A gentle breeze caressed the air, and silver moonlight spilled across the landscape. On the Huai River, several small boats drifted downstream, slicing through the mirror-like green water, causing ripples to open and close. Along the banks, peaks rose and fell, ancient pines and cypresses swayed, and the shadows of birds and apes flickered in the light—a scene as beautiful as a painting.Yet from the central boat came muffled sobs. A young noble sat within the cabin, by the light of an oil lamp on the table, slowly unfurling a scroll of bamboo slips left to him by his deceased friend. It recorded the following tale.
Nine years prior, the year after Feng Wuzheng fled the Qin state, King Ying Yiren of Qin held the triennial ritual to worship the Supreme Deity outside Xianyang. After the ceremony, he hosted a night banquet for his ministers in the palace.
The palace towered some thirty feet high, its bracket sets reaching toward the heavens, dizzying to behold. Ten-foot-wide beams crisscrossed the interior, each carved with mystic birds and inlaid with gold and silver. Brocaded curtains cascaded from above, harmonizing with the bronze lamp-stand figures standing on the floor—a perfect blend of strength and grace.Within the hall, a thousand painted candles were arranged, their light reflecting off the vessels like myriad stars, dazzling and brilliant. Diffused between the curtains, it resembled a misty haze, swirling and mesmerizing.Two rows of tables stood in the center. On the left sat the Three Dukes, the Nine Ministers, and the civil and military officials. On the right sat the Crown Prince, the princes, and the noble sons and grandsons. Before the tables rose a high dais. Upon it, Ying Yiren sat firmly upon the throne, looking down upon his ministers and officials.
Though the ritual to pray for heavenly blessings was a good deed, the king was not particularly cheerful. Recent setbacks in the Qin army's campaign against Chu weighed heavily on his mind. Compounded by the recent death of a beloved male favorite, his worries and troubles had only deepened. Crown Prince Ying Zheng intended to use this banquet to lift his father's spirits. Amidst the clinking of cups and the exchange of toasts, the heir apparent of Qin rose, raised his cup, and offered a toast:
My great Qin subdued the Rong and Di tribes to the west, conquered Ba and Shu to the south, and gained fertile lands stretching a thousand li. We abolished the old aristocracy, established military ranks, and inspired the people to delight in farming and warfare. We burned the classics, clarified laws and decrees, and taught officials and commoners alike to unite in purpose. We promoted capable individuals and widely recruited virtuous scholars, ensuring every position, high and low, was filled by the right person.Wherever the Qin army marched, the Three Jin states fell; wherever the Qin sword pointed, the feudal lords surrendered. Father King, through your martial virtue, have you subdued the violent, swept away calamities, and provided relief to the common people. The imperial legacy is within reach. Though we recently suffered a minor setback in our campaign against Chu, victory is assured.Your humble son humbly prays that Your Majesty's life may be as enduring as the Southern Star, that your reign may be long, and that you may forever enjoy boundless blessings!"
With that, all bowed and danced in unison.King Qin drained his cup, his pent-up frustration somewhat eased. Ying Zheng returned to his seat on the right, poured another cup, and offered it to the elegant young man beside him—the Prince of Qingqiu, Hu Yan. Having observed Qin's ways for two years, he possessed fiery brows, starry eyes, jet-black hair, pearly teeth, lips like rolling hills, and a voice as harmonious as zithers and lutes.Upon his arrival, he had befriended the Crown Prince of Feng, Wu Zheng, as close as brothers. Yet last year, Wu Zheng departed without a word, leaving not a single line of farewell. Hu Yan believed him to have forsaken their bond, his heart filled with resentment and fury. Whenever he recalled this, he gnashed his teeth in bitterness, cursing his poor judgment in choosing friends. It was then that Ying Zheng frequently sought his company, and gradually, the two grew close.The Crown Prince of Qin bore a striking resemblance to his father—standing eight feet tall with a high nose and deep-set eyes, his face chiseled like stone. He possessed a fierce and resolute spirit; though lacking the flawless brilliance of jade, he radiated the unyielding strength of metal and stone.Huyan was delighted by this and grew ever closer to him, their bond surpassing even that which had existed during Wuzheng's time. Thus, Huyan now occupied the second seat of honor at the banquet, surpassing all the other princes and standing only below Ying Zheng himself.
