The Blood Crown - Chapter 295

After calming Yingmei, A’Li packed the luggage and money, brought along the usual medicines, delivered Yan Sikong’s letter to She Zhun in the mountains, and then escorted Yan Sikong out of Zuo Family Village under the cover of night.

 

Yan Sikong hadn’t been outside for more than half a year. At this moment, he felt as though he had been reborn. Everything seemed fresh to him, even the mundane and earthly atmosphere of the human world carried a sense of warmth.

 

It took two days by ox cart for the two to reach Liangshui County. The Qushan Horse Ranch was still several days’ journey away, but traveling by horse would be much faster.

 

A’Li’s appearance was too conspicuous, so he stayed outside the city. Disguised and with his appearance altered, Yan Sikong entered the city with the money and purchased two horses. The two then rode toward Qushan.

 

On the way from Liangshui County to Qushan, rumors about the epidemic at the ranch constantly reached their ears, confirming the severity of the situation. Since the decline of the Dasheng Kingdom’s power, the imperial horse ranches had been insufficient to meet demand, forcing the court to purchase horses from private sources. Although privately owned, these horses were required to meet the court’s needs for transporting grain, goods, and mail. Failing to deliver enough horses would inevitably lead to punishment and could delay critical matters.

 

The Qushan Horse Ranch reminded Yan Sikong of the Guangning Horse Ranch. While Liaodong horses had Khitan blood and were suited for battle, the horses of Bazhou were smaller southern horses, suitable only for transport. Yet whether for war or transport, horses were indispensable. His feelings toward horses were intertwined with his fondest childhood memories. If he truly lacked the ability to save the horses, he could accept it, but not trying at all left him restless.

 

The two hurried day and night to reach Qushan County. The small county was now crowded with people from all directions, eager to offer solutions for the sick horses. Upon inquiry, they learned that the Qushan ranch master had offered a reward of a thousand taels of silver for a cure.

 

A’Li, wearing a conical hat with a black veil and a padded hump on his back to appear as a hunchback, stayed inconspicuous in the bustling city. Yan Sikong, fearing that even this might draw too much attention, left A’Li at the inn and went to the horse ranch alone.

 

Those claiming they could cure the sick horses seemed more numerous than the horses themselves, crowding the estate to the brim. Every kind of person imaginable was present, making it livelier than a market fair.

 

The ranch staff, overwhelmed, began questioning each person to filter out the frauds. They posed a series of tricky questions about horse breeding, dismissing those who couldn’t answer. In no time, more than half the crowd left dejectedly.

 

Yan Sikong easily answered all the questions and was led into the ranch.

 

After this round of selection, fewer than a hundred people remained.

 

The sheer size of the Qushan stables was astonishing. To quarantine the sick horses from the healthy ones, a massive temporary stable had been built. The remaining candidates were brought to the quarantine stable to examine the sick horses.

 

Inside, there were only four or five horses, all listless and lying down, seemingly on the brink of death.

 

An old man questioned the ranch staff, “We heard that over a thousand horses have died or fallen ill. Why are there only a few here for us to examine?”

 

“The dead horses have been buried. The severely ill ones are in a stable farther away. You will first examine these newly infected ones. If there are any breakthroughs, you can proceed to the more severe cases and even the dead ones,” the steward explained with a disdainful glance. “The earlier questioning was just the first round. Diagnosing the horses is the second. If your findings can’t even match those of our ranch veterinarians, you might as well head back now. A thousand taels of silver isn’t for charlatans.”

 

This remark irritated the crowd, with one man spitting in anger, “Arrogant fool.”

 

“What did you say?” The steward pointed at him angrily. “One more word, and you’ll be thrown out!”

 

Nearby, a young man with a scholarly demeanor whispered to Yan Sikong, “That old fellow may be pompous, but he’s not wrong. Most of these people have only raised horses. Few truly know how to treat them.”

 

Yan Sikong, noting the man’s refined manner unlike the rough stablehands, replied politely, “It seems you have exceptional skills.”

 

The man smiled modestly. “Not at all. Judging by your bearing, you seem far more capable than most here.”

