Chapter Twenty-Five: The Lord of Shadows

Lin Yuluo did not keep Zi Jie waiting for long. Merely two days later, dense ranks of the Yan army pressed close to Hengguan. The Xue army stationed at Hengguan quickly readied themselves for battle. The clash was imminent.

Upon receiving the scouts’ report, Zi Jie slowly unwrapped the cloth from his broadsword and commanded, “Prepare to move out!”

Zi Jie’s plan was to lead his force along a narrow forest path, one provided by a local hunter—unknown, of course, to the Yan clan. To avoid alerting the enemy with the sound of hooves, he ordered every horse’s hooves to be wrapped in cloth. Even with three thousand men, their march was nearly silent.

According to Zi Jie’s strategy, he would take advantage of his cavalry’s mobility to set the Yan army’s provisions ablaze. If Chen Qingwei could hold the line in this battle, the Yan army, having lost most of their rations, would see their morale plummet. Then, his own forces would launch a pursuit. In open field combat, the Xue army held the advantage, and victory was almost assured. Defeating this Yan force would allow him to drive south, bringing an end to the War of Wangyan within sight.

But events did not unfold as Zi Jie had planned.

When Zi Jie and his three thousand elite troops reached the final valley along the path, they were ambushed by Yan soldiers lying in wait. At a sudden shout of “Loose arrows!”—a thunderclap on open ground—arrows rained down from both sides of the valley. The three thousand elite Xue troops became living targets, and after two volleys, more than half lay dead.

Zi Jie swung his broadsword, emerging from the storm of arrows unscathed, but his heart was a tumult of shock and rage. How had the enemy discovered their movements?

“Prince of Snowshade! Are you pleased with this gift I’ve prepared for you?” Atop the valley, Lin Yuluo stood in black armor, his crimson cloak fluttering behind him, spirited and triumphant. “I left the main battlefield just to welcome you in person!”

Zi Jie’s eyes blazed with fury, his voice burning with wrath. “Who was it?!”

Glancing at the now-surrounded Zi Jie, Lin Yuluo, certain of victory, replied with ease, “Ha! It does no harm to tell you—it was none other than your own General Chen!”

Astonishment joined the anger on Zi Jie’s face. Many senior officers had known of his route, and though many names flashed through his mind, he’d only suspected Chen Qingwei for a fleeting moment. He could scarcely believe a general of such high rank would be disloyal. Shock was soon replaced by a fresh surge of rage. As blood-red fury filled his eyes, a violet aura seemed to envelop him.

At that moment, Zi Jie’s inner strength awakened.

He could not name this power, but he no longer cared; his mind was consumed only with the urge to kill.

Energy coursed through his body, and he felt weightless. He leapt from his horse, lightly touching the cliff face several times, and soared up to the top of the valley.

Lin Yuluo glanced at him, mildly surprised, then ordered, “Leave none alive!”

With a chorus of shouts, Yan soldiers charged down the valley toward the remaining thousand Xue troops.

Lin Yuluo drew his long spear, casually twirling it. A faint crimson glow began to halo him.

“So, Wangmai has its own masters of this art as well.”

Among the Yan clan, the cultivation of inner strength was no secret as it was in Wangmai. Lin Yuluo had been practicing for seven or eight years. However, the harsh environment of Yan lands yielded little for cultivation, almost nothing at all. That was why, since ancient times, Yan was called the “Land of Exile,” its people regarded as abandoned by the heavens.

When the Demon Gate Valley opened, the Yan leaders realized that Wangmai’s environment was ideal for cultivation, far better than their homeland. Thus began their invasion. But the common soldiers did not know the true reason; they only obeyed orders.

Lin Yuluo and his peers had always believed Wangmai must have its own inner strength masters, though they did not know that in Wangmai, the practice was still a secret. Many could cultivate, but few had actually awakened this power.

Although Lin Yuluo had trained for years and Zi Jie’s inner power had only just awakened—his years of external martial practice suddenly channeling the world’s energy—there was little difference in the strength of their inner force. If anything, Lin Yuluo’s was only slightly stronger, highlighting how hard it was to cultivate in Yan.

But as soon as they fought, Lin Yuluo realized that, while his inner power’s heat matched Zi Jie’s sharpness in sheer aggression, he was outclassed in both the finesse and force of technique. This was because he had focused too much on inner training, neglecting martial skill.

Within a few exchanges, Lin Yuluo was forced onto the defensive. Embarrassed, but without hesitation, he shouted, “Help me!”

Two Yan generals rushed to join him, and together they beset Zi Jie. The pressure mounted; soon wounds marked Zi Jie’s body, and the screams of his soldiers echoed through the valley, gnawing at his resolve.