Hu Yan and Ying Zheng drank and conversed merrily, passing cups back and forth in high spirits. Feng Wuzheng had often warned Hu Yan that Ying Zheng was arrogant and presumptuous, treating the guest minister with contempt despite his status as crown prince. He advised caution and urged Hu Yan not to grow too close. Yet after spending time with him, Hu Yan found Ying Zheng to be open and sincere, utterly genuine, and certainly not one to abuse his power.Recalling his former prejudices, he often felt deeply ashamed, resenting Feng Wuzheng for wrongly accusing an upright man, his resentment growing. Lost in these thoughts, he drank several more cups, gradually feeling the wine warm his ears and his mind grow hazy with intoxication.By the time the banquet ended, he was so dazed he couldn't find his way back to the inn. Ying Zheng arranged for him to spend the night in the palace. Hu Yan only remembered eunuchs supporting him out of the main hall. After walking an unknown distance, they entered a side chamber. Palace attendants laid him on a bed, extinguished the candles, and he fell asleep fully clothed.
After an unknown span of time, he suddenly felt someone loosening his robe ties from behind.Half-asleep and deeply intoxicated, he was unable to move. Even so, he could sense the other's desperate urgency. Hands trembled in the darkness, fumbling for the belt hook. After much turning and searching, it was finally found. Then, with sheer brute force, the sash was yanked off in one violent tug. Immediately afterward, hands reached across his chest, searching for the inner layer of his robe.After several tugs and the sharp rips of fabric, his robe was torn off. Fox Yan now felt his naked body exposed to the biting chill.Another rustling sound followed, and he felt a man's scorching body press against his back. The man rested his chin atop his head, his feet level with his own, hands pinning his wrists. Waves of alcohol-laden breath drifted into his nostrils.Suddenly, excruciating pain shot through his rear as if a red-hot iron rod had been thrust into him. Simultaneously, the scent of dragon's saliva perfume assaulted his senses—a fragrance reserved for the royal court of Qin, extracted from the belly of a great fish in the East Sea and traded from the merfolk kingdom.
Ying Zheng...
While furious at Ying Zheng's reckless audacity, Hu Yan was also flattered by his passion. Thus, he offered little resistance, merely gritting his teeth to endure the relentless agony in his lower body—a sensation blurred by drunkenness yet still unbearable.His brow furrowed tightly as he held his breath, stifling any moan. He felt blood trickling down his thigh and listened to the increasingly ragged breaths at his ear. Finally, when their bodies pressed together completely, the pain nearly made him faint. Hazily, he reached for Ying Zheng's hand, only to find it rough and calloused.In that fleeting moment of contact, the hand withdrew. Then, the man dressed in his robes, opened the door, and walked out. As the door swung open, moonlight bathed his face. What Hu Yan saw was not Crown Prince Ying Zheng, but King Ying Yiren of Qin...
That night, the Qin King had tasted something new, finding Hu Yan far superior to his deceased male favorites. From then on, he visited Hu Yan's residence every few days to take his pleasure, reducing the peerless nobleman to a living corpse. Whenever Hu Yan closed his eyes, he recalled Ying Zheng's attentive courtship over the past half-year, and the way he had persistently urged him to drink at banquets;But when he opened them, the moonlit visage of Ying Yiren from that night would reappear. His heart was now utterly clear. From that moment on, he harboured deep hatred for both father and son, weeping bitterly and gnashing his teeth daily. Yet he could offer no resistance, forced to submit to the King of Qin's unrestrained lust.Recalling Feng Wuzheng's earnest advice from years past, he bitterly regretted his past choices, cursing his own failure to recognize true kindness. Now he had fallen to the role of a male favorite, merely a pawn for Ying Zheng to curry favor with his father.Fox spirits possessed acute hearing, capable of detecting the Qin King's four-horse chariot from a mile away. Thus, each evening after sunset, he found himself straining his ears. The moment he heard the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels drawing nearer, it felt like five thunderbolts striking his skull.
Another day saw the golden sun sink westward as Fox Yan sat composed within his residence. Having fasted and bathed since dawn, he now stood fully attired: his robes immaculate, his horns prominent, black headband binding his raven hair, a jeweled sword at his waist, and the fragrance of orchids wafting from his garments—truly untouched by dust.His hand gripped the sword hilt, a burial jade clenched between his teeth—tonight, he would perish alongside Ying Yiren. He heard the Qin King's jade-adorned carriage rolling along Xianyang's broad avenue, hooves pounding the paved stones, the sound growing ever closer.His eyes tightly shut, he had rehearsed countless times how to strike down Ying Yiren the instant the door opened. He prayed only that the King of Qin would not send attendants to investigate first.
