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The wind was somewhat fierce; the mountains, threatening rain, showed a hint of dark blue.
“Marshal!” The flag-bearing scout strode quickly, kneeling before the horse. “Reporting, Marshal, Leshui is a hundred li ahead.”
His silkworm-like eyes narrowed slightly. Liu Xunhe, the clan leader of Northern Liang and the Grand Marshal of the three-kingdom punitive expedition against Qing, frowned, gazing at the impending storm. “Have the Jing and Yong armies arrived?”
After the war in late spring of Dingqian Year 4, King Li of Yong perished. His remaining forces, supporting the declining royal family, fled north. Like King Jing, who had settled in a remote corner in Dingqian Year 3, they lingered under the protection of the King of Liang. Because it was the late period of the Warring States, they were also called Later Jing and Later Liang.
“Reporting to Marshal, both armies are still en route.”
“Weren’t they supposed to reach their respective battle points at the second ke of yin hour today?”
The deputy general looked at the slightly pale Marshal and whispered, “Envoys from both armies said that with the autumn rain approaching, they didn’t want to miss the date.”
Liu Xunhe closed his eyes, looking up at the sky, and sighed heavily.
“Marshal, it’s just one or two hours late, perhaps...”
“Perhaps?” A heavy snort, a few sighs of regret. “Who do you take Han Yuesha to be?”
A dark cloud passed overhead, and instantly, the wind howled and cranes cried.
________________________________________
A thousand li away, Yundu...
“Speed is paramount in war,” a bright yellow sleeve swept over the landscape painting on the paper, leaving no trace of smoke or clouds. “Liu Yao.”
“Your servant is here.”
“What time is it?”
“Replying to Your Majesty, it’s just past the first ke of mao hour.”
“Hmph.” His peach blossom eyes lifted slightly, carrying an unspoken interest. “Ten thousand fighting a million, who wins?”
The sentence was a question, but it carried no doubt, causing a few trusted ministers to smile faintly.
“Although the allied armies of the three kingdoms are said to be a million strong, Jing and Yong are merely hastily assembled old and weak remnants. For General Han and General Lei, the only true formidable opponent is Liang’s 400,000 Northern Prefecture soldiers.”
The speaker was none other than Yu Ning, who held the dual positions of Left and Right Chancellor.
“Liang Kingdom, situated in the north, has accumulated considerable military strength over the years. Most of the Northern Prefecture soldiers are from good families, and the Marshal is from the Liu clan of Mucheng. This battle will likely not be easy to win,” Censor Luo Yin said cautiously, adhering to his usual style.
“Although King Liang preaches righteousness and morality, he is extremely cunning this time. The day after the declaration of war reached our country, the allied forces already appeared west of Leshui. Clearly, they had already been on the march. Thus, General Han and General Lei could only take their 100,000 elite soldiers to meet the enemy first,” the newly appointed Sima Lu Wen could not hide his resentment. “That King Liang only knows how to play tricks.”
“Play tricks?” His peach blossom eyes lifted slightly, Ling Yiran glanced sideways towards the imperial harem. “Liu Xun (King Liang) started it three years ago.”
________________________________________
At this moment, Jingming Palace was filled with sorrow.
“Is Your Majesty truly not seeing me?” Consort Liu Zhen, King Liang’s biological sister who had married gracefully three years ago, trembled, looking at the array of white silk, poisoned wine, and short daggers laid out before her.
The eunuch in charge of executions in the Qing Palace didn’t even look, merely dragging out his words: “If Your Ladyship does not choose one of these three, this servant fears I will have to choose for Your Ladyship.”
“Although my royal brother made me... but I have never... never...” Her red lips trembled. Consort Rong covered her face and wept bitterly, “Your Majesty... Zhen’er loves you...”
“Your Ladyship—”
“These three years... these three years... were all fake?” Tears fell like rain onto her brocade sleeve.
“Your Ladyship—” Each word urged her death.
“Your heart is so cruel, so cruel, so cruel...” Consort Rong repeated softly, gradually turning into a gnashing of teeth. “Was it all just pretense?” She rushed to the window and roared at the distance, “Is there only that dead person in your heart?!”
“Guards!”
With a flick of his whisk.
“Send Her Ladyship on her way.”
________________________________________
The pouring rain blurred his vision. In the forest, Liu Xunhe immediately reined in his horse and looked around; the soldiers beside him did the same.
