The Blood Crown - Chapter 292

Wang Shen and Qian Cunxi split into two forces. One destroyed Prince Ning’s camp, which had been preparing to withdraw, while the other scattered the eastern reinforcements, who had already lost the will to fight. Feng Changyue led the troops to sweep up the remnants, completely lifting the siege on the capital.

 

With this, the Feng army fully controlled the Forbidden City, seizing the supreme imperial power of the Chen family.

 

Yet, the Wolf King, who now commanded the Son of Heaven and compelled the world to bow, had been unconscious for two full days.

 

No matter how grave his injuries had been in the past, he had never been this weak. This time, his very spirit had been wounded.

 

When Feng Ye woke, his room was crowded with people—imperial physicians, servants, several generals, and his uncle Feng Changyue.

 

Every face bore deep concern.

 

Feng Ye’s empty eyes swept over them. After a brief moment of confusion, his memories before losing consciousness came rushing back. He abruptly widened his eyes and struggled to get up from the bed.

 

“Wolf King!” Feng Changyue pressed him down. “You need to stay calm…”

 

“Where is Yan Sikong?” Feng Ye glared at Feng Changyue, his eyes bloodshot. “Where is Yan Sikong?”

 

Feng Changyue’s face darkened, and he said gravely, “Yan Sikong is gone.”

 

“I don’t believe it.” Feng Ye’s expression twisted in agony. The image of that charred corpse haunted him like a vengeful specter, refusing to leave. “He can’t just die like that. He’s Yan Sikong—nothing can kill him!”

 

“He can kill himself!” Feng Changyue shouted, his voice rising. “He’s dead. He died in the granary he set on fire.”

 

“That wasn’t him!” Feng Ye roared, flipping out of bed. He fell to the ground but crawled back up, feeling something in his palm. Opening his hand, he saw the small, scorched remnant of the wedding veil.

 

His heart twisted in unbearable pain.

 

The night he had draped that veil over Yan Sikong’s head, he thought to himself that this was the only person he truly wanted to marry in this life. Yan Sikong had been reluctant then, yet he had kept the veil with him all along—during his escape, during torture, even when he went alone into the enemy camp. He treated it as if it were a token of their bond.

 

All his resentment and hatred toward Yan Sikong over the years had stemmed from what he perceived as Yan Sikong’s coldness and betrayal. But was Yan Sikong truly heartless?

 

He had risked breaking into the prison to save Feng Ye, named their child Jin Yu, helped him achieve military victories, and even in the end, lit that fire to clear all obstacles for him. Was that heartlessness?

 

Or had his own resentment blinded him?

 

He dared not think about it. If Yan Sikong had truly cared for him, how much pain must he have endured for the things he had said and done?

 

Time and again, Feng Ye had hurt Yan Sikong, seeking to see the same pain in his face, the same care in his eyes. But all he did was push him further away.

 

Helpless against that cold indifference, he had only escalated his cruelty.

 

What had he done?

 

Regret, like a corrosive poison, gnawed at his body with reckless abandon.

 

He had to see Yan Sikong. Heaven or earth, he would find him. He refused to believe Yan Sikong was truly gone. If it were true, he would storm the gates of the underworld itself to bring him back.

 

Clutching the tattered fabric, he prepared to leave.

 

Several generals blocked his way. “Wolf King, what are you doing?”

 

“Step aside.”

 

The men knelt before him, pleading, “Wolf King, the Grand Tutor is gone. Please accept this…”

 

“Silence! He isn’t dead. I refuse to believe that was him,” Feng Ye growled through gritted teeth. “I want an autopsy. Bring me the best coroner. I want an autopsy!”

 

“Feng Ye!” Feng Changyue shouted angrily. “Yan Sikong is gone. Why won’t you let him rest in peace?”

 

“I refuse to believe that was him,” Feng Ye said loudly. “Hun’er told me it wasn’t him.”

 

“Hun’er is a wolf!”

 

“If it were him, Hun’er would never have shown him disrespect.” Feng Ye clutched the wedding veil tightly. “Hun’er sniffed the veil but showed no interest in the corpse. So it can’t be him.”

 

“Can’t you wake up?” Feng Changyue shouted, furious. “All these years, you’ve been obsessed with one man, refusing to marry or have children, becoming a laughingstock for the world! You’re the last bloodline of the Feng family, the sole heir of Prince Jingyuan. Do you think you’re worthy of your parents? Of the ancestors of the Feng family?”

