The bamboo slips left by Fox Yan were spread out once more, and Feng Wuzheng continued reading.
Fox Yan drifted through the void, rising and falling, as if treading waves in a hundred-foot abyss; soaring and sinking, as if riding winds through ten-thousand-mile clouds. His body shot up and plunged down, twisting and tumbling, as if carried by some unseen force, yet his outstretched hand could grasp nothing.Pure blackness surrounded him—blackness when his eyes were open, blackness when they were closed. The sixteen directions merged, the sixty stems and branches became one. East and west blurred, past and present indistinguishable. Vast and boundless, its limits were beyond perception. As he drifted onward, all sensation seemed to fade—no sound reached his ears, no image met his eyes, no feeling touched his body.
A voice called his name. He gazed toward it, seeing only a distant speck of light. As the light grew larger, he realized they were moving toward each other. Gradually, the light revealed the figure of an old man with a white beard and snow-white hair. Just as he was about to make out the man's features, the old man pointed a finger. Instantly, he veered in that direction, drifting farther and farther away from the old man.Moments later, a chessboard-like object appeared before his eyes. Eight pillars stood upon it, supporting a conical hat. As he flew closer, he could slowly discern the undulating patterns and intricate textures on the board. The hat revealed clusters of sparkling spots, varying in size and brightness.
This was Heaven and Earth...
Fox Yan suddenly realized: The chessboard was the earth—its five lakes and four seas, its eight desolate regions and six realms. Mountains soared like palace pillars, rivers crisscrossed like silk threads. The straw hat was the heavens—the Milky Way and the Big Dipper, sun, moon, and stars, the twelve constellations in their proper places, the twenty-eight mansions circling in their orbits.This universe lay shrouded in dark chaos, like a solitary lamp burning in the pitch-black night; or like a moon's reflection mirrored upon boundless waves. He drifted slowly to the very center above the chessboard, seeing all things upon the earth with crystal clarity.At a glance, he saw Kunlun's ruins to the west of the seas—towering ten thousand zhang high, stretching a thousand li wide, shrouded in swirling white clouds, its grandeur awe-inspiring. A river sprang from its right flank, cascading down the peaks. Beginning as a trickle, it swelled into a roaring torrent, flowing through a place of royal auspices before surging eastward once more.This royal aura was enclosed by four great passes: Dasan Pass to the west, Hangu Pass to the east, Wu Pass to the south, and Xiao Pass to the north. The land was called Yong, the kingdom Qin. Though permeated by purple qi, it showed signs of fading and decline. Its celestial constellation was the Well Ghost, its celestial division the Partridge's Head, hanging dimly in the heavens.
Upon closer inspection, the imperial aura was most potent within a city called Xianyang. To the southeast, amidst the open fields, a clamor of voices rose like a roaring sea, and a sea of hats and canopies stretched as far as the eye could see—a scene of bustling prosperity. Floating in the void, Fox Yan surveyed the land from above. He saw people clad in white hemp mourning garments, gathered around an immense, deep grave, surrounded by fluttering spirit banners.Upon the altar, shamans danced in circles, occasionally gazing skyward while chanting incantations. Their eyes met Hu Yan's, as if beseeching his response. Everything below seemed as insignificant as ants, and the more he watched, the more amused and curious he became.Yet then, wails pierced the heavens, reaching his ears— people were forced to drink fermented liquor before collapsing dead on the ground. Coffin after coffin was lowered into the pit, until only one man remained, kneeling on the ground. Two soldiers pinned his arms as they poured wine into his mouth from a bronze goblet. As death approached, the man screamed:
"Ying Zheng, you bastard! Even as a vengeful ghost, Hu Yan will kill you..."
Fox Yan was terrified out of his wits, drenched in sweat, trembling uncontrollably.
I'm dead... I'm dead!
