The Blood Crown - Chapter 293

Feng Ye dispatched several teams to investigate the events surrounding the granary fire, searching for any clues before and after the incident. All captured Chu soldiers were rigorously interrogated, and nearby towns and villages were thoroughly visited by people sent out by Yuan Nanyu, turning the region upside down in the search.

Feng Changyue strongly disapproved but was powerless to intervene. He wanted to persuade Feng Ye to give up. In his view, Yan Sikong was already dead; it was only Feng Ye who refused to accept it. However, with Feng Ye now holding supreme power, no one could stop him.

Chen Mu and the Prince of Ning fled back to Taiyuan, sealing the city. Yan Sikong had set fire to 40,000 shi* of Chen Mu’s grain, causing him significant losses, making recovery unlikely in the short term.

Feng Ye seemed to hold the world in his hands but was in fact beset by internal and external troubles far from being resolved.

At present, one remaining loyalist army had yet to retreat — the one Zhao Fuyi brought back from Liaodong. After Zhao Fuyi took command in Liaodong, Zhuo Letai was unable to advance even a step further but continued to watch from across the Huang River like a tiger eyeing its prey. The crisis remained unresolved. When Feng Ye’s 300,000-strong army surrounded the capital, Emperor Zhaowu ordered Zhao Fuyi to return to court to aid the throne. Zhao Fuyi initially refused. After three imperial decrees, he reluctantly departed but fell ill midway.

Feng Ye had long sent envoys proposing peace, but Zhao Fuyi ignored them. Out of respect for Zhao Fuyi, Feng Ye refrained from attacking.

However, Zhao Fuyi’s departure left Zhuo Letai unrestrained. The iron hooves of the Jin army could strike at any moment, a blade forever hanging over their heads.

Meanwhile, the court was no less tumultuous.

After Emperor Zhaowu was forced to abdicate, Feng Ye placed the 15-month-old 13th prince on the throne. The Chen family’s feudal lords were enraged. Though Chen Mu had been recently defeated, their determination to overthrow Feng Ye only grew stronger. They lay low, waiting to rise again.

Feng Ye, controlling the infant emperor, seized power to govern. With a young ruler and an unsteady court, ministers and intellectuals across the land opposed him. Since Yan Sikong’s “disappearance,” Feng Ye had become increasingly cruel. To stabilize the situation, he wielded absolute authority over officials’ promotions, demotions, and even life and death. The court was shrouded in fear, and the atmosphere was one of constant anxiety.

In this time of internal and external crises, with the nation’s future in peril, Feng Ye struggled to stabilize the court, consolidate his power, and guard against external threats. At the same time, he clung to a faint hope of finding Yan Sikong. Each day, he awoke to emptiness and drifted to sleep in torment, oscillating endlessly between hope and despair. There was no agony greater than the relentless torment of regret and longing.

But he had to believe Yan Sikong was alive. He had to keep searching. It was the only force keeping him from collapsing.

—

Upon learning of Yan Sikong’s “death,” She Zhun ignored his injuries and rushed to Feng Ye, pointing at his nose and furiously berating him.

The guards drew their swords at once. “How dare you show disrespect to the Wolf King!”

Feng Ye motioned for the guards to stand down and coldly looked at She Zhun. “Yan Sikong isn’t dead. If you hadn’t been bedridden from your injuries, you’d be the first one I’d suspect of hiding him.”

“He’s not dead? Then where is he?”

“He… he escaped.” Feng Ye hesitated, speaking with difficulty. “The last person to see him said he walked into the fire of his own accord. But that burned corpse wasn’t killed by the fire — it was murdered. So that must not have been him. It must not have been him. It must not…” He repeated it over and over, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

She Zhun shouted angrily, “He promised me he would come back alive, yet now there’s no sign of him dead or alive! He went to burn Chen Mu’s granary for you. He ended his life to ensure you wouldn’t be threatened by Chen Mu. It was all for you!”

Feng Ye had no words. He had grown gaunt and unrecognizable, his former proud and imposing demeanor replaced by one of suffering. He had no outlet for his torment, as he had no one else to blame. As Yuan Nanyu had said, the one most deserving of blame was himself.

