Unyielding Spring Mountains - Chapter 90: News of Death

Chapter 90: News of Death

It had been over a year since their parting in Jin.

“A-Ling, what are you doing in Wei?” Wei Zhen stepped out from his embrace, looking at the young man in front of her. She had imagined many scenarios for their reunion, assuming it would be a long time in the future. But now, here he was, standing right before her.

Bathed in sunlight, Wei Ling’s dimples were as prominent as ever when he smiled. “Qi Yan sent me.”

Wei Zhen asked, “Weren’t things going well for you at the King of Chu’s court?”

At that, Wei Ling sighed deeply, his brows furrowed with visible frustration. “I supported the King of Chu in ascending the throne, yet he grew increasingly wary of me. He lost several battles to Jing Heng recently—because of his own arrogance—and while I’d have liked to stay, Qi Yan said my sister needed me more. As soon as I heard those words, I packed my things and rushed over without delay.”

Wei Zhen trusted Qi Yan’s judgment. She stepped up a stair so she could meet Wei Ling eye to eye, just like when they were children, examining him with a mock-critical air. “You’ve grown taller. And more handsome too.”

“And you’ve grown even prettier, Sister,” Wei Ling replied, grinning.

He glanced around at the winding palace roofs and towers. “When Qi Yan told me about your true identity—I couldn’t believe it. My sister, suddenly turned into a princess of Wei Palace—it’s unreal.”

Wei Zhen smiled. “I thought I would go my entire life without ever finding my parents. I never imagined my father was still alive.”

“And is he good to you?” The boy’s eyes sparkled with genuine happiness for her.

“Very,” Wei Zhen said softly.

She looked at her little brother’s face, then suddenly tugged his hand and swiftly led him out of her palace.

“What is it?” Wei Ling asked as he followed her.

Turning back with a smile, she guided him through shaded walkways, dappled with green. Like when they were young, the two of them raced along, she with her skirt hem lifted, skirt trailing like ripples behind her; he chasing from behind, sunlight filtering through branches outlining them in gold. Palace maids turned and watched as they passed.

Breathless, they finally arrived at an imposing palace. Wei Ling was still confused when Wei Zhen led him inside.

“Father!” she called out clearly.

Not long after, a man emerged from the inner hall.

The King of Wei was much younger-looking than Wei Ling had imagined—pale and refined in appearance—only such a man, he thought, could father someone like Wei Zhen. The kindness in his eyes startled Wei Ling.

He knelt respectfully. “Your subject, Wei Ling, greets Your Majesty.”

“Father, this is my younger brother, Wei Ling,” Wei Zhen introduced.

Wei Ling clearly had not expected any of this and was a bit flustered. The King held out his hand. “Stand up.”

Wei Ling glanced at Wei Zhen, who gave him an encouraging smile. Only then did he place his hand into the King’s and rise.

Wei Zhen went to his side, placing both hands gently on his arm. “Father, this is the A-Ling I’ve told you about—we grew up together in southern Chu.”

The King smiled as he regarded the boy. “Zhen’er has told me all about you.”

Wei Ling nodded, lowering his head under the King’s gaze.

“Just as she said,” the King mused. “Dashing and refined—truly something special.”

Both men smiled. Wei Ling replied, “Your Majesty flatters me.”

The King took his hand, frowning slightly as he turned the boy’s palm upward to reveal a fierce scar. “What happened to your hand?”

Wei Ling replied, “It was a wound from battle. It’s scabbed over—nothing serious.”

The King shook his head. Blood was still seeping from the poorly healed scar.

Embarrassed, Wei Ling tried to cover his hand. “I’ve been riding continuously, clutching the reins tightly. The wound split again. Please excuse the sight.”

He tried to withdraw his hand, but the King held firm. “There’s no need to hide anything from me. You’re hurt—we’ll treat it immediately.”

Wei Zhen retrieved some salve from a nearby cabinet. The King sat him down and personally applied the medicine.

