The Blood Crown - Chapter 343 End

Chapter 343 End

 

Datong ushered in a scorching summer. This year’s weather was more stifling than usual. As the King of the North’s inspection team headed north towards Liaodong, the air grew cooler with every step.

 

When they returned to Guangning, autumn had already arrived. The city walls, nearly destroyed by the Jurchen artillery, had been fully restored. Based on the original structure, true barbicans were added to the eastern and western gates, making the city even more impregnable than before.

 

Liang Huiyong remained the General Commander of Liaodong, while the new Liaodong Prefect was an elder official transferred from Datong by Feng Ye. This was someone Yan Sikong had recommended earlier, who was also appointed to an important position.

 

Guangning was now peaceful and harmonious, a stark contrast to just a few months prior, when corpses piled high and rivers of blood flowed beneath its walls.

 

After nearly thirty years of harassment by the Jurchens, the people of Liaodong finally saw a glimmer of hope. As the autumn harvest approached, every household prayed for a bountiful year and the chance to truly live in peace and prosperity.

 

When Feng Ye entered the city, the streets were packed. The people knelt along the roads to welcome and thank the King of the North for defeating the Jurchens.

 

Riding behind Feng Ye, Yan Sikong saw the people’s faces, no longer marked by fear and despair but instead brimming with genuine smiles. This brought him immense relief.

 

As for Feng Ye, his face initially carried a faint smile. But as they entered the posthouse, his expression grew stern.

 

The officials of Liaodong were puzzled by Feng Ye’s displeasure. Most of them were newly appointed, except for Liang Huiyong, and they feared making mistakes that would disappoint the King of the North.

 

Having fought alongside Feng Ye, Liang Huiyong ventured to probe, “Your Highness, are you tired from the journey?”

 

Even Yan Sikong was unsure and refrained from asking directly in front of others.

 

Feng Ye glanced at them. “No.”

 

“Then…” Liang Huiyong said bluntly, “If Your Highness feels we’ve failed in our duties, please do not hesitate to punish us.”

 

Feng Ye’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me, to whom does the credit for defending Liaodong belong?”

 

“Of course, it is Your Highness’s credit,” the officials unanimously agreed.

 

“And who else?”

 

A junior officer eagerly added, “General Yuan and General Liang also deserve much credit!”

 

Feng Ye’s eyes turned cold, silencing the officer, who dared not breathe.

 

Liang Huiyong immediately understood Feng Ye’s intent and solemnly said, “Minister Yan deserves the greatest credit.”

 

The room fell into silence. Yan Sikong felt uncomfortable, as though sitting on pins and needles. He said, “Your Highness…”

 

Feng Ye raised a hand. “Don’t speak.” He then pointed at Liang Huiyong. “General Liang is correct. Without Yan Sikong, there would be no Liaodong today. You and I know this, so why don’t others? Why don’t the people know?”

 

“This…” Liang Huiyong didn’t know how to answer.

 

Yan Sikong said, “Your Highness, you must be tired from the journey. Let’s discuss this tomorrow.”

 

“I am not tired,” Feng Ye retorted, though he hesitated at Yan Sikong’s heavier tone.

 

“Your Highness,” Yan Sikong added firmly, “these officials have waited outside the city gates for you all day. They must be tired.”

 

Feng Ye glanced at Yan Sikong, paused, and then said, “You may all withdraw. We’ll discuss the banquet tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

 

After the others left, Yan Sikong sighed. “What are you doing?”

 

Feng Ye extended a hand. “Kong’er, come here.”

 

Yan Sikong approached, and Feng Ye pulled him onto his lap. He placed a hand on Yan Sikong’s back and spoke softly, “Today, the people lined the streets, shouting thanks to me, to General Liang, and to General Yuan. But you—do they even remember the person they should thank the most?”

 

“My reputation is already tarnished. Would a commendation document change the people’s perception?”

 

“Should we let slander persist, then?”

 

“It’s not entirely slander. I’ve indeed done many things that are despicable. Their criticism is justified.”

 

“Your merits outweigh your faults. They should not be buried,” Feng Ye said, tightening his embrace with heartache.

