asked in a low voice, “Aren’t you happy?”

“I…” Yan Sikong lifted his head, suddenly deciding to tell Feng Ye the truth about the child’s origins. They were just a step away from Hetao, and considering the larger picture, he hoped to ease the tension between them. Deep down, in a corner of his heart that he didn’t want to examine, there was a faint hope of clearing up the misunderstandings with Feng Ye. He solemnly said, “Feng Ye, this child isn’t mine.”

Feng Ye stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I never consummated my marriage with the princess. This child was bought from the countryside by She Zhun, to make my bond with the emperor stronger.”

Feng Ye narrowed his eyes. “Do you realize what you’re saying? You expect me to believe such nonsense?”

Yan Sikong couldn’t hide his disappointment. “It’s the truth. Whether you believe it or not is up to you. I’m just telling you.”

Feng Ye grabbed Yan Sikong’s collar, his voice harsh. “If you’re lying, then you’re still up to no good, trying to deceive me. If it’s true, you went to such great lengths to marry my cousin, only to leave her, a dignified princess, in a loveless marriage?!”

A surge of anger washed over Yan Sikong as he gritted his teeth and said, “She despised me…”

“How could you treat Xi’er like that? What did she do to deserve this?” Feng Ye advanced, pinning Yan Sikong against the wall, his voice laced with fury. “You’re so ruthless, treating everyone as pawns in your schemes, using them without a second thought—even your own wife. Do you even have a heart?”

Yan Sikong stared straight into Feng Ye’s eyes, his chest aching. He had never imagined that Feng Ye would say such words, nor had he anticipated that he truly hadn’t “given up his wicked ways,” still wanting to explain himself to Feng Ye. Even if it was just to clarify one thing, even if it meant erasing just one “wrong” in Feng Ye’s mind…

He had always prided himself on his intelligence, so why did he always end up making foolish mistakes in front of Feng Ye? How many times would he have to humiliate himself before he remembered that, in Feng Ye’s eyes, everything he did was wrong?

Feng Ye viciously threw Yan Sikong to the ground and kicked over the table in anger. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked, as if he were struggling to suppress something. His extraordinarily handsome face twisted slightly, his eyes brimming with an indescribable mix of rage and sorrow. His voice hoarse, he said, “Sometimes, I really want to kill you.”

With that, he turned and stormed out.

Yan Sikong slowly crawled up from the ground, his face pale as paper. He stared blankly into space, his expression numb and hollow, before slowly, mockingly, curling his lips into a bitter smile.

He righted the table and chairs, picked up the family letter, and carefully put it away. He had long known that Feng Ye would fly into a rage—this outcome was unavoidable, so why feel upset?

Sometimes, he wondered why he was still alive, and for whom he lived. It seemed he was born with a mission, one that he could never escape unless he succeeded.

And Feng Ye… was probably his inescapable fate.

Feng Ye didn’t show his face for several days. Yan Sikong was confined to a side room, with little human contact aside from meals being delivered, leaving him stifled and restless.

It wasn’t until the eve of the Lunar New Year that Feng Ye appeared again. He had been drinking; though not drunk, he was far from sober.

Yan Sikong couldn’t help but recall Feng Ye’s madness that night when he was drunk, and fear welled up inside him. However, Feng Ye simply placed a wine jug on the table, stared directly at him, and asked, “Have you named the little princess?”

“…Not yet.”

“If Xi’er weren’t my cousin…” Feng Ye took a swig of wine and said to himself, “I’d kill her.”

Yan Sikong pressed his lips together, unsure how to respond.

Feng Ye cast a sidelong glance at Yan Sikong, his gaze three parts drunk and seven parts sharp. “Do you know what I hate most about you?”

“…”

“What I hate most…” Feng Ye stood up and slowly walked over to Yan Sikong. “What I hate most…”

Yan Sikong gazed deeply into Feng Ye’s eyes.

Feng Ye curled his lips into a smile, then suddenly grabbed Yan Sikong’s chin and forced the mouth of the wine jug to his lips, pouring the liquid down his throat.

Yan Sikong choked on the fiery alcohol, his face flushing red. He struggled to break free from Feng Ye’s grip, and the jug fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.

Feng Ye scooped Yan Sikong up, threw him onto the bed, and pressed down on him.

Yan Sikong pushed against Feng Ye’s chest. “Feng Ye!” He was genuinely afraid of Feng Ye’s uncontrollable beastly nature when he was drunk.

Feng Ye grabbed his wrist, his eyes flickering between clarity and intoxication, making it impossible to tell whether he was drunk or sober. He said in a low voice, “On New Year’s Eve, you’ll return to Qianzhou and carry out the plan.”

Yan Sikong froze, momentarily forgetting to resist.

Feng Ye sneered, “You really only care about that. If someone else could give you the world, would you ‘serve’ them like this too?”

Yan Sikong gritted his teeth. “Feng Ye, if there ever comes a day when you regret how you treated me today, don’t ever tell me.”

Feng Ye leaned down and whispered, “I won’t regret it.” With that, he tore open the front of Yan Sikong’s robe… (To be continued)