The Blood Crown - Chapter 329

Chapter 329

 

Chen Mu swept his gaze over the crowd, his face devoid of the joy one might expect when ascending to the throne. It was too early to celebrate. Even if he became emperor one day, the thought of the four border provinces not being under his control would rob him of peace for the rest of his life.

 

Such was the price to pay.

 

He said, “The document will be drafted by Mr. Shen…”

 

“No, I will draft it myself,” Yan Sikong interrupted firmly. “After drafting it, I will present it for your review.”

 

Shen Hexuan said, “That works.”

 

Yan Sikong looked at Shen Hexuan. “This may be the last time we meet. Take care, Brother Shen. I entrust the nation to you.”

 

Shen Hexuan gazed deeply at Yan Sikong, a fleeting memory of their shared youth during the autumn examinations surfacing in his mind. Back then, they had been young and full of ambition, eager to serve the country and leave their mark in history. Yet after over a decade of political turbulence and bloodshed, he could hardly recall what kind of person he used to be.

 

His heart ached. Whatever grievances or disagreements existed between them now seemed trivial. He merely nodded slightly and said, “Take care.”

 

Yan Sikong also looked at Shen Hexuan intently before pulling the reins, preparing to turn his horse around. But Chen Mu stopped him. “Sir.”

 

Yan Sikong paused.

 

“I wish to speak with you alone.”

 

Feng Ye interjected coldly, “No.”

 

Yan Sikong glanced at Feng Ye. “There’s no need to worry. Wolf King, return to the city first.”

 

Feng Ye hesitated, then glared at Chen Mu with a warning in his eyes before retreating with Yuan Nanyu to wait for Yan Sikong at a distance.

 

Shen Hexuan also waved his whip, driving his carriage back into the military formation.

 

Yan Sikong and Chen Mu remained on horseback, facing each other, a heavy and tense atmosphere lingering between them.

 

“Do you regret it?” Chen Mu suddenly asked.

 

Yan Sikong smiled. “Which regret are you referring to?”

 

“Anything involving me,” Chen Mu said quietly, his eyes fixed on Yan Sikong. “Do you regret teaching me, helping me, or betraying me?”

 

“There are too many things in my life that I could regret, but regret changes nothing. So I’ve chosen not to regret anything.”

 

“Can a person truly live without regret?” Chen Mu mocked. “I think you must regret coming all the way to Yunnan to help a useless crown prince like me. And now, your beloved Wolf King must surrender the hard-won nation to me.”

 

Yan Sikong looked up at the sky. It was a spring afternoon, with a cool breeze and clear skies. He said, “Your spy leaked Feng Ye’s marching route. The day he was ambushed, I observed the stars at night and saw faint purple light in the southwest. I thought it signified Feng Ye, but now I realize it was you.”

 

Chen Mu said nothing.

 

“Everything happens for a reason,” Yan Sikong said calmly. “Had I not supported you back then, Feng Ye’s uprising would have lacked legitimacy and would have been crushed by the feudal lords. You and he achieved each other.”

 

“If only he didn’t exist,” Chen Mu said through gritted teeth. “If Feng Ye didn’t exist, you would have been wholly devoted to me. We once made a pact: I would become emperor, and you would serve as my chancellor, restoring the Da Sheng dynasty. Do you still remember?”

 

“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Yan Sikong replied. “I once sincerely hoped you’d become emperor. But I should have realized sooner—you’re no puppet to be controlled.”

 

“Feng Ye has everything I wanted,” Chen Mu said with a bitter smile. “But at least now, I’ve taken the throne back from him.”

 

“I hope that now you’ve achieved your goal, you’ll remember my teachings—how to rule, how to govern, and how to bring peace to the people,” Yan Sikong said solemnly. “Listen to Minister Shen’s advice. He is truly a loyal servant of the state.”

 

“Do you know, when I was young, not a day went by that I didn’t dream of becoming emperor?” Chen Mu said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Only as emperor could I ensure no one would ever humiliate my mother and me again. My father didn’t want me to be emperor. Many people didn’t want me to be emperor. So I swore that one day I would become emperor—a ruler celebrated by future generations. I wanted the world to see, to remember, that I, Chen Mu, was born to be a king!”