Feeling the tenderness in his touch, Wei Ling’s fingers curled. After some hesitation, he looked up and said, “Zhen’er once told me that Your Majesty is kind-hearted and loves her dearly. Today, I finally understand. You’re truly a good man, Your Majesty.”

The King chuckled. “You’ve come to Wei Palace. Consider this your home. And Zhen’er is your sister—you don’t have to call her ‘Princess’—that’s far too formal.”

Wei Zhen smiled, laying both hands gently on Wei Ling’s shoulders.

Wei Ling looked up at her through slightly misty eyes. “You finally… have a home. I’m truly happy for you.”

His voice choked up, and he wiped his eyes.

Wei Zhen knew him too well. Beneath that joy, he must be feeling left behind—now that she had family and he did not.

They had grown up together, knowing the pain of being parentless. Seeing his tears pricked at her heart.

“A-Ling, you’re family too,” she said, gripping his hands. “How could I ever have been alone when I had you? You’re my brother. You can treat my father as your father.”

Wei Ling shook his head. “I dare not.”

“We grew up together—aren’t we just like any other siblings?” she said gently. “Finding my father doesn’t mean forgetting you.”

“Sister, I…” His eyes welled up again.

Tears dripped from his face onto their overlapped hands, burning hot like they might brand her skin.

Wei Zhen turned to the King. “Father.”

The King rose, walked toward them, and looked solemnly into the boy’s eyes. He remembered how, when Zhen’er had first returned, she too had been hesitant under his gaze—unsure how to receive his affection. Children who grew up without love were always cautious.

He asked, “Your sister told me your mother died early, and your supposed father never cared for you?”

The boy nodded tightly, his jaw clenched, shoulders stiff with restraint.

“If you’re willing,” the King said, lifting him gently. “You can call me Father, just as your sister does. I have no sons—you would be like a son to me.”

Overcome, Wei Ling stammered, “I… I’m not worthy…”

“Why not, A-Ling?” Wei Zhen asked.

Tears fell anew. Frantically wiping them away, Wei Ling said with teary eyes, “Sister, this is your father…”

Wei Zhen embraced him. Her throat ached. “A-Ling, haven’t we always said, even without blood, we’re the closest siblings on earth? You’ve come to Wei to be with me. You’re family. I would never leave you out.”

The King added, “Listen to your sister. I genuinely want to recognize you as my adopted son. If you’re unwilling…”

“It’s not that,” Wei Ling interrupted. “I’ve just… no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. I’ve never called anyone ‘father’…”

He closed his eyes. “Thank you… Father.”

Those two words—father—took all his courage to say aloud.

The King saw those two young figures embracing, and joined them, warmly gathering them both in his arms.

In the bright hall stood three silhouettes united. Wei Ling quickly wiped his eyes and stopped crying. Laughter soon replaced the tears.

With Wei Ling by her side, life was no longer lonely for Wei Zhen. They went horseback riding together, visited the mountains surrounding the capital, and more often than not, sat with the King, painting and chatting.

Wei desperately lacked strong generals, and Wei Ling’s arrival was precisely what the King had hoped for. After a series of evaluations, he was appointed as Minister of Troop Supplies (Yinbo), overseeing military provisions.

His appointment, of course, stirred controversy—especially since his predecessor was Shen Si, the very man who tried to force his way into the King’s hall and was stopped by Wei Zhen’s blade.

Now Wei Ling had replaced him. And discontent began to brew.

That day, a crowd of ministers gathered outside the royal hall, demanding an audience. The gates remained tightly shut, yet voices of complaint and debate carried loudly inside.

Within, Wei Zhen and Wei Ling stood near the King, helping him take his medicine. Even in these few moments, they heard much of the noise from outside:

“Why is Wei Ling, a man of Chu blood and former high official in Chu, now appointed here in Wei? Can he truly do justice to this role? Your Majesty, please reconsider—do not bring a wolf into the fold!”

“Even if Your Majesty dotes on the Princess, is it wise to heed only her words? Appointing Wei Ling as Yinbo simply because he is close to the Princess—it will chill the hearts of all the court!”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Shen Si may have erred in offending the Princess, but hasn’t he already been punished with dismissal and confinement? Might he not be given a second chance?”