 

Yan Sikong shook his head with a smile. “Even so, the people won’t go out of their way to seek the truth. I’m just their topic of idle gossip. If you forcefully vindicate me, it will only seem like overcompensation and backfire.”

 

Feng Ye frowned deeply and said sullenly, “I don’t want you to feel wronged. They call you…”

 

“The ‘fence-sitter,’” Yan Sikong laughed heartily. “If that title ends up in the history books, it would be truly amusing.”

 

“Kong’er,” Feng Ye said gravely, “even if you don’t care about how the world sees you, don’t you care about your homeland? Why put on a brave front before me?”

 

Yan Sikong smiled freely. “I am alone in this world. After my death, nothing will remain. My deeds, good and bad, can be judged by posterity. If you want to do something for me… build a shrine for my father.”

 

“Very well,” Feng Ye agreed without hesitation. “I will ensure that General Yuanmao’s name is remembered for generations.”

 

“That will be enough,” Yan Sikong said, cupping Feng Ye’s chin and pressing a kiss to his lips.

 

Feng Ye nuzzled against his cheek. “If there’s anything else you want, just tell me.”

 

Yan Sikong gazed into Feng Ye’s eyes and clearly said, “I want you to lead the northern frontier well. When the people are prosperous and the army is strong, lead your troops across the Huangshui River, reclaim the seven prefectures of Liaobei, and annihilate the Jurchen dogs.”

 

Feng Ye replied solemnly, “Within my lifetime.”

 

Yan Sikong leaned into Feng Ye’s embrace, listening to his steady heartbeat. A faint smile appeared on his lips. Only this man could bring him inner peace and stability.

 

—

 

Despite Yan Sikong’s dissuasion, Feng Ye still ordered the historians to rewrite his deeds. Yan Sikong didn’t want this because, while the King of the North could write the history of Liaodong, the emperor could write the history of the realm. What place Chen Mu would give him in the official records remained unknown.

 

Yan Sikong personally selected a piece of land with good feng shui outside the city to build the shrine for Yuan Mao. Word of mouth was bound to become distorted, and even the most detailed accounts in history books could be biased. Dynasties had changed, and countries had switched hands many times over the centuries. Yet, these were nothing compared to the resilience and enduring legacy of the clay, tile, and stone walls of the Yuan Gong Shrine.

 

As long as it stood firm, the life of Yuan Mao would be forever sung and honored.

 

After supervising the construction for half a day, Yan Sikong returned to the city and learned that Feng Ye was watching the sunset from the city tower. He made his way to the wall and climbed up the steps, finding a tall figure standing on the battlements, gazing at the orange-red sun hanging on the horizon, like a blazing fire burning through the clouds.

 

Hearing footsteps, Feng Ye did not turn around but knew who it was. He instructed those around him, “Leave.”

 

Yan Sikong approached and stood beside him, teasing, “Why is the King of the North in the mood to watch the sunset today?”

 

“This sunset is especially beautiful,” Feng Ye smiled. “Such a beautiful evening should not be enjoyed alone. I was thinking of you, and here you are—truly in sync with my thoughts.”

 

“Like minds are always connected,” Yan Sikong said with a smile, feeling a wave of emotion. “If we hadn’t defended this city, we wouldn’t be here to enjoy this scene.”

 

Feng Ye said, “There are countless beautiful sights in the world, and not a single one should be given to the barbarians.”

 

Yan Sikong’s mind flashed to the image of the army besieging the city below. Only with the sacrifice and determination of countless people could they keep the invaders at bay. Standing here alive now was the result of untold trials, bloodshed, and sorrow. He felt a twinge of emotion and whispered, “That’s right. Not a single inch of land should be given up.”

 

Feng Ye turned to look at Yan Sikong, then pulled him into an embrace. “How is the shrine coming along?”

 

“It’s going well, but unfortunately, Nan Yu doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see it.”

 

“You’re worried about him.”

 

At that moment, Yuan Nan Yu was in Datong, gathering tribute. After the autumn harvest, he would personally escort the tribute to the capital, fulfilling the agreement with Chen Mu.