He screamed several times, flailing his limbs wildly in the air like a drowning man. Just as his gasps grew more desperate and his chest felt utterly constricted, he suddenly snapped his eyes open, as if awakening from a deep dream. The chaos of moments before vanished without a trace, leaving only pitch darkness before him. Yet this time, he could discern a slender beam of light, and his senses returned to his body.His breathing began to steady. He realized he was lying flat on his back. Reaching upward, he felt for the ceiling. His arm barely straightened before it touched the rough grain of wood. Exploring the sides, he found the same material, but this time his arm couldn't even extend halfway. There was only an inch of space beyond his body.The crisp scent of wood filled his nostrils. Something lay in his mouth, but before his tongue could discern its shape, a wave of nausea washed over him. His stomach churned violently, threatening to expel its contents.He scrambled on all fours, thrusting and kicking upward with all his might. A series of loud pops and cracks erupted as the barrier above him gave way. Bright light flooded in, forcing him to shut his eyes tightly.
He sat up, grabbing hold of whatever he could find to steady himself. Turning his head to the right, he emptied everything from his stomach.The world spun, dizziness overwhelmed him, bitterness filled his mouth, every joint in his back creaked, and his muscles ached as if torn apart. Struggling, he crawled out of his original position and leaned against something to sit upright. Only then did he remember he had been forced to drink poisoned wine.
Where was this? The underworld?
He looked down at the filthy mess he'd vomited—a black, sticky mass of tiny particles. He recognized it as charcoal powder, common in the carpentry workshops of the royal tomb construction site. The object he'd been holding in his mouth was also there—a piece of burial jade. His thoughts came and went in fits and starts, his head pounding fiercely.
Ah... I'm not dead... But why...
He suddenly realized: it was the carpenter Hei Lu who, under the guise of placing burial jade into his mouth, had slipped charcoal powder down his throat, saving his life.Charcoal could indeed counteract arsenic poisoning—the legend was no mere rumor. The place where he had crawled out was his own coffin, its edges nailed loosely, allowing his escape. Many similar coffins surrounded him, likely containing the buried courtiers and concubines. Thus, this was undoubtedly the underground palace of Ying Yiren.He scanned his surroundings. Stone walls enclosed a space a hundred zhang in length and width, with stone doors sealed shut at each end facing the tomb passage. Eight massive beams, each ten zhang tall, were arranged to support the palace ceiling. At the very center stood a colossal sarcophagus chamber, occupying nearly one-fifth of the underground palace. Around this chamber were miniature replicas of palaces, gardens, and streets, their layout perfectly mirroring the city of Xianyang.
A smile spread across Huiyan's lips. Especially upon seeing the sarcophagus chamber, he couldn't help but clap his hands and burst into laughter. He laughed until he doubled over, gasping for breath, heedless of the growing pain in his stomach from the lingering poisoned wine. His laughter echoed so loudly it made the entire underground palace rumble. In the three years since becoming a convict laborer, he had never laughed so freely and heartily.
Ying Yiren, who would have thought the ways of heaven are constant, bringing you into my hands after death!
This thought eased his pain considerably—the tomb was now his, and he intended to explore it thoroughly. He walked to the wall and took down an oil lamp, its flame fueled by mermaid oil, said to burn for a thousand years. He began his inspection from the ceiling, where gold and jade were inlaid to form celestial patterns. The stars reflected the lamp's light, radiating brilliantly, truly resembling the dazzling Milky Way.Then he examined the surrounding stone walls. From southeast to northwest, bas-reliefs depicted the history of the Qin state from ancient times to the present: from Qin Feizi being enfeoffed in the west by King Xiao of Zhou, to Duke Zhuang of Qin subduing the Western Rong tribes and being granted the title of Minister of the Western Frontier, then receiving the lands of Xiaohan, all the way to conquering Ba-Shu and the Eastern Zhou. Each event was vividly portrayed;The final scenes depict the Qin's conquest of the Three Jin states. Beyond that, the stone walls remain blank—likely left empty to symbolize the unification yet to come.
Don't even think about unifying the realm—your son Ying Zheng can forget about it too. I'll kill him sooner or later!
