The Blood Crown - Chapter 277

After years of wandering and following Feng Ye in his conquests, there were few things Yan Sikong had been able to carry with him for long. The letters he had exchanged with Zhu Lanting had long since been consigned to the flames. But Yan Sikong had an exceptional memory and could recall the contents of the letters word for word. Using his memory and mimicking the reply he had just received from Zhu Lanting, he forged Zhu Lanting’s letter on the old, yellowed paper Feng Ye had procured for him.

 

If these letters were to be delivered to the court, it would solidify Zhu Lanting’s collusion with Yan Sikong and his secret assistance to Prince Chu in seizing the throne—crimes severe enough to condemn nine generations. Even if the Emperor Zhao Wu, due to his close relationship with Zhu Lanting, was unwilling to believe this attempt to sow discord, the Zhu family’s prominence with a prince now made them redundant. Given the emperor’s suspicious and narrow-minded nature, he would at least have Zhu Lanting detained and investigated, which would spell disaster for the Zhu family.

 

Yan Sikong could already imagine Zhu Lanting’s furious reaction when he received the forged letter. He had already lost Chen Mu’s trust, and if he lost the court’s trust as well, he would drag the entire Zhu family into irreversible ruin. As the head of his family, Zhu Lanting would have to make a choice, even if it went against his will.

 

Zhu Lanting was a righteous and straightforward man who had helped him several times. Yan Sikong felt a sense of guilt, but at this moment, there was no better option. Moreover, if Zhu Lanting surrendered, it could save tens of thousands of lives.

 

On the eleventh day of the siege, Chen Mu attempted a surprise attack on the weakly guarded west gate, but Feng Ye promptly redeployed his troops to thwart the assault.

 

On the sixteenth day of the siege, Yan Sikong finally received Zhu Lanting’s reply. In the letter, Zhu Lanting said he would rather die than surrender, but he agreed to persuade the Emperor Zhao Wu to capitulate, on the condition that Feng Ye promised not to harm the imperial family or usurp the throne.

 

Feng Ye’s rebellion had always been under the pretext of “purging the court of traitors.” Before the situation stabilized, he would not dare risk the world’s condemnation by proclaiming himself emperor. He truly intended to first enthrone the Thirteenth Prince—a baby still nursing.

 

Zhu Lanting intended to protect his honor to the death, refusing to surrender unless the emperor ordered it. To give Zhu Lanting a “helping hand,” Feng Ye began transporting siege weapons to the gates of the inner city, creating the impression that an assault was imminent.

 

At this point, the Emperor Zhao Wu was deeply distressed. Calls for surrender and calls for resistance were evenly divided. Upon hearing that the loyalist armies were blocked outside the outer walls and that Feng Ye was about to storm the city, even the commander of the garrison showed signs of despair, completely shattering the emperor’s will.

 

Spring of the Thirty-Ninth Year of Zhao Wu’s Reign

 

Faced with Feng Ye’s overwhelming forces, cut off from reinforcements, and with his ministers pleading for surrender, the Emperor Zhao Wu capitulated after twenty-seven days of siege within the Forbidden City.

 

At the moment the gates opened, Feng Ye was clad in armor and helmet, draped in a crimson war cloak. Seated upon Drunken Red, his blood seemed to boil within him, surging with excitement. His grip on the reins was so tight that his knuckles turned pale. Even the horse beneath him sensed its master’s agitation, stamping the ground restlessly with iron-clad hooves.

 

Yan Sikong stood to the side, unable to resist looking at the man beside him.

 

The banner’s tassels brushed against the red plume on Feng Ye’s helmet. His heavy black armor glinted coldly under the scorching sun, while the blood-red cloak billowed behind him. Though it was merely a few feet of silk, when it fluttered recklessly behind the Wolf King, it seemed to hold the power to engulf the world, to swallow rivers and mountains.

 

This man, this man had acquired the bearing of a sovereign.

 

Feng Ye turned his head slightly, his sharp wolf-like eyes locking onto Yan Sikong’s unblinkingly. His unparalleled features bore a restrained arrogance and wildness—a gaze only those elevated by immense power dared possess. That look made Yan Sikong shudder.

 

“Open your eyes wide and watch carefully,” Feng Ye sneered coldly. “Watch how I conquer the Chen family’s empire.”

 

“Feng Ye, you have finally fulfilled your wish,” Yan Sikong’s heart was a turmoil of emotions.

 

“My destiny is to always fulfill my wishes.” Feng Ye nudged his horse’s flank, riding resolutely toward the city gate he had coveted for so many years, the gate that symbolized a realm stretching thousands of miles.