He had thought Han Yuesha and Lei Lifeng would split their forces, but he never expected them to converge here, taking advantage of this autumn rain to flood the three armies. His Northern Prefecture soldiers were not skilled in water warfare, and this flood completely shattered their morale.
“Marshal!” A scout, covered in mud and water, stumbled over.
Liu Xunhe spurred his horse down the slope: “Speak quickly.”
“The Jing and Yong armies were completely wiped out three hours ago.”
“What?” Liu Xunhe stumbled, slumping onto his horse.
That meant the two armies encountered a formidable enemy shortly after the last dispatch?
Reining his horse on the cliff, Liu Xunhe looked down at the Qing army attacking from both land and water and couldn’t help but frown.
Although the Jing and Yong armies were weak, they still comprised hundreds of thousands of soldiers. They couldn’t be contained by just a few thousand vanguard troops, let alone annihilated?
Below the mountain, Qing cavalry raised their long sabers and swung them at the fleeing Northern Prefecture soldiers. The air was filled with the sickening sound of blades entering flesh. The disoriented Northern Prefecture soldiers, some using both hands and feet to climb the hill, some, in their panic, even ran towards Leshui. What awaited them were either the hooves of the Han family army’s horses or Lei Lifeng’s rain of arrows.
It was precisely when horses trampled the yellow mud, raising great waves, and bitter rain fell like a curtain, separating the warships.
“So that’s how it is,” Liu Xunhe suddenly realized.
“Marshal?”
“Issue my order: the three armies enter the mountain!”
This time, the allied forces of the three kingdoms had secretly set out a month before the declaration of war was sent to Qing. Logically, the three kingdoms should have arrived at Leshui and set up their formations early to await the enemy, but unexpectedly, they were caught off guard by the Qing army. To fight a million with ten thousand, mere speed is far from enough; they also must not divide their forces.
His silkworm-like eyes narrowed slightly.
Yes, the Jing and Yong armies were annihilated by these hundred thousand below the mountain. Everything has two sides, and the other side of “speed is paramount in war” is fatigue. If he could grasp this point, victory and defeat would be within his grasp.
He called his deputy general and added: “Once the three armies converge, counterattack immediately without rest.”
At that moment, the Northern Prefecture soldiers streamed into the mountains like ants, their formations orderly under the waving of military flags. Strangely, the Qing cavalry did not pursue the fleeing enemy but retreated to the edge of Leshui.
Looking up at the sky, which was like a colander, Liu Xunhe couldn’t help but chuckle softly: “Although this rain trapped my army, it also extinguished the Qing army’s fire crossbows. To win, my army must end this battle before the rain clears.”
Suddenly, his attendants on both sides raised their arms and exclaimed in surprise: “Marshal, look!”
Looking in that direction, he saw warships reaching the shore. A hundred chariots rapidly descended from the decks, arranging themselves in a semi-circular formation along the bloody waterline. The ends of this chariot formation rested on the river, shaped like a crescent moon. Each chariot carried seven men; from a distance, there seemed to be nothing unusual.
The Liang army on the mountain all wondered: “What formation is this?”
What formation was it?
A golden-armored general rode forward on his horse before the formation. Lines of rain trickled down the saber scar on his left cheek. Beneath his war helmet, his star-like eyes narrowed slightly. With both hands, he drew his bow and nocked an arrow, the snow-white fletching pointing directly at the mountaintop.
Drawing a bow against the wind to shoot a hundred zhang high mountain, what a joke!
Before the Liang army’s sneers could erupt, the tarpaulins on the chariots dropped, revealing a thousand large crossbows. Alarm on the mountain had just begun when the arrows from below had already arrived.
“Fire!”
At the general’s shout, soldiers on the chariots swung iron hammers, striking the spears on the crossbows. Instantly, ten thousand spears launched simultaneously.
Only then did Liu Xunhe understand that the white fletching was not for the person, but for the direction.
Cries of agony filled the wilderness in the rain. The Northern Prefecture soldiers, who had intended to charge down the mountain, dared not descend. Disregarding the flag commands, they turned and ran towards the mountaintop.
By the water, Han Yuesha stood with his bow, his eyes filled with a murderous glint.
“This formation is called ‘Waning Moon’.”
His thin lips spoke softly.