He seized a great battleaxe from the weapons rack and strode toward the central burial chamber. Passing the miniature Xianyang city on either side, he casually leveled the "marketplace" and "skyscrapers" to the ground. These models were exquisitely crafted—he had witnessed Hei Lu meticulously carving and assembling them, a labor taking years to complete, yet reduced to nothingness in an instant.
The scent of yellow-heart timber wafted toward him as he stood before the coffin chamber, raised his great axe, and swung it down with all his might.The cypress wood was exceptionally hard, clanging like metal against the blade. Fox Yan hacked and chopped relentlessly, and gradually, wood shavings began to fall to the ground. The hollow in the coffin chamber wall grew larger and larger, and a scent of wine and meat wafted out.His stomach reacted before his brain, immediately rumbling loudly. Only then did he remember his gnawing hunger; the earlier vomiting had emptied the meager porridge and wild greens that had once filled his belly.While his arms still had strength, he tossed aside the great axe and pried loose the wooden planks with his hands. Barely managing to crawl inside, he then emerged like a gluttonous beast, scrambling on all fours toward the source of the aroma—where three bronze cauldrons stood, brimming with assorted delicacies.He scooped food into his mouth with his hands, swallowing the stewed meat from one cauldron before grabbing fruits from another. He wolfed it all down without chewing, then lifted the lid of a nearby wine jar. Finding it too heavy to lift, and too impatient to fetch a cup, he simply buried his head inside.A quarter of an hour later, he sat against the great cauldron, catching his breath while stuffing dried meat into his mouth. The thought that offerings meant for the deceased Ying Yiren now filled his belly made him chuckle. The old fool would starve to death!
Yet mid-giggle, his laughter choked into sobs. The exhilaration of resurrection faded, the novelty of exploring the underground palace waned, and the heat from hacking and feasting dissipated. He sat utterly alone, dozens of feet beneath the earth.A cold, damp chill pressed down upon him. The light from the wall lamps barely reached five feet ahead. Silence reigned all around, broken only by the occasional, inexplicable creak of the coffins scattered across the floor. His homeland, his parents, his brothers, and Feng Wuzheng—who had treated him like a brother—were all thousands of miles away now. A sudden chill gripped him, sending a shiver down his spine.
Do you know the profound humiliation Fox Yan endured? Three years as a convict, facing death nine times over? Do you know I now dwell beneath the three springs, consorting with corpses?
A wave of sobbing, a wave of rustling. He wiped his tears with his sleeve and fixed his gaze on the golden coffin at the center. The thought that his enemy lay within instantly transformed his grief into fury. Veins bulged on his temples, and his arms trembled uncontrollably from the rush of blood.He approached the coffin, running his calloused hands over the dragon-and-phoenix patterns on the lid. Heaven had granted him vengeance. He would meet Ying Yiren—face to face, once and for all.
The slab was pushed aside at an angle, and a wave of putrid stench erupted.Ignoring the stench, he reached in with one hand, grabbed the corpse's collar, and yanked it out. The Old Qin King was abruptly relocated from his comfortable tomb to the outside world. His eight-foot frame slammed heavily onto the ground. The pale, dead face was sharply defined in shadow and light, the lips parted from the impact, the throat a gaping black hole.Though now a desiccated corpse, the face still faintly resembled the man seen under the moonlight three years prior. He picked up a bronze hammer from the burial goods and looked down at Ying Yiren, saying:
"Old bastard, did you ever imagine this day?"
Just as the old Qin King was about to be reduced to a pulp, Fox Yan suddenly stopped. A more vicious thought had flashed through his mind.He recalled the rumor—the rumor that Ying Zheng was not Ying Yiren's biological son. He didn't know if it was feasible; such a coincidence seemed improbable. But he had to try—he would seek out a man possessing certain features, one whose physique resembled Ying Yiren's.