 

“You flatter me. I’m just here to try my luck for the reward,” Yan Sikong said with a smile. “If I fail, I’ll accept it gracefully.”

 

“Exactly,” the man chuckled, cupping his hands. “I’m Fu Zhanqing.”

 

“Maoyuan,” Yan Sikong replied, bowing slightly. “After you.”

 

The group began examining the sick horses.

 

Yan Sikong inspected the horses’ eyes and mouths, pulled out their tongues, and probed their nostrils with his fingers. The horses’ sclera was yellowed, their eyeballs cloudy, their nasal passages dry, and their tongues purplish-red with an unbearable stench emanating from their mouths.

 

He frowned and pressed the horses’ abdomens back and forth with his hands.

 

Those who had passed the initial round were undoubtedly experienced horse handlers familiar with common ailments. Examining the eyes, mouths, and noses was a basic step in assessing a horse’s health, much like diagnosing humans, so Yan Sikong’s methods didn’t stand out.

 

However, Fu Zhanqing didn’t examine the horses. Instead, he watched Yan Sikong thoughtfully. Focused on his task, Yan Sikong didn’t notice.

 

While others argued noisily, Yan Sikong continued his examination, eventually moving to the horses’ manure.

 

When he picked up the dry, rock-hard dung with his hands, the others began to take notice.

 

Though horse handlers were accustomed to dealing with manure, Yan Sikong’s delicate, scholarly appearance seemed ill-suited for such menial work. His hands were long and slender, his face pale and smooth—traits that made him seem more like a scholar than a stablehand.

 

Thus, when Yan Sikong crushed the manure, sniffed it carefully, and even tasted it with his tongue, the onlookers were stunned.

 

As the sour, salty taste hit his tongue, Yan Sikong’s expression changed. He immediately discarded the dung and washed his hands and mouth. Though his face remained calm, his heart raced. He was already planning his escape.

 

It was a trap.

 

The horses had been poisoned.

 

“What have you found?” someone asked curiously.

 

“Nothing,” Yan Sikong replied. “I can’t determine the cause.”

 

The crowd laughed. “Then you tasted horse dung for nothing.”

 

Ignoring the laughter, Yan Sikong cleaned his hands and walked out of the stable.

 

Fu Zhanqing caught up with him. “Brother Mao, truly nothing?”

 

“Nothing. I dare not pretend otherwise,” Yan Sikong replied, striding forward.

 

Fu Zhanqing narrowed his eyes, quickened his pace, and said in a low voice, “Grand Tutor Yan, please wait.”

 

Yan Sikong froze, turning to look at Fu Zhanqing coldly.

 

Fu Zhanqing cupped his hands. “My lord requests your presence.”

 

“Who is your lord?” Yan Sikong asked icily. “Did you orchestrate this entire charade just to lure me out?”

 

Fu Zhanqing smiled and said, “Grand Tutor, follow me, and you’ll find out.” Several armed men had already surrounded them. Though they wore the garb of stable hands, it was evident they were far more than mere guards.

 

Yan Sikong clenched his fists. The stables were vast. Even if he could escape these few guards, running out of the estate on foot was near impossible.

 

Fu Zhanqing pressed with a firmer tone, “Grand Tutor Yan, please.”

 

Yan Sikong was simmering with anger and regret, wanting to lash out. Who could it be? Feng Ye? Chen Mu? Aside from them, he couldn’t think of anyone sharp enough to trace him to Bazhou and set up such an elaborate scheme just to lure him out.

 

Under duress, Yan Sikong was escorted back to the manor and brought to a guarded room. Inside and out, the place was under heavy watch.

 

“Grand Tutor Yan, after you.” Fu Zhanqing gestured toward the doorway.

 

Yan Sikong glared coldly at the threshold. Straightening his back, he stepped across with measured composure. Whatever awaited him inside, he wouldn’t retreat. He had faced death and disgrace before—what more was there to fear?

 

But as Yan Sikong stepped into the inner chamber and saw the man seated at the table, his expression changed drastically. It was as if he had seen a ghost. He was nearly rendered speechless.

 

“Teacher,” Fu Zhanqing greeted respectfully, “I’ve brought him.”

