The Blood Crown - Chapter 250

Yan Sikong didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he woke up again before dawn, shivering from the cold. The dungeon was unbearably cold. He curled up in the blanket, still trembling uncontrollably.

 

It seemed that both times he had been imprisoned in his life, it had been because of Feng Ye. The things he hated but couldn’t accomplish were done by the one he loved. How ironic.

 

He wasn’t doing well here, and Ah Li was likely in no better condition. He wondered how Ah Li was doing now. Feng Ye probably wouldn’t make things difficult for him, right? He was a mute, so even if tortured, nothing could be extracted from him. But if Feng Ye was just venting his anger…

 

Yan Sikong couldn’t bear to think further. Ah Li, who had repaid the life-saving favor, had served him loyally for so many years. He was probably the only person he could trust in this world. But what good was following him? Living in constant fear, always getting caught up in his troubles. If he could get out this time, he would give Ah Li a large sum of money to leave, return to his hometown, marry a simple and kind girl, raise children, and live a peaceful life…

 

But right now, he could barely protect himself.

 

Moreover, even if he got out, where could he go?

 

The person he had loved most had imprisoned him on charges of treason. His student, whom he had raised, conspired with his enemies to frame him. To the court, he was a traitor who deserved a thousand deaths, and to the world, he was a notorious villain. When he thought about it carefully, there was no place for him in this world anymore.

 

He couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Yan Sikong, oh Yan Sikong, you always prided yourself on being clever, scheming your whole life, only to end up with nothing. How ironic, to fall into this situation.

 

Once, he had lofty ambitions, but in this cold dungeon, those dreams felt like a flickering flame in the cold wind, barely holding onto that fragile light.

 

It wasn’t long before the sky lightened.

 

The jailer brought his meal, placed it outside the iron bars, and walked away, never looking up or speaking. He was following Feng Ye’s orders to have no contact with him.

 

“Wait.” Yan Sikong got up and walked over, his voice hoarse. “It’s too cold. Bring me some charcoal, and thick clothes and blankets.”

 

The jailer ignored him and walked straight out.

 

Yan Sikong kicked over the food on the ground. “Are you going to starve me to death or freeze me to death? You choose.”

 

The jailer paused, glared at Yan Sikong, and turned to leave.

 

At noon, the jailer came again with food, but Yan Sikong didn’t even move, sitting with his eyes closed in meditation.

 

In the evening, the jailer saw that the lunch was still untouched. Unable to resist anymore, he sneered, “If you don’t eat, it’s just you who suffers. From now on, I’ll give you one meal every three days. As long as it doesn’t kill you, it’s enough for me to report.”

 

Hearing this, Yan Sikong opened his eyes and coldly stared at the jailer.

 

The jailer felt a bit uneasy, but then thought, Yan Sikong was just a scholar, no matter how clever, he couldn’t stir up trouble from behind these iron bars. What was there to be afraid of? So when Yan Sikong walked toward him, he didn’t prepare for anything.

 

Yan Sikong looked at the wooden tray in his hand. “Put it down.”

 

The jailer snorted, bent down, and placed the dinner.

 

Suddenly, Yan Sikong reached out and grabbed the jailer’s hair, slamming his face into the iron bars.

 

“Ah—” The jailer screamed, blood immediately pouring from his nose.

 

Yan Sikong lifted him up, flipped him over, and with one arm reaching through the bars, he grabbed his throat, pulling it upwards, choking him against the bars, tightening his arm with force.

 

The jailer’s face turned red as he struggled to breathe. Fear flooded his mind. His bloodshot eyes widened as he desperately tried to pry Yan Sikong’s arm off.

 

He never would have imagined that a mere scholar could have such strength.

 

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, Yan Sikong slightly loosened his grip. It was as though he was surfacing from water, gasping for air. His legs were so weak he could barely stand.

 

Yan Sikong searched through his clothes and pockets but found no keys. He leaned in close to the jailer’s ear and whispered, “I want charcoal, and thick clothes and blankets. Do you understand?”

 

The jailer nodded frantically, terrified.

 

“Swear, that if I release you and you still neglect me, I will have your entire family perish, your line cut off.”

 

“I—I swear.”

 

“Swear it.”

 

“I swear…”

 

The jailer tremblingly swore the deadly oath, and only then did Yan Sikong release him.

 

The jailer coughed a few times, clutching his throat, and looked at Yan Sikong with a mixture of fear and hatred.

 

“Go,” Yan Sikong said expressionlessly. “Don’t think that just because I’m locked up here, I can’t deal with a mere petty official.”

 

The jailer turned and ran.

 

Yan Sikong sat cross-legged on the floor, mechanically shoving the now-cold food into his mouth. Compared to his usual meals, these were difficult to swallow, but at this moment, there was nothing to complain about. As the sun set, the dungeon grew even colder. How he wished he could have a drink to warm himself.

 

He mocked himself, thinking that in a few days, Feng Ye would be married. He wondered if he would be able to drink a toast at Feng Ye’s wedding.

 

After nightfall, several jailers entered with charcoal basins. Behind them, others carried new winter blankets and clothes, even bringing cups, bowls, and pens—things he commonly used.

 

It was obvious that these were not sent by the usual jailer. Even if that jailer had kept his promise, he would never have delivered such expensive items to a prisoner.

 

The door to the cell was opened, and several jailers silently arranged the items for him. Soon, the cell looked much more comfortable.

 

Yan Sikong silently watched them. They said nothing, and he didn’t make things difficult for them.

 

Once all the jailers had left, the lead one stayed behind, walked over to Yan Sikong, bowed slightly, and whispered, “General Que asked me to pass on a message to Lord Yan. He will definitely retrieve the iron rod and clear your name.”

