WNST - 138

Chapter 138: Victory Returns

From the red wolf smoke emerged a brilliantly colored butterfly, its wings fluttering as it soared into the sky. Beneath the three-foot sunlight, rivers of blood flowed. 

Meanwhile, on her way out of the palace, Xie Zhaoqiu also spotted a butterfly. In a daze, she followed it, wondering where it was headed. 

Her hands were empty—the Night Banquet painting had already been handed over to Princess Xu Kouyue. She only remembered the princess’s lips moving close to her face, but she hadn’t heard a single word. She knew what she had done: soon, the imperial guards would act on the painting to make arrests. She had betrayed her father. 

Her father had always cherished her deeply. 

She had been obsessed with painting, a passion others found incomprehensible. What use was such talent for a woman? But her father had supported her, never forcing her to marry, always telling her to follow her heart. In truth, his attitude hadn’t always been this way. 

When he was young, her father had also loved painting, though most of his works were mediocre. The only exception was the butterflies he painted for embellishment—they were vivid, almost lifelike, as if they might leap off the canvas. Her talent far surpassed his, yet the butterflies she painted were eerily similar to his. Perhaps it was in this small detail that he saw the wondrous continuity of bloodlines; she was his continuation, his embodiment in this world. His attitude had shifted, and he began to wholeheartedly support her passion. 

Xie Zhaoqiu had always taken pride in the ways she resembled her father. 

The beliefs she now upheld—family and country, loyalty and filial piety—were all lessons he had taught her. 

In her heart, her father was as vast and unshakable as the heavens. 

Yet she had abandoned filial piety because the scales tipped toward a heavier weight. 

Following that ordinary butterfly, her delicate soles were nearly worn through. A young lady who rarely stepped out of her quarters, she had likely never walked so much in her life. But she felt no pain, as if she herself had transformed into a butterfly, drifting with the wind. 

Suddenly, someone yanked her into a wooden gate. 

“Zhaoqiu, what have you done?!” 

Xie Zhu’s face was filled with rage. He had hidden his identity with utmost care, setting up his plan since the time of Lidu Prefecture. Under the noses of both Husa and Wanyan Jun, he had risked everything to stage a ruse, cementing his position as untouchable. Never had he imagined that after all these painstaking steps, he would be betrayed by his own daughter. 

Xie Zhaoqiu stared at her father, his plain-clothed figure strangely unfamiliar—was he planning to flee? Silently, she knelt, tears streaming down her face as she clutched the hem of his robe in supplication. 

“Father… please stop. What have you done? Why did you harm Brother Chaoyun and Sixth Sister?” 

“Chaoyun and Xiao Liu are my juniors. I never intended to harm them. But like this dynasty, they brought destruction upon themselves!” 

“We are subjects of Dayu! You could have done nothing, but why betray us?” 

“Zhaoqiu, you don’t understand! The Qi forces are unstoppable. If all Han officials cling to their principles and die as martyrs, who will carry on the Han way? What I am doing now may bring harm in the short term, but it will benefit future generations!” 

Xie Zhaoqiu froze. So this was her father’s belief? 

Was the Way more important, or integrity? 

“You went to the palace to report me—I don’t blame you. If anyone is to blame, it’s me for keeping you in the dark for so long, making it hard for you to accept. In time, you’ll understand. Jinling is no longer safe. Come with me to Bianjing.”

Xie Zhu tried to lift his leg and leave, but Xie Zhaoqiu clung to him tightly, refusing to let him go. 

“Father, you can’t just walk away!” 

Xie Zhu urgently tried to shake her off. 

“Brother Chaoyun is still in dire straits—you must clear his name!” 

Xie Zhu looked down at Zhaoqiu with an odd expression. “Zhaoqiu, don’t waste your efforts on meaningless actions.” 

“Sister Xiao Liu’s death was indirectly caused by you! If Brother Chaoyun is harmed by your schemes, how can you live with yourself? How will you ever sleep again for the rest of your life?!” 