Gradually, all he could do was defend. Long defense brings mistakes, and before long, a Yan general drove a spear hard into his side.

Staggering, blood soaking the intricate patterns of his violet armor, Zi Jie could barely stand, bracing himself with his broadsword.

He coughed blood, his lips curling into a cold smile. “Who could have foreseen that, with the enemy at our gates, I would fall to a traitor among my own?”

Lin Yuluo, breathing heavily, retorted, “What, Prince of Snowshade, are you calling me dishonorable?”

Still smiling, Zi Jie replied, “No. My master taught me since childhood the ways of war. I can only blame myself for not foreseeing betrayal within our ranks.”

“A true hero—you have my respect!” Lin Yuluo’s eyes sparkled with genuine admiration. “Prince of Snowshade, your journey ends here!”

As the spear thrust toward his heart, Zi Jie could no longer resist. In a flash, he recalled Chen Qingwei’s words that Chen Qingyue had already gone to Luoshui City. With a long sigh, he thought, “Master! Do not let my fate be yours!”

The Luo River may run dry, but Zi Jie’s fate is sealed.

Once there was a Prince called Zi Jie; he guarded the western pass and did not return, falling to the flames of Yan. His blade drank deep the blood of foes, but with traitors still at large, he gazed toward Shunxing, watching the snow fall.

—From “Song of Remembrance: Prince of Snowshade”

After holding Hengguan for nearly half a year, Prince of Snowshade Zi Jie fell in a northern valley at the age of thirty-one.

The Yan army’s assault on Hengguan failed again, and they retreated. Two days later, Zi Jie’s corpse was thrown before the city gate, and Chen Qingwei alone rode hard for Luoshui City.

“What?!” Ye Linhui, long inured to war, shattered the sand table before him with a single kick. “Who did this?!”

“Lin Yuluo! Very well. If I cannot reach Hengguan, I will take Lin Yufei’s head instead, and then march north to settle accounts with you!” At fifteen, Ye Linhui had become master to the six-year-old Zi Ying and ten-year-old Zi Jie; he had watched these royal brothers grow. Now, with one slain in battle, how could he remain calm?

In the royal court of Shunxing, Zi Ying flew into a rage, smashing everything within reach. “Saddle my horse! I’ll go to Hengguan myself!”

An old minister nearby admonished, “Your Majesty, mind your words…”

Zi Ying’s fury was unrestrained. “Words? My brother is dead! Why should I care about damned words? Saddle the horses!”

The generals tried to dissuade him. “Your Majesty, you must remain in the capital…”

Zi Ying roared, “Do you think the Yan army will drop from the sky onto Shunxing? Huh?!”

A cry came from outside: “Report!” A guard ran in and announced, “Your Majesty, news from the west! General Feng Jing has left Tuoyu without orders, taking his troops to Hengguan!”

After venting for a long while, Zi Ying, though still angry and grieving, regained a measure of composure. He knew there were matters yet to settle. Learning that Feng Jing had already departed, he ordered, “Tell him—don’t return without Lin Yuluo’s head!”

An old minister objected, “Your Majesty, he acted without orders; by law, he should be…”

Zi Ying cut him off with another thunderous shout, “To hell with your law! Have you ever fought a war? Always meddling? Feng Jing’s actions are exactly what I want!”

Ye Residence.

“I…” Ye Pei was at a loss for words. “How… wasn’t he defending the city? How could the commander…”

Zi Jie was thirteen years older than Ye Pei. Since Zi Jie came of age and left the palace, he would often visit the Ye residence, taking Ye Pei out to play. Their bond was deep. But now, even if Ye Pei yearned for vengeance, she had no way to pursue it herself. Nor did she have any detailed news; she did not know the true situation.

After murmuring a few words, the internal injuries Ye Pei had suffered—stirred up by drink on a previous occasion—erupted again, and she coughed up blood.

“Mother!” Ye Feilan panicked, not understanding what had caused her mother to spit blood so suddenly.

Ye Pei and her daughter had been in the study, Ye Pei telling stories, when Meng Huaicheng arrived with the news.

Wiping the blood from her lips, Ye Pei signaled to her daughter that she was all right, and asked Meng Huaicheng, “Uncle Meng, does the Princess know?”

He replied, “I’m not sure…”

Ye Pei sighed. “Come, go with me to see my sister-in-law. If she doesn’t know, we’ll sit with her for a while. If she does… let’s go.”

Ye Feilan ran after her, calling, “Mother! You’re hurt! Where are you going?”

Ye Pei turned back and said, “Stay home, don’t come out. I’m going to the Prince’s Manor.”