The Blood Crown - Chapter 223

At dawn, Yan Sikong received news that General Zhang Rong had died in battle after falling into an ambush. The Feng family’s army had suffered a loss of fifteen thousand soldiers in the battle of Taiyuan, with three thousand captured and nearly ten thousand wounded.

This was the largest defeat Feng Ye had encountered since he first raised his army. If one does not count the probing attack on Maoren, where the initial assault did not succeed, this was also Feng Ye’s first defeat—and likewise, Yan Sikong’s.

Yan Sikong looked at the still-unconscious Feng Ye, gently wiping his forehead with a cloth soaked in alcohol. His fingertips lightly touched the feverish skin, which felt burning hot. He had kept watch all night and intended to stay until Feng Ye opened his eyes.

In his life, Yan Sikong had won many battles and lost many as well. He had made many right decisions and many wrong ones. He never believed that he and Feng Ye could win every battle. Even when the odds seemed overwhelmingly in their favor, the battlefield always held countless possibilities. But this defeat stung him with deep regret and unwillingness.

They hadn’t lost simply due to arrogance and underestimating the enemy. He was certain they had succeeded in sowing discord between Luo Ruoxin and Wang Mei. These two were not easy opponents and would never have remained united under such circumstances. The only possibility was that an outsider had seen through their ruse and set a trap for them.

Before falling unconscious, Feng Ye had said that there was a mastermind within Taiyuan City. He was right, and that mastermind likely bore the surname Shen.

If they had merely fallen into an ambush, it would at most have been due to their successive victories clouding their judgment, causing them to underestimate Luo Ruoxin and Wang Mei. What made them suspect that there was a “master” in Taiyuan was the two waves of pursuing troops they encountered after retreating.

Retreating is a crucial part of warfare, just as important as attacking. It requires strict military discipline and orderly formations. A wise commander, regardless of the circumstances requiring a retreat, even in flight, would always place heavy troops at the rear to guard against pursuing forces.

The Art of War says, “Do not obstruct a returning army; do not press a desperate enemy.” These principles are clear, but not all returning armies or desperate enemies should be left alone. If the opponent is utterly defeated, fleeing in disarray, there is every reason to pursue and annihilate them.

Feng Ye’s reputation was known across the land. Luo Ruoxin would have anticipated that Feng Ye would deploy rear guard troops to counter the pursuers. However, Luo Ruoxin was arrogant and eager to wash away his previous shame. Having defeated the incredibly brave Feng family army and even wounded the Wolf King, he naturally believed that the Feng family army at this point was nothing more than a defeated dog. He was determined to pursue and deliver a final blow. Thus, he sent his pursuers to engage Feng Ye’s elite cavalry. But there exists no force in the world that could defeat the renowned Feng Wolf Riders on open ground. As expected, the first wave of pursuers gained nothing and returned frustrated.

Had the battle ended there, it would have been unremarkable. But it was the second wave of pursuers from Taiyuan that led Feng Ye to declare, “There is a master in Taiyuan.”

After the first wave of pursuers was defeated, they never imagined that Luo Ruoxin would send another group. They redeployed the Feng Wolf Riders to the central forces to deal with ambushers on the road. Luo Ruoxin himself probably never thought he would send another group of pursuers, especially after the Feng family army no longer had heavy troops at the rear, leading to heavy casualties during the second pursuit.

The first wave of pursuers should not have chased them. To do so only resulted in mutual destruction. But Luo Ruoxin insisted on pursuing, which indicated that the mastermind in Taiyuan City couldn’t stop him. The second wave of pursuers, however, was a stroke of genius—definitely not something Luo Ruoxin could have thought of on his own. It must have been someone’s guidance.

As Yan Sikong thought it over, he could only think of one person—Shen Hexuan.

The court must have been out of options before turning to the one person who had once stopped Feng Ye. Although this person was outspoken, stubborn, and even dared to scold the emperor to his face, he was likely the only one in the world who could match Yan Sikong in wits.

Yan Sikong deeply regretted that he had several opportunities to eliminate Shen Hexuan but never had the heart to do so. He even personally let this formidable opponent go, which led to their crushing defeat in Taiyuan.

Everyone must pay for their mistakes, but what he least wanted was for Feng Ye to bear the consequences on his behalf.

Looking at the unconscious Feng Ye lying on the sickbed, Yan Sikong silently held his hand to his cheek, hoping with all his heart that Feng Ye would recover quickly. Just as Feng Ye had said, they would reclaim everything they had lost—double.

Wounded and with a persistent fever, Feng Ye remained unconscious for two full days before his temperature finally dropped, and he slowly woke up.

The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was Yan Sikong’s haggard face and worried eyes. Feng Ye felt weak all over, and his chest was in excruciating pain, but he still forced himself to reach out to Yan Sikong.

Yan Sikong grasped his hand, feeling a weight lifted from his shoulders. “You’re finally awake.”

“How long… have I slept?” Feng Ye’s voice was hoarse, and his throat burned with dryness.

Yan Sikong poured him a cup of water and carefully lifted his head to help him drink. “Two days. You had a fever.”

“I haven’t been sick in a long time,” Feng Ye said softly.

“You were injured; your body is naturally weaker,” Yan Sikong replied, gently caressing Feng Ye’s face. “The arrow didn’t hit any vital organs. You’ll recover soon.”