The carriage was now only a few blocks away...
How would Ying Zheng announce his death to his father and mother back in their homeland? He would likely claim Ying Yi had plotted rebellion and sedition! Perhaps it was for the best—his parents need not know the utter disgrace he had suffered. But how could they not be utterly heartbroken? And his long-lost brothers and sisters? Feng Wuzheng, who had treated him like a younger brother? Their reunion would only be in the afterlife.At this thought, tears streamed down his cheeks, his hand trembling on the sword hilt. The room echoed only with his sobs and the whistling of the candle flame as it swayed in the wind. Suddenly, another thought struck him: after Ying Yi's death, Ying Zheng would surely ascend the throne. Not only could he not kill both of them, but he must help Ying Zheng reach the throne sooner.The very thought of that beast wearing the imperial crown, ruling the realm from his southern throne, made his veins bulge and his eyes turn bloodshot.
Ying Yiren's carriage halted at the courtyard gate, the footsteps of his attendants still several paces away. In moments, the King of Qin would push open the door and enter. Fox Yan had replayed the events of the past hour a thousand times in his mind, and Ying Zheng's face had appeared a thousand times, each time grinning with greater smugness.
I cannot die like this... Ying Yiren, nearing sixty, had little time left. To take his life in exchange for mine, yet spare Ying Zheng—would that not be too lenient?
Just as the gate swung open, he steeled his resolve, leaped to his feet, and flew out of the house. He scaled the courtyard wall onto the street and sprinted desperately toward the city gate.The sky had not yet fully darkened; the city gates might still be open. Perhaps he could escape with his life, see his parents one last time, and then kill the Ying father and son to avenge his bitter hatred. The mansion was surrounded by the Qin King's spies. Sure enough, shouts erupted behind him, followed by the footsteps of guards closing in on his heels.The sun was sinking low in the west. The streets of Xianyang were packed with citizens entering the city, while those leaving were few and far between. How could he possibly blend in among them? He prayed for divine protection—that the shadows might conceal him, that the guards might momentarily relax their vigilance, that he might simply slay a sentry and flee into the wilderness, or... or what?The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that death awaited him. Yet, as they say, God works in mysterious ways. All he could do was weave against the flow of people, running relentlessly toward the city gates. Fortunately, the pursuers behind him collided with the crowd, and the sounds gradually faded into the distance. After running hundreds of paces, the city gates finally came into view at the horizon's edge. But the gatekeeper was already closing the two massive doors together.The sunset glow split the sky into two layers: a deep blue expanse floating above, fiery red clouds sinking below. A line of egrets soared through the middle, softening the transition between the two—all things in the world seemed so beautiful.And that lingering glow, slipping through the gap between the gates, red and lovely—it was the light of his life, growing ever narrower. When it faded, he would die. His feet dared not pause, tears spilling from his eyes...
Yet when the city gates slammed shut, Fox Yan still fell fifty paces short. So he drew his sword, turned to face his pursuers, blade pointed forward.
No...
He drew the blade back, placing it across his throat. Closing his eyes, he tensed his arms—but suddenly remembered that hunt, remembered the fate of Prince Chengjiao of Qin.
No, that's wrong...
Gripping the hilt tightly, he charged toward a nearby dwelling, smashing through the door and earthen wall. The bewildered commoners gathered around. Seizing a man at random, he slashed a deep gash in the man's leg with his sword, then bellowed:
"Today I destroy homes and harm people! I willingly accept branding as a convict!"
The crowd erupted in commotion. Pursuers pushed through the throng to surround Hu Yan, yet faced with the murmuring masses, they found themselves at a loss...
Several days later, with the characters "Chengdan" branded on his face, Hu Yan was escorted by a squad of Qin soldiers along with dozens of other convicts toward the Qin King's tomb at the foot of Mount Li, east of Xianyang. A fleeting thought beneath the city gate had saved his life: as long as the Qin people knew his punishment was merely that of a convict, Ying Yiren would never execute him.Qin's rule relied entirely on strict laws to drive its people to farm and fight. To gain the populace's trust, Shang Yang had once moved a pole for a reward and nearly punished the crown prince. Two years prior, Ying Yiren had also reluctantly punished his young son Cheng Jiao, ultimately refusing to bend the law for personal favor. If even princes and nobles faced such justice, how could the King of Qin break the law for a mere male favorite?Sure enough, he was tried by the Chief Justice, paraded through the streets alongside other criminals to demonstrate impartiality, then sent to labor at Mount Li. Though the Chengdan sentence meant lifelong servitude, preserving his useful body meant future escape was possible. When that day came, what would he fear—returning home, seeing his parents again, or exacting vengeance?