“It’s all because of you. If it weren’t for you, his life wouldn’t have been so arduous.” She Zhun, overcome with grief and hatred, clenched his teeth. He seemed intent on pouring out all of Feng Ye’s debts to Yan Sikong in one breath. “He valued revenge more than his own life, but for you, he risked his decade-long plans to rescue you from prison. If not for you, he wouldn’t have betrayed the emperor, wouldn’t have been reviled by the world. If not for you, he wouldn’t have turned against his colleagues and students. If not for you, he wouldn’t have chosen the hardest path, just to make you a ruler and conqueror! All he ever asked for in return was to govern the nation in peace under your protection. Was that not what he deserved? Yan Sikong never lived a day for himself. Even if you call him cunning and treacherous, he betrayed everyone but you, Feng Ye. You’re the one least qualified to blame him!”

Feng Ye clenched his fists, feeling as though his insides were ablaze. As the truths obscured by his pride and resentment gradually surfaced, he realized that he had loved someone in his heart for ten years but had never truly understood them. He thought his love for Yan Sikong was deep and unrequited, yet he had dismissed everything Yan Sikong had done for him as manipulative.

How could he have been so blind?

She Zhun trembled with rage. “He thought of you with every step he took. What have you ever done for him? All you ever gave were a few frivolous words of love in your youth. What did you do to deserve his lifelong devotion? He could’ve escaped. He just didn’t want to live anymore. Until the very end, he was helping you, but you want to erase his identity and your shared past!” She Zhun was so enraged that he seemed ready to kill Feng Ye on the spot.

“It’s my fault,” Feng Ye said hoarsely. “I wronged him. But he’s not dead. That charred body wasn’t him. I’ve sent people to look for him. I will find him.”

“If you want to find him, then die!” She Zhun spat through his tears, casting one last venomous glare at Feng Ye before storming off.

After a long while, Feng Ye emerged from his suffocating grief. He quietly instructed, “Send someone to follow him.”

Ignoring his injuries, She Zhun and his men left the capital. Feng Ye sent experts to tail him, but She Zhun, known in the martial world for his mystique and unparalleled cunning, was impossible to track. Before long, he vanished completely.

Feng Ye had lost the last lead in his search for Yan Sikong.

—

Half a year later.

Zuojia Village, Liangshui County, Bazhou.

A man, far taller and more robust than most, was working shirtless in the fields, harvesting crops. It was the autumn harvest season, and the wheat in the fields was fully ripe, standing densely together. The golden sea swayed gently with the wind, creating a magnificent and pleasing sight.

After working for half a day, the man, feeling a bit tired, straightened up and wiped the sweat from his face with a cloth.

A graceful young woman, carrying a winnowing basket, walked through the wheat field straight toward him. Upon closer look, her belly was slightly swollen—she was pregnant.

“Ya’ge(ya=mute),” the young woman said as she reached him. She took out some dry food and tea from the basket and chided him, “It’s so hot today. Take a break. Who’s forcing you to work so hard?”

A’Li lowered his head and looked at Yingmei’s delicate and pure face. He couldn’t help but smile—a simple and happy smile that made his scarred, frightening face seem much less intimidating.

The two of them sat in the wheat field to rest. A’Li occasionally touched Yingmei’s belly, his face brimming with joy.

Yingmei wiped his sweat, starting from his face and moving down to the large burn scars on his arms. “This autumn heat, this autumn heat—it’s so stifling. Do your scars itch?”

A’Li shook his head and gestured with his hands.

“Don’t worry. I made sure the young master had his meal before coming out.” Yingmei complained, “We’re not short of money. Why are you always so fond of working? It’s too hot today. Come back with me.”

A’Li blinked and gestured: When you married me, you said it didn’t matter if a man was ugly as long as he worked hard.

Yingmei burst into laughter. “You listen to me so much. Well, now I’m telling you to take a break today. Will you listen?”

A’Li hesitated, then nodded.

“Then let’s go.” Yingmei stood up and pulled A’Li to his feet. “Let’s go back and listen to the young master tell stories.”

The couple, one carrying a hoe(farming tool) and the other holding the winnowing basket, walked hand in hand back home.

Zuo Village was a very remote mountain village. Even by ox cart, it took two days and one night to reach Liangshui County. The village had little contact with the outside world. The people lived in peace, and the customs were simple.

When She Zhun first settled A’Li here, A’Li’s appearance frightened people. However, his honesty and diligence quickly won over the villagers as he frequently helped them with their work.

When the couple returned home, Yingmei called out loudly, “Young master, we’re back! Have you eaten?”

