FYM - 171

He kicked the body a few more times to vent his anger, then signaled his comrades to drag the eunuch’s corpse out through the dog hole. The vast city of Chang’an was now most lively in its piles of the dead. Beneath the city walls, bodies were stacked as high as mountains, while outside the high walls, the earth-shaking clamor of battle made it feel as though everything was only just beginning.

“Quickly! Bring more hot oil—”

The hoarse shouts of the centurion echoed from above. Soldiers, drenched in blood, scurried up and down the walls. Enormous vats filled with boiling oil were carried one by one onto the swaying city towers.

“Pour it down—quickly, pour it down—”

The soldiers on the wall shouted anxiously. Meanwhile, the attacking forces from Jinling had already climbed the walls under a hail of arrows. One soldier thrust his sword into a defender. The blade pierced flesh with a “plop,” and blood spurted everywhere.

“Ah—”

A flash of cold steel followed. The soldier who had just set foot on the walls of Chang’an was struck through the heart. The swordsman, his white hair wild and his expression fierce, was none other than Zhong He, driven mad by bloodlust. He yanked the sword out forcefully, then kicked the dead soldier off the wall. In the next moment, the boiling oil finally poured down. Even the biting northern wind couldn’t disperse its scorching heat. Heart-wrenching screams and the nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the air beneath the walls of the once-glorious imperial capital. The siege ladders, painstakingly erected at great cost, collapsed once again with a thunderous crash.

“No retreat—”

“Kill them all—”

Zhong He roared, pointing his sword far into the distance. Beyond the moat, across the desolate plains, stretched an endless line of troops. Dark clouds pressed down on the city, heavy frost silenced the drums, yet even from afar, it was clear who led the army perched atop their horses.

“Fang Xianting…”

He clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles white and creaking. No matter how deep the hatred, it would be drowned out in the chaos of war. Yet the most piercing sound was the loud, deranged laughter of the man beside him—

“My dear nephew has devised such a brilliant plan—”

Wei Zheng, clad in dragon robes, laughed wildly toward the heavens, arms outstretched toward the bloody battlefield.

“Two birds with one stone—two birds with one stone—Uncle has always been a knife in others’ hands, and in the end, he cannot escape being used once more by Jinling—”

“Fang Yi has arrived—Uncle… do we still fight him?”

His frenzied cries marked the madness of impending doom. His eyes shone with unprecedented brightness, and for a moment, he seemed to revert to the once-favored Prince Qin. Zhong He, whose eyes were bloodshot, heard the phrase “two birds with one stone” and instead of anger, he laughed. He gazed into the distance at the figure obscured by flames, whispering, “A knife in others’ hands…”

“He and I are both knives…”

“But who knows… whether I will break before him?”

“Third Brother…”

Beneath the blood-soaked walls, Fang Yunhui stood alongside Fang Xianting, gazing into the distance. His expression was equally grave.

At present, Chang’an was indeed short on manpower, with barely eight thousand defenders. However, this former capital was no ordinary fortress. Its walls were strong, its moats deep, making it easy to defend but difficult to attack. Their long march had prevented them from bringing heavy siege weapons, and after two days of relentless assault, they had suffered heavy losses with little to show for it. Meanwhile, Zhong He and Wei Zheng were fighting a desperate battle, determined to die alongside the city. If they truly fought to the death, it was unlikely they could take the city within seven days…

Fang Yunhui hesitated, but Fang Xianting’s gaze remained fixed on the glaring yellow figure atop the high walls. The familiar face of an old acquaintance floated before him—he hadn’t seen this former friend in ten years. Amidst the flames, all images were blurred, except for the city gates that opened clearly after the evening retreat sounded. A lone rider emerged slowly from the city. Zhong He’s taunts from atop the city tower reached the ears of the three armies.

“It has been months since we last met, but I wonder why Lord Fang has become so timid? Hiding behind others and watching them die for you is not the way of the Fang clan’s military leadership, is it?”

It was a clumsy attempt to provoke a duel, inviting Fang Xianting to face the lone rider who had emerged from the city. Upon closer inspection, the rider was an imposing figure—eight feet tall, muscular, with piercing green eyes and a hawk-like nose. Clearly, he was of elite Tujue descent. It seemed that Tuo Na didn’t trust Zhong He and Wei Zheng to hold Chang’an alone, so he had sent his own trusted enforcer to oversee matters.

Fang Xianting spared the man only a glance before nudging his horse forward with an impassive expression. He replied, “Lord Zhong need not resort to clever words or use the guise of a duel to stall for time. Chang’an has long sunk into despair. Now that I am here, it will surely return to the nation.”

His words were calm and unemotional, yet they carried an authoritative chill that left everyone in awe. The title “Lord Zhong” struck hardest—it adhered to the naming conventions of Emperor Ruizong’s reign, refusing to acknowledge any so-called “Regent King.” Not a monarch, yet greater than one.

Zhong He felt humiliated. Despite standing atop the walls, he still felt inferior. With a violent flick of his sleeve, he sneered, “Lord Fang speaks endlessly of the nation, but perhaps he overestimates himself. So, when Chang’an falls into my hands, it’s called ‘despair,’ but in yours, it becomes ‘restoration’?”