Outside the burial chamber, dozens of coffins containing the sacrificial corpses lay half-buried in the earth, forming a protective circle around the Qin King. Recalling the horrors these men had endured before death, and the task he was about to undertake, Fox Yan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.He approached one wooden coffin, his heart torn between dread and reluctance. After a moment's hesitation, he steeled himself and pried it open with an axe. Inside lay a concubine—not the one he sought. He lifted two more lids, revealing a male favorite and a eunuch, neither suitable.After opening over twenty in quick succession, he finally found a physician, but the body was too frail and thin to be of use. Several commanding generals followed, their imposing builds resembling Ying Yiren's, yet lacking that distinctive feature. When he reached the last coffin, he closed his eyes, silently prayed, then exerted force with his hands. Opening his eyes again—still nothing.
How could such a coincidence exist in this world?
He sat on the ground, mocking his own foolish delusions. All the burial coffins lay open, the corpses facing upward, their shoes and socks all removed by Fox Yan. In search of that distinguishing mark, he had meticulously examined every single one.
Since that was the case, he might as well stick to his original plan—it would at least offer some small measure of satisfaction.
As he approached the bronze hammer inside the coffin chamber, the left foot of one corpse in the corner seemed to twitch. He halted and turned to look. The second and third toes of that man were fused together, like a webbed foot—exactly the feature he had been desperately searching for.He took two steps in one stride, stepping closer to examine it carefully. There was no doubt about it—it was indeed a webbed toe. But how had he failed to notice it earlier? Had he been mistaken, his eyes playing tricks on him? He found it hard to believe, utterly perplexed. Then it occurred to him: he had only just returned from the brink of death moments ago, and his head was still splitting with pain. A mistake was hardly surprising.He studied the man again. He wore a helmet and armor, the attire of an imperial guard from the Qin palace. His stature was only slightly shorter than Ying Yiren's—but that hardly mattered. Years later, with flesh and skin long decayed, leaving only bare bones, who could tell the difference? Fox Yan was overjoyed. He never imagined that in the depths of the underworld, heaven itself would lend a helping hand!He hoisted the corpse into the coffin chamber, swapped its garments with Ying Yiren's, then exchanged the coffins.Moments later, Ying Yiren lay clad in imperial guard armor in the burial pit outside the coffin chamber, while the guard rested in the golden coffin adorned with intertwined dragons and phoenixes, wearing the crown and robes of the Qin King.
Webbed toes and peculiar features passed from father to son—if the father possessed them, the son surely did too. Thus, future generations would inevitably conclude Ying Zheng was not Yiren's biological son. Once the coffin lid closed and all was prepared, they awaited only the day when later generations would excavate this tomb. Whether in a hundred or a thousand years, tomb raiders would surely spread this tale to the world.
In the past, Wu Zixu flogged the tomb of King Ling of Chu, yet his punishment fell only upon himself. Now, I have slandered the Ying family father and son for all eternity—how many times over will the retribution fall upon me!
Huyan waited for the thrill of vengeance to surge through him, but what finally washed over him was only a wave of shame. He lowered his gaze to the coffin, his hands once more tracing the gold-lacquered patterns upon it, his jaw clenched tightly against his lips.For three years, he had endlessly plotted the most vicious, cruelest ways to avenge the Qin King and his son—thinking of it while working, while eating, even in his sleep. Now that his greatest wish was fulfilled, his methods surpassing even his darkest schemes, he felt only regret.
I, Hu Yan, have lived an upright life—never stooping to such base deeds!
He wanted to switch them back, but before him lay his own hands—rough as pebbled rock, cracked like dead wood. Those hands had once been as white as snow, as smooth as jade. The scene from that night banquet flashed before him once more. With a start, he withdrew his hands from the coffin lid and stepped out of the burial chamber.
Now, he must escape this gloomy death trap. But the surface lay dozens of feet above him—how could he possibly get out? Each side of the underground palace had a door, all modeled after the gates of Xianyang City. He approached one, seized the bronze ring, and the door creaked open. Behind it lay what had once been a burial passage, but it had been filled in during the burial. Before him now stood a solid earthen wall.He tapped it with his weapon—solid as a rock. Digging his way out was impossible. Just as despair washed over him, a thought flashed through his mind. He frantically searched his sleeves and inner robes, finding nothing. Returning to his coffin, he felt around inside, inch by inch from top to bottom, until he finally picked up a thin, long, flimsy piece from the middle of the bottom plank.Holding it up to the lamp, he saw it was a bamboo slip inscribed with:
"Chisel the south wall, three zhang from the west."