Wei Zhen simply continued to feed the medicine to the King.

He said, “Zhen’er, pay no mind to their talk.”

She smiled. “I know. It only appears they speak for Shen Si—but the truth is, they resent the way you punished him for my sake. That has threatened their factional interests. Ever since I returned, they’ve hated me.”

The King stared at the door. “What right have they to resent you? Shen Si attempted to storm the royal chamber. By rights, he should have been executed.”

Wei Ling finally spoke: “It’s my arrival that’s caused trouble for you.”

“No, you’ve caused nothing—the trouble is them!” The King’s cough erupted violently. The two rushed forward to steady him. He waved them off. “I’m fine.”

His pale cheeks flushed suddenly. He turned to his daughter, weakly. “I want to restore order to the court. But since falling ill, I haven’t had the strength. I knew, if I took the first step, I wouldn’t be able to stop… so instead I let them fight under my very eyes. But now that you’ve returned, Zhen’er… I believe you may be able to help me.”

She had a vague feeling about what he meant. Clutching his hand, she asked, “Father?”

Another bout of coughing rose in his chest.

“This path is fraught with danger. If I die… the court will fall into chaos. To restore it, you must risk everything.”

“Don’t say that, Father,” she whispered. “Qi Yan knows a renowned physician who once cured my eyes. I’ll ask him to send that doctor next time—to heal you.”

The King smiled weakly. This daily episode of coughing always left him drained, gasping, feeling as if his lungs would collapse.

With trembling fingers, he cupped her cheek, watching her worried expression. “Yes… I’ll hold on until that day. I won’t let those traitors get their way. They believe I’m already finished… they eye my throne like vultures. My illness is no different than they are to Wei—a festering disease. Zhen’er, will you help me?”

She noticed the shaking in his hands. Gripping them hard, she couldn’t allow even a shadow of disappointment to stain that gaunt face. She nodded. “I will.”

But rooting out those corrupted factions would not be easy. They would fight to protect their power—and if she failed, vengeance would follow.

Gently, she said, “Father, until now I’ve only helped review political documents—writing what you dictated, sometimes offering suggestions. To entrust me with leadership so soon… I fear I’m not ready. I might fail you.”

She remembered this feeling from her past—years ago in Chu, when her grandfather passed and left the family estate to her and A-Ling. Power drew predators—but then was nothing compared to what lay ahead.

“Don’t be afraid,” the King said, reading the hesitation in her eyes. “I will be with you.”

He trusted her—because she was his only child. He believed in her. He needed her.

“Back in Chu,” he continued, “perhaps your grandfather taught you to manage land and people. But I doubt he ever taught you how to kill someone, did he?”

Wei Zhen looked up, eyes moist. “Father?”

“To rule… one must not fear blood. You must learn to kill.”

He pulled a dagger from beneath his pillow. Cool, adorned with gems, it glinted as he placed it in her palm.

“Those ministers collude with foreign enemies—killing them serves justice. Do not let fear stop you from taking the first step.”

She stared at the blade reflection, her own clear gaze mirrored on its edge.

“Try it. Even if you fail at first, I’ll be there.”

She ran her fingers along the blade’s edge. Even the lightest touch drew blood.

She looked up at him.

He looked back, a chill in his eyes. Murderous resolve surfaced there. “It was with this very dagger that I claimed the throne.”

She understood. She nodded. “I will remember.”

Outside, the shouting continued.

Wei Zhen rose. “A-Ling, bring your sword. Let’s go.”

Wei Ling rested a hand on the hilt of his blade and nodded.

The two stepped to the doors. They opened them and crossed the threshold.

Inside, the King slowly raised his head.

Outside, their warnings fell on deaf ears. The gathered ministers refused to leave. Suddenly—loud and sharp—the sound of a blade being drawn.

With a sickening squelch, blood splattered across the doors. Cries of terror rang out.

