WNST - 139

Chapter 139: Cast Into the Murky Stream

Seven days earlier. 

On that lonely night beneath a high-hanging moon, Zhang Zhicun arrived, dust-covered and weary, yet stood silently in the tent with his hands clasped behind his back. Xie Queshan already understood what he wanted to say. 

If he sacrificed himself to quell the rumors, the opposing ministers would have no further excuses, and the emperor could finally order the reinforcements to mobilize. 

Had he still been the same Xie Queshan who had once been confined on that ship, hating himself and seeking redemption through death, he would have accepted without hesitation, perhaps even proposing the idea himself before Zhang Zhicun arrived. 

But he was no longer the same man. He had encountered someone akin to Hua Tuo reincarnated, curing the malignant disease within his soul and breathing new life into his withered existence. For the first time, he had glimpsed unparalleled brightness, and he cherished his life more deeply than ever—for his family, his love, his friends, and for himself. 

Zhang Zhicun remained silent, and so did Xie Queshan. 

Finally, Zhang Zhicun clenched his teeth and spoke: “Let me be the villain in this. Lord Xie, only the one who tied the bell can untie it. The storm revolves entirely around you, and only you can break the deadlock. If you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, I can ensure the reinforcements arrive in the city as quickly as possible. If you refuse, I won’t force you—survival is human nature, and you’ve already done more than enough for Dayu. Whatever your decision, I, Zhang Zhicun, offer my deepest gratitude on behalf of the entire city of Lidu Prefecture, the court officials, and His Majesty!” 

With that, Zhang Zhicun lifted his robe and knelt before Xie Queshan, bowing his head to the ground with great force. The scene was both tragic and heroic. 

“Zhang Zhicun! What kind of patriotic righteousness are you performing here?! You’re clearly forcing him!” After a brief silence, it was Song Muchuan—the usually mild-mannered man—who erupted in fierce opposition. 

Ying Huai was also stunned, unsure how to react to such a cruel proposal and the chaos unfolding before him. 

“Get up!” Song Muchuan stepped forward, yanking Zhang Zhicun to his feet and shoving him away. “How dare you speak like this! There must be another way!” 

Zhang Zhicun stood there dejectedly, his official robes askew, oblivious to his disheveled state. The words he had just spoken had drained him of all dignity and strength. He had no answer to Song Muchuan’s accusations. 

Song Muchuan shouted loudly, but he felt increasingly powerless. Deep down, he knew Zhang Zhicun had every right to say what he did. Zhang Zhicun had also been a spy; his impassioned plea wasn’t baseless rhetoric. He had endured the hardships firsthand and knew this plan was born of desperation. 

Yet Song Muchuan harbored selfishness—he didn’t want Xie Queshan to even consider the possibility of such a proposal. He was terrified because he knew his friend too well. Trembling, he looked at Xie Queshan, as if awaiting judgment himself. 

Xie Queshan simply raised his face calmly, gazing into Zhang Zhicun’s eyes. He knew—they understood each other. If faced with the same predicament, he too would choose to die. 

A long silence filled the tent. Ying Huai stood there helplessly, watching as Xie Queshan stared at Zhang Zhicun, unsure what to think. How could he possibly agree to such an unreasonable demand? Just as Ying Huai considered stepping in to mediate, Xie Queshan finally spoke. 

“The fastest speed—how fast is that?” 

Ying Huai froze, surprised that Xie Queshan had asked this question at such a moment. 

“Three days to report to the court and receive approval for the execution… after that, the reinforcements can enter the city within two days at most.” 

Xie Queshan didn’t respond. He rose and left the tent. 

Everyone wanted to stop him, to say something to him, but they were all frozen in place, unable to act. 

The final decision could only be made by Xie Queshan himself. He probably needed some time. 

Strangely, after leaving the tent, Xie Queshan’s mind seemed to grind to a halt. He knew he needed to make a decision, but he couldn’t think. His body felt numb. He saw the crushing disparity between his insignificant life and the vastness of an entire city. The scales were imbalanced, the stakes unequal. Did his decision even matter anymore?

He had only one choice. 