S everal days later, Hu Yan arrived at the royal tomb site, donning the garb of a convict. Looking around, he saw an immense construction site stretching for miles in every direction, its end invisible to the eye.Over ten thousand convicts labored there—in groups of three or five—under the scorching sun, hauling earth and stone, chopping and splitting timber. Each man's face was black as ink, his frame gaunt and skeletal. Iron shackles clanked with every step as their feet moved.Overseers stood every twenty paces, each a grim-faced, demonic figure whose mouths never ceased cursing and whose hands never stopped wielding whips. Only the craftsmen—blacksmiths, carpenters, lacquerers, and others summoned for their skills—differed from the convicts, retaining a semblance of humanity.Across the wilderness, the clang of axes and chisels, the crack of whips, and the moans of laborers mingled into a ceaseless cacophony. Sawing timber, crushing stone, and burning charcoal sent clouds of dust and smoke billowing skyward, obscuring the sun. Witnessing this scene, Fox Yan wished he had died that day; yet the thought of vengeance gave him the will to endure.
Construction of the Li Mountain Royal Mausoleum began when Ying Yiren ascended the throne, and had now lasted eleven years. It was to continue until the day of his death. The King of Qin was confident he could unify the six states within his lifetime, at which point he would proclaim himself the "First Emperor." His tomb would thus be the "First Emperor's Mausoleum," demanding the utmost grandeur and extravagance.The initial design called for a structure a hundred zhang in length and width, with tomb passages on all four sides, forming a character resembling "亚" (ya) to enclose an underground palace. This palace stood ten zhang tall, modeled after the architecture of Qin palaces, with the central coffin chamber supported by rafters and pillars, its walls built from massive stones.The outer mausoleum complex was modeled after the layout of Xianyang City, with numerous burial pits excavated to house countless treasures, chariots, horses, armor, and weapons. Each time the Qin conquered a state, the scale of the project was expanded, utilizing the conquered people as labor and incorporating plundered treasures into the burial offerings. In short, as long as the Qin king lived, the tomb would never be completed.
From that day onward, Fox Yan carried dozens of stone blocks on his shoulders each day and dug hundreds of liters of earth with pickaxes and hoes. Even after sunset, he could not rest; he lit torches and continued working. From dawn till dusk, his meager meal amounted to less than half a bushel of millet. He endured countless lashings, and in winter, his thin coat froze solid with bloodstains, making it impossible to remove.In summer, his wounds were soaked in sweat, causing unbearable pain.Many of his peers attempted escape in groups. Those captured were beheaded by the Wei River, their blood staining the waters crimson. The convicts were either executed or died in captivity. After death, they were buried in mass graves measuring dozens of zhang square on the back mountain. Corpses lay piled layer upon layer, tangled haphazardly, shoulder to shoulder, indistinguishable from one another.Each midsummer, flies swarmed and the stench of decay filled the air, making one retch uncontrollably.
Huyan became acquainted with the convicts, only to watch them die one by one. He would then befriend new convicts, who too would perish, in an endless cycle. In the end, he had only one friend left—a carpenter named Hei Lu, a native of Tongbai County in Nanyang Commandery. The county had originally belonged to the State of Wei but was conquered by Qin ten years prior. It was then reorganized into a commandery and county, becoming part of Qin territory.As a native of Wei, Hei Lü would normally have been subject to heavy corvée labor. However, by chance, the Qin king was recruiting craftsmen for tomb construction. Thanks to his skill with plumb lines and squares, Hei Lü was spared. His task was to cut the yellow heartwood from cypress trees here. These pieces would later be stacked one by one during burial to form the outer walls of the coffin chamber, a technique known as "yellow-heart interlocking."As a craftsman, he enjoyed a slightly more comfortable livelihood, which allowed him to frequently assist Hu Yan. Both being strangers in a foreign land, they shared a deep sorrow for their lost homeland and gradually became confidants.Huyan dared not reveal his royal lineage, nor did he wish to speak of his humiliation in the Qin palace. He merely claimed to have been punished for destroying a house and injuring someone. He also inquired about the recent affairs of the Qingqiu Kingdom from the carpenter, but Heilu knew little, so the matter was dropped.One day, gazing at his reflection in the workshop's water vat, he realized that in just two short years, his once seven-foot frame had shrunk to barely six feet. His shoulders slumped, his spine bent, his hands and feet thickened with calluses. His hair and eyebrows had fallen out entirely, and his voice was hoarse and raspy.Seeing this, he knew his days were numbered. He feared he would perish in the ditches before finding a way to escape. Thinking of his parents back home, tears welled up in his eyes.