________________________________________
As dusk deepened, the palace lanterns outside the corridor lit up one by one, like scattered stars. Inside the Taiji Hall, the monarch slept soundly on his couch, an old blue-covered book by his hand, titled “Collection of Nian Si Ran’s Essays.”
“Your Majesty.”
The person on the couch turned over.
Glancing at the dimly lit sky outside the window, Liu Yao whispered again, “Your Majesty, it’s time for dinner.”
His handsome brows furrowed in displeasure: “What time is it?”
“Replying to Your Majesty, it’s already you hour (5-7 PM).”
His black, sleek hair spread over his shoulders. Ling Yiran lazily leaned on the couch, his pupils slightly shimmering: “In my dream, it was clearly Chengyuan...” His slender fingers caressed the book back and forth, as if it were a treasure. “Leaving the red mansion on a night of spring wind, fine morning dew moistens the ivy.” He murmured softly, his tone long and deep, “Five years from now, I will give you an eighth day of the eighth month, free from war.”
Under the lamplight, Liu Yao bowed, his eyes faintly stinging.
Silence permeated the Taiji Hall like the night itself. After an unknown period, the person on the couch spoke again: “How many days has the battle been going on?”
Sniffling, Liu Yao answered in a muffled voice: “Replying to Your Majesty, it has been three days.”
“Oh?” Ling Yiran resumed his usual tone. “My million-strong army should have arrived by now.” Sitting on the edge of the couch, Ling Yiran’s beautiful eyes lifted slightly, his demeanor as unrestrained and arrogant as ever.
“Speed is paramount in war, striking from a thousand li. Heavy forces follow, aiming for the world.”
________________________________________
Accompanied by earth-shattering cannon fire, Liu Xunhe fell from his horse. When he looked up again, he saw only the cold gleam of a gun barrel.
There were no personal guards around; he was at his wit’s end.
“To be surrounded for three days by less than half my own forces... it is my incompetence.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Kill me.”
For a long moment, he heard no gunshots. He opened his eyes in confusion, and a silk handkerchief fell into his arms.
His eyes full of tenderness, he caressed the embroidery on the handkerchief and murmured softly, “Lixue...”
“My wife is no longer called Lixue.”
Hearing this, Liu Xunhe suddenly looked up. In the sunlight, the man stood tall, his dark eyes fixedly looking down.
“Lei Lifeng?”
“Yes.”
Liu Xunhe let out a self-deprecating laugh: “Before the war, I wanted to fight you, but I never expected such an end.”
“My wife expected it.”
“She?” Liu Xunhe’s eyes widened.
“She said thank you for your care all those years, and she wanted me to let you keep your dignity at the end.”
“Heh heh...” Liu Xunhe slowly stood up. “So in her eyes, I was destined to fail.”
“It’s that she didn’t want me to fail.”
“Actually, after marrying the Qiu sisters, I regretted it,” Liu Xunhe sighed softly, casting his gaze downwards.
“From beginning to end, the only person I, Lei Lifeng, wanted to marry was her.”
Liu Xunhe was momentarily stunned by these words. After a while, he closed his eyes: “I have truly lost.”
Like the wail of metal, Lei Lifeng drew the precious saber from his waist: “I will send your corpse back to Mucheng.”
“Treat her well.”
Hand raised, blade fell.
________________________________________
The Records of the Warring States: Late Chaotic Era states: On the eighth day of the eighth month in Dingqian Year 5, Han Yuexiao slew King Miu of Liang on the shores of the North Sea. Thus, the Warring States period ended, and the world was greatly unified.
By the tenth month, the officials repeatedly implored the Emperor to ascend the throne. The Emperor firmly declined, then summoned Yuexiao to the palace for a secret discussion.
“Does Zhusu know why I am unwilling to ascend the throne?”
“This subject is foolish.”
“An emperor is unique. How can one claim emperorship if a formidable enemy is not annihilated?” His slightly raised beautiful eyes gazed downwards, his lifted tone carrying a hint of probing. “Do you think Marquis Ding truly died?”
The long figure beneath him remained still. Han Yuesha’s voice was calm: “If Your Majesty does not believe this subject, you can ask the Han family army who witnessed the entire event that day.”
Of course, he had asked, but despite tens of thousands of witnesses, he still didn’t believe it.
“Does Zhusu not find Marquis Ding’s fall from Gupu Cliff suspicious?” Ling Yiran stared intently, not missing a single flicker of expression on Yuexiao’s face.
