The Blood Crown - Chapter 335

Chapter 335

Yan Sikong’s chest was now bare and exposed before Feng Ye, revealing a mass of hideous burn scars where once smooth and fair skin had been.

Those scars sprawled across his body like grotesque monsters, uneven and knotted, extending endlessly. Some had blended with his natural skin tone, while others remained a faint lotus hue. They silently testified to the unspeakable torment their owner had endured.

Feng Ye stared at the glaring scars, forgetting to breathe.

Yan Sikong instinctively tried to cover himself but eventually stopped. He turned his face away, unwilling to witness Feng Ye’s expression—be it shock, guilt, or sorrow.

When Feng Ye finally regained his senses from the shock, his body began to tremble uncontrollably. A searing pain gripped his chest, as if it were being torn apart—far more excruciating than the pain of a piercing arrow.

He tugged at Yan Sikong’s clothes, but his strength seemed to have drained entirely. These arms, which were said to possess the strength to draw a two-stone bow, now couldn’t even control the lightweight fabric. His voice trembled, “Where else… Where else…”

Yan Sikong swiftly snatched back his collar and said softly, “Just my arms and lower legs. They’ve long since healed.”

“…Why…” Feng Ye’s voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable. “Why didn’t you tell me…”

“What would have been the point of telling you?” Yan Sikong wiped the blood from the corner of his lips, his tone calm as ever.

Feng Ye’s bloodshot eyes stared at Yan Sikong’s chest. The thought of him entering that inferno with a heart full of despair was unbearable. Dizziness overcame him as waves of remorse and heartache surged, threatening to drown him completely.

Indeed, what would have been the point of telling him? He hadn’t protected Yan Sikong from the pain of the raging fire, nor could he heal his scars. He had failed him again and again. The person he loved most in this world, who had given so much for him, was also the one he had hurt the deepest.

He hated fate. He hated the treacherous tongues of schemers. But above all, he hated himself, because the one who had inflicted the greatest suffering on Yan Sikong was none other than himself.

He had claimed to love Yan Sikong deeply, yet he had subjected him to humiliation, coercion, and harm. Meanwhile, Yan Sikong, who professed to have given up on him, had risked his life and endured fire and death for his sake.

How laughable it was that he had always believed himself to be the one who loved more.

He had never truly understood Yan Sikong, nor had he cared enough to ask what Yan Sikong truly wanted.

Yan Sikong suddenly felt a faint wetness on his chest. Surprised, he turned to look, only to see large teardrops falling from Feng Ye’s eyes, landing on those scars and leaving behind a faint warmth.

“I’m sorry…” Feng Ye collapsed onto Yan Sikong’s chest, murmuring “I’m sorry” over and over, tears streaming uncontrollably.

Yan Sikong stared up at the cave ceiling, his tears finally flowing, as quiet and cold as spring snow melting into a mountain stream.

“I’m sorry… Kong’er… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” At that moment, Feng Ye was no longer the invincible wolf king, the Regent King of the capital, nor the Northern Warlord of the Four Fiefs. He was like a helpless, lost child, burying his head in Yan Sikong’s chest and sobbing bitterly.

Yan Sikong’s tears flowed freely like an endless spring, and before his resolve could falter, he choked out, “After you’ve healed…”

Feng Ye closed his eyes, his heart already turned to ash.

—

At dawn, when they departed, the guards used the gunpowder they had brought to seal the cave entrance, turning it into a tomb for Feng Hun.

On the way back, Feng Ye said nothing. Even before his soldiers, he couldn’t conceal his soulless despair.

It wasn’t until they returned to the manor that Feng Ye grabbed Yan Sikong’s hand, gazing at him with hollow eyes. “Whatever you want, wherever you wish to go, just tell me, and I…” His voice grew weaker and weaker.

“No need.” Yan Sikong seemed equally dazed, shaking his head. “No need to trouble yourself.”

“…You’ve already decided.” Feng Ye nodded stiffly, releasing Yan Sikong’s hand and silently turning away.

Watching Feng Ye’s lonely and desolate figure, Yan Sikong leaned against the corridor pillar, his thoughts a tumultuous storm.

—

From that day onward, Feng Ye no longer insisted on sharing a bed with Yan Sikong. However, he demanded they dine together for all three meals. During these times, neither mentioned what had happened in the cave. Yet Feng Ye often stared at Yan Sikong, his gaze dazed before he hastily looked away.

Not long after, news came from the capital: the new emperor had ascended the throne. Chen Mu finally claimed the imperial seat, taking the era name “Taihe.” The thirteenth prince, once propped up as emperor by Feng Ye, was deposed and promptly sent away to a remote area.

After his ascension, Chen Mu fulfilled his promise by declaring Feng Ye the Northern Warlord of the Four Fiefs: Qianzhou, Datong, Xuanhua, and Liaodong. All military, administrative, judicial, and fiscal matters of the four regions were placed under the Northern Warlord’s control.

The decree was penned by Yan Sikong. It was a reform unheard of since Qin times—a feudal fief granted to a warlord. Such an audacious and shocking change was crafted by Yan Sikong to be impeccable, citing precedents with precision.

When the imperial decree arrived in Datong, Feng Ye stood tall to receive it, his posture unwavering. As the official envoy finished reading the decree, not a single emotion crossed his face.

Yan Sikong recalled Feng Ye once saying he would never kneel to anyone but his ancestors and parents. True to his word, he had not.

Watching Feng Ye finally become the Northern Warlord, a figure second to none but the emperor, Yan Sikong knew it was time for him to leave.

The Four Fiefs now had an unprecedented allure, drawing talent from across the realm. It wouldn’t be long before a multitude of brilliant strategists flocked to Feng Ye’s banner. With their assistance, the Northern Territories would grow stronger day by day.

Finally, Yan Sikong could set his worries aside.

Yet, on the very day the imperial decree arrived—meant to be celebrated with a feast—Feng Ye fell from his horse, abruptly shattering any thoughts of celebration.