Heilu, observing from the side, said:
"Convicts need not labor for life. When the Qin King passes away and a new ruler ascends, a general pardon will be granted. I heard this happened twelve years ago when the previous king died. Do not fret. Wait patiently, and heaven will surely protect you."
This was the first time Fox Yan had ever heard of a general amnesty. The spark ignited within his heart, reigniting the cold embers and restoring the vitality that had long since deserted his body.From that day onward, in his dreams, he would sometimes walk the thoroughfares of his homeland, sometimes gallop alongside Feng Wuzheng, and sometimes gaze upon the corpse of Ying Zheng lying dead on the ground—the blade clutched in his own hand. He had prayed day and night for Ying Yiren's swift demise.Never before had he yearned so intensely for anything, yet now he understood the hearts of all who waited: merchants in the marketplace awaiting rising prices, prisoners in their cells counting days until release, farmers in the fields praying for heaven's mercy, fathers outside delivery rooms awaiting the birth of their children.He understood every ounce of their anxiety and trepidation. The only thing he couldn't imagine was the satisfaction and delight that would come when that moment finally arrived.
Another year of grueling endurance passed before the long-awaited news finally arrived from Xianyang—the King of Qin had passed away. An envoy from the capital arrived at the workshop, ascended the high platform, unfurled the imperial edict, and proclaimed to the sea of kneeling Qin officials and convicts below:
"In the fourteenth year, the King passed away. His posthumous title is Zhuangxiang. Crown Prince Ying Zheng ascends the throne as ruler. A general amnesty is granted to all criminals. Upon the burial of the late King, the convicts here shall be restored to commoner status."
Like all the convicts, Hu Yan burst into tears. But as he wept, laughter welled up within him. Finally, he had to cover his face with his sleeve, pretending to wipe away tears, lest he laugh out loud.
According to Zhou rites, the coffin of a deceased feudal lord must remain undisturbed for five months. During this period, ritual officials prepared the burial implements while craftsmen completed the final touches on the tomb.Five months later, Hu Yan watched the funeral procession slowly approach from Xianyang. It stretched for miles from front to rear. At its very center was a hearse bearing the coffin of the King of Qin, drawn by a hundred or so slaves as it moved forward at a measured pace.flanked by civil and military officials, guarded by soldiers from the three armies. All wore mourning robes, each clutching a spirit banner. Attendants carried offerings, while carts transported burial goods—turning the yellow earth into a sea of white.
The tomb itself was a vast earthen pit, with four burial passages leading to the surface from the northeast, southeast, southwest, and northwest. Within the underground palace at the bottom of the pit, rafters and pillars were arranged. Slabs would later be laid across them to form the palace ceiling. Stone walls were built around the perimeter, with stone doors opened at each burial passage for entry and exit.At the center of the underground palace stood the coffin chamber. Its walls, constructed using the intricate technique of overlapping wooden planks, were already erected. Once the coffin was placed inside, craftsmen would seal the chamber.Viewed from above, three large bronze tripods stood positioned directly north of the coffin chamber. To the south lay a table bearing several scrolls of bamboo slips. On either side were arranged stone chimes, weapons, armor, pottery and lacquerware vessels, gold and jade ornaments, along with ceremonial robes and crowns. The central space remained vacant, awaiting the coffin of the Qin King.
Upon the procession's arrival, guards encircled the tomb. Offerings were placed upon the altar, and ritual masters offered prayers to the heavens. Several shamanic priests then ascended the altar, clad in black robes, holding torches, performing the ritual steps of Yu, and uttering wolf-like howls. Attendants carrying burial goods entered the underground palace from all four directions, arranging them according to the layout of the Qin palace.
