#206: Settled (2)

His breath was hot, still unsteady from his illness, yet the arms encircling her were strong—so tight, so desperately tight that Shen Xiling felt a sharp pang of pain.

But to her surprise, she found herself relishing this pain. Only through it could she truly believe he had awakened. He was finally awake.

He was still alive.

“Wenwen,” she heard him murmur softly by her ear, “…thank you.”

Wenwen… thank you.

Throughout his life, Qi Yin had rarely shown emotion or expressed gratitude. In the political arena, he might feign politeness, but genuine thanks were almost nonexistent—not because he was arrogant or rude, but because he had spent his entire life bestowing favors on others while receiving little in return. Everyone assumed that Lord Qi, perched high above in his lofty position, needed no one’s help.

He had long grown accustomed to bearing everything alone, like a solitary figure trudging through deep snow in a vast valley. No matter how difficult, he dared not fall, for he knew there was no one behind him to catch him. And if he fell, countless others would suffer without his protection.

He was a man who could not afford failure, nor could he seek help from anyone.

Years of such solitude had extinguished any expectation of unexpected joy or assistance from others. Even the slightest aid was beyond his anticipation—he had simply stopped hoping.

Thus, when he first awoke and realized his collapse meant the end of everything, despair consumed him. He believed that with his fall, no one would carry on in his stead.

But this time, he was wrong.

His Wenwen… had caught him as he fell.

She was so young, so fragile—a girl who should have been admiring lotuses in the garden or playfully teasing him from his lap. Though he knew she had grown much over the years, deep down, he never truly believed she could stand on her own. He always thought she needed his protection, his care.

Yet this very girl… had saved him.

Not only him but also his family, his followers, and countless others.

He was at a loss for words.

When Shen Xiling heard those few words from him, she understood—they meant she had done right. Though not every detail aligned perfectly with his plans, at least the direction was correct, and the broader situation remained intact.

The crushing weight that had pressed upon her heart for days suddenly lifted. At that moment, Shen Xiling couldn’t describe her feelings. Her body nearly collapsed, and she didn’t know why she burst into tears then.

She wept uncontrollably.

Like that rain-soaked night years ago when she finally waited for him to return from Nanling, she broke down completely.

All her fear and tension melted away. She clung to him, sobbing loudly—perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of the sheer relief of surviving.

Through sobs and hiccups, she blurted out incoherently, “I was so scared when I wrote them… terrified out of my mind… I didn’t dare send them, afraid they’d get you killed… But, but I thought… I’ve loved you for so long, I must understand you…”

“I must be the one who understands you best…”

Those words, at that moment, held no real meaning. They sounded like an emotional outburst, even to her own ears. Yet Qi Yin understood—they were simply her way of seeking comfort.

She was afraid, but seeing him awake filled her with joy and safety, prompting her to seek solace in him.

She wanted him to soothe her, to tell her everything would be alright.

He understood her so well and had always indulged her. Now, he held her tightly, whispering reassurances in her ear again and again. His own emotions surged wildly; his voice trembled faintly as he said, “Yes… you understand me best.”

She understood him best.

Ten years ago, even as a half-grown child, she had already seen through his exhaustion and loneliness. In the study, she noticed his annotations on Baopuzi —that phrase, “My heart yearns for it,” left behind in resignation. He himself had forgotten it, but she remembered. From then on, she often gazed at him with hesitant eyes, her gaze brimming with a tenderness that made him smile.

She truly understood him… Even after ten years, despite their separate trials amidst chaos, she still understood him best.

Qi Yin’s heart swelled unexpectedly. None of his past achievements had ever given him this feeling. Suddenly, he felt he truly possessed something—not laboring solely for others, but fulfilling his own private wish: to have a lover who deeply understood him and to spend the rest of his life with her, consequences be damned.

At that moment, Qi Yin’s expression softened infinitely.

Meanwhile, under the vast night sky of Xiaoshan, countless torches stretched like a fiery dragon. The crimson flames burned brightly, their crackling audible even in the brief silence of the mountain.