 

Yan Sikong stared blankly at Feng Ye’s retreating back. In a daze, he felt as if Feng Ye would disappear from his life. No, his Feng Ye had long since vanished.

 

The Wolf King had entered the capital. In just six years, he had fought from the Shu region to the Ordos, from the Ordos to Datong, and from Datong to Taiyuan. Now, he had captured the outer city of the capital, besieged the inner city, and finally forced the reigning emperor to surrender.

 

The world was shaken!

 

This might be the last breath of the Chen Sheng Dynasty. No one knew what the kingdom would become now that Feng Ye had seized imperial power.

 

After entering the capital, Feng Ye swiftly disarmed all the troops stationed there and replaced them with his own men.

 

Zhu Lanting was brought before Feng Ye. He looked haggard, gray streaks in his hair. Three years ago, when they parted, he was in his prime, full of spirit. Now, he seemed to have aged ten years.

 

Zhu Lanting glanced at Feng Ye and immediately started searching the room for Yan Sikong.

 

Wang Shen shouted, “General Zhu, upon meeting the Wolf King, why do you not kneel?”

 

Zhu Lanting ignored him indifferently.

 

“You…” Wang Shen stepped forward, about to kick Zhu Lanting, but Feng Ye waved him off.

 

“No matter. Bring a seat for the General.”

 

The guards immediately brought over a chair, and Zhu Lanting sat down without hesitation, staring fearlessly at Feng Ye. “Where is Yan Sikong?”

 

“You cannot see him yet.”

 

“Why?” Zhu Lanting narrowed his eyes. “Could it be… could it be that Yan Sikong is still in the hands of Prince Chu?”

 

Feng Ye only smiled, while Yan Sikong, wearing Yuan Nanyu’s mask, stood silently beside him.

 

“You’re lying to me! Where did you get the letter? How did you imitate his handwriting?!” Zhu Lanting stood up in agitation, and the guards at his sides all drew their swords.

 

Feng Ye reassured him, “None of that matters, General Zhu. I have always admired your character. You once helped the Feng family, and I have not forgotten it. Therefore, I will keep my promise: not a single member of the imperial family will be harmed, and I will enthrone the Thirteenth Prince to inherit the throne.”

 

Zhu Lanting hesitated as he looked at Feng Ye. “…Truly?”

 

“I will not break my word.”

 

Zhu Lanting pressed his lips together, his expression incredibly complex.

 

“You look as if you haven’t slept in days, General. Why not rest early?” Feng Ye stood up. “Escort the General back to his residence.”

 

“Where are you going?” Zhu Lanting asked, his gaze fixed on Feng Ye with bloodshot eyes.

 

Feng Ye sneered. “To the palace, to pay my respects to His Majesty.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Zhu Lanting insisted, his eyes unwavering.

 

“Very well, then please, General, lead the way.” Feng Ye glanced at Yan Sikong, signaling him to follow.

 

Yan Sikong took a deep breath. Ever since he had set foot on this familiar land, his heart had been in turmoil. After all, too much had happened here—both his best memories and his worst memories. Once, the person he loved most and the person he hated most were here. Though only three years had passed, it felt like half a lifetime had slipped away.

 

On the day he left, he never dared to imagine he would return. Now that he truly stood here, it all felt like a dream.

 

He followed behind Feng Ye, riding into the palace.

 

He had walked this path to the palace for years, first on foot, then in a carriage. Never had he imagined that one day he would ride into the palace on horseback. Unless it was an urgent matter, no one was permitted to ride within the city walls—doing so would be seen as defiance against imperial authority. And yet, what they were doing now was far more than defiance.

 

The palace walls were still that same vibrant red, the color of joy, enclosing countless schemes, betrayals, and bloody struggles. Though everyone knew the dangers, they still scrambled to squeeze their way inside. What a tragedy it was.

 

Feng Ye, with his army, entered the palace brazenly. Inside the palace walls, there was a quiet desolation. The guards reported that the Emperor Zhao Wu awaited him in the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

 

When they arrived at the Hall of Supreme Harmony, Feng Ye dismounted, and his accompanying soldiers did the same.

 

Feng Ye stood still, looking up at the grand palace. Memories of attending court came flooding back to him. Once he ascended those steps and crossed the threshold, directly facing him would be that coveted dragon throne, which everyone longed for.

 

Feng Ye glanced at Yan Sikong, and their eyes met, as if each understood the other’s thoughts at that moment. He said, “Que Wang, come with me. The rest of you, wait here.”