 

The man Fu Zhanqing addressed as “Teacher” was lean and scholarly, with a balanced and noble visage. His complexion was pale but lacked any hint of illness, exuding an air of cool detachment and integrity. His upright demeanor and sharp aura belonged unmistakably to someone Yan Sikong had presumed dead—Shen Hexuan, the very man who should have perished at the bottom of a cliff.

 

Yan Sikong drew a sharp breath. “You’re alive.”

 

Shen Hexuan glanced at him faintly. “A coincidence. I was just about to say the same to you.”

 

“Seems our fates remain entangled.”

 

Shen Hexuan pointed at his own face, speaking with deliberate double meaning. “Grand Tutor Yan, in my presence, there’s no need for pretense.”

 

Yan Sikong peeled off the fake sideburns and beard, wiping away the thick layer of greasepaint to reveal his true appearance. He then sat across from Shen Hexuan.

 

Behind Shen Hexuan stood four guards, clearly evidence that he had learned from past experiences.

 

Shen Hexuan gestured toward Fu Zhanqing. “Zhanqing, you did well to pick out Grand Tutor Yan from so many people.”

 

“Thank you for the praise, Teacher.”

 

“You may leave.”

 

“Yes.” Fu Zhanqing bowed, casting a discreet glance at Yan Sikong before stepping out.

 

Yan Sikong looked at Fu Zhanqing. “It seems Shen Hexuan now has disciples.”

 

“Back in the day, I achieved first place in all three imperial examinations. Training a student or two is hardly beyond me.” Shen Hexuan examined Yan Sikong from head to toe, his tone laced with mockery. “Grand Tutor Yan… how have you been?”

 

“Hardly well. I’ve suffered burns in several places and endured many hardships.” Yan Sikong touched his face with a bitter smile. “Yet this useless skin of mine remains unscathed. By contrast, Shen Hexuan seems truly unharmed.”

 

Shen Hexuan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp as steel. “Unharmed? After being pushed off a cliff by you, I was fortunate to be saved by a wandering healer. Though I survived, I was unconscious for half a month, with several broken bones. I spent nearly a year confined to bed.” He patted his right leg. “This leg is now crippled.”

 

Yan Sikong showed no trace of guilt. “Then I am indeed despicable. How does Shen Hexuan plan to take revenge?”

 

“Revenge? What use would that serve?” Shen Hexuan chuckled lightly. “Our enmity isn’t personal. I seek you not for vengeance but for a greater purpose.”

 

“How did you find me?” Yan Sikong knew full well how capable She Zhun was. Though his methods might not be entirely untraceable, they were subtle enough to defy the grasp of ordinary pursuers.

 

But Shen Hexuan was no ordinary pursuer. For him to have tracked Yan down and baited him with diseased horses, Yan Sikong had to admit he had been bested.

 

“After recovering from my injuries, I went to see Prince Chu. He ordered me to find you. At the time, no one was sure if you were even alive. But Feng Ye has been searching for you tirelessly for months, so I assumed you must be. If alive, only your most trusted would know your whereabouts—She Zhun and your servant.” Shen Hexuan’s expression remained calm, though his words carried a faint satisfaction of superiority. “So I pursued both leads simultaneously: one to trace She Zhun, the other to find your servant. She Zhun’s movements were too elusive, but I knew he had parted ways with your servant outside Huai’an. Starting from the towns near Huai’an, I painstakingly pieced together what little information I could. It eventually led me to Bazhou, but from there, the trail ran cold.”

 

“So you concocted this ploy with diseased horses to draw me out.” Yan Sikong sneered. “Shen Hexuan, you’ve truly done your homework on me.”

 

“To know your enemy, you must know every detail.” Shen Hexuan smirked coldly. “I knew you wouldn’t sit idly by. Poisoning a few horses to catch you is a trade well worth making.”

 

“I’m impressed.” Yan Sikong clasped his hands together. “Truly impressed.” To think the person who understood him so deeply and could anticipate his every move was his enemy—it sent chills down his spine.

 

“Grand Tutor Yan, a man of your caliber, one who stirs the winds and waves of the world, cannot truly intend to spend his remaining years in rural obscurity, can he?”

