Chapter 71: Death The candlelight flickered in the Golden Throne Hall, and Emperor Jingwen...
The flickering candlelight in the Golden Throne Hall dyed Emperor Jingwen's dragon robe an eerie blue-gray color.
The coiled dragon caisson hanging between the beams seemed to come alive in the swaying light and shadow, with the dragon's eyes wide open, looking down at this life-and-death situation between the emperor, his ministers, and his son.
The long sword in the prince's hand was still dripping with blood, and the tip of the sword made a harsh sound when rubbing against the blue bricks, like a poisonous snake spitting out its tongue in the deadly silent hall.
"Mother, are we really going to do this?" The prince's voice was trembling, and his knuckles turned white from excessive force.
The young man's pupils reflected the dancing candlelight, fear and desire intertwined into a web, trapping him tightly.
Imperial Concubine Yuan slowly and methodically rotated her jade armor. The mole at the corner of her eye trembled as she raised her eyebrows slightly. Her makeup was so gorgeous that it was almost seductive. "What are you afraid of?"
She tapped the armrest with her fingertips and glanced at the hunched figure beside the prince. "If you're really scared, let Eunuch Li help you."
The voice was light and airy, as if discussing which dish to add to dinner tonight.
Emperor Jingwen suddenly slammed the table and stood up, staring at the old eunuch standing beside the crown prince: "Eunuch Li, are you one of their people too?"
Eunuch Li's back was hunched like a crescent moon, and a flattering smile appeared on his face: "Your Majesty, you are joking. Of course, this old servant belongs to the emperor."
But who sits on the throne is not something that he, an old man, can decide.
Emperor Jingwen stumbled, holding onto the throne, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Yuan Shuyi!" His voice suddenly rose. "As husband and wife, when have I ever treated you unfairly? Jiang Fu isn't your biological child, and now you want to kill me for him?"
Imperial Concubine Yuan chuckled, and the white jade teacup banged heavily on the table, splashing tea and leaving dark stains on the bright yellow tablecloth.
"Your Majesty, you are joking. How could I dare to attack you? I have never forced the Crown Prince. You are insulting me by saying this."
"I simply asked the Crown Prince if he wanted to take the throne twenty years earlier. Although the Crown Prince is not my biological son, he has been raised by me since childhood and I have long treated him as my own. Now that he has this wish, I will naturally do my utmost to fulfill it."
"You...you bitch!"
Concubine Yuan, far from being angry, said with a gentle expression, "Your Majesty, why are you so angry? Didn't you burn your elder brother to death for the throne? The Crown Prince simply did the same thing you did. This is... a dragon begets a dragon."
Emperor Jingwen was struck by lightning, staggering back half a step and bumping into the armrest of the dragon throne.
The heat wave of the fire twenty years ago seemed to hit him in the face, along with the shrill screams in the palace, the flames shooting into the sky, and the prince who was sacrificed in his cradle... He staggered backward, his back hitting the armrest of the dragon throne with a dull sound.
Concubine Yuan slowly stood up, her skirt sweeping across the memorials scattered on the ground, and slowly approached Emperor Jingwen, with twenty years of hatred surging between her brows.
Her voice suddenly became sharp. "Your Majesty has favored me all these years only because my Jing'er was sacrificed back then. I happen to be the only one who knows the inside story, so naturally I want to keep her firmly in my hands."
"You vicious woman... If I really wanted to... I would have given you a cup of poisoned wine to kill you..."
Imperial Concubine Yuan interrupted him, saying, "Anyone can sit on the throne. All I ask is that Your Majesty stay with our child in the underworld!"
"Enough! Get out of here!" He suddenly shouted, grabbed the imperial seal on the table and smashed it hard.
Concubine Yuan dodged sideways, the jade shattering against the pillar. Looking at the man with disheveled hair, she suddenly recalled the scene of twenty years ago. Clearly, none of this could have happened...