Feng Ye managed a faint smile. “I’ve been injured worse when I was younger. This is nothing.”

Yan Sikong fell silent. He knew better than anyone how many scars covered Feng Ye’s body.

Feng Ye took a deep breath, his eyes dimming. “How many of our men were lost?”

Yan Sikong hesitated before honestly reporting the casualties.

Feng Ye’s face grew even paler, his lips trembling slightly as he fought to suppress his anger. This was the first defeat for the Wolf King, whose name resounded across the land. The fury, shame, and unwillingness that surged within him were far more intense than the pain of his wounds.

“It’s because we were arrogant and underestimated the enemy,” Yan Sikong whispered.

“I think it was more than just that,” Feng Ye responded coldly.

At that moment, a guard walked into the tent. “Master Yan, the General of Taiyuan…” He noticed that Feng Ye was awake and quickly knelt down, joy evident on his face. “Wolf King, you’re awake!”

Feng Ye asked in a deep voice, “What about the General of Taiyuan?”

“Uh…” The guard held a wooden box in his hands. “The General of Taiyuan sent someone… to deliver this.” As he spoke, his voice grew softer. The size of the wooden box made it easy to guess what might be inside. The guard knew he shouldn’t let the injured Feng Ye see it but hadn’t expected him to wake up.

Yan Sikong scolded, “Leave at once! Can’t you see the Wolf King is exhausted?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait,” Feng Ye ordered as he tried to push himself up.

“Feng Ye, don’t move around; you’ll aggravate your wounds,” Yan Sikong tried to hold him down but didn’t dare use too much force. Seeing Feng Ye’s determination to sit up, he had no choice but to help him and place a soft pillow behind his back.

With trembling hands, Feng Ye pointed at the wooden box. “Open it.”

“Feng Ye…”

“Open it!”

The guard had no choice but to carefully open the wooden box.

Inside the box was Zhang Rong’s severed head.

Feng Ye’s blood surged with fury, his face contorted, and his entire body trembled.

“Feng Ye,” Yan Sikong grabbed his face and turned it toward him, speaking urgently, “General Zhang Rong died heroically on the battlefield. You must avenge him, avenge the Feng family army, and not fall into their trap.”

Feng Ye breathed heavily, his voice filled with anguish. “Zhang Rong… followed me from Shu, loyal and brave, achieving countless merits…”

“I know,” Yan Sikong replied. “I will take care of his family on your behalf.” He then turned to the guard and instructed, “Go and order the Internal Affairs camp to arrange General Zhang’s funeral.”

“Wait…” Feng Ye took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “There’s a letter in there. Give it to me.”

Indeed, there was a letter in the box. The guard handed it over before silently retreating.

Yan Sikong slowly unfolded the letter. On it was a short poem:

_”The greedy die for wealth,  

The martyrs die for fame,  

The boastful perish for power,  

But the virtuous always survive.  

To stabilize chaos and help the distressed,  

I follow my own path.  

When our paths diverge,  

We cannot conspire together.”_

The letter was signed by—Shen Hexuan.

Feng Ye gritted his teeth, enunciating each word: “So… it… was… him!”

Yan Sikong felt a surge of anger, the blood draining from his face in an instant.

Shen Hexuan, I spared you time and again out of admiration for your talents. Yet not only did you fail to show any gratitude, but you also plotted against me, against Feng Ye. One day, I will make sure you take your foolish loyalty to the grave!

Feng Ye crumpled the letter and threw it at Yan Sikong’s face, shouting, “This is what your soft-heartedness has led to!”

Yan Sikong lowered his gaze and said in a low voice, “It was my mistake. I regret not killing him.”

“You…” Feng Ye began to cough violently.

“Feng Ye!” Yan Sikong, deeply worried, supported him, fearing that he might tear open his wounds. But it was too late; he could already see blood seeping through the white gauze on Feng Ye’s shoulder. Yan Sikong’s nose stung with the onset of tears. He bit his lip hard, as if the pain was the only thing that could slightly alleviate his self-loathing.

Feng Ye coughed for a long time before he finally calmed down. When he looked up at Yan Sikong, he saw that his lips were bitten so hard they were bleeding. Feng Ye’s heart softened, and he gently reached out, prying Yan Sikong’s teeth apart.

Yan Sikong looked at him, his eyes rimmed with red.

Feng Ye said softly, “It’s rare to see you admit you’re wrong, rare to see you regret.”

Yan Sikong looked at Feng Ye’s pale face, his heart filled with deep sorrow.

Feng Ye wrapped his arm around Yan Sikong and pulled him into his embrace. “Listen to me: I, Feng Ye, am not afraid of defeat, not afraid of loss. Every enemy that stands before me will eventually fall by my sword. Whether it’s Taiyuan or the capital, they will all be mine. No treacherous ingrate can stop the Feng family army!”

Yan Sikong nodded. “That’s right, no one can stop the Feng family army.” His gaze was firm and icy. “Feng Ye, I will take Taiyuan for you.”

Feng Ye buried his face in the crook of Yan Sikong’s neck, closing his eyes. The small bit of warmth allowed him to temporarily forget the pain and defeat, the shame and frustration. There was no one else in this world who could offer him this solace. (End of chapter)