 

Yan Sikong took a deep breath. “Very well. I will watch from the northern frontier to see you bring peace and prosperity to the people. But if one day you become a debauched and corrupt ruler, your end will not be better than your father’s.”

 

Chen Mu looked at Yan Sikong, his expression a mix of indescribable emotions. He smiled faintly. “Sir, do you know who I hate most in this world?”

 

Yan Sikong remained expressionless, staring at him.

 

“It’s not my father. It’s not Feng Ye. It’s you.” Chen Mu’s lips trembled. “When you burned my grain supplies, when you always chose him over me without hesitation… After my mother’s death, you were the person I loved and trusted most in this world. That’s why I hate you the most.”

 

“So, you plan to use my younger brother to exact your revenge on me?” Yan Sikong said coldly. “If you dare harm even a hair on his head, know that from Xuanhua to the capital, an urgent march takes only ten days.”

 

Chen Mu laughed softly, his laughter sending chills down Yan Sikong’s spine. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll treat him well. I want you to spend every harvest season anxiously waiting for him to return south, wondering if danger lurks in the capital, enduring year after year of torment, until one day he never comes back to you. Ha, ha, ha!”

 

Yan Sikong’s face twitched, but he smiled instead of getting angry. “Just as you’ll sit on the throne, always looking north in fear, wondering when the Feng family’s wolf banner will once again rise over your capital.”

 

Chen Mu smiled faintly. “You truly are my teacher. If we meet again in this life, one of us will surely be a prisoner.”

 

“Indeed,” Yan Sikong nodded. “So it’s best we never meet again.”

 

Chen Mu stared deeply at Yan Sikong, tightened his reins, and turned his horse away.

 

“Mu’er.”

 

Chen Mu froze.

 

Yan Sikong watched his retreating figure, his mind filled with the image of the pitiful boy who once cried in his arms. Overcome with emotion, he couldn’t help but call out to him.

 

Chen Mu turned back, trembling, his eyes red.

 

“Do you know why an emperor calls himself a ‘lonely figure’?”

 

Chen Mu’s lips moved, but no words came out.

 

“When you ascend the throne, you will understand,” Yan Sikong said. He gave Chen Mu one last look before decisively turning his horse around. His final words drifted with the wind into Chen Mu’s ears: “Take care.”

 

—

 

Upon returning to Guangning, Yan Sikong wanted to speak with Yuan Nanyu, but Yuan Nanyu seemed to be avoiding him, using military affairs as an excuse to leave in a hurry.

 

Thus, Yan Sikong returned to his room and began drafting the relevant documents.

 

Late at night, as he was still bent over the desk deep in thought, a sudden knock came at the door.

 

“Come in.”

 

The door was pushed open, and Feng Ye stepped into the room. A maid followed behind, carrying a tray of food. She set it on the table, bowed slightly, and quietly retreated.

 

Yan Sikong explained, “I was writing…”

 

“I know what you’re writing,” Feng Ye snorted coldly. “Chen Mu has coveted the throne for 23 years; a few more days won’t make a difference. Stop writing and eat your dinner.”

 

Yan Sikong put down his pen and walked over to the table. Feng Ye sat across from him, silently watching.

 

Yan Sikong ate a couple of bites. “Aren’t you eating?”

 

“I’ve already eaten,” Feng Ye said softly. “I just want to watch you eat.”

 

Yan Sikong felt his appetite dwindle. Perhaps it was the recent upheavals, the thoughts of how to draft the document, or simply Feng Ye’s unblinking gaze.

 

After quickly finishing a bowl of rice, Yan Sikong found it hard to continue. He looked up at Feng Ye. “I’m full.”

 

“Too little,” Feng Ye commented, glancing at the dishes with dissatisfaction.

 

“I’m not feeling particularly hungry today,” Yan Sikong set down his chopsticks and cut straight to the point. “Do you have something to say?”

