Unyielding Spring Mountains - Chapter 100: Hand in Hand

Chapter 100: Hand in Hand

Wei Zhen and Qi Yan walked outside, only to see the sky suddenly darken—the air heavy with the looming scent of rain.

They arrived at the rear courtyard just as the sound of hooves rolled in from beyond. A commanding figure emerged from the veil of rainfall, dragging behind him a man bound tightly by hemp rope.

The man was thrown to his knees—his legs splashing into the puddled stone with a heavy thud.

“Your Majesty,” the commanding general reported, “Our army has routed the Chu forces, driven their remnants into the gorge, and captured the Chu King!”

He kicked the kneeling man. Jing Heng raised his head, eyes red-threaded from exhaustion. His armor had long been stripped, leaving him in tattered robes. Cold raindrops splattered across his face, slowly washing away the dirt caked to his bruised skin.

Upon seeing Wei Zhen, his bloodshot eyes flickered with mocking disdain. “Long time no see, Princess of Wei.”

Wei Zhen stood stiffly beneath the eaves, looking down upon the man kneeling in the yard. Jing Heng sneered, “I besieged the Capital of Wei for days. Had fate not turned against me, had reinforcements not arrived when they did, you would never be standing here.”

Wei Zhen smiled faintly. “A pity then, that the people of Wei were united in one heart. Even with ten more days, you never would’ve breached the capital. Now you, King of Chu, are a mere prisoner. Do you not think it foolish to still speak such delusions?”

Jing Heng’s jaw twitched. He suddenly lurched forward, his eyes sharp with hatred, but was instantly pulled back down by nearby guards who forced him to kneel again.

His gaze darted from side to side before landing on Qi Yan. “A brilliant performance from His Highness the Prince of Jin. Announcing your own death certainly fooled more than a few.”

Qi Yan looked down at him, calm and cold. He accepted the sword offered to him and stepped out into the rain.

Jing Heng stared at the weapon in his hand. “The Prince will kill me? But taking me alive would enable you to demand entry to Chu’s capital. The people would open their gates for me. I’m of great value. You still intend to kill me?”

Even now, Jing Heng was bargaining with what value he had left.

“No need,” Qi Yan answered, his voice slicing through the rain.

Jing Heng looked up, shocked. “No need?”

Spring rain was still bitterly cold, each drop piercing like a blade.

Qi Yan drew his sword, his eyes cold and piercing. “My cavalry are already en route to Chu’s capital. They’ll take the city without needing your name.”

Jing Heng stared at him. The image of Qi Yan overlapped with another from long ago—when, back in Chu, he had watched this same man step over bodies, a demon from hell cloaked in blood, walking toward him just like this.

Now, Qi Yan pressed his blade against Jing Heng’s throat. The biting steel coiled like an icy serpent around his neck.

“The former King of Chu charged the Qi family with treason. And what is treason? Now—King of Chu—do you finally comprehend it?”

Qi Yan lowered his gaze. “You incited internal chaos, turned brother against brother, and destroyed your kingdom’s stability. You now kneel at my feet, and half of your land has fallen. That—is treason.”

Jing Heng locked eyes with him for a long moment, then laughed bitterly. “But even your claim to Jin’s throne is illegitimate. All under heaven knows that Qi Yan murdered the former king and seized the throne!”

“Usurper of power?”

A voice rang behind Qi Yan.

Jing Heng turned toward the sound, where a woman’s shoes tapped through puddles as she came forward, raindrops slipping down the hem of her silken skirt.

Wei Zhen’s eyes were bright, resolute. “It was Ji Yuan who conspired with Qi to entrap the late king. The King of Qi gave me letters—correspondence between Ji Yuan and the former king. Should those letters circulate publicly, Ji Yuan’s throne would crumble. Besides, this land—was built by Qi Yan himself. What part of that is usurpation?”

She shifted the subject. “Is the Dowager Queen of Chu well? Before I was sent to Jin in her stead, I once told her—we would meet again. Back then, she used my mother as a human shield. Today, I take the head of her son and return it to her. At least my mother may now rest peacefully in her grave.”

She took the sword from Qi Yan’s hand. Her fingers, ice-cold, gripped the steel.

Jing Heng’s face paled. “It would be far easier to use me as a bargaining chip than to battle for every inch of land.”

Qi Yan said flatly, “Not necessarily. Do you not recall how your brother ascended the throne? Many of his confidants answer to me now. With you dead, they’ll offer up the city themselves.”

Wei Zhen added, “Still dreaming you’ll rise again—only your death will end this. Yet your sins cannot be absolved alone. Others will atone with you. I will see to your mother’s comfort—your father, too. I’ll have the Chu royal tomb unearthed and his corpse dragged out, so my brother may lash his remains himself. Everything you owe my mother—we will collect.”

“The desecration of a royal tomb”—the words were blasphemous. Jing Heng’s face distorted in uncontrollable rage. “Wei Zhen, you would dare desecrate the royals of Chu?!”

Her voice remained calm. “What your father did in life must still be paid in death.”

In ancient customs, defiling a corpse, especially of royalty, was more than vengeance—it was an utter annihilation of legacy and honor.

The blade gleamed beside her eyes. Rain slid slowly past her lashes.