 

Yan Sikong felt a stir of gratitude in his heart. He replied, “Tell him that the iron rod only works for money. The one who framed me is Yuan Shaoxu; he is the one who may have had an affair with Chen Mu.”

 

“I will report this word for word,” the jailer said, about to leave.

 

Yan Sikong grabbed his arm. “What about my servant?”

 

“Lord Yan, rest assured, General Que has arranged for someone to take care of him.”

 

Yan Sikong felt slightly reassured, and the jailer hurried off.

 

He didn’t have much hope that Yuan Nanyu could uncover the truth.

 

If Yuan Nanyu believed Yuan Shaoxu, then he would be Yan Sikong, and how could he trust Yuan Shaoxu to frame his “younger brother”? If Yuan Nanyu didn’t believe Yuan Shaoxu, then he would be Yuan Nanyu, and Yuan Shaoxu was his real brother—what could he do to his own brother?

 

So whether Yuan Nanyu remembered the past or not, he was caught between Yan Sikong and Yuan Shaoxu, a dilemma.

 

With Feng Ye’s attitude toward him, though, it was enough that he believed in his innocence and sent him these items. He was already deeply grateful.

 

Even if his Yu’er had forgotten everything, he still wanted to treat him well—perhaps it was instinct.

 

With the charcoal and warm blankets, Yan Sikong finally had a real sleep.

 

—

 

The days in prison were the longest Yan Sikong had ever experienced.

 

He was sometimes confused, sometimes wide awake. What he couldn’t understand one moment, he could make sense of the next, but then doubts would creep in, and he would begin to question everything he had once believed. He tormented himself like this, counting the days.

 

Finally, the day of Feng Ye’s wedding arrived.

 

The day before the wedding, even from the dungeon, Yan Sikong could hear the sound of fireworks from the city—so lively. Today was the day the bride was being received, and Princess Yunlong had already arrived in Taiyuan. The bride and groom could not meet yet, but tomorrow’s wedding would surely be even more festive.

 

Yan Sikong speculated that Feng Ye must have already planned the marriage long ago. Perhaps even the in-laws had been chosen. Who he married didn’t matter; what mattered was the powerful support his in-laws could provide and how they could expand the Feng family. He, too, had married a wife, and had never dared to ask Feng Ye to remain faithful to him. Just thinking about it made him feel ashamed. Yet, Feng Ye had pretended to be deeply in love, making Yan Sikong feel deeply touched, and he served him even more eagerly. Looking back now, it made him feel sick.

 

With nothing else to do, Yan Sikong took advantage of the fireworks celebrating Feng Ye’s wedding and wrote him a congratulatory letter. The words were so beautiful and elegant that even he couldn’t help but admire them. He had nothing to give Feng Ye. His calligraphy might have been worth something in the past, but now, with his ruined reputation, even if he showed it to others, it would only be met with contempt.

 

Scholars valued their reputation above all else. If someone like him, with such a tarnished name, were in another’s shoes, they might have long since died in shame and anger. He was glad he had let go of that reputation earlier, at least he didn’t suffer from it anymore.

 

After finishing the letter, he laid it out in front of him, reading it carefully several times, feeling quite satisfied.

 

Then he walked over to the charcoal basin, threw the letter into the fire, and watched as the thin white paper was consumed by the flames.

 

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him.

 

Yan Sikong’s heart skipped a beat. For some reason, he felt that the person approaching was Feng Ye.

 

He stiffly turned around. Standing outside the iron bars, staring at him from a distance, was indeed Feng Ye. He was alone, holding a basket.

 

Yan Sikong stirred the charcoal, trying to burn the letter faster.

 

Feng Ye narrowed his eyes and opened the cell door. He stepped forward, grabbed the partially burned letter from the charcoal basin, and frowned at the writing. “What is this?”

 

Yan Sikong stepped aside, coldly saying, “It’s a pity—it’s not a letter of treason.”

 

He smelled the wine on Feng Ye. In the past, Feng Ye didn’t drink much, but now, unless there was a war, he drank almost every other day.

 

“What exactly is it?”

 

“It’s a congratulatory letter for your wedding. Since I couldn’t deliver it to you, I burned it for you.”

 

“Are you cursing me to die?” Feng Ye looked at Yan Sikong with a dark gaze.

 

“Everyone must die eventually, what’s there to fear?”

 

Feng Ye stuffed the letter into his coat. “It’s a pity my life is not yet over. I am destined to live long and prosper. I accept your well-wishes.”

 

Yan Sikong stood silently to the side, not speaking anymore.

 

“Do you know how I plan to deal with you?” Feng Ye placed the basket on the table.

 

“Do whatever you like.”

 

“I have never shown mercy to traitors. Do you remember what happened to the last person caught for treason?”

 

“Quartered by five horses,” Yan Sikong replied expressionlessly.

 

Feng Ye smiled cruelly. “I won’t kill you, because you are still useful, but Ah Li is different. He helped you with treason, so he will be dealt with according to military law.”

 

Yan Sikong lifted his head, voice sharp. “I told you not to touch him.”

 

“If you want to save his life, then do as I say,” Feng Ye said, his gaze cold, more distant than a stranger’s.

 

Yan Sikong stared deeply at Feng Ye. “Feng Ye, do whatever you want. I, Yan Sikong, have suffered much worse. No need for words.”

 

Feng Ye lifted the cloth covering the basket and inside were two bottles of wine and a red bridal veil.

 

Yan Sikong glanced at it, feeling suspicious.

 

Feng Ye grabbed the veil and tossed it into his arms. “Put it on.”

 

Yan Sikong’s hands trembled slightly. He unfolded the veil and saw that it was clearly a—bridal veil.