He couldn't help but slap his forehead—he should have realized it sooner. If Heilu couldn't show me the way out, why would he have saved me?He recalled that the southern gate of Xianyang City was called the Gate of Aspiring to the Wise. Looking up, he saw the two characters carved prominently above the gate arch. Measuring out three zhang, he put the bronze hammer from the coffin chamber to use. With a single swing, he broke a large hole in the stone wall. To his surprise, it was hollow inside, with water trickling down steadily.
It was a drainage pipe, concealed within the stone wall!
The clay pipe, fired from pottery clay, stood vertically within the wall, its diameter barely large enough for a person to squeeze through. Its purpose was to channel infiltrating rainwater into the subterranean river, preventing the tomb from flooding. The breach created by Fox Yan was in the middle section; the lower part gaped at him like a giant mouth. He took a deep breath and slowly crawled inside. The clay pipe descended a few feet before turning southward, running horizontally.He inched forward on one knee and one elbow, surrounded by absolute darkness, with no clue where this path ended. Time gradually blurred, so he began counting: one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, one thousand, two thousand, three thousand... By five thousand, the sound of trickling water reached him from ahead—splash, splash—clear and faintly distant.His ears were caressed by this exquisite sound, making him yearn to immediately quench his thirst with the cool, sweet spring water. After a while longer, a faint halo appeared ahead; counting another thousand steps, the halo expanded into a circle of light, its edges edged with moonlight—that must be the end of the pipe.After an unknown span of time, he finally reached it. Peering out the pipe opening, he found himself at the bottom of a well. Its walls were built of stone bricks, with only a circular hole left for the clay pipe—the very spot where his head emerged. Less than a foot below the hole lay the underground river, carrying the trickling stream from the pipe eastward;A wooden bucket floated on the water's surface, bumping against the stone walls with each wave. Looking up, he saw the full moon filling most of the well's opening. He plunged his hands into the rushing current. His body tensed sharply at the touch of the icy river water, then he scooped up a handful, mixed with tears, and drank it down.
Climbing the rope, he finally returned to the world above. The moonlight revealed it was deep into the night. The daytime clamor seemed like a past life; now the wilderness lay deathly silent, broken only by the mournful cries of owls. The northern tomb had become a vast mound of earth, about two li away. The workshop lay leveled to the ground, the thousands of convicts vanished.After the amnesty, they must be reunited with their families now, right? His benefactor, the carpenter Hei Lu from Tongbai County, had likely returned home by now. Escaping Qin territory was Fox Yan's top priority at the moment, but he vowed to journey to Tongbai County in this lifetime to personally thank him for saving his life.He gazed northwestward again. The faint outline of Xianyang City floated above the night sky, with scattered candlelight flickering from the highest point of the royal palace—evidently, Ying Zheng sat enthroned within. He spat contemptuously and set off eastward, his steps carrying him toward home.
From Xianyang to the Qin border lay a thousand-mile journey. With characters tattooed on his face, he feared recognition and thus avoided main roads and cities, choosing only the most remote, untrodden paths. These trails were winding and rugged, overgrown with thickets and haunted by wild beasts.He trekked through mountains and rivers by day, slept on moss and rocks by night, subsisting on insects and wild fruits, drinking morning dew and stream water. After over a month of such hardship, darkness finally engulfed his vision, and he collapsed from starvation amidst the rocks and trees. On the brink of death, he suddenly recalled the day he drank the poisoned wine and soared through that illusory realm.
What was that vast darkness that contained heaven and earth? Who was that elder clad in white whose face remained hidden? Was this the place where souls returned after death? If so, then death would not be a hardship...
Huyan felt utterly exhausted, his eyelids heavy as lead. His body felt light and weightless, as if he were drifting back into that primordial chaos. This time, he truly was dying. So he closed his eyes, let go, and surrendered to it.