 

“Wait.” Zhu Lanting interrupted. “Wolf King, you cannot bear a sword when meeting His Majesty.”

 

Feng Ye grabbed his sword hilt, sneering disdainfully, and strode boldly towards the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

 

Zhu Lanting let out a deep sigh, his face full of helplessness and defeat.

 

The two of them walked steadily to the palace doors, where they both halted.

 

Yan Sikong looked at the tall threshold beneath his feet and said softly, “Every time I came to court, I always thought that crossing this threshold was like entering a battlefield.”

 

Feng Ye replied, “It is.”

 

Yan Sikong stepped over, and Feng Ye followed closely behind.

 

Inside the grand hall, Emperor Zhao Wu sat alone on the dragon throne, accompanied only by Yu Ji. In Yan Sikong’s eyes appeared the image of the early court sessions of the past, when the emperor had an overwhelming response to his commands. Those scenes were like a fleeting dream, hard to distinguish between real and illusory. Compared to the present, it seemed all the more desolate.

 

He was more bloated and older than before. Three years had passed, and it seemed his own actions had completely ruined his health. His face was ashen, lacking any spirit, not to mention any imperial dignity.

 

Seeing Feng Ye, he shrank back in fear.

 

Feng Ye stood below the vermilion steps, looking up at Emperor Zhao Wu, and called, “Your Majesty.” His voice was filled with cold mockery.

 

Emperor Zhao Wu clutched the armrests of the dragon throne, trying to muster some authority, but the fine sweat on his forehead betrayed him. He trembled as he said, “Feng Ye, what… what do you want?”

 

“Rest assured, Your Majesty. Whatever I want, you can afford to give.”

 

Emperor Zhao Wu raised his hand to wipe his sweat, and Yu Ji hurriedly used a white cloth to gently dab it. The old eunuch, who had served the emperor for most of his life, had a face full of sorrow.

 

“You… you said you wouldn’t kill me, nor my concubines and descendants.”

 

“Feng Ye will keep his word.” Feng Ye looked at Emperor Zhao Wu, his eyes full of contempt and hatred.

 

Yan Sikong suddenly stepped forward. “Your Majesty, do you still remember this minister?”

 

Emperor Zhao Wu froze, staring at the mask on Yan Sikong’s face.

 

Yan Sikong slowly removed his mask.

 

“You!” Emperor Zhao Wu, agitated, pointed at Yan Sikong. “Yan… Yan Sikong, you…” He wanted to curse but was afraid of Feng Ye beside him, yet his eyes were full of anger.

 

Yan Sikong calmly said, “Your Majesty already knows my background. Do you now regret trusting treacherous eunuchs for so many years?”

 

Emperor Zhao Wu’s lips trembled, his face turning livid, but he couldn’t speak.

 

“Your Majesty is the Son of Heaven. Every move of yours affects the whole realm. A single misstep can lead countless commoners into irreversible disaster, yet you never cared.” The more Yan Sikong spoke, the harder it was to contain the hatred in his chest. “You’re just like the late emperor. One abandoned Hetao, another abandoned Liaobei, turning the land our ancestors left into this state.”

 

“Shut up!” Emperor Zhao Wu trembled, pointing at Yan Sikong, “Traitor! You ungrateful, treacherous minister…”

 

Yan Sikong sneered coldly. “I became a treacherous minister because you are a foolish ruler.”

 

Emperor Zhao Wu’s face flushed with rage.

 

“Silence!” A fierce female voice suddenly echoed in the empty hall.

 

The sound made both Feng Ye and Yan Sikong freeze. They turned to look and saw a woman in luxurious clothing standing at the entrance of the hall, holding a little girl in her arms.

 

Yan Sikong’s heart pounded violently, his face burning with shame, not daring to look directly at her.

 

It was the emperor’s daughter, the noble princess—Wanyang, his wife.

 

After three years, Wanyang still possessed a beauty that could captivate any soul. She had shed her youthful immaturity, blossoming into a woman of grace and noble bearing. Her face was icy, exuding the arrogance and aloofness of a royal princess.

 

“Xiyer, what are you doing here as a woman?” Emperor Zhao Wu commanded, “Go back.”

 

“Father.” Wanyang gave a slight bow.

 

Feng Ye looked at Wanyang and the child in her arms, jealousy boiling within him. He clenched his fists tightly.

 

Wanyang stared fixedly at Yan Sikong, stepping up to him and suddenly slapped him hard.

 

Yan Sikong saw her movement but didn’t dodge, lowering his eyes silently.

 

He had wronged this woman—his wife by marriage.