 

“He is now your Right General and General of the Cavalry. He should face all the blood and danger on his own. But in my heart…” Yan Sikong sighed. “He will always be the brother I never got to see grow up.”

 

“I understand, but you must trust him. And besides, Chen Mu won’t dare to act recklessly.” At the mention of that name, Feng Ye’s eyes darkened. “I just received a report that Chen Chun died suddenly, and Concubine Wen hanged herself. He finally got his revenge. But I suspect the person he hates most and wants to kill is probably Chen Zhao.”

 

Yan Sikong shook his head. “No matter how much hatred he holds, he wouldn’t dare to commit regicide so soon after taking the throne. But his bold cruelty against his own siblings will surely draw the objections of the court. This time, he won’t have the energy to make trouble for Nan Yu.”

 

“Exactly. We just formed an alliance; it wouldn’t be good to break it immediately. Next year, we’ll find an excuse to replace him.”

 

Yan Sikong nodded. “He won’t dare do anything rash.”

 

The two leaned against each other, silently watching the sun dip lower in the sky, savoring the moment’s beauty.

 

“…Kong’er, let’s go horseback riding tomorrow, at the horse farm in Guangning,” Feng Ye said softly.

 

“That horse farm has been abandoned for years.”

 

“I want to see it. Maybe I can find even one stable from my memories.”

 

Yan Sikong smiled. “Why go through so much trouble?” He took the dagger Feng Ye had given him years ago from his waist. “This dagger is a testament to our past.”

 

Feng Ye reached out to take the dagger and examined it carefully. Then he unsheathed the blade.

 

It was the first knife given to him by Feng Jianping. When he was young, he thought it long and heavy and felt clumsy wielding it. Now, in his hands, it seemed small and light.

 

Holding the dagger, Feng Ye mimicked his childhood self, pointing the blade at the air and shouting with grandeur, “We make this vow: ten years from now, you will be an esteemed official, and I will be a great general. Together, we will maintain internal peace and defend our nation, driving out the barbarians, bringing peace to the world, and leaving a legacy for all time. How about it?!”

 

Yan Sikong felt a surge in his heart and responded loudly to the ever-rising, unchanged sun, “We will make an unprecedented achievement and leave a legacy for all time! It’s a promise!”

 

After saying this, Yan Sikong felt a tightness in his throat and nearly burst into tears.

 

How much innocence and youthful ambition had been shattered by the hardships of life? Looking back, even if one could recite the grand vision of their youth, they would never be able to reclaim the belief they once had. No one had become the person they had dreamed of in their youth or achieved the accomplishments they had imagined, and some had even been twisted by fate into something entirely different.

 

The hand of destiny had crushed countless dreams and beliefs, leaving behind a trail of blood.

 

Now, to stand side by side, perhaps that alone was a blessing.

 

Feng Ye’s emotions were also stirred. He held Yan Sikong’s hand tightly. “Fate is unpredictable, but I cherish every moment we stand together,” he said. He had experienced loss and would never let such despair happen again.

 

Yan Sikong turned to look at him. “Me too. The more I believe in fate, the more I feel that everything between us is destined.”

 

Feng Ye and Yan Sikong interlocked their fingers. “Yes, we were destined to meet, destined to become entwined, destined to stay together.” Feng Ye’s eyes were filled with deep emotion and resolve. “If fate dares to separate us, I will fight with all my might. So in this life, in this world, we will always be together.”

 

A tender look appeared on Yan Sikong’s face. He rested his head on Feng Ye’s shoulder and smiled. “I know.” In the countless days and nights filled with schemes and betrayals, he could not have imagined that someone like him could find a moment of pure joy and affection deep in his heart.

 

Having been tempered by countless trials and already bearing many scars, at least in this moment, his heart couldn’t be more content.

 

Because of Feng Ye.

 

Only Feng Ye.

 

No matter how dangerous the road ahead, they would walk it together until the very end.

 

“Feng Ye.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do you remember that winter hunt?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Actually, the struggle for the world between you and Chen Mu was already determined back then.”