“I informed you—the King requires rest,” Wei Zhen’s voice rang hollow and sharp as steel. “There is no need for you to return. A-Ling—”

Inside, incense smoke curled through the air, silencing the bloody scent. The King shut his eyes, finally able to sleep peacefully.

After years of internal rot, the Wei court needed an absolute purge. And it would be baptized in blood.

From then on, blood spilled daily in the halls of Wei. Ministers realized the weary King, once silent and bedridden, had found new strength in his daughter.

Their resistance was no match for the thunderstorm she brought.

Wei Ling—razor-sharp and deadly—served beside her like a sword unsheathing.

Together, they executed rogue generals and exposed traitors. With brutal efficiency, the court was tamed.

She reminded all of the King in his prime—unyielding, cold, and methodical. Soon, voices of dissent disappeared.

As Wei burned away its corruption, Jin erupted.

The new king of Jin abdicated, too incompetent. The throne passed to Ji Yuan. Ji Yuan then publicly released Wei Zhen’s handwritten marriage vow—pledging to marry the King of Jin.

Reluctantly, Wei Palace received the letter. Wei Zhen already knew what it said.

But news soon followed: Ji Wo had abdicated too—granting the throne to Qi Yan—in accordance with the late king’s decree.

Jin was now split in two. Two kings. And people asked: which of the two Jin kings did the Princess of Wei intend to marry?

An amusing coincidence, people said.

But Wei Zhen knew better.

Qi Yan had remembered her words: “I will marry the King of Jin.”

Though initially fraught with difficulty, her position in Wei grew more stable by the day. And word from Qi Yan only brought victories—each battle pushing the enemy back, another city falling.

With joy came fear. In her past life, Ji Wo had perished in war.

She considered it for long, then wrote to Qi Yan—reminding him to look after Ji Wo, and be cautious around the city they would soon attack—

Wusui.

In her last life, Ji Wo had died there—pursued by enemies, drowning in the Yellow River.

Jin’s capital, Jiangdu. Deep night. Lamps gleamed like daylight.

Newly crowned King of Jin—Ji Yuan—sat reviewing maps and discussing military strategies with his ministers.

The King of Qi still refused to send aid. Wei stood neutral. Ji Yuan was isolated—even while sending troops to aid Jing Heng’s bid for Chu’s throne.

Meanwhile, Qi Yan’s elite cavalry swept forward like a war chariot, seizing city after city.

Only Jing Heng’s progress gave Ji Yuan comfort.

If Jing Heng reclaimed Chu, they could flank Qi Yan from two sides.

Ji Yuan stared at the map. His eyes fell upon two words—Wusui.

“If Wusui falls, Jiangdu is doomed. We must gather all strength to stop Qi Yan.”

He looked to his right. “Uncle.”

The Marquis of Gaoling stood up. “Your Majesty.”

“This battle is yours. Delay Qi Yan. Buy time for Jing Heng. Kill Qi Yan and boost our army’s morale!”

The Marquis, dark-eyed and fierce, bowed. “Understood.”

When Ji Yuan had ruled as regent, the Marquis had advised him well.

Once hailed as Jin’s War God—before Qi Yan was even born—he returned now to lead everything at Wusui.

Meanwhile, in Wei, Wei Zhen anxiously awaited for updates. She sent scouts daily. In her past life, she had never followed the internal wars of Jin.

All she remembered was that Ji Wo had died outside Wusui, lost to the river.

This life had already shifted so much. She could only press on—cleansing Wei’s court swiftly. Only once that was done could she send troops to Qi Yan without resistance.

The Wusui campaign dragged on.

Mid-October, a letter from the front arrived at full gallop.

Wei Ling received it and placed it in Wei Zhen’s hands.

Reading it, her face turned pale. The letter fell from her fingers as she collapsed at her father’s bedside.

Wei Ling picked it up, eyes wide in horror.

Frontline report: During the Battle of Wusui, Qi Yan was chased by enemy troops, fell into the river and disappeared.

Qi Yan—

Was dead.