FYM - 172

“Whinny—”

The steed let out a long, mournful neigh. It was Third Brother’s horse faltering in the heat of battle—it was young and strong, tall and agile like Zhuoying had been in its prime. But it hadn’t been with him long enough to understand his intentions. Amidst the flashing blades and clashing swords, it inevitably panicked. When the twin blades came slashing down again with a wild cry, its steps momentarily froze.

“Third Brother—”

That single moment sealed his fate.

The cold blade ruthlessly pierced through the armor. Fang Yunhui’s alarmed shout could do nothing to change what had happened. Blood dripped from the hilt of the sword, falling drop by drop onto the frost-covered ground beneath Chang’an’s walls, blossoming like plum flowers in the snow.

The faces of the three armies turned pale. Even Zhong He, watching from above, was visibly elated, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Yet Fang Xianting’s expression remained unchanged, as if the gaping wound in his chest belonged to someone else. Instead of avoiding the force of the blow, he leaned into it, moving forward with the momentum, causing even the bloodthirsty Tujue warrior, accustomed to slaughter, to hesitate for a moment. In the next instant, the sharp halberd swung upward, slicing through the man’s throat before he could react. The thick stench of blood wafted far into the wind. At that moment, the man wielding the halberd atop his horse resembled an unyielding god of death.

“Clang—”

He pulled the twin blades embedded in his flesh out and casually tossed them to the ground. His gaze, tinged with calm bloodlust, rose to the distant city tower. Zhong He saw him look directly at him, an indescribable mix of shame and despair piercing his heart like a dagger.

“Sword—”

“Bring me my sword—”

He barked the order in a hoarse voice, his mind already lost in chaos. The sun had completely set, and beneath the western capital lay only an endless expanse of darkness. Gradually, countless torches lit up in the night, their flames flowing like rivers of fire, carriages and horses bustling like dragons. Though they were all there to surround and kill him, the sight evoked memories of the once-prosperous Chang’an in its prime.

“Looking back at Chang’an, the embroidered hills pile high; the gates on the mountain peaks open one after another—”

His eerie recitation was surreal, yet the splendor of the flourishing age seemed to bloom all at once in that fleeting moment. He saw the lush peaks of Zhongnan Mountain, the dazzling lanterns of the Qujiang banquet beneath it, the winter hunt at Lishan Mountain outside the western capital with snow falling deep in the forest, and the golden palaces within the imperial court, resplendent and majestic.

He saw his sister, Ji’er, the wise Emperor Ruizong who had elevated the Zhong clan from a small family in Longxi to a new noble house of Zhou, and Fang He, ever stubborn and always opposing him in court…

…And finally, he saw himself.

The self-assured, youthful man who had strode boldly through the gates of Chang’an in his prime.

And now, the white-haired, aged man who had brought ruin to the foundations of Chang’an in his final days.

“Regent—enemy forces are attacking the city again—”

The soldiers shouted frantically. He too saw the torches advancing toward him like a dragon—he felt no fear. Mutual destruction was the ultimate liberation, the most exhilarating release. With the last of his strength, he raised the heavy iron sword to fight the enemy. Through blurred vision, he saw Fang Xianting below the city walls take a longbow from one of his soldiers—a bow drawn like a full moon, arrows swift as meteors. Just as Jin Guogong’s heir had once shot down a white-shouldered eagle soaring in the sky for the prosperous Emperor Ruizong, so too did this arrow now pierce the heavens.

“Swish—”

His eyes followed the arrow as it streaked across the night sky, watching it strike the banner bearing the character “Zhong” hanging above the city tower. The master of the Fang clan never missed—the flagpole snapped instantly, and the “Zhong” banner slowly fell before the eyes of thousands. It drifted aimlessly in the darkness, finally collapsing amidst countless torches. Thousands of soldiers trampled over it, and the blood and mud seemed to herald the end of an era.

“Kill—”

“Kill—”

“Kill—”

Everyone’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. Even the imperial army from Jiangnan temporarily set aside their suspicions about the Marquis, charging forward under a rain of arrows, desperately clearing a path for the main force. The defenders, too, had nowhere to retreat. Backed against the sturdy walls of Chang’an, even a lone army could hold out for several days until their supplies ran out. They would follow the Regent into the jaws of death, knowing reinforcements must be on the way—Tuo Na, the Khan, would not abandon them to die.

The endless night stretched on, and with every blink of an eye, people died meaninglessly. They raised their blades against each other as if driven by ancient grudges, but in truth, they were merely pawns in others’ struggles. How many able-bodied men were left in this vast world to fight? Even the old and gray-haired were forced to pick up swords and fight until their last drop of blood was spilled, until their bodies lay abandoned in the wilderness, unnoticed by anyone. Chang’an once again became a city that never slept, its thunderous clamor like ceaseless music, its towering smoke signals an unquenchable flame.

No one paid attention to the lone figure slowly walking toward the city gates, even though he wore no armor, clad only in plain white robes.

It had been many years… many years since he had properly taken care of himself. His unkempt hair, like wild grass, hid his once handsome face, while the stench of alcohol barely concealed his shame. Today, however, he had finally groomed himself neatly, tying his hair back properly and shedding the ill-fitting dragon robe without regret. No one could understand the lightness he felt in his heart at that moment, akin to the joy of seeing the sun after surviving a great calamity.