Wandering beneath the surreal moonlight, he could only think of Nan Yi—how she had defiantly covered his ears in front of everyone during Lu Jinxiu’s sharp-tongued tirade. 

At this moment, he longed to see her, and coincidentally, she was waiting for him. 

He was selfish. The instant he saw her, he unexpectedly felt a surge of joy. Humans were adept at deceiving themselves. For a brief moment, he forgot what awaited him after dawn and simply reveled in being with her. 

It was an absurd night for a man who was about to die, but finally, he had time to ponder: What does Xie Queshan want? 

He wanted to hold her hand firmly and gaze at sunrises and sunsets together, to cycle through the four seasons, to feel the solid grip of reality. He wanted to look into her eyes, to study her face. 

Would she regret it? 

He wouldn’t. 

Even with such an ending, even if it left her scarred for life, he would never regret loving her. 

But he hadn’t figured out how to say goodbye. Several times, he tried to speak but shamefully fell silent each time. Should they weep in each other’s arms and vow to meet again in the next life? Or should he let her forget him and live happily ever after? Those who cared for him might grieve for a while after his death, but eventually, they would all find their own paths. But he knew that she only had him; without him, she would have nowhere to go. 

Would she realize? That every second he spent with her, he desperately wanted to live. How could he resort to the same old tricks again? Leaving her behind with nothing but chaos—he was such a cowardly wretch, burdening her over and over. 

Words failed him. He held her until dawn, then sent her away once more. Let her hate him. Perhaps he owed her something so that he could find her again in the next life. 

May the day of her return coincide with the great victory—this was his final gift to her. 

After seeing Nan Yi off, Xie Queshan unexpectedly received a letter. 

In the letter, Zhang Yuehui wrote mockingly: “I hear my son faces many perils in battle. Why not come to Shu and seek refuge with your father? Who cares who rules the land? From now on, you’ll live a life of luxury and ease.” 

Xie Queshan understood the hidden meaning behind Zhang Yuehui’s words. He had done enough; human effort had reached its limit, and fate must take its course. Why continue to push himself so hard? Why not abandon everything and retreat to Shu? For a fleeting moment, Xie Queshan felt a tinge of longing for the carefree life Zhang Yuehui described. The dark clouds in his heart seemed to dissipate under the influence of this irreverent letter. Smiling faintly, he penned a reply. 

—”Dear Boss Zhang, I cannot comply with your proposal, as it seems you intend to steal my wife. My apologies.” 

Just as he prepared to send the letter, Song Muchuan burst into his tent and pressed down on the paper. 

“You and Nan Yi going to Shu sounds like a good idea to me,” Song Muchuan said, unusually firm. 

“You’re starting to sound just like Zhang Yuehui,” Xie Queshan chuckled, unfazed, spreading a new ledger on the table and handing over a brush. “Write my confession. You do it.” 

Though Song Muchuan had anticipated this, hearing Xie Queshan state it so resolutely made it unbearable. He grabbed Xie Queshan’s hand, his expression contorted with anguish. “Impossible! If it comes to that, then let Lidu Prefecture fall!” 

“Are you really willing to abandon Lidu?” Xie Queshan countered calmly, leaving Song Muchuan unable to repeat those words with conviction. 

Tears streamed down Song Muchuan’s face. 

This was a choice that couldn’t truly be called a choice. 

Xie Queshan forced the brush into his hand. “If you don’t write it, I won’t trust anyone else to do it.” 

Song Muchuan clenched his fists stubbornly, refusing to take the brush. 

“If you refuse, I’ll knock you unconscious and write it myself,” Xie Queshan joked lightly, as though making an innocuous remark. “But don’t think avoiding writing it will absolve you of your guilt toward me.” 

The lighter Xie Queshan acted, the more Song Muchuan’s heart twisted in agony. 

Xie Queshan knew exactly how to keep him alive. Every time Song Muchuan thought of giving up in the future, he would remember that this sacrifice was brought about by Xie Chaoyun’s efforts. Thus, he had to personally pen all the documents condemning Xie Queshan. As the scribe, he would bear the true weight of the crime, living forever burdened by guilt to safeguard the victory earned through his friend’s sacrifice. 