 

－－－－

 

“Father.” A young boy with a handsome face, carrying a large stack of books, ran through the spacious courtyard of the grand estate. His cheeks were flushed, and he was panting, but his legs moved steadily and quickly. “Father—”

 

“Qing’er, in the study,” came the clear voice of the young man from afar.

 

The boy ran into the study, excitedly calling out, “Father, I found the book you wanted…” He didn’t pay attention to his feet and tripped over a porcelain vase, immediately falling headlong, sending the books flying out of his hands.

 

The man sitting in a wheelchair tilted his head slightly and frowned. “A man should move like the wind and stand like a pine. You’re not a child anymore, so why are you still so careless?”

 

The young man nearby laughed heartily as he walked over to help him.

 

The man in the wheelchair, sitting upright and still regal, was none other than the remarkable talent who had swept the imperial examinations and was now the Emperor’s teacher—the youngest cabinet minister in the history of the Great Sheng dynasty—Shen Hexuan.

 

The young man was his student, Fu Zhanqing.

 

The boy on the floor—Shen Hexuan’s eldest son, Shen Zhengqing—picked himself up, collected the books, and gave an awkward laugh. “I’ve been looking for it for a long time. I was just too happy.”

 

“Put them here,” Fu Zhanqing said with a smile. “Did you hurt yourself, Qing’er?”

 

“I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt.” Shen Zhengqing set down the books and looked around the somewhat cluttered study. “With so much stuff, when will it ever be organized?”

 

It was a good thing that the Emperor had given Shen Hexuan a new house, but moving was a real headache.

 

“There’s no rush. We’ll tidy it up slowly,” Fu Zhanqing said. “Qing’er, go help your mother.”

 

“My mother said I’m too clumsy and almost broke her bracelet, so she kicked me out,” Shen Zhengqing said with a smile. “Your books are tougher, and besides, you don’t have anything valuable.”

 

Fu Zhanqing couldn’t help but laugh again.

 

Shen Hexuan also shook his head helplessly, a hint of a smile on his face.

 

Shen Zhengqing’s eyes fell on the painting Fu Zhanqing was holding. “Brother Fu, whose painting is that in your hand?”

 

Fu Zhanqing unfolded the painting, studying it intently. The expression on his face, as if lost in it, was difficult for Shen Zhengqing to understand. He said, “I’m discussing with my teacher where this painting should be hung.”

 

Shen Hexuan’s expression was also a bit strange.

 

“What painting is it?” Shen Zhengqing walked over and saw that the painting depicted a single-legged crane standing gracefully by a stream, drinking. The crane was so lifelike that every feather seemed touchable. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, so even Shen Zhengqing, who was not very knowledgeable, couldn’t help but praise it.

 

“Wow, this crane is painted so well. Who was the master behind it?” Shen Hexuan looked at the bottom of the painting, which was blank, and looked at Fu Zhanqing in doubt.

 

Fu Zhanqing smiled faintly. “There is no signature.”

 

“Such a good painting, and yet no signature?” Shen Zhengqing was puzzled and leaned closer to read the poem written by the artist:

 

Harnessing feathers to return to the wild waves,

Scholar’s bones debate the chaos of the world.

The wind is clear, defying the Five Mountains,

A divine phoenix accompanies the crane immortal.

 

Shen Hexuan muttered, savoring the words. “A divine phoenix accompanies the crane immortal… divine, crane, immortal…” He suddenly realized, “Is this for me?!”

 

Fu Zhanqing smiled. “Qing’er is very clever.”

 

Shen Zhengqing said excitedly, “This crane must be painted to look like you, father. Who could have such admiration for you?”

 

Shen Hexuan smiled slightly. “You’ll never guess.”

 

“Then I want to know,” Shen Zhengqing’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Father, who painted this? Brother Fu? Who is it really?”

 

Fu Zhanqing hesitated for a moment, glancing at Shen Hexuan, unsure whether to tell Shen Zhengqing.

 

Shen Hexuan’s expression was calm as he said, “It’s the person who pushed me off the cliff.”