 

Wanyang’s voice trembled. “Yan Sikong, what do you take me for? I, a noble princess of Dasheng, was left behind like an abandoned woman by you. You, my husband, betrayed my father…”

 

“…I’m sorry.” Yan Sikong said quietly, “I have wronged you.”

 

“Sorry? You married me for power. You wanted this child to save your life. We were all just your pawns!” Wanyang, overwhelmed by grief and anger, raised her hand to strike again.

 

This time, her hand did not land. Feng Ye caught it.

 

Tears streamed down Wanyang’s face as she looked at Feng Ye, full of fear.

 

“Xiyer, I know it’s hard for you to be caught in the middle, but…” Feng Ye said coldly, “From the moment my family of over two hundred was slaughtered, you should have known this day would come.”

 

Wanyang’s tears fell like rain. “Cousin, why must it be this way, why…”

 

The little girl in her arms reached out a tiny hand, touching her face and saying in a tender voice, “Mother, don’t cry…”

 

Yan Sikong looked at the little girl, so close yet so distant. Though they shared no blood, she was, in name, his daughter. Yet, he didn’t have the courage to even touch her.

 

Feng Ye spoke softly, “Xiyer, it has come to this. Accept it. You are a princess of Dasheng and also the daughter of the Feng family. You are the only kin I have left in this world. I will not mistreat you.”

 

Wanyang dropped to her knees with a thud, choking with sobs. “Cousin, I beg you to spare my father, please spare him.”

 

Emperor Zhao Wu’s tears streamed down his face.

 

Feng Ye bent down, took the child from Wanyang’s arms, and helped her up. “Don’t cry. Just be filial to your aunt. The rest is not your concern.”

 

“Cousin, please…”

 

“This child…” Feng Ye pinched the little girl’s cheek, “She’s quite bold, not crying even when held by a stranger.” After saying this, he glanced at Yan Sikong.

 

Yan Sikong avoided everyone’s gaze. Never had he felt such shame. He had schemed and fought with outsiders, but that was his choice as a man. These were his wife and daughter, innocent and blameless, yet he had used and manipulated them too. He felt utterly ashamed.

 

Wanyang’s gaze shifted between Emperor Zhao Wu and Feng Ye, her sorrow growing deeper.

 

Feng Ye held the child, walked to Yan Sikong’s side, took the child’s small hand, and lifted Yan Sikong’s chin, saying coldly, “This is your daughter. Won’t you take a good look at her?”

 

Yan Sikong looked up, his gaze evasive. The little girl’s clear and bright eyes blinked at him, untainted by the turmoil around her.

 

This child, though not as remarkable in appearance compared to him and Wanyang, was still lively and lovely. Her gaze was so innocent and pure, oblivious to the fact that her existence was just a part of a scheme.

 

From those clear eyes, Yan Sikong saw his own despicable and vile nature. Instinctively, he turned his face away.

 

Wanyang wiped her tears, stepped forward, seemingly trying to please Feng Ye. “Jinyu, call him uncle.”

 

Feng Ye’s entire body trembled, staring straight at Wanyang. “What… is her name?”

 

Wanyang hesitated. “Yan Jinyu.”

 

“Call her Jinyu. My mother, before she passed, gave names to the children of my brother and me: ‘In this life, those who cherish jade and hold orchid laurel will be ashamed to be called as such.’”

 

“My daughter, why does she bear your name?”

 

Words once spoken flashed in Feng Ye’s mind. He looked deeply at Yan Sikong.

 

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Wanyang’s statement, “Call her Jinyu. My mother, before she passed, gave names to the children of my brother and me: ‘In this life, those who cherish jade and hold orchid laurel will be ashamed to be called as such,’” is a reference to the meaning behind the name “Jinyu” and the values her mother held dear. The phrase suggests that those who are truly worthy of being honored or loved—those who cherish rare and precious things like jade and orchids—would be ashamed to be associated with something tainted or dishonorable. In this context, Wanyang is implying that the child, Jinyu, is pure and worthy, but the association with her father (Yan Sikong) who has committed treacherous acts, and the situation they are in, may bring shame to the child’s name.

 

The second part, “My daughter, why does she bear your name?” indicates Wanyang’s deep resentment towards Yan Sikong. She questions why the child carries his name—someone she sees as dishonorable and a betrayer. It’s a reflection of her anger and disappointment in Yan Sikong, and a subtle way of challenging his actions and the legacy he’s creating for his daughter. The name “Jinyu” could have been a symbol of innocence and virtue, but now it is tied to Yan Sikong, making her wonder if such a name is deserved.