The Blood Crown - Chapter 303

The two of them walked to the Yuan family’s old residence by memory.

In their imagination, it should have been a ruin of broken walls and rubble, but to their surprise, the residence, though old and plain, was not dilapidated. The plaque above the lintel bore traces of recent repairs, and there was a rusty padlock hanging on the door, but upon closer inspection, it was merely for show and not actually locked.

The two exchanged a glance, both puzzled. Could it be that some homeless people had taken shelter here?

Yuan Nanyu removed the lock, frozen like an ice block, and pushed the door open. The hinges let out a coarse creak, and stepping over the threshold, they were greeted by a tall ginkgo tree. In the depths of winter, its bare branches were covered in frost and snow, the stark austerity of its weathered form perfectly complementing the pristine beauty of the silver blossoms. The sight, painted on the canvas of heaven and earth, seemed imbued with an unyielding, dignified spirit.

It was the very tree they loved to climb as children. On its trunk still perched the makeshift wooden treehouse that had once been their secret fortress, now swaying precariously in the biting wind and snow.

Looking at the remnants of their childhood, the brothers could not suppress the grief welling in their hearts, rendered speechless for a long time.

This was their home. Yet the happiness of their past was now buried forever beneath the snow and ice, never to see the light of day again.

Yuan Nanyu lamented, “Second Brother, these past twenty years have felt like a nightmare.”

Yan Sikong’s nose tingled as he replied, “If only it were truly a nightmare.”

At least nightmares eventually end.

They slowly crossed the courtyard and headed toward the side chambers of the inner residence.

Yuan Mao, known for his incorruptibility as an official, had left behind a modest home of just a few rooms. Someone had evidently cleaned and repaired it; though old, the house was intact, yet uninhabited.

Could Liang Huiyong have sent people to maintain it? But Liang Huiyong had never mentioned it, and during these twenty years of hardship under Han Zhaoxing, it seemed unlikely he could have risked such a move. If someone like Han Zhaoxing had discovered it, they would not have been spared.

“I wonder who has been keeping this place tidy,” Yuan Nanyu remarked. “We should ask General Liang when we return.”

“Agreed,” Yan Sikong said, pushing open the door to Yuan Mao and his wife’s bedroom with a sense of trepidation.

Inside, the room was as cold as an ice cellar, but the furnishings were nearly identical to how they remembered, albeit covered in a thin layer of dust. It looked as though the owners had merely stepped out and might return any day.

Fighting back tears, Yan Sikong carefully took in every detail of the room. He had never imagined he would one day return, but now, the “home” they stood in was just a cold and lifeless house. Without reunion, how could it be called a home?

Next, they visited the bedroom they had shared as children. In their memories, it had seemed much larger, but now, it felt so small. Standing in front of the bed where they used to roll around and play, a flood of memories overwhelmed them, filling their hearts with sorrow.

After closing the door, they made their way to the ancestral hall.

When disaster struck all those years ago, the Yuan family had moved to Jinan Prefecture, taking the ancestral tablets with them. Now, the central hall contained only a single, solitary tablet.

As they approached, they saw it was Yuan Mao’s. It was unclear who had erected it, but the altar bore fresh incense and offerings.

Both of them knelt.

Tears finally spilled from Yuan Nanyu’s eyes. “Father, your unfilial son has returned.”

Yan Sikong spoke in a mournful voice, “Father, can you see us from the heavens? Can you protect us, and protect Liaodong?”

They offered incense and kowtowed, remaining kneeling before Yuan Mao’s tablet, filled with countless unspoken words.

“Second Brother,” Yuan Nanyu said hoarsely, “should we move back here?”

“I was just thinking the same,” Yan Sikong replied sorrowfully. “Fallen leaves return to their roots. The fact that we can come home at all must be thanks to Father watching over us from above.”

Yuan Nanyu looked at Yan Sikong. “Though I’ve often cursed the heavens for their injustice, the fact that we’ve been reunited in this life makes me think fate has left us some shred of hope.”

Yan Sikong gave a bittersweet smile. “When I learned you were still alive, I felt the same.”

Yuan Nanyu clasped Yan Sikong’s hand tightly, his grip carrying a man’s strength. “Second Brother, in front of Father’s spirit, let us vow never to be separated again, no matter what.”

Yan Sikong looked back at Yuan Nanyu, his gaze infinitely gentle. “Nanyu, I too don’t want us to part, but the ways of the world often go against our wishes…”

“I don’t care. We’ll find a way,” Yuan Nanyu said, his face filled with sorrow. “Elder Brother has already lost his sanity. Please forgive him. Big Sister and Mother are still in Jinan Prefecture. When peace is restored one day, there’s still a chance our family could reunite. Second Brother, don’t leave me again. As long as I, Yuan Nanyu, have breath in my body, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Tears glistened in Yan Sikong’s eyes as he smiled. “Second Brother promises you. I promise you everything.”

The two knelt before Yuan Mao’s spirit for a long time, reminiscing about the past, until night fell.

As they exited the ancestral hall and crossed the courtyard, they saw an old man standing at the gate. He was bundled in thick winter clothing, sweeping snow from the doorway with a broom.

Not wanting to be recognized, Yan Sikong pulled up his hood, the thick fur concealing most of his face.

“Old man,” Yuan Nanyu called out.

The old man turned, his voice trembling with emotion as he exclaimed, “This humble servant greets General Yuan.” He tottered forward as if to kneel.