But suddenly, his lips and teeth moved. A warm, round pellet was thrust into his mouth. Without needing to swallow, it slid straight down his throat. Instantly, his entire body felt revitalized. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Through the slits of his eyelids, a familiar face appeared. Instantly, his soul fled in terror, and his drowsiness vanished into thin air.The face was mere inches from his own, utterly bloodless, as pale as cold ash. Lips dark purple like a serpent's tongue, eyes like mud balls devoid of whites—it was none other than the Qin Palace guard whose body Hu Yan had stolen. Staring at each other, Hu Yan froze stiff. After a long moment, he managed to utter, trembling:
"Are you a ghost? Have you pursued me here to claim my life and seek vengeance?"
The ghost knelt beside him and spoke in the Qin dialect: "I am a ghost, but I seek no vengeance."
Huyan felt a slight relief wash over him. The gnawing hunger in his stomach had vanished, replaced by a warm, comforting heat spreading through his organs. He asked:
"What did you give me to eat?"
"An inner elixir."
Huyan had heard tales of immortal alchemists practicing qigong and qigong techniques, enabling them to ride clouds and mist, connect with heaven and earth, and visit spirits and gods. They could also refine essence into qi, refine qi into spirit, and refine spirit into emptiness, forming a sacred embryo within their bodies—known as the inner elixir. Yet he had never witnessed it firsthand.
"Do ghosts possess inner elixirs too?"
"All things possess an inner elixir." With that, the ghost rose to its feet. Though standing eight feet tall, it was as light as a willow catkin.
Huyan said, "You pursued me from the underground palace to this place. Instead of blaming me for disturbing your corpse, you used your inner elixir to save me. What is the meaning of this? If you resent the Qin King for sacrificing you in his tomb, then we share a common sorrow."
"Not so. I was of the Ziche clan, a noble house of Qin, serving as commander of the palace guards. I owed the king profound debt, and my burial was voluntary. Yet facing the tomb, terror seized me; as the poisoned wine touched my lips, bitter regret overwhelmed me. Now, dead and separated from my sovereign, I know the promise of reunion in the afterlife is false. How I wish I could undo my choice!What a waste for a man to lose his useful life and die in such a manner! How painful!" He added, "The king's favor from my past life has turned to dust. You have reached the underworld yet returned to the mortal realm—divine aid must be at work. Besides, you seek vengeance; I hold no grudge against you." With that, he bowed his hands in farewell and turned to leave.
Fox Yan hurriedly rose to return the gesture. Hearing mention of "divine beings," he suddenly recalled the old man in the dark chaos and asked:
After your death, did you ever find yourself in an illusory realm where you encountered an elderly man with white hair?
"No."
Fox Yan fell silent. Lowering his head, he suddenly noticed the ghost's left foot lacked webbed toes and gasped in shock:
"Was your left foot born with webbed toes..."
Before he could finish the word "webbed," a bolt of lightning struck. The ghost vanished abruptly, leaving only a desolate mountain and miles of thorny brush before his eyes.
...
The carriage halted at a crossroads just two hundred li from Xianyang. Feng Wuzheng sat inside, the seat opposite him empty. A dull ache throbbed in the wound on his left shoulder as he held the bamboo scroll in his right hand, now nearing its final foot. Since bidding farewell to his teacher Deng Lingzi in Jiangcheng, he and his companions had disembarked and journeyed westward.Now, they awaited another party arriving from the Kingdom of Feng.