The final funeral did not employ lowly convicts; instead, Fox Yan and the others knelt in a dense circle around the coffin. He watched as the winch lifted the casket from the ground, then slowly moved it directly above the burial chamber before lowering it gently.One squad of Qin soldiers operated the winch while another beat out a drum rhythm. The former moved left or right, tightening or loosening the ropes in sync with the latter. Next, stone slabs were hoisted and gently lowered onto the beams.Thus the underground palace sealed shut, like a box within a box. The inner coffin chamber was a box within a box, and the coffin itself was a box within a box within a box. Within that innermost chamber lay Ying Yiren. Fox Yan imagined the withered corpse and couldn't help but curve his lips upward.The old villain had dreamed of conquering all six states in his lifetime, yet heaven did not grant his wishes—was this not fate? This tomb should have been several times grander than what now stands. Rumor had it rivers and seas of mercury would flow within, the heavens above and the earth below depicted in detail. Now, with no time left for construction, it could only be hastily finished. Thankfully so—how many more convicts would have been worked to death otherwise? He could only hate that he couldn't take his enemy's life with his own hands.
At that moment, a dog was led onto the altar. He had seen it before in the Qin palace—it was Ying Yiren's beloved pet. A sacrificial official drew his knife, and with a single stroke, the dog let out a pitiful cry, struggled a few times, then lay still.Next came dozens of fine horses accompanying the procession. Soldiers whipped them into a chariot pit beside the tomb, large enough to hold four horses side by side. After driving in four horses, the soldiers severed their necks, then drove in another four. By the time all the horses lay dead in the pit, the blood inside rose halfway up a chariot wheel.
Like the other convicts, Fox Yan kept his head bowed, unable to watch. The stench of blood in the air made him dizzy and nauseous. He wanted to cover his nose and mouth, but the Qin soldiers stood right beside him. At that moment, Qin palace eunuchs dressed in ceremonial robes knelt in three rows below the altar. Each held a wine goblet, trembling incessantly as they faced the tomb.The ritual master commanded them to drink it all in one gulp, yet none raised their cups. Instead, they wailed uncontrollably, their agonized cries echoing through the valley. Seeing this, the Qin soldiers pried open their mouths and forced the wine down their throats, causing them to collapse lifelessly to the ground.
Human sacrifice...
Huyan never imagined his final day as a convict would be so agonizing. His earlier joy had vanished completely, replaced by the echoing wails and screams of the human sacrifices.After the eunuchs died, it was the civil and military officials. After the officials died, it was the women of the harem. Those poisoned were carried aside, placed into coffins by carpenters, then each had their lips pried open. A burial jade was placed on their tongues before the coffin lids were nailed shut. They were sent into the underground palace to accompany the late king.
Only a handful of sacrificial victims remained. Just as Huyu sighed in relief, his arms were suddenly seized. Several Qin soldiers dragged him to the last group of victims, forcing him to kneel. Instantly grasping the situation, he struggled and shouted:
"I am merely a convict! Why must I be buried alive?"
He struggled relentlessly, yet could not prevent the poisoned wine from being forced into his mouth. At that moment, the ritual officer approached him and said:
"Prince Hu, forgive me. By imperial decree, since the late king cherished you above all, you must follow him into the underworld."
By then, Qin soldiers had seized his head, forcing the bronze cup to his lips. He twisted his neck desperately, trying to avoid the rim of the deadly vessel. His jaws clenched shut, yet he managed to ask in a guttural voice:
"From whom does this decree come? The late king or the new one? Tell a dying man!"
"Naturally, it is the new king."
Only now did Hu Yan realize his life had always been in another's hands—these past years merely a prolongation of his existence. Bound by law, the Qin King and his son had been unable to kill him before. Now, under the guise of sacrificial burial, nothing stood in their way. How bitter it was that he was still building tombs for that old villain even as he faced death... A heart-wrenching wail erupted from his chest:
"Ying Zheng, you scoundrel! Even as a vengeful spirit, Hu Yan will kill you..."
The pungent wine had already been forced down his throat, silencing his voice. The last sound he heard was the clatter of the cup hitting the ground. Then darkness engulfed his vision, severing all ties to this world.
...
By the time he reached the halfway point of the letter, Feng Wuzheng's tears had already dried up. His hands kept rubbing the wooden box he held close to his chest, which contained Fox Yan's severed head. Just then, the small boat jolted as it bumped against the shore. He knew it was time to disembark. Where would this journey take him next? He rolled up the bamboo slips, wiped away his tears, cradled the wooden box, and stepped out of the cabin.