Her voice cut colder than the rain—layered, spreading like ripples across the yard.

Jing Heng straightened his spine, eyes full of venomous hatred. “Even if I die today, my spirit will haunt you for eternity!”

“And if spirits held such power, where was my mother? And the citizens of Wei?” Wei Zhen’s voice rose suddenly, trembling with fury.

Her eyes reddened.

With a sudden thrust, blood gushed along the sword’s edge.

Qi Yan said softly, “Allow me.”

Wei Zhen shook her head, her voice unwavering. “No. I’ll do it.”

The rain poured down, robes heavy against soaked skin.

Cold wind whipped through the yard. Blood welled from Jing Heng’s sliced neck, dripping steadily into the puddled earth.

As death closed around him, he looked at Wei Zhen. When she lifted her blade again, fragmented images surged through his mind—flashes of memory ripping open behind his eyes.

He clawed at the ground, trying to grasp something. His eyes widened.

It felt like a door opened—and strange, vivid visions from another life raced through his thoughts.

“Wei Zhen, you—”

He barely croaked those words before her sword came down.

A gush of blood sprayed outward.

His head fell first, landing with a dull thud, followed by his lifeless body crashing backward.

Blood speckles clung to Wei Zhen’s lashes. Shaking, she slowly lowered the sword and looked down at the severed head.

She exhaled deeply.

Two lifetimes—all the grudges and debts between her and Jing Heng ended here.

Though she had only seen fragments of her past life in dreams, never fully knowing the pain that version of her endured—she had still felt it. And now, by her own hand, she had avenged them both.

Bitter wind howled through the rain, slashing at her shoulders. Her frame trembled, unmoving, eyes locked on the severed head.

A strange emptiness filled her.

She stood there, numb, until a hand gripped her wrist and yanked her into an embrace.

Qi Yan gently wiped the blood from her cheek, one hand patting her back. “What’s wrong?”

She rested her head against his chest. Rain slipped between their damp garments, but his warmth radiated through, slowly seeping into her bones.

Under his soothing voice, her heartbeat steadied.

Lifting her face toward him, she smiled faintly. “When do you plan to return?”

Qi Yan said, “I’ll stay with you a few more days. Once you’ve healed, I’ll go. Jing Heng is dead—Ji Yuan has lost his only major ally. If things go well on Wei Ling’s side, our forces should be nearing the capital.”

Palace attendants stepped forward under umbrellas to shield them from the rain.

The two stared at each other. After a moment, they spoke in perfect unison—

“Ah Zhen, I want you to return with me.”

“Qi Yan, I want to return with you.”

Qi Yan smiled.

They had weathered exile, lifted each other through the darkest of days. Now, at last, they walked together into the light. When they returned to the capital, they would do so hand in hand.

Qi Yan accepted the umbrella and said, “Come on. You’re soaked—you should dry off.”

Wei Zhen lifted her skirt and took his hand. Rain dripped from the umbrella’s edge, spattering against the grass and petals beside the path.

Three days later, Wei Zhen and Qi Yan set out—toward their final goal.

Within the Jin Palace, the atmosphere was tense with dread. Qi Yan’s army advanced closer every day. Generals sent to stop him were either slain on horseback or surrendered outright.

The Prince of Jin swept forward like a whirlwind.

Above Jin’s royal capital, the clouds gathered ever darker. Within the palace walls, whispers and anxieties only grew. Palace maids and eunuchs scurried about, secretly planning ways to escape.

Then news broke: the state of Qi had sent envoys to welcome Qi Yan’s ascension and had acknowledged that Ji Yuan, in last year’s border war, had deliberately leaked military movements to Qi—allowing them to ambush him.

Now that Qi Yan was returning to the capital, the King of Qi expressed full support and assured Jin that their alliance still stood.

Upon hearing this, Jin’s court, which once refused to honor the late King’s edict naming Qi Yan his successor—citing his non-royal bloodline—was thrown into chaos.

As night fell, Jiangdu’s royal city stood solemn in the dark, lit up by lanterns casting a glow as bright as day. Music and laughter echoed faintly—yet none inside the walls knew Qi Yan’s army had already arrived.

Disguised as royal guards, his forces moved silently and swiftly.

On the city wall, a guard noticed movement in the distance and grew wary. But spotting the familiar armor, he dared not raise an alarm.

No wind stirred tonight. And the army stood at the gates.

Qi Yan, clad in heavy armor, sat atop his white steed, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the looming gate. His fingers slowly tightened around a notched arrow upon his ornate bow.

The gates cracked open slightly. A scout galloped out to investigate.

“Why has the squad returned with arms? Did something happen ahead? Where is your officer?”

Even as the man spoke, Qi Yan picked up the arrow, drew the string taut, and loosed the arrow from his fingertips.

Launched with the full power of his frame, the arrow flew like lightning, slicing through the night and striking down a watchman atop the gate.

Immediately, chaos erupted.

Another arrow flew, slicing down the gate’s banner.

Behind him, the dark tide of soldiers drew their swords in unison.

Qi Yan raised his sword. In the moonlight, its blade glinted white, radiating cold brilliance.

He roared:

“Attack!”

The word surged outward like a tide.

Thousands of soldiers charged forward with unstoppable force.

Their might shook heaven and earth.