He intended to use this time to finish the final passage Fox Yan had left him. After being saved by the spirits, Fox Yan had finally slipped back into the Kingdom of Qingqiu. Yet he dared not enter the palace to see his closest kin. Firstly, his appearance had changed drastically, and he could not bear to cause his parents grief. Secondly, if news reached the Qin Kingdom, Ying Zheng would surely launch an attack.Thus, he hid in the marketplace. Learning that the Qin King had slandered him as a debauched fugitive who had fled in fear of punishment, his rage boiled over. His mother, consumed by longing for her son and convinced he had indeed committed shameful acts, soon passed away in sorrow. Upon hearing this, Fox Yan wept bitterly. Later, he arrived in the Kingdom of Feng, only to discover that Wuzheng was in seclusion in the Kingdom of Chu. Thus, the two were unable to reunite.From then on, he remained in the Kingdom of Feng, yearning only to meet Wuzheng before returning to Qin to kill Ying Zheng with his own hands—a death he would accept without regret. Over the years, he devoted himself daily to mastering swordsmanship and cultivating mystical arts, gradually gaining insight into the forces of yin and yang and the essence of ghostly energies. This was why he had foreseen the ghosts blocking his path earlier, and the gift bestowed upon him was the inner elixir.Half a year ago, upon learning of the Feng King's plot to assassinate Qin, Hu Yan resolved he could wait no longer. Offering his head as sacrifice, he never imagined his final days would be spent alongside Wuzheng. Yet before giving his life, he must repay the life-saving debt to the carpenter Hei Lu. Thus he made a detour through Tongbai County.
Finally, these were the words Fox Yan left for Wuzheng:
"Your humble brother disregarded your wise counsel, thus falling prey to Ying Zheng's treacherous schemes. I suffered profound humiliation and faced death countless times—regrets too late to mend. Now that my earthly affairs are concluded, the task of clearing my name rests entirely upon your shoulders. Yet the path ahead is fraught with peril, and the return journey uncertain. Exercise utmost caution."
My esteemed elder brother, by nature benevolent, could not bear to take human life. Now, acting on our father's command to carry out this assassination, it is not of your own volition. That day at the inn, amidst merry drinking, your humble younger brother tested your resolve through words, comparing the carpenter brothers to us two. Only then did I realize your resolve was indeed not firm.Should you harbor second thoughts along the way, I shall never hold it against you. But when seated opposite the King of Qin, once the trap is sprung, you must not hesitate. A moment's wavering will ruin the mission and cost you your life—a double loss! Beware Ying Zheng's cunning rhetoric; guard against his deception.
The matter of this humble younger brother swapping the corpse of Ying Yiren—only you, esteemed elder brother, know of it in this world. I often reflect on it and find my actions increasingly intolerable. Whether to make this known to the world is entirely up to you to decide.
Since my misfortune befell me, I have often recalled our days together in Qin, fearing we might never meet again in this lifetime. That night of drinking freely at the inn was enough to satisfy a lifetime.
This is our final farewell. Sincerely, Fox Yan.
Feng Wuzheng clenched the bamboo slip so tightly in his hand it nearly snapped. Tears had long since dried in his eyes, replaced by bitter resentment. Why hadn't Fox Yan revealed the truth before their departure? Why keep him in the dark? Why deny him the chance to cherish these final moments?Yet upon reflection, it was true as Fox Yan had said. Given his own temperament, had he known the truth, how could he have allowed him to take his own life? That would have prevented him from avenging his death. This thought filled Wuzheng with self-loathing: indecisive, clinging to life and dreading death—how much more suffering would his nature bring him?
The sound of rumbling wheels and clattering hooves reached his ears from outside.Peering through the window, he saw the approaching procession mirroring his own entry into Qin years ago: soldiers clad in full armor, bearing banners; a four-horse carriage lacquered in deep azure, the color of the Wood Virtue of the Feng Kingdom; and a canopy painted with the sun and moon, symbols of the auspicious deities revered by Feng.The carriage halted, and a man stepped down. He was nearly the same height as Wuzheng, with a face bearing a faint resemblance, clad in the robes of a Feng Kingdom noble. Wuzheng saw him and couldn't help but marvel at his father's ingenious plan. He dismounted, bowed to the man, and said:
"So you are me."
The man returned the bow and replied, "Your Highness jests. Please board."
Thus, the two exchanged their vehicles. Wuzheng boarded the envoy's carriage and set off for Xianyang; the double climbed into the merchant's carriage and returned to the Kingdom of Feng.