 

Feng Ye gazed directly at him, his eyes naked with intent. He replied bluntly, “Tonight, I want to stay.”

 

Yan Sikong blinked. “You’re still injured.”

 

“I won’t do anything. I just want to sleep beside you.”

 

Yan Sikong paused for a moment before nodding.

 

Seeing Yan Sikong’s slightly uneasy expression, Feng Ye gave a wry smile. “Serve me as I rest, then.”

 

Yan Sikong stood up, poured hot water into a basin from the stove, soaked a cloth, wrung it out, and attended to Feng Ye, wiping his hands and face.

 

As Yan Sikong carefully wiped each of Feng Ye’s long, powerful fingers, those fingers unconsciously tangled with his own. Yan Sikong stared motionlessly at their intertwined fingers, resembling their entwined fates—complex and inseparable.

 

He no longer resisted destiny, having spent half his life doing so only to suffer a crushing defeat. If entangling with Feng Ye for life was his fate, should he embrace it?

 

If not fate, then perhaps he should submit to the homeland Feng Ye had guarded for him and the throne he had forsaken.

 

“The sharp-tongued Lord Yan, at a loss for words now?” Feng Ye looked up at him.

 

Yan Sikong faintly smiled. “Let me help you undress.” He withdrew his fingers, set aside the cloth, and helped Feng Ye remove his outer garments and boots before carefully lifting his legs onto the bed.

 

Feng Ye sat at the head of the bed, watching as Yan Sikong washed his hands and face, removed his outerwear, and climbed onto the bed in his undergarments.

 

The two exchanged a glance. Sharing the same bed felt like revisiting a distant, sweet memory from their youth—a closeness that now seemed to belong to someone else. Though once so intimate, now they mostly shared silence.

 

Feng Ye felt a pang of sorrow and reached out his hand toward Yan Sikong.

 

Yan Sikong clasped Feng Ye’s hand and lay down beside him.

 

Feng Ye pressed close, his breathing slightly heavy.

 

Yan Sikong broke the silence. “You rode today. Did your wound worsen?”

 

“No,” Feng Ye replied after a pause, lowering his voice. “Do you only care about my injuries now?”

 

“You barely escaped death. This wound mustn’t be underestimated.”

 

Feng Ye grabbed Yan Sikong’s hand and placed it on his chest. “Feel it. My heart is still beating, just like before.”

 

Yan Sikong pressed the back of his hand against Feng Ye’s chest, feeling the faint thrum. His body relaxed slightly. “A great disaster narrowly avoided means future blessings. Take care to recover.”

 

“Of course,” Feng Ye chuckled softly. “I wish it could heal instantly. With you lying beside me, all I can think of is your bare, intoxicatingly alluring body… Do you know how much I want you?”

 

Yan Sikong’s body, which had just relaxed, tensed again.

 

“But I know,” Feng Ye murmured. “You’re still resisting me. Even after all I’ve done, staying by my side is merely your ‘repayment’ for my defense of Guangning.”

 

Yan Sikong remained silent.

 

“I often think about the things I’ve done to you… those things. If someone did that to me, I’d never forgive them, not in this lifetime.” Feng Ye’s voice cracked. “Kong’er, can I ever see your true heart again?”

 

Yan Sikong inhaled sharply. “Feng Ye, nothing in this world is perfect. No one is flawless. Why insist?”

 

“Then should I not strive for it?” Feng Ye clutched Yan Sikong’s hand tightly, as though fearing he might vanish. “I want what I want, and I’ll do everything to have it. Even a fraction is worth it.”

 

Yan Sikong felt suffocated, unsure how to respond.

 

Feng Ye had abandoned what few could—the supreme power of the throne—for him. He felt shock and gratitude, willing to repay such a sacrifice with his life.

 

But he could not offer an unblemished heart, not for lack of desire but inability—like a hand burned time and again by fire, unable to trust its warmth even if it no longer scorched.

 

Feng Ye was the only person he had ever loved, but he could no longer let down his guard around him.