“Before the army arrived, this subject did speak with Marquis Ding.”
“Oh? I didn’t expect Zhusu’s military tactics to be excellent, and his talent for urging death to be top-notch too.”
A few words forced Marquis Ding to his death? Ling Yiran clearly didn’t believe it.
“This subject merely said,” his star-like eyes filled with pain, Han Yuexiao cast aside his usual avoidance and looked directly at the throne, “Qingqing is already dead.”
As the words left his lips, the face of the person on the throne instantly turned cold and pale.
“Qingqing is already dead.”
Who was this said for?
“Silence.”
“Qingqing is already dead.”
“Silence!” Ling Yiran was now growling, gnashing his teeth.
“This subject knows Your Majesty intends to lure the enemy with yourself, then capture Marquis Ding alive, humiliate, and kill him.” Facing the emperor’s rage, Yuexiao stood firm and knelt. “Has Your Majesty ever considered that if this plan succeeded, Qingqing, knowing it in the afterlife, would hate you to the bone?”
“I just want her to hate me.” His fingers tightly gripped the dragon chair, Ling Yiran’s eyes misty like smoke. “The deeper the hatred, the better.”
“Even if it means hating you for all lifetimes, forever estranged?”
Ling Yiran was stunned by these words.
Forever estranged for all lifetimes...
Seeing the anger on the throne subside slightly, Yuexiao bowed his head: “It’s merely my selfish desire not to see my deceased sister suffer hatred. If Your Majesty still doesn’t believe, you can investigate Shuiyue Capital again.”
“Hmph.” Ling Yiran slightly composed himself.
A year ago, he had intentionally let the Song family father and sons leave, but unexpectedly, after half a year, the three jumped into the sea to commit suicide for their master.
It seems Marquis Ding is truly dead. Then she, too...
At this thought, his heartache deepened a few points.
“Your Majesty.”
“Mm?” He frowned, answering absently.
“This subject has something to petition Your Majesty about.”
“This is new. Is Zhusu asking for a reward?”
“My humble son, Han Fengyan, has reached school age. I request Your Majesty to permit my son to enroll in Nanshan Academy.”
“Nanshan Academy?” Ling Yiran’s eyes narrowed coldly. “Does the Han clan of Jiaocheng wish to abandon military arts for scholarly pursuits?”
“This subject respectfully petitions Your Majesty.”
A stifling silence permeated the hall. After a long while, Ling Yiran chuckled softly: “Since it is what she desires, I will grant your request.”
“Thank you for Your Majesty’s immense grace.”
Extremely weary, Ling Yiran closed his eyes and waved his sleeve: “Zhusu, go out and tell the ministers not to kneel anymore. I shall ascend the throne.”
“Your Majesty is sagacious.”
She never desired him. Thus, whose world was he now holding in his hands?
________________________________________
Deep in the bamboo forest, a green mist gradually rose. A woman sat on a stone, carving a wooden block with clumsy but very serious strokes.
“Qingqing.”
She looked up, and he was there, deep in the forest.
“It’s going to rain soon. I came to pick you up.” The man’s voice was as clear as a spring, carrying a refreshing beauty.
“No wonder the stone has been wet,” she stood up and walked towards him. “Look, have I made any progress today?”
He intently stared at the carved block, his mind racing.
“Xiuyuan, can you tell what I carved?”
Looking at the eager little face before him, although he couldn’t decipher it after a hundred glances, he feigned certainty: “Mountain bamboo shoots.”
“Ah, I really have made progress!”
He actually got it right...
He secretly let out a breath of relief and took the carved block.
He had to tell the others before Qingqing asked again, lest she be disheartened again, after all, it was a hobby she had finally found and cherished.
Suddenly, the person beside him stumbled. He reached out and held her tightly, his heart throbbing with prolonged anxiety.
“Xiuyuan, I can stand.”
A soft, complaining murmur sounded in his ear. He lowered his gaze and carefully looked at his wife: “Has Qingqing not noticed yet?”
“Eh?”
His eyes, like spring water, glanced towards her lower abdomen.
“Noticed what?” Not sensing his abnormality, she remained confused.
His phoenix eyes, curving with spring-like warmth, rippled and swayed, and a smile appeared on his usually cool lips.
“Let’s go home.”
Embracing his wife, Ye Jinglan walked towards the poetic ink-wash landscape.
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