Fang Xianting’s expression remained unchanged. His gaze toward the other man was cold and steady. “Tuo Na is still west of Tong Pass, and Du Luo is north of Luoyang. No one can save your life today—Lord Zhong. Ten years of shifting heavens and altering destinies have passed. Our maneuvering is futile. You might as well cross the river soon to meet His Majesty.”

The setting sun’s rays had dimmed, and at the edge of the sky-obscuring clouds lingered a faint golden glow. At that moment, sorrow was unmistakable in Zhong He’s eyes. “Shifting heavens and altering destinies…” Perhaps those words resonated deeply within him too.

“‘Cross the river’…”

He burst into laughter, gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face.

“Fang Xianting… don’t you find it amusing?”

“The world is vast, and I’ve seen every river and stream, yet Jinling remains the one place I cannot reach…”

“And even if I go there… can you return?”

Here, his eyes suddenly lit up, his expression growing increasingly twisted, like a beast excited by the prospect of dying alongside its prey.

“You know you can’t return! That’s why you took Song Dan’s daughter out of Jinling!”

“Your affair with her is real! And you know my campaign this time has another purpose! Jiangnan can no longer tolerate you. Wei Qin’s son wants you to bear the wrath of the entire world—”

“I just don’t understand why you’re still here…”

“The rabbit dies, the dog is cooked; the fish caught, the trap forgotten… Don’t you realize you’re also a bird they’ll shoot down?”

He seemed confused, unaware of the shockwaves his words caused among the thousands of soldiers beneath Chang’an’s walls. Fang Xianting’s expression remained unchanged, even as murmurs of dissent filled the air behind him, and his younger brother Fang Yunhui turned repeatedly, his face pale.

“So they were right… You truly intend to seize power and claim Chang’an for yourself?”

Zhong He continued his frenzied monologue, the broken walls and ruins under the gloom serving as his final stage.

“Yes… yes!”

“The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind! Jinling thinks they’ve caught you! But you refuse to be captured!”

“Hahahaha… Fang Xianting! You’re not like your father! You’re smarter, and more cunning!”

He seemed to hear both the saddest joke and the sharpest satire. Before his eyes appeared the familiar face of the past—Fang He, the devoted servant of Zhou… The son he raised with such effort turned out to be nothing more than another usurper, just like Zhong He himself!

—No!

He was far worse!

At least Zhong He dared to act and bore the world’s scorn without fear! But Fang Xianting hid behind false benevolence, basking in empty fame, only to betray the world for selfish reasons in the end!

“What Yingchuan Fang clan… what purity and righteousness…”

He screamed into the last rays of the setting sun.

“In the end, it’s all meaningless!”

“All meaningless—”

The hollow echo reverberated across the endless plains outside Chang’an. The mere four words “all meaningless” weighed heavily on all who heard them, suffocating them. By now, the army had caught wind of the rumors spreading in the streets. Everywhere in Jiangnan, people claimed that Lord Fang and the Empress Dowager were involved. The previous northern campaign was said to be a feigned defeat to nurture enemies, and this expedition was an act of rebellion to seize power. Now, even Zhong He was saying it… Could their lord truly…

“Third Brother…”

The Fang clan of Yingchuan was renowned for its integrity, but that very reputation also bound them. Once their name was tarnished, they became the subject of eternal blame. Fang Yunhui could already feel the wavering morale behind him. The soldiers who had marched thousands of miles and fought tirelessly could die defending the borders and the people, but they would not perish for the ambitions of those in power.

Yet Fang Xianting seemed oblivious to it all. Or perhaps he knew everything and simply no longer cared. As the ferocious Tujue warrior raised his twin blades, Fang Xianting took a heavy halberd from his lieutenant. Before riding off, he turned to his younger brother and calmly said, “Zixing, stay back.”

Fang Yunhui was speechless. For a moment, he felt something strange upon hearing his third brother’s calm tone. As a warrior who had spent his life on the battlefield, he wasn’t as quick-witted as the literati in the imperial court. A soldier’s duty was to obey, and as the youngest sibling, he was accustomed to following his elder brothers’ orders. His third brother was both his lord and the person he respected and admired most. He had never doubted his loyalty to the throne, even knowing about his relationship with the Empress Dowager…

A small doubt began to rise in his heart, gradually taking root amidst unease and fear. He knew Third Brother had sent Jiang Chao and Lou Feng to Yingchuan to protect the Empress Dowager. Ostensibly, the Qianji Office was quelling unrest across the land, but in reality, it was under the Empress Dowager’s command. Thus, despite the dire lack of reinforcements, Third Brother hadn’t considered calling for aid from Shenlü, preferring instead to…

His heart raced faster. For the first time, he seriously pondered the true meaning behind Third Brother’s arrangements. When many clues aligned with Zhong He’s earlier words, an unprecedented question suddenly arose in his mind—

If Third Brother truly intended to rebel…

As a descendant of the Fang clan of Yingchuan, should he choose to obey… or resist?

Before he could answer, a sharp, thunderous sound exploded in his ears. Looking up, he saw Third Brother locked in combat with the Tujue warrior. The latter, muscular and towering, wielded his twin blades with ferocious speed. The cold glint of steel wove a dense net in the air, threatening to envelop his opponent completely.

“Ah—”

The Tujue warrior let out a series of eerie cackles, his green eyes gleaming like a beast’s in the shadows. The halberd clashed repeatedly with the twin blades, the sheer force causing the weapons to emit sounds like shattering jade. The deadly web tightened, each moment fraught with peril.