In that interplay of darkness and fire, Qi Yin’s demeanor bore no trace of the gentleness he showed Shen Xiling in private. All saw the Left Chancellor descend the mountain path, his phoenix eyes sharp as tempered steel, his composure steady as ever. Though he appeared pale, as if recovering from illness, his presence exuded an icy, commanding aura that silenced everyone present.

It was as though… he were the true emperor.

Amidst the crowd, a loud clang shattered the silence—the sword of General Han Feicong falling to the ground. He stared at the Left Chancellor, trembling hands betraying his shock. “Left Chancellor? You… you’re supposed to be dead!”

You’re supposed to be dead!

Han Feicong could hardly believe his eyes. How could the superior officer he had watched drown now reappear out of nowhere?

Meanwhile, his father, Han Shouye, realized the truth—their foolish son had fallen into Qi Jingchen’s trap. He hadn’t died but had lain low like a lurking tiger, waiting for the critical moment to strike, tearing throats and devouring flesh without leaving a trace!

They had been deceived!

A wave of grief and panic crashed over Han Shouye. The absence of battle sounds below confirmed his forces had been subdued. Qi Jingchen wouldn’t appear until victory was certain—his presence now signaled triumph.

Overwhelmed by swirling thoughts, Han Shouye staggered, using his sword to steady himself. Just then, the Emperor’s clear laughter rang out. Twisting his head, Han Shouye saw Xiao Ziteng’s eyes gleaming with excitement. “Uncle,” he declared, “you’ve lost.”

No reproach, no threat—just a simple statement.

Yet it struck Han Shouye like a thunderbolt.

Before he could react, Xiao Ziteng’s stern voice addressed Qi Yin: “Minister, you’ve arrived just in time! Arrest these traitors of the Han family at once!”

As the Emperor’s words echoed, the crowd saw their renowned Left Chancellor raise a hand lightly. Instantly, the silent mountain erupted with deafening war cries. Countless torches surged forward from all directions, converging on Han Shouye and Han Feicong!

Han Feicong, horrified, hastily retrieved his fallen sword to shield his father. Shouting orders, he rallied their troops to counterattack. Supporting his enraged, unsteady father, sweat pouring down his forehead, he pleaded urgently, “Father! Qi Jingchen means us harm—we’ve been tricked! What do we do?”

What do we do?

Han Shouye was so furious he wished to stab his son repeatedly.

With a vicious slap, he roared, “What do we do?! Useless wretch! You’ve ruined everything!”

Knocked to the ground, Han Feicong dared not protest, knowing his failures. Trembling, he scrambled up to support his faltering father again. “Father, let’s retreat! I’ll protect you as we leave Xiaoshan. As long as we survive, we can rise again! This defeat is not the end!”

The logic was sound, but Han Shouye knew—it was too late.

What kind of man was Qi Yin? Beneath his gentlemanly exterior lay the heart of an asura. Strategic and ruthless, he wasn’t merely a cultured minister; he was more merciless than seasoned warriors. Having bared his fangs, he would never allow escape.

Everything was over.

Watching his soldiers fall one by one, Han Shouye’s eyes filled with sorrow, confusion, and resentment. He had meticulously monitored troop movements across Jiangzuo—none had deviated from his expectations. How could Qi Jingchen conjure soldiers out of thin air? Who were these reinforcements?

Just as his bewilderment peaked, two figures emerged beside Qi Yin—both familiar, both blood relatives.

One was his younger brother, Han Shouzheng.

The other, his nephew, Han Feichi.

The clamor of battle roared like thunder.

Qi Yin stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the near-annihilation of Han Shouye’s forces. His expression remained calm, as if observing a chess game unfold before him—a mere spectator.

Still recovering, his complexion remained pale, and a gust of night wind triggered a cough. Concerned, Han Feichi stepped forward to steady him, asking worriedly, “Second Brother?”

Qi Yin waved him off, signaling he was fine.

Meanwhile, Han Shouye continued to resist, though few soldiers remained by his side. Laughing madly, his face twisted with madness, he glared at Han Shouzheng and Han Feichi standing beside Qi Yin. “Disgrace to the family! Spawn of betrayal! I sacrificed everything for the Han clan, and you schemed behind my back to ruin me! Traitors! Traitors!”

Furious and incredulous that his downfall came from within his own family, he spat blood, collapsing to the ground, unable to rise.