A deep and magnetic voice replied from inside, “I’ve eaten. You’re pregnant. Stop running around.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve been running through these mountains since I was little. I’m tough.” Yingmei laughed. “I brought Ya’ge back. He’s still working in this heat. Isn’t he silly?” As she spoke, she playfully punched A’Li.

A’Li chuckled foolishly and took a porcelain bottle out of the cabinet. The bottle was clearly from a fine kiln, a stark contrast to the modest farmhouse. Inside was a highly precious medicinal salve made with South Sea pearl powder and Tian Shan lingzhi, specifically for burn injuries—a rare and invaluable remedy from Medicine Valley.

A’Li carried the medicine into the room.

A tall man, dressed in a simple green robe, was lying on a bamboo chair reading a book. He held the book in one hand and lazily fanned himself with the other. The chair swayed gently, exuding a sense of leisure.

When he heard A’Li enter, he set the book down, revealing a face of unparalleled elegance and beauty. His jet-black hair was loosely tied into a bun, and his serene, ethereal demeanor gave him an otherworldly air, like a celestial being untouched by worldly affairs. Who would have thought that this man, so unassuming, was the notorious Yan Sikong, the schemer who once plunged the world into chaos?

“What, time for another application of medicine?” Yan Sikong sighed. “It’s hot. That stuff is sticky and uncomfortable.”

A’Li nodded and gestured.

“Fine, fine. Let’s get it over with.” Yan Sikong removed his robe and lifted his loose hair. Half of his back, his right arm, and his left leg were wrapped in white bandages.

A’Li carefully unwrapped the bandages, revealing the hideous burn scars beneath. Since his wounds had healed, he had to change the dressing every three days. Day and night, the scars had to be tightly bound to prevent excessive tissue growth. A’Li had similar burn scars on his body but didn’t care about their appearance. However, he insisted on wrapping Yan Sikong’s wounds.

After cleaning the wounds with a damp cloth, A’Li began applying the medicine. Yan Sikong’s expression remained calm. The burnt areas were mostly numb compared to healthy skin. Even if someone slashed at them now, he probably wouldn’t feel pain. However, back when the burns were fresh, the agony had been so excruciating that he had wished for death. Dying then would have been a release, but having survived, he had to endure the suffering of the living.

When the dressing was complete, both were drenched in sweat from their efforts.

Yan Sikong said, “I still think there’s no need to keep applying this or wearing the bandages. Once the clothes are on, no one can see it. It doesn’t matter.”

A’Li shook his head firmly and gestured: Talk to Master She about that.

Yan Sikong rolled his eyes in exasperation. “By my calculations, She Zhun’s message should be arriving soon.”

A’Li replied that he would pick it up at the designated spot that afternoon.

Yan Sikong sighed softly and lay back in the bamboo chair, rocking slowly. He stared out the window, lost in thought.

It had been months since that day when he had set fire to the Chu army’s grain stores—spring had turned to late autumn.

He had been certain he would die, yet when he opened his eyes, he was still alive.

After She Zhun settled A’Li, A’Li couldn’t stop worrying about him and ventured out, hiding in the mountains, waiting for a chance to find him. When the Chu camp fell into chaos, A’Li snuck in and rescued him, barely clinging to life.

Later, She Zhun located both A’Li and him.

He had suffered severe burns, and A’Li had been injured as well. Yet, somehow, he survived. Perhaps his life was simply too tenacious—bringing misfortune to those around him but refusing to let him die. A true “star of calamity.”

So be it. He considered himself reborn, a new beginning. If heaven had granted him an extra life, it must be because it had more suffering in store for him—tasks yet unfinished.

40000 shi – 

In ancient China, shi (石) was a unit of measure commonly used for grain and other bulk goods. The exact size of a shi varied across dynasties and regions, but it generally referred to a significant quantity.

For context:

During the Han Dynasty, 1 shi was approximately 120 liters or about 100 kilograms of grain.

By the Tang and Song Dynasties, the definition became more standardized, but local variations still existed.

If we use 100 kilograms per shi as a rough estimate:

40,000 shi would equate to 4,000,000 kilograms (4,000 metric tons) of grain.

This would represent an enormous stockpile, sufficient to feed a large army for months or even sustain an entire population during a famine. Such quantities were strategic assets in ancient warfare, so destroying it would be a devastating blow.