Xie Zhu sighed deeply. “Chaoyun and I serve different masters—we’ve long been enemies. Besides… it’s already too late.” 

Unbeknownst to her, he had quietly pulled out a prepared handkerchief and, taking advantage of Zhaoqiu’s distraction, pressed it firmly over her mouth. 

“On the path of the greater cause, sacrifices are inevitable. Don’t blame me for being heartless.” 

These were the last words Zhaoqiu heard from her father. 

She didn’t struggle. She simply widened her eyes, watching as the circling butterfly disappeared beneath the eaves before she lost consciousness. 

This was a butterfly that would enter the annals of history. The hastily drawn Night Banquet painting revealed the names and faces of eight traitors, who would later be known as the “Jiaxu Eight Traitors.” On this day, they either fled or were captured, and regardless of their immediate fates, they were forever branded on the pillar of historical shame. 

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Lidu Prefecture 

Lidu Prefecture had been without food for three days. Xiaoyang Valley had fallen. 

The Qi army launched a fierce assault on the city, their momentum overwhelming. Massive logs battered the gates relentlessly, siege ladders scaled the walls, and flaming arrows pierced even the homes within the city. 

In this moment of life and death, the people of Dayu resisted fiercely. By the fourth morning, reinforcements from the court suddenly arrived. Morale soared within the city, war drums thundered, and the two armies clashed fiercely below the walls, neither gaining the upper hand. 

However, after days of relentless attacks, the Qi soldiers were exhausted and planned to retreat temporarily to regroup for another assault. Unexpectedly, their main camp at Luyang Town was ambushed by hidden forces, who set fire to the encampment. Believing their retreat route had been cut off and now trapped between two fronts like turtles in a jar, the Qi forces panicked, losing cohesion and collapsing into a full retreat. 

The Dayu army seized the opportunity to pursue them, annihilating tens of thousands along the way. Only a thousand cavalrymen managed to protect their commander, Han Xianwang, as he narrowly escaped northward. 

A great victory for Lidu Prefecture. 

By evening, Nan Yi returned to the city with the reconnaissance unit. Though the city bore the scars of days of fierce fighting, victory flags fluttered proudly atop the walls, stirring a sense of triumph in all who saw them. 

This battle marked the most resounding victory for Dayu after a string of defeats and territorial losses in the north. The Qi forces suffered heavy casualties and would likely not return for at least a year. 

Peace won on the battlefield was true peace, free from lingering threats. The common people could finally breathe under the new dynasty, rebuilding and recuperating. 

Nan Yi’s heart raced with anticipation. 

She couldn’t wait to tell Xie Queshan how valiantly she and the reconnaissance unit had fought, outmaneuvering the Qi forces at every turn. She hadn’t failed his trust. 

He must have fought desperately to defend the city—had he been injured? 

Now that reinforcements had arrived and the Qi forces were driven back, surely he would finally be vindicated and hailed as the hero of Lidu Prefecture. 

At this thought, an indescribable joy welled up within her. 

She missed him so much. 

In every moment of the day and night, traversing through dense forests; in every act of courage cutting through thorns; in every clash of swords piercing enemies—she thought of him. 

She knew they were always fighting together, side by side. 

Nan Yi’s steps grew lighter, and she began to run, unwilling to waste a single moment before sharing her joy with Xie Queshan. 

But just as she passed through the city gates, she was engulfed by a jubilant crowd. Amidst cheers, Nan Yi was lifted high into the air, countless unfamiliar hands passing her upward. It was an exhilarating sensation, and from above, she saw a sea of people stretching endlessly, their simple smiles and shouts filling the sky. 

How strange—it felt as though she had become part of the victory herself. 

Far in the distance, fireworks illuminated the twilight sky. 