In the end, she just looked up, sighed, sneered, and turned away, leaving only one sentence.
"Prince, if you are unwilling to take action, I will not force you..."
The prince stared at his mother's departing back, then looked at the empty dragon throne.
The candlelight cast a gilded dragon pattern on his face, and in the flickering light, he could almost see himself in a dragon robe, receiving worship. Power, wealth, the most beautiful women in the world... these things, once beyond his reach, were now before his sword.
He took a deep breath, suddenly tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, and his hesitant steps became hurried as he approached Emperor Jingwen step by step. The soles of his boots crushed the broken jade on the ground, making a squeaking sound.
"You unfilial son!" Emperor Jingwen was pinned down by the Crown Prince's personal guards. His crown tilted as he struggled. "I should have sentenced you and your mother to death back then..."
If it weren't for Concubine Yuan who persuaded him to keep the baby... Yes, if he hadn't kept the baby, how could this day have happened?
It turns out that all this was planned long ago.
"Father, please be patient." The prince's sword was pressed against his father's throat, but his voice suddenly calmed down. "When you pass away, I will definitely build you the best mausoleum..."
...
At the same time, in the camp outside Shangjing City, the copper lamp was crackling, and the sparks from the wick fell to the ground and went out in an instant.
Zhao Huaixu's breathing was hot and disordered, and cold sweat soaked the plain quilt beneath him.
Outside the tent came the sound of the night watchman striking the gong, it was already three o'clock in the morning.
Fang Yilan knelt on the edge of the bed, her palm against his burning forehead, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. "He's talking nonsense, and the fever won't go away."
The old doctor trembled as he lifted the blood-stained bandage. He saw the crisscrossing whip marks and scorch marks from the branding iron. Even though he had been practicing medicine for decades, he couldn't help but gasp. With injuries like these, not to mention an ordinary person, even the strongest man would not survive more than three days.
The old doctor wiped the sweat from his forehead and said helplessly, "His internal organs are all severely damaged, and his bones are broken in more than ten places. Can he survive tonight..."
The words stopped abruptly, and the tent fell into a dead silence. The guards unconsciously clenched their weapons, their breathing becoming cautious. Only the ticking of the clepsydra sounded, as if counting down the days.
Fang Yilan grabbed Zhao Huaixu's wrist, leaned close to his ear, and said viciously: "Zhao Yu'an! If you dare to die, I will never let you go! Just try to make me a widow!"
The personal guards and doctors around all had solemn expressions. They had thought they would hear some lingering vows, but they did not expect such "threats" that smelled of gunpowder.
They couldn't help but curl their lips, and their tense mood relaxed a little.
This usually majestic general, when he gets anxious, what he says is quite interesting.
Zhao Huaixu seemed to have sensed something. His already furrowed brows furrowed even tighter, his body twisted restlessly, a broken moan escaped from his throat, and an abnormal blush appeared on his pale face.
Fang Yilan's eyes lit up instantly, and she exclaimed in surprise: "He seems to be able to hear!"
The old doctor also perked up, his eyes full of surprise: "He is very determined to survive. General, you might as well talk to him more. Maybe you can pull him back from the brink of death."
Fang Yilan's eyes rolled, and he opened his mouth and said, "If you dare to die, I will marry ten or eight wives after I finish the war! By then, I will have many wives and enjoy all the happiness. You, a dead man, will have no right to control them!"
"But you don't have to worry about it. Even if they stood in a row, they wouldn't be worth a single finger of yours. You probably don't understand the value of a dead white moonlight."
She deliberately spoke loudly: "Even if you have any objections, I have no way of knowing... It's useless to ask for your help in a dream. I don't believe in any ghosts or monsters. I am a staunch communist... cough cough..."
The originally solemn atmosphere in the tent was disturbed by these harsh words.
The guards lowered their eyes and tried to suppress their laughter, and the old doctor's beard trembled.