Crying uncontrollably, Song Muchuan ruined several sheets of paper with his tears. Eventually, he stopped caring about neatness—a detail he had always valued throughout his scholarly life. This was his final act of defiance. He allowed the memorial to be marred with smudged ink stains, which would forever remain embedded in his cold, formal words, hinting at the enormous secrets and lies hidden beneath. 

Xie Queshan sat idly at the entrance of the tent, staring blankly, waiting for the document to be sealed. 

When Song Muchuan finished writing the last character, Xie Queshan turned to look at him, smiling faintly. “Yu Shu, you must move forward.” 

Until now, he had never addressed him by his courtesy name. Even after confirming their identities and fighting side by side, they had deliberately avoided confronting the pain caused by the events of Spring Awakening six years ago. But now, at this moment, it was truly over. 

Everything would happen quickly. There was no need to wait for the emperor’s approval—he would be executed soon. The sooner he faced punishment, the sooner the anger and unease of the people within the city would subside, uniting them to resist the external threat. 

Casually, he remarked: “Extreme punishment is necessary to appease the masses. Since I’m going to die anyway, let me die with purpose.” 

He added: “Don’t let them collect my body.” 

He didn’t want his family to see him reduced to nothing. 

Public execution by dismemberment was a penalty rarely seen in this era. 

Only the most heinous criminals met such a fate. 

On the day of the execution, Xie Queshan sat in the prisoner’s cart, escorted to the execution ground. The streets were packed with onlookers, their jeers unceasing. 

He listened quietly, accepting everything. 

He accepted it all. He remained unashamed before heaven and earth. Whether praised or condemned, history would judge him. 

All the vast events of his life were now cast into the murky stream. 

Public humiliation, inspection of the body, the placard detailing his crimes falling to the ground. 

The crowd cheered jubilantly, using what they believed to be righteous words to kill the leader who had guided them through the darkness. But who could blame them for burning the bridge after crossing the river?

They simply didn’t know. 

A single drifting speck of dust settled quietly in an unobserved corner. 

Yet the avalanche it triggered continued to rage on. 

The tip of Nan Yi’s sword pressed against Song Muchuan’s chest, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push it even half an inch further. 

“I’ll kill you… I’ll kill you!” 

Finally, she broke down, screaming hysterically. But her trembling voice and streaming tears betrayed her empty bravado. 

Soldiers rushed into the tent upon hearing the commotion, ready to defend their commander. 

“Stand down!” Song Muchuan barked, halting their movements. 

He would have gladly let Nan Yi kill him—let one life pay for another, a clean end to everything. 

But Nan Yi’s rage only carried her so far. Her actions were abruptly halted. In this moment, what made her any different from Lu Jinxiu or others like her? They were all just desperately seeking someone to blame in their overwhelming grief and anger. 

As if pinning all the wrongs on a single person could bring back the dead or ease the living’s guilt. But that wasn’t how things worked. 

She understood that Song Muchuan was suffering just as much as she was. Neither of them wanted to see that man die. 

But death was final—like a lamp extinguished. No matter what she wanted to do now, it was already too late. Everything was futile. 

“Ah—!!!” With nowhere to vent her anguish, Nan Yi turned her blade downward and slashed violently, cleaving the table in two. 

A gust of wind blew in, scattering papers and documents across the floor like a chaotic dance of demons. 

Chaos, destruction—she wanted everything to descend into disorder. Dropping her sword, Nan Yi stared numbly at the mess before her. She seemed slightly calmer, yet nothing had truly improved. 

“I hate you,” she muttered faintly. “Why…” 

Nan Yi staggered backward mechanically, her body swaying as she struggled to steady herself. 

“Take me to where he… where they executed him.” 

It was the busiest intersection in the city, where countless roads converged. Streams of people trampled the earth, oblivious to the remnants of his blood, his soul, being ground beneath their feet, forgotten. Nan Yi could only imagine how he must have felt in his final moments, gazing at this land one last time—and even that thought was unbearable. 