 

Feng Ye turned back, his eyes fierce. “It was this man who rescued me from prison. This man who helped me conquer cities, who plotted for me. It was this man who brought the Feng family to the Forbidden City!”

 

Feng Changyue trembled with rage.

 

Tears welled up in Feng Ye’s eyes as he said shakily, “Uncle, I owe Yan Sikong too much. If he’s dead, I cannot go on living. No matter where he is, even in the underworld, I will find him!”

 

Feng Changyue’s expression turned grim. Pointing at a servant, he barked, “Go! Find a coroner. Do as the Wolf King says!”

 

The servant ran out at once.

 

Feng Ye closed his eyes in anguish.

 

Feng Changyue took a deep breath, approached him, and softened his tone. “Feng Ye, listen to your uncle. You’re the Wolf King now. The entire Da Sheng Empire is in your hands. From now on, no one will stop you from doing what you want. There are countless beauties in this world…”

 

“None of them are him,” Feng Ye said coldly before striding out.

 

By the time the servant brought the coroner, Feng Ye had already regained his composure.

 

He trusted his instincts. He could feel it—Yan Sikong was still alive. The world still carried traces of his presence. Feng Hun’s reaction to the corpse, biting and tearing at it, was proof. If it were truly Yan Sikong, how could Hun’er act that way?

 

So it wasn’t Yan Sikong. His Kong’er, with all his cunning and resourcefulness, couldn’t have died so easily.

 

Feng Ye took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

 

In the center of the room, a human-shaped figure lay on a table, covered by a white cloth. The moment Feng Ye saw it, he felt his breath catch. Suppressing the piercing pain in his heart, he forced himself to take one step at a time toward the table.

 

The attendants had summoned the best coroner from the Ministry of Justice. Carrying a large wooden chest, the coroner entered the room respectfully, first kowtowing to Feng Ye and then to the corpse.

 

At that moment, Yuan Nanyu also appeared. He looked as though he had aged overnight, his eyes swollen and bloodshot, his complexion pale and haggard, reeking of alcohol. A jug of wine hung from his hand.

 

Feng Ye avoided looking at Yuan Nanyu; he couldn’t bear to see his face, fearing the emotions it might stir.

 

Yuan Nanyu walked up to the table, trembling as he lifted the white cloth.

 

“This isn’t Kong’er; it can’t be,” Feng Ye said hoarsely.

 

“I don’t believe it either,” Yuan Nanyu said, tears streaming down his face. “So many people wanted Second Brother dead, yet he has always been indomitable. How could he die so easily?”

 

Feng Changyue spoke in a low voice: “Coroner, the Wolf King wants this charred corpse identified. Can you determine whether it is the Grand Tutor Yan?”

 

The coroner lowered his head and replied cautiously, “My lord, I am skilled at examining corpses to solve cases. However, without a specific case or clues—and with the body in such a state—identification is exceedingly difficult. Especially since the flesh has been so badly burned, any distinguishing features are almost impossible to detect. Only skeletal characteristics might yield some clues.”

 

“He never sustained any broken bones,” Feng Ye interjected.

 

“Then… then…”

 

Feng Changyue intervened, “Proceed with your methods and see what you can determine.”

 

The coroner nodded nervously, opened his chest, and began preparing his tools.

 

Feng Ye couldn’t bear to watch. He turned his back, every sound of the knife slicing through flesh and scraping bone cutting into his heart.

 

Yuan Nanyu, too, turned away and slumped onto the threshold, drinking heavily from his jug.

 

After a long time, the coroner finally spoke: “Your Highness, I have made a discovery.”

 

Feng Ye turned sharply, his voice trembling with suppressed fear. “Speak!”

 

The coroner, visibly shaken by Feng Ye’s ferocious, almost bestial intensity, wiped the sweat from his brow and forced himself to explain: “This person did not die from the fire.”

 

At these words, Yuan Nanyu shot to his feet.

 

Feng Ye’s eyes widened. He strode forward and demanded, “Are you certain of this?”

 

“I am certain,” the coroner replied. “From the position of the body, I initially suspected as much. Death by fire is an agonizing process, causing the body to contort and curl up. Yet this body lay fully extended. To confirm, I examined the throat; despite the extensive burns on the exterior, the inside of the throat was clean. This indicates that the person had already stopped breathing before the fire consumed them.”