He knew.

Everything… would end today.

“Your Majesty, hurry and flee—”

“Your Majesty—”

Some loyal soldiers called out to him urgently, fearing he might be injured by the blades as he walked alone toward the city gate. He simply smiled and waved them off, but the title “Your Majesty” stirred memories of his late father. During the Linghe era, the empire had been at peace, and only a ruler of a prosperous age deserved such reverence from his subjects.

—He should have been addressed as “Your Highness.”

There were so many people under heaven… yet only one person had always called him that from beginning to end.

“…Your Highness.”

It was during their youth, when the princes still trained together in the Jin Guogong mansion. The summers in Chang’an were long and scorching, and the Duke’s teachings were always strict. While his elder brother, suffering from chest ailments, was spared harsh criticism, he was disciplined alongside the Fang sons, pampered in the palace and unable to endure the same hardships as those from military families. Often, within an hour, he would collapse in a sweat, earning reprimands from the Duke and feeling humiliated.

“Father’s teaching may be harsh, but Your Highness’s performance today was indeed lacking,” Yi Zhi rarely spoke up for him, often echoing his father’s criticisms. “Two hours earlier than the day before—how could Father not be angry?”

Dissatisfied, he lay on the roof of the guesthouse in their mansion, gazing at the stars. The summer nights in the western capital were dull, save for the stars, which seemed larger and closer, as if he could pluck them from the sky with a stretch of his hand.

“You know nothing—”

He didn’t shy away from crude language in front of him. They were young then, without the barriers that would later form between them.

“Your father shows favoritism! My elder brother swings his sword twice a day and spends the rest of his time drinking sour plum juice with your sister—why doesn’t he criticize him?”

Yi Zhi shook his head upon hearing this, treating him as a close friend, much like how he treated Yuan Jing and Yuan Xi. Mentioning the Crown Prince, however, made him cautious.

“Matters of the Eastern Palace should not be discussed. Let it end here today—but in the future, Your Highness must not speak so recklessly.”

Youthful arrogance refused to yield to anyone. He wasn’t satisfied, retorting with a sneer: “I thought your Fang clan was different from others, but it turns out you’re just another bunch of sycophants seeking favor and power. Is it because your sister is to marry into the Eastern Palace that I can’t say a word?”

At the time, the marriage between the imperial family and the Fang clan had not yet been finalized, but everyone knew the Crown Prince coveted the daughter of the Duke of Jin. Wei Zheng resented such support going to another, perhaps born ambitious and coveting the throne, or perhaps… it was just youthful pride.

Yi Zhi fell silent, as if resolved not to discuss these matters further. Fearing he would leave him alone on the roof, he pressed on: “I just hope you’ll be fair…”

“I hope you and your father know… I’ve done my best.”

Under the starlit sky, dawn approached. Looking back, there were few opportunities in life to talk through the night like this. His father had said that the Fang clan of Yingchuan was the hardest to control—they were undoubtedly loyal, but earning their true respect beyond mere obedience was exceedingly difficult.

“Father knows.”

Yi Zhi suddenly spoke. He looked up at him, and the small mole beneath his right eye didn’t resemble a tear but rather the shadow of a star fallen from the heavens.

“He knows Your Highness possesses great talent and will one day assist the ruler. That’s why he teaches you rigorously, unwilling to see you waste your potential.”

“I know,” he smiled at him, the bond of their youth forever clear and bright. “You excel in both civil and military arts, but you needn’t compete with others—there’s much a subject can do. We’ll always find our place.”

“‘We’?”

He raised an eyebrow, his temper quick to flare and fade. Hearing this, he felt a flicker of novelty and joy.

“That’s rare to hear from you—a pleasant sentiment! Once my brother ascends the throne, you won’t be able to address each other so casually. This is precisely the first perk of being a subject!”

They exchanged smiles, free of resentment or grievances. Unwilling to keep certain thoughts buried, he continued: “But if I were to ascend that position, even if you tried to refuse, I’d insist on addressing you as ‘you.’ Fang Yi Zhi, you should know I’ve never seen you as just a subject—you’re a rare friend I’ve confided in.”

“I only ask one thing—if I were determined to contend with my brother for supremacy…”

“What… would you do?”

It was a foolish question, really. Reflecting on it, he had used their childhood bond to pressure him. Alas, Yi Zhi had always been resolute, unwilling to offer even a single comforting lie. The stars of Chang’an dimmed momentarily, much like his cold, distant gaze as he averted his eyes.

“Then forgive me, but I cannot walk the same path as Your Highness.”

He answered.

“Punishment for wrongdoing, execution for guilt—if Your Highness persists in your delusion and insists on this path, I will…”

“…kill you.”

Time had passed too long, and Wei Zheng couldn’t recall his reaction at the time. But twenty years later, as he recalled these fragments, he chuckled softly. His white robes remained unstained, and he had always hoped to remain clean.

“Your Majesty—”

“Your Majesty—”

“Your Majesty—”

More and more voices began calling out around him, likely because he was drawing closer to the city gates, the boundary between life and death. The deafening sound of the battering ram echoed, and more blood and smoke splattered his clothes. He realized too late—being caught in the game meant he could never leave cleanly or freely.