The Legend of Chu Qiao: Division 11’s Princess Agent - Chapter 273

Chapter 273: Chapter 273 Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

The flames rose into the air as if blood was boiling off the earth. The heavens opened up, unleashing a shower of blood, unearthing the landscape and tumbling the oceans as if it had been shot in the heart by a golden arrow. The land turned into a molting furnace consuming every living thing within, as if hell itself had risen from the depths.

In the unending darkness, his eyes twitched rapidly. As blood began to envelop him, all he could see were the pitch-black armor of soldiers, the sharp blades of swords, the moon in the darkness and the desolate landscape covered in snow. As the dead began to fall like dominoes and pile up across the landscape, vultures began to circle the sky, their claws waiting to grab the bodies. The wind blew across the landscape, the sand in it hitting everyone as sharp as a knife, while the sounds of killing filled the landscape.

The sounds of the war drums grew ever louder, and as the enemy began to pour in from all directions, the earth shook from the stampede of cavalry, the clouds covering the sky like an angry dragon rising over the earth.

“Kill!”

“Kill! Kill!”

“Kill! Kill! Kill!”

His eyes suddenly opened as his dream was cut abruptly. Alone, he laid on his bed whose size was bigger than an ordinary room. The dark black satin was accented with patterns of dragons in gold, whose glittery fibers reflected light even in the dark room of his. Even with sweat dripping down his neck from his damp forehead, he remained both motionless and silent.

The silence that night was absolutely deafening. There wasn’t any speech, any crickets chirping, not even the occasional gusts of wind. All that could be heard were his steady but heavy breaths as he remained laid on the bed. Yet, even through the longest of nights, daybreak would eventually arrive. His forte was the virtue of tolerance. It was the same in the past, the present, and the future.

Suddenly, there was a tint of red light shining through the windows. Yan Xun frowned and looked over, only to hear the sounds of urgent footsteps coming from outside the compound.

“What going on outside?” His voice was a little dry but still calm nonetheless.

“Your Highness, a fire has broken out over at Changle Palace. The fire department has entered the compound and is trying to put it out.” The night only made his soft but sharp tone ever more chilling.

Yan Xun sat on his bed, silently looking at the silhouettes of the trees outside the window, before spontaneously walking out of his room barefooted. Over ten palace maids immediately rushed towards him in a panicked manner, helping him to don his bright yellow robe and boots. As Yan Xun walked straight towards Changle Palace, his head servant hurriedly called for many more guards to accompany him. As they each held a lantern and followed him, a bright trail was formed as the crowd inched ever closer to Changle Palace.

“Hit them! Hit them till they’re dead!” The voices of the guards could be heard long before they reached Changle Palace.

Unfazed, Yan Xun followed a canal towards the compound, only to see a few palace officials surrounding a couple of young children under the moonlight. The children were all pressed against the railings and hit repeatedly by the guards, their trousers already torn as raw flesh was exposed. Their initial screams soon fell silent, as blood began to drip onto the concrete below.

“I set this place ablaze! Kill me if you dare!” a scrawny child suddenly screamed, her limbs already horrifically beaten beyond recognition. Yet, despite the gruesome state her body was in, she calmly but stubbornly shouted, “My only regret is that I did not get to burn all of you scum from Yan Bei!”

These were the children from the previous dynasty. After the Yan Bei army occupied the region, the Xia families and tribes who did not manage to escape were all slaughtered. The children were the only survivors of the massacre. After all, they were only between five to six years old, and even the most vicious soldier began to feel soft-hearted after killing a few. The soldiers then simply could not bear themselves to kill all of them. Yet, who would have thought that these children would return for vengeance?

Changle Palace was home to a beauty from Xinjiang, surnamed Yu. He had canceled his plans with her at the last minute, citing the fact that he was tired.

Hatred was indeed the most lasting object in the world. Metal could be re-molded by fire while ice could be melted by the sun, yet there seemed to be no way to erase hatred.

“Your Highness,” the head servant knelt on the floor, his back shivering. He was unsure of the fear he felt, only that it was consuming him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Back to the palace,” Yan Xun said as he glanced at the commotion before turning around.

The night was still as dark as ink from their brushes. As his shadow disappeared into the darkness, a gentle chilly breeze blew by, highlighting the silence bar the feeble screams and curses from the children reverberating through the air.

“I will avenge my mother!”

“Evil Yan Bei scum!”

“You will all die for this!”

“Our king will return! You will regret this!”

…

As the night dragged on, a layer of frost began to cover the soldier’s gear in the armory, while blood began to seep through the palace gates. The mutilated bodies of the children were soon thrown into the mass burial sites and left to the mercy of the wild dogs.