Fang Yilan also laughed, holding Zhao Huaixu's right arm, and trembling it at an almost restrained frequency. The subtle tremor was even harder to capture than the flickering candlelight.
As she laughed, she lowered her head to look at the person lying on the ground. Her hair covered her red eyes tightly, but the flickering oil lamp in the corner concealed all the subtle fragility.
Only Xun Yun, who had been observing her the whole time, suddenly tightened his grip on the soft sword at his waist. You know, even when Hezhou City was defended for a month and Fang Yilan fought against three generals of Xiling alone, his hand holding the gun had never been so unstable.
...
Under the rotten wood of the stable, Zhao Huaixu slowly opened his eyes.
The damp and musty smell mixed with the bitter taste of herbs rushed into his nostrils, and the stench of rotting flesh and the strong smell of blood entangled together, making his stomach churn.
Looking down, he saw a hideous wound on the right side of his abdomen. The broken ribs had penetrated the flesh, leaving a gap as big as a bowl.
He subconsciously clenched his palms, and his fingertips touched a hard foreign object.
He remembered that the broken bone was in his hand. He would use it to sew up his stomach. Finally, he would return to his hometown alive.
Slowly spreading out his palm, a round bone ring lay quietly there, with a warm milky white luster and fine scales engraved on the edge.
Why is it a ring?
He frowned and thought, and in an instant, countless fragments pierced through the chaos like sharp blades and poured into his mind.
In the dungeon, Fang Yilan lifted his chin with a dagger in hand, smiling wildly yet with a hint of fear; Fang Yilan beheaded Wen Wanshu with her own hands, yet curled up in a corner trembling silently late at night; Fang Yilan cut his hand in the snow and fed himself with blood...
Faintly, he heard someone calling him anxiously.
He tried his best to listen attentively, but all he heard was: "You may not understand the value of the dead white moonlight."
Zhao Huaixu: ...?
He froze for a moment, then began coughing violently, causing strings of blood to spurt out of the wound. But the corners of his mouth lifted uncontrollably.
He finally remembered how the broken bone in his palm turned into a ring.
Yes, this is the real Fang Yilan, the only love of Zhao Huaixu's life, the lover who will never let him face death alone.
He turned his neck with difficulty and saw the tall and familiar figure standing outside the tent through the gap in the stable.
The moonlight stretched her shadow very long, with blood stains on her black armor that had not been wiped clean. She reached out to him, but it was still as warm and gentle as in his memory, and she was the brightest light in his heart.
"Zhao Yu'an, I'm here to pick you up. Come home with me."
After an unknown amount of time, Zhao Huaixu's eyelashes trembled slightly. He struggled to open his eyelids, and the scene before him became a hazy shadow.
In a blur, Fang Yilan's falling hair brushed against the back of his hand, carrying the familiar scent of gunpowder and pine.
After a while, he finally saw clearly that his god was guarding him at the moment.
"Awake?" Fang Yilan slowly opened her eyes when she heard the noise. Her voice was hoarse, but filled with the joy of surviving a disaster.
Zhao Huaixu nodded weakly.
Fang Yilan reached out and pinched his face. "If you dare to scare me again, I'll chop you into pieces and feed you to the horses next time."
Zhao Huaixu moved the corner of his mouth, trying to smile, but it pulled the wound and made him gasp in pain.
He raised his hand with difficulty, wanting to touch the bruise under her eye, but Fang Yilan grabbed her wrist and pressed her on the pillow.
Her palms still had the calluses of a martial artist, but they were much colder than she remembered. "Just lie still. When you're better, we'll slowly settle the score."
Zhao Huaixu wanted to respond, but was interrupted by a sudden intrusion.
Xun Yun lifted the curtain, his expression solemn: "General, Emperor Jingwen... has passed away."
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The author has something to say: [Cracked] Because of the three-dimensional things, I was delayed for several months and changed the city where I live, but I finally settled down. I will definitely finish writing it well.
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