 

Shen Zhengqing’s face changed. “What! Yan… Yan Sikong?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

Shen Zhengqing looked back at the painting, his thoughts shifting. He shouted angrily, “He painted this to mock you, father! This man is truly insane!”

 

Fu Zhanqing explained, “Qing’er, this painting is not mocking the teacher; it’s a compliment.”

 

“But it was him who caused father to lose a leg—infamous and full of evil deeds. What good intention could he possibly have?”

 

Shen Hexuan fixed his gaze on Shen Zhengqing, making him shiver before he turned to Fu Zhanqing. “Zhanqing, let’s hang this painting in the study.”

 

Shen Zhengqing was startled. “Father, how can you hang this thing in your own study!”

 

Shen Hexuan said, “Qing’er, do you remember the poem ‘The West Lin Wall’ you learned as a child?”

 

“‘Looked from the front, it’s a ridge; from the side, it’s a peak. From far and near, high and low, each view is different.’ Of course I remember,” Shen Zhengqing said. He was as smart and precocious as his father and had learned such verses as soon as he could remember. He looked at Shen Hexuan in confusion.

 

“Looking at the same thing from different perspectives, you see many different things. When you didn’t know this painting was by Yan Sikong, you felt the artist held great admiration for me. Now that you know, you feel it mocks me. Have you ever wondered why?”

 

Shen Zhengqing fell silent.

 

Shen Hexuan patted Shen Zhengqing’s head. “The Yan Sikong I know is different from the one you’ve heard about and the one everyone talks about.”

 

Shen Zhengqing was puzzled. “What do you mean, father? What kind of person is the Yan Sikong you know?”

 

“He…” Shen Hexuan hesitated, then chuckled softly. “It’s complicated.”

 

“But everyone says he’s a great traitor. Oh, I’ve also heard that he once single-handedly destroyed the eunuch faction, but he betrayed his mentor, betrayed the court, and even betrayed the emperor. He’s just a fickle person who changes allegiances, so everyone calls him the ‘fence-sitter.’”

 

Fu Zhanqing’s expression grew somewhat dim as he spoke quietly, “Qing’er, he and your father were once close friends, and many things are not as you imagine. Just like when you see a mountain, it may not truly be a mountain, and when you see water, it may not truly be water. Judging a person by only one side is not enough. When you grow up, you will understand.”

 

Shen Zhengqing was even more confused, “Then… does this mean he isn’t a great traitor, but a great loyalist? Father, I don’t understand. What kind of person is Yan Sikong?”

 

Shen Hexuan pondered for a moment, realizing that the complexity of that man, with his merits, mistakes, and controversies, could not be fully captured in just one volume. He picked up a brush and, with powerful and vigorous strokes, wrote a few words on the blank, white rice paper:

 

Loyal, treacherous, for the nation!

 

－－－－The End－－－－

 

References:

 

Records of the Grand Historian

 

The Art of War by Sun Tzu

 

The Twenty-Four Histories

 

The Analects

 

The Ming Dynasty Chronicles

 

The Fifteenth Year of Wanli

 

The Ming Dynasty

 

Romance of the Three Kingdoms

 

Six Secret Teachings and Three Strategies

 

The Seven Military Classics

 

Zeng Guofan

 

The Three-Part Series on Empire and Republic by Yi Zhongtian

 

Zhang Juzheng

 

===

 

Waaah, it’s finally over! I’m so, so happy!! This is the longest and most challenging book I’ve written. This year has been full of so many things that I almost broke down a few times, but every bit of effort was worth it because the moment it’s finished is just so beautiful, so touching, and so happy. I’ll keep striving to write the stories I love, not letting down my passion!

 

Let me take a few days to rest. I’ll write some side stories for the main and secondary couples, but I don’t know when yet, so no rush.

 

Finally, I can be a little idle for a while, enjoy the New Year, go out and have fun, and then get ready for my next book!

 

My next book is the tenth in the modern 188 series—“Flames in Battle Gear,” which I plan to start in April.

 

Thank you all for your support, love you all, mwah! Happy New Year in advance!