There were few miracles in this world. The hardships of reality meant that many lived and passed on in an abyss of hatred, while those who were able to look on the right side of things did not always manage to attain happiness. However, being alive was always better than being dead.

He sat quietly in front of the window, wearing a jade finger around his severed finger, their size difference leading to a sizable air gap between them. Even with stitching made of gold wire, the broken jade and its ragged appearance meant it was effectively worthless; no one would pick it up if it was tossed on a sidewalk.

Using his palm, Yan Xun rubbed gently on the rugged surface of the jade, its tough surface making the slightest of sounds as both surfaces rubbed against each other. As he looked down onto the engraved patterns, a faint reflection of him soon appeared on the glistening surface.

“Any regrets?” Yan Xun coldly laughed.

The emotions of weakness, fear, or as what those children said, regret, were emotions Yan Xun did not allow himself to succumb to, as they served no purpose other than to disgust him. Those emotions only served to make him feel disgusted, and nothing else. His goals had been achieved, while revenge had been served. Now, all he wanted was to give and receive benevolence.

Were there any regrets?

As he closed his eyes, a distant ray of daylight broke across the tree line and into his hall, shining onto his face. The palace, made of ebony and obsidian wood, looked breathtakingly stunning under the rays of dawn.

The blood of Yan Bei and its heritage was in his veins, whereas he had long dreamt of leading his forces through Zhen Huang. How could he regret this?

He lifted his head and looked onto the vast landscape, with birds circling overhead, a stark contrast to the tiny piece of land he had as a child.

Regrets? He scoffed.

On the 16th day of the third month, an urgent report was sent by the scouts from the Eastern counties, claiming that they had intercepted a squad of rebel soldiers, with one of them looking suspicious. An order from the criminal department was sent to immediately bring that person to the capital.

After half a month, he was brought forward, tied at his hands and legs. Yet, despite the grave circumstances, his facial features, such as his high nose, thin lips and eyebrows only further highlighted his elegance.

Yan Xun sat on his throne, looking at him for what seemed to be an eternity. Instead, the man raised his head, with a bloody print on his face, and smiled lightly at Yan Xun, as if they were old friends casually greeting each other. “Prince Yan, it has been a while.”

Prince Yan… It was a salutation that he had not heard for a long time. Very calmly, Yan Xun replied, “Young Master Mu.”

“It has been a while since we last met. You’ve built a reputation, Prince Yan.”

“Have I?” Yan Xun coldly replied, “But you haven’t.”

Mu Yun laughed in reply, “The tides have turned. Things have changed, and I have followed the flow.”

“Young Master is optimistic indeed. You’re an upright hero indeed.”

Mu Yun suddenly chuckled, shaking his head. “The heroes have long died. Those that survived, are merely seeking a life full of indignity and shame. Thank you for putting me out of this embarrassing and humiliating misery.”

“Looks like Young Master cannot wait anymore.”

Mu Yun bowed respectfully and answered, “Please grant me my wish, Prince Yan.”

Yan Xun’s gaze suddenly turned sharp. This gaze had been acquired by being in the military for long periods of time. However, he did not see anything in this man’s eyes.

While his conquests had brought with him rule over the land, one thing it would never rule over were the hearts of everyone. Stubborn souls persisted on the piece of soil which he conquered.

Casually, he gestured, “Then I won’t send you off.”

Mu Yun laughed. Although he was injured all over, the classy airs of aristocracy still lingered around him.

“Prince Yan is a busy man. No need to follow me.”

The sunlight shone through the window grills, casting a shadow upon everyone in it.

Sparring against each other during their younger days, both continued their battle against each other for their differing interests as they grew up. Ultimately, in the end, he stood here as he watched his rival walk up the execution platform, step by step.

As he raised his chin slightly, a gentle gust of wind blew past his ear. For what seemed to be forever, Yan Xun remained silent, as a wave of fatigue hit him. Even from such a distance, he could hear the blades of the execution table at Jiu You Platform slicing down, the fit body laying on it no longer able to stand ever again, his dauntless eyes closing forever.

Dignity? Pride? Royalty? Lineage? Resolve? Faith? In the grand scheme of things, what importance did they carry?

One that had never fallen from grace and fought their way back up from the jaws of defeat would never understand what was most important to them.

The precondition in everything in life was that one must be alive for it to mean anything. Therefore, staying alive was of utmost importance.

As he opened his eyes, he was greeted by over a hundred officials kneeling before him, the atmosphere in the hall was almost suffocating. He could see that some of them were shivering, all of them from fear, perhaps some from hatred, yet there was nothing they could do. After all, he was the supreme ruler of the land, to whom everyone had to obey to. That fact alone, was enough to satisfy him.