 

“Like you, I’ve been recuperating.” Yan Sikong stared straight at Shen Hexuan. “So tell me, Shen Hexuan, what grand purpose did you have in mind when you came for me?”

 

“To deliver you to Prince Chu.”

 

“And then? Will he kill me or use me to threaten the Wolf King again?”

 

“How Prince Chu decides to deal with you will be his prerogative.”

 

“But surely Prince Chu will heed your counsel.”

 

Shen Hexuan smirked, shaking his head. “My counsel is something you’re better off not knowing. It would only add to your worries.”

 

Though Yan Sikong couldn’t guess Shen Hexuan’s exact plans, he knew they wouldn’t bode well for him. To think he had survived so many trials, only to fall once more into Chen Mu’s hands. If that were the case, he might as well end his own life now and leave no room for exploitation.

 

Shen Hexuan seemed to read his thoughts. “Grand Tutor Yan, don’t act rashly. Your servant also accompanied you to Qushan, didn’t he? My men will find him soon. If anything happens to you, he’ll join you in death.”

 

Yan Sikong chuckled coldly. “Would I care about the life of a mere servant?”

 

Shen Hexuan shook his head. “Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe someone like you exists. You appear cold and unfeeling, yet you’re bound by loyalty and emotion. Yuan Mao raised you for four years, and you sacrificed half your life avenging him. Feng Ye loved you for three years, and you’d give up your life for him. That servant of yours is utterly devoted to you—don’t tell me you truly don’t care about his life? With your abilities, you could soar above the heavens, yet you choose to shackle yourself with chains, unable to take flight. You are both brilliant and foolish.”

 

Yan Sikong’s expression remained stoic as he listened, though the words struck a chord. His heart had long been numbed.

 

“During the time I was bedridden, I thought endlessly about you, studied you. The more I delved into your mind, the more I realized there’s no one else like you—so complex, so extraordinary.” Shen Hexuan’s lips curved faintly. “I’ve read countless books, but what you’ve taught me surpasses them all.”

 

“And I’ve learned a lot from you, Shen Hexuan. We are both teacher and friend.”

 

“Unfortunately, we’re also enemies.” Shen Hexuan stared at Yan Sikong. “Once you tried to kill me, gaining the upper hand. Unfortunately, I didn’t die. Now I’ve captured you, turning the tables. This time, I’ve won.”

 

“It’s not over until the end.”

 

Shen Hexuan’s tone turned icy. “Unfortunately, for you, the ‘end’ has come.”

 

Yan Sikong was silent for a long moment. “To tell you the truth, I had planned to return to Liaodong.”

 

Shen Hexuan watched him, waiting for him to continue.

 

“If I can’t return to my homeland, Shen Hexuan, will you safeguard Liaodong for me?”

 

Shen Hexuan replied, “Liaodong is the northern gateway to our great nation. Every man of Da Sheng has a duty to defend our land and resist the barbarians. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to protect Liaodong.”

 

Yan Sikong lowered his lashes and said no more.

 

No one knows how far they will go in life. Just yesterday, he had been thinking of sacrificing himself for the people of Liaodong, and today, he had once again become a prisoner.

 

Why bother thinking about the future? Live one day at a time. As long as Yan Sikong still had a breath in him, it wasn’t truly “the end.”

 

—

 

Zhu Wang is set in an ancient feudal context. I initially wrote a long explanation about why it’s necessary for Feng Ye to have offspring, as it aligns with both the era and the character’s background. But thinking about how that explanation would cost money to read, I decided against it. I know this plot point is controversial and will drive away readers. I also know how to write a perfectly romantic and deeply devoted protagonist that everyone would love, but I just can’t convince myself to write something I find unreasonable. A novel is a balance between fiction and reality. If one insists on judging ancient people by modern standards, using terms like misogyny, beard, affair, or closeted gay man to evaluate the characters and plot, then… I have so much to say, but in the end, I’m left speechless.

 

P.S. I will never write in the synopsis: “The male protagonist will marry and have children with a woman.” That kind of spoiler might as well be the outline itself.