 

Feng Ye’s face lit with a wild glimmer of hope. “Did you hear that, Uncle? Did you hear that, Que Wang? This isn’t Kong’er! Qu Yan claimed that Kong’er walked into the flames on his own, but this person was already dead beforehand! He isn’t Kong’er!”

 

Feng Changyue and Yuan Nanyu, however, showed no signs of relief.

 

Feng Changyue spoke gravely, “Your Highness, allow me to be blunt. Perhaps he ended his own life to avoid the agony of being burned alive—”

 

“Rubbish!” Feng Ye roared. “Uncle, you’ve always despised him. That’s why you’re so eager to believe he’s dead!”

 

Feng Changyue heaved a heavy sigh. “I won’t deny my dislike for him. But seeing you like this, how could I possibly wish for his death? I’d rather he be alive right now. It’s just that you are so overwhelmed with grief that you’ve lost all sense of judgment.”

 

Feng Ye turned to Yuan Nanyu. “Que Wang, tell me! Tell me!”

 

“I… I don’t know…” Yuan Nanyu stammered.

 

“This isn’t Yan Sikong,” Feng Ye insisted. “Qu Yan claimed he walked into the fire alive, yet this person was already dead before the flames. He’s not Yan Sikong.”

 

Yuan Nanyu looked at Feng Ye, his eyes brimming with tears. In a broken voice, he asked, “Feng Ye, have you ever wondered why Second Brother was so determined to die?”

 

Feng Ye froze in place.

 

Yuan Nanyu covered his face with one hand, tears streaming through his fingers. “Qu Yan escaped, but Second Brother—Second Brother could have escaped, too. Why didn’t he? Why didn’t he come back?”

 

Feng Ye staggered backward, clutching the doorframe but unable to keep his balance. He sank to the floor, his mind flooded with images of Yan Sikong’s farewell letter. Though addressed to him, it contained no mention of their personal bond—only advice on governance, military affairs, and personnel management. Looking back now, how much it resembled a final testament.

 

Was it that Kong’er no longer wanted to return?

 

Would he rather endure the torment of flames than live, unwilling to come back to him?

 

You said you didn’t hate me. So why won’t you come back? Do you secretly resent me so deeply that you’ve given up all hope in me?

 

Was this your ultimate revenge?

 

Tears fell from Feng Ye’s eyes like rain. The thought of Yan Sikong’s despair and desolation filled him with unbearable self-loathing. His mind teetered on the brink of collapse.

 

“My lord…” the coroner hesitated, “there is one more thing I must report.”

 

Feng Changyue barked, “Speak.”

 

“This person did not take their own life.”

 

Feng Ye’s entire body jolted, and Yuan Nanyu raised his head.

 

The coroner continued, “The fatal wound is located between the first and second ribs on the left side, inflicted by a stab from the front. The wound left marks on the rib bones. It would be an unnatural angle for self-inflicted harm.”

 

Feng Ye scrambled to his feet, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. “This person… didn’t kill themselves?”

 

“Indeed, they did not,” the coroner confirmed.

 

Yuan Nanyu’s face lit up for the first time. “Not a suicide!”

 

Feng Ye stood still for a moment before his eyes blazed with newfound resolve. “This person is definitely not Yan Sikong! He didn’t take his own life. Qu Yan claimed Kong’er walked into the fire alive—so Kong’er must still be alive! He must have escaped!”

 

Feng Changyue furrowed his brows and sighed. “Your Highness, it’s not that I wish to dishearten you. I just don’t want you to hold onto false hope. These findings do not conclusively prove that this isn’t Yan Sikong. He could have been murdered while still in enemy hands. And then there’s the matter of that handkerchief.”

 

Feng Ye refused to listen. Holding the handkerchief tightly, he declared, “He must have been rescued. I can feel it—he’s alive. He’s still alive.”

 

Feng Changyue gazed at the desperate determination on Feng Ye’s face but ultimately said nothing more. Instead, he heaved a long sigh.

 

Clinging to this fragile hope as if it were his lifeline, Feng Ye commanded, “Que Wang, interrogate Qu Yan and his men thoroughly. Dispatch people to search, to investigate, to find him. Yan Sikong is alive. He must be alive!”

 

Yuan Nanyu dropped his wine jug to the floor. “Understood!”

 

Feng Ye lifted the white cloth and gently covered the charred corpse.

 

This isn’t Kong’er. His Kong’er must be alive and well somewhere.

 

No matter where—he would find him.

 

Heaven or earth, he would find him.

 

TL – When will this pain end