Her beloved… he had carried a mountain on his back. It was the same mountain Yu Gong sought to move, the same source from which Jingwei drew stones to fill the sea. There was no such thing as greatness or myth without reason. In places unseen by the world, he allowed himself to be taken from until the weight crushed him into dust. 

Her mouth opened wide, as if trying to scream with all her might—but no sound came out. She became a mute puppet, all her emotions crashing back into her chest like a tidal wave. She collapsed, kneeling on the ground like an outsider, drawing strange glances from passersby. Her trembling hands groped over the soil, as if she could grasp even the faintest trace of his spirit, as if they were still together. 

Finally, she crumpled to the ground completely. 

---

The crime of treason should have resulted in the extermination of nine generations of the offender’s family. However, the court, mindful that the Xie family had long severed ties with their rebellious son, decided not to implicate the rest of the clan. 

At this point, the Xie family should have prioritized self-preservation, maintaining distance and silence. 

But Lady Gantang insisted on holding a funeral for Xie Queshan and enshrining his memorial tablet in the ancestral hall. Under immense pressure, Xie Jun eventually relented. 

By imperial decree, no one was allowed to collect the remains of a condemned criminal. Xie Queshan’s body had been discarded in the wilderness, so they could only erect a cenotaph for him. 

This father, who had failed his son throughout his life, grew unusually silent after enduring the successive losses of his children. Only now did he realize how little he truly understood his son. Perhaps it was because he had never properly guided him. He didn’t know when his son had developed such unwavering loyalty and courage—it pained him deeply and filled him with shame. Upon reflection, how many others could have done what his son had done? Xie Jun knew he couldn’t. His son was his pride. 

A white-haired man burying his black-haired child—he personally penned the epitaph for the son he had once disliked the most, recounting his merits and faults, sealing it within the cenotaph. The final line on the tombstone read: “The door is closed today; in what year will it reopen?” 

All mysteries would be left to posterity. Perhaps one day, this door would open again, and history would reveal the truth. 

This was the best outcome Xie Jun could envision for Xie Chaoyun. 

But not everyone shared this view. A thousand years, ten thousand years—she couldn’t wait that long, nor was she willing to leave his vindication to the whims of future generations. 

“The siege of Lidu Prefecture has been lifted, but he cannot bear this stigma, dying unjustly and misunderstood,” Nan Yi knelt before the ancestral hall, her words deliberate and resolute. “I will overturn Xie Queshan’s case.” 

The breath still lingering in her chest was the sole belief keeping her conscious and upright. 

Xie Jun found her audacity incomprehensible. “How dare you speak so boldly? Do you think this is just some ordinary miscarriage of justice? This was an imperial edict! How do you plan to overturn it? You’re slapping the entire court of Jinling in the face! Don’t overestimate yourself!” 

“The emperor knows he was innocent—he just needed an excuse!” 

“When Chaoyun chose this path, he accepted the inevitable verdict, setting aside his reputation. He sacrificed himself to protect Lidu Prefecture and preserve the emperor’s dignity! The new ruler has just ascended the throne, and public sentiment is unstable. Every step must be taken cautiously, leaving no room for error. If such a major case were overturned, how would the people trust this new sovereign? If the entire court missed such an oversight, how could they face themselves? For Chaoyun’s sake, I too wish he could be vindicated, but for the greater good, this is the only way!” 

Nan Yi sneered bitterly, her voice sharp and cutting. “How do you know he accepted it? How can you presume to accept it on his behalf? Why should he bear more righteousness than anyone else? What if he didn’t want to die like this?” 

Her words struck like a hammer blow, leaving Xie Jun momentarily speechless. 

Only Nan Yi knew—he hadn’t faced death with the same calm resignation as before. He cherished the hard-won reconciliation of the past decade more than anyone. He cherished their love more than anything. As she recalled their final night together, she was consumed with regret for her delayed realization. She should have noticed his unease, should have clung to him desperately as he walked toward that inevitable end. 

Why should he have borne everything alone!

“The greater good was earned by Xie Chaoyun. So today, let that greater good sacrifice half a step for him—what harm could it do?!”