As she was lifted once more, her gaze swept across the horizon, catching sight of the damaged city walls beyond the crowd. At the base of the crumbling wall, there seemed to be a small portrait—someone depicted on an official notice. 

Even from such a distance, barely glimpsing it without confirmation, something deep inside her stirred uneasily. In an instant, the overwhelming joy she had felt was consumed by a rising tide of dread. 

Frantically, she pushed through the enthusiastic crowd, trying to make her way toward the bulletin board. But the throng surged like an uncontrollable tide, pushing her forward three steps only to pull her back two. 

It took forever to cover those mere six or seven paces. 

Each time she craned her neck above the shifting heads, she caught fragments of text on the notice. Bit by bit, the truth about him was carved into her like a slow, torturous execution. 

“Traitor Xie Queshan, for personal gain, betrayed his country and sold out his homeland, placing it in peril. Fortunately, his crimes were exposed, averting disaster. His sins are unforgivable. By imperial decree, he has been sentenced to death by dismemberment, to appease the nation and quell the people’s anger.” 

Beneath the proclamation was the bright red seal of Lidu Prefecture’s administrative office. 

The words were firm, authoritative, and damning. 

Nan Yi lunged forward, tearing down the notice and shredding it to pieces. 

“Lies! All lies!” Her eyes burned crimson, like a wild beast roaring into the vast sea of humanity. “He’s not a traitor! Where is he being held?!” 

“He was executed days ago—in public, torn apart by five horses,” someone in the crowd replied, looking at Nan Yi curiously. 

“Yes, if he hadn’t been captured and executed, exposing the Qi conspiracy, how could reinforcements have come? The court declared him a traitor—he must be guilty!” 

“Shut up!” Nan Yi abruptly drew her sword, its gleaming blade pointed at the speaker. She wanted to silence these hateful voices, yet only moments ago, they had celebrated victory together. For a fleeting second, she felt as though she were back on the battlefield, surrounded by enemies.

The murderous aura emanating from her startled the crowd, who now looked at Nan Yi as if she were a madwoman, retreating in fear. 

“He is not a traitor! Whoever says another word, I’ll cut out their tongue!” 

Nan Yi strode forward with her sword in hand, and the crowd instinctively parted to make way for her. Countless curious, disdainful, or fearful gazes followed her every move. 

It was impossible. He couldn’t be dead. 

The Qi forces hadn’t managed to kill him—how could he have died at the hands of his own people? 

This must be a delaying tactic. 

She refused to believe it. 

Nan Yi seized a horse and galloped recklessly toward the camp, the celebratory fireworks trailing behind her like mocking shadows in the night sky. The long, bloody wind that swept through her body carried the scent of death from Xiaoyang Valley, the echoes of carnage rising above mountains of corpses and seas of fire. It was as if cunning time itself had fired an arrow straight at her heart, and she was still foolishly trying to stop it before it reached its mark. 

She stormed into Song Muchuan’s main tent. 

Song Muchuan sat there, his face devoid of emotion, as though he had been waiting for her all along. 

“Where is he?” 

Nan Yi hoped he would say something—anything. Perhaps they had pulled a switch, and the person executed wasn’t Xie Queshan. This was all for show, meant to deceive the public. He was still alive somewhere in the world, just unable to meet her openly for now. That hope was the last thread keeping her standing. 

But Song Muchuan didn’t answer. His prolonged silence spoke louder than words. 

The arrow had been destined to hit its target the moment it was fired; her futile struggle was nothing more than a brief escape. 

She remembered—the official seal on the notice, the one only Song Muchuan had the authority to stamp, signifying his knowledge and involvement in everything. 

“I’ll kill you.” 

Her face remained expressionless throughout. In moments of profound grief, one relinquishes control over their body. All she had left were fragmented instincts, and her sole purpose now was vengeance—for him. 

The tip of her sword, aimed at Song Muchuan, carried a desperate resolve: a hopeless, mutual destruction.