“Please, no need for formalities,” Yuan Nanyu quickly responded.

The old man still knelt down, so Yuan Nanyu stepped forward to help him up. “Elder, why are you out here on such a cold and snowy night?”

Grasping Yuan Nanyu’s arm, the old man’s eyes welled with tears. “I never thought the people of Guangning could live to see another ‘General Yuan.’”

Yuan Nanyu exchanged a glance with Yan Sikong and asked, “Elder, did you know my father?”

The old man wiped his tears. “It’s been twenty years. Fewer and fewer people remember General Yuan Mao. Twenty years ago, if it hadn’t been for General Yuan Mao, Guangning would have been lost, and its people slaughtered by the barbarians. Yet such a good official was punished by the court…”

Yan Sikong’s body trembled lightly, his chest aching with pain.

Yuan Nanyu said hoarsely, “So there are still people who remember my father’s deeds and his injustice.”

“The number of those who remember grows smaller and smaller,” the old man sobbed. “This old body of mine, on the brink of the grave, only hopes to see the court clear General Yuan Mao’s name before I die, so I can rest in peace.”

Yuan Nanyu said emotionally, “Elder, have you been the one maintaining and cleaning our old house all these years?”

“It wasn’t just me,” the old man said. “For twenty years, we haven’t forgotten General Yuan Mao’s kindness. We’ve secretly watched over this house. Now that Guangning is in trouble, and another General Yuan has come to save us, we finally have hope. We finally have hope!”

Yuan Nanyu said firmly, “Rest assured, Elder. I will carry on my father’s legacy and defend Guangning and Liaodong.”

“Thank you, General Yuan.” The old man couldn’t hold back his tears.

Yan Sikong’s heart ached, but a faint sense of comfort arose. There were still people who remembered the hero who had once saved Guangning. As long as even one person remembered, his spirit would live on.

The two returned to the inn. Yuan Nanyu placed his hand against Yan Sikong’s cheek. “Second Brother, are you feeling cold? Go warm up and rest early.”

“You too. Tomorrow, ask General Liang to send someone to clean the old house, and we’ll move back home as soon as possible.” Yan Sikong smiled faintly. “With us brothers here, we won’t let the Jurchens lay a hand on Guangning.”

Yuan Nanyu nodded solemnly.

After they parted, Yan Sikong walked directly to his separate courtyard. As he entered, he noticed a dark figure sitting on a stone bench.

Under the faint moonlight, he saw it was Feng Ye.

Yan Sikong stopped in his tracks. Feng Ye had already turned to face him, leaving him unsure whether to approach or retreat.

Feng Ye stood up, shaking off a layer of snow from his cloak. His face was red from the cold, and it was unclear how long he had been sitting there. “Sikong.” His voice trembled as he spoke.

Yan Sikong frowned, silently staring at him.

“You’ve returned.” Feng Ye looked at Yan Sikong without blinking. “I wanted to… say a few things to you.”

“It’s late. Whatever you want to say, save it for tomorrow,” Yan Sikong said as he walked toward his room.

Feng Ye quickly stepped in front of the door, bringing with him a chill like an ice pillar. Up close, his long lashes were coated with thick frost. “Tomorrow, you’ll just push it off again. Let’s talk today.”

“Between you and me, there’s only official business to discuss,” Yan Sikong said coldly. “Official matters are not suited for this time or place.”

“What lies between us is also official business.”

“There’s no ‘between us,’” Yan Sikong said. “Please, Your Majesty, leave.”

Feng Ye couldn’t hide his sorrow. He gritted his teeth and said, “Leave and go where? You’re the one who called me to Liaodong. You wrote to me yourself, asking me to come and save you.”

Yan Sikong replied calmly, “Yes, I called you to Liaodong because only your troops could save Liaodong.”

Feng Ye’s tone grew agitated. “Kong’er, you still care about me, don’t you? You called me to save you because you believed I would come. For you, I would cross mountains and rivers.”

“I did it for Liaodong,” Yan Sikong said, his face devoid of expression. “For Liaodong, I would give my life. To say nothing of those mere two words, even if I had to compose odes, build shrines, or erect monuments for Your Majesty, what of it?”

Feng Ye froze, his body stiff. Yan Sikong’s gaze was colder than the winter night of Liaodong, cutting him to the core.

Yan Sikong pushed the door open. “Please, Your Majesty, go rest. The state is more important, and I must not let my body falter.” With that, he stepped over the threshold and turned to close the door.

Feng Ye pressed a hand against the doorframe, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Yan Sikong.

Yan Sikong said coldly, “What does Your Majesty want? You’ve always said I use you. Yes, I used you. Do you want revenge? Do you wish to imprison me, or force me to ‘serve your bed’?”

Feng Ye’s lips quivered, his pain leaving him at a loss. In his life, he had roamed battlefields and braved storms of arrows. He believed he was destined to dominate, never fearing blades or shadows. Yet Yan Sikong’s words, glances, and expressions could effortlessly break him apart, as they had before, and as they did now, and likely would forever.

“You… care about me…” Feng Ye said hoarsely. It was meant for Yan Sikong but sounded more like a reassurance to himself. He reached into his chest as if to retrieve something, but his frozen hands fumbled repeatedly. The more he rushed, the harder it became. Frustrated, he finally yanked out the item, only for it to fall to the ground.

Yan Sikong glanced down to see a palm-sized red cloth, its edges charred black.

His expression changed.