Thirty-four summers ago, in the Moonlight Hall of the Wind Palace, an old man lay moaning in agony upon his sickbed:
"Ming... my son..."
His exhalations far outnumbered his inhalations. His chest rose and fell like a bellows, each word a struggle, broken apart by heavy gasps.
Five days prior, the Wind Kingdom's eldest son, Crown Prince Feng Ming, had fallen ill and died suddenly before ascending the throne.Upon hearing the news, the old King Feng collapsed, seized by madness. When revived, he was delirious, limbs rigid. His condition worsened daily until now—drooling uncontrollably, eyes unfocused, like a dying candle whose flame flickered on the brink of extinction.
Queen Dowager Hou sat slumped on the bed's edge, her face hidden in a handkerchief. Yet only muffled sobs could be heard—no tears stained the cloth. With her eldest son newly lost and her husband nearing death, she had long since wept dry her tears. Her thoughts now dwelled elsewhere. Several veteran ministers stood in formation below the dais. One of them spoke:
"His Majesty's days are numbered. We must swiftly designate an heir. Prince Feng Zhao, the second son born to the Queen Consort, should be established as successor. He currently oversees military affairs in the northeast. We beseech Your Majesty to issue an edict at once, summoning him back to the capital to preside over the funeral rites and prepare for his accession."
Another stepped forward:
"Not so. The ruler has an eldest son, Feng Bolǐ. Though born to a concubine, he has guarded the northwest frontier for years, resisting Qin forces and achieving repeated military successes. Moreover, being the eldest, he is steady and experienced, seemingly more capable than Prince Zhao. His ascension would benefit the state."
"You deserve execution! Since ancient times, succession has followed the legitimate line, not the eldest son. This is the ancestral law and ritual, upheld for eight hundred years since the time of Duke Zhou. How dare you abandon it now? Deposing the legitimate heir to install a son of a concubine invites disaster. The ruler must not heed such counsel!"
The nobles immediately split into two factions, their voices clamoring in heated debate within the hall.How could the sovereign hear anything? Lady Wei, however, felt as if a million ants were crawling over her heart. Since the Crown Prince's death, this very scene had played out countless times in her mind, every minister's words and expression fitting perfectly into place. Feng Bolai, the eldest son of a concubine, had spent years cultivating connections among the court officials. Even when the Crown Prince was alive, she had guarded against him with caution; how much more so now?Whenever she thought of that dark, brooding face, it was as if she saw a bear that had hibernated all winter, finally emerging from its den to hunt down the plump elk that was the throne. She bitterly regretted her past decisions. People had long advised her to strike first and eliminate the threat, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she had only asked the king to send the princes far away to the borderlands.After all, how could she have foreseen the Crown Prince's untimely death? With matters having reached this point, her second son, Feng Zhao, must ascend the throne—not only for her son's sake, but also for her own future prosperity and glory. Fortunately, her husband's favor remained, and she still had his support to rely on.
"Ministers, cease your debate. His Majesty shall decide," the Queen declared. She then lowered her gaze to her husband. "Your Majesty, if you wish to name the eldest son of a concubine, Feng Bolü, as heir, simply nod your head."
The King remained motionless.
"If you wish to name the legitimate second son, Feng Zhao, as heir, nod your head."
This time, Lady Wei clasped her husband's hand tightly as she spoke. King Feng understood. Summoning every ounce of strength in his body, he struggled to move his head up and down on the bamboo pillow. Though the motion was slight, it was clear enough for all the officials to see. Lady Wei's heart, which had been hanging in suspense, settled halfway. She addressed the court ministers:
"His Majesty decrees: Feng Zhao shall be crowned Crown Prince."
The chief scribe immediately drafted the imperial decree, preparing two identical copies. One was sent to the court historian for archiving, while the other was bound with hemp rope into a scroll, its knot sealed with sealing clay. Lady Wei retrieved the imperial seal from her husband's waistband and pressed it firmly into the clay. An envoy was then dispatched to deliver it to Feng Zhao at the northeastern frontier.After the dust settled and the officials departed, only the King and Queen remained in the hall. The midsummer heat was already stifling, and the commotion had left the King's forehead beaded with sweat. Lady Wei served him medicinal broth while gently wiping his brow. As she wiped away the large droplets, smaller ones formed, and she continued until the King's breathing evened and he closed his eyes in peaceful sleep.Seeing her husband sleep deeply, Lady Wei slid the sweat-soaked cloth from his forehead to cover his eyes. She then quietly retrieved a fresh scroll of imperial decree and carefully removed the imperial seal from the King's waistband, pressing it onto the sealing wax. This scroll bore identical wording to the previous two, differing only in the name—where "Feng Zhao" had been written, now stood "Feng Bolai."She then entered the rear hall, where a man in his forties awaited. He was Lady Wei's younger brother, Wei Sheng. The King cherished both his wife and brother, thus appointing him as a high minister to serve within the Kingdom of Feng.
Wei Sheng bowed and asked, "Sister, is everything settled?"
Lady Wei gestured toward the imperial edict with a trembling hand, the bamboo slips rustling softly. After setting it down, she clutched her right wrist tightly with her left hand, which eased the tremor slightly. Yet her heart still pounded like a baby crying incessantly, utterly unsoothed by its mother's coaxing.She wished she could reach into her chest and grasp it with her own hands. This woman had never concealed anything from her husband in her entire life, let alone committed the grave crime of forging an imperial edict. But now, she had no choice. Wei Sheng was overjoyed upon hearing this:
"I shall dispatch my retainers immediately to deliver the imperial edict to Prince Bo Li."
"Your retainers are all rustic louts, ignorant of court etiquette. Won't that arouse his suspicion? Just instruct them to fulfill their duties without causing trouble. As for delivering the edict, I have trusted eunuchs at my disposal."
"Very well. Feng Bolai is stationed in the northwest. To return to the capital, he must travel the official road. There is a bridge spanning the river along that route—an ideal spot for an ambush. I shall station my retainers there; it is foolproof. But... my nephew Zhao'er is in the northeast and will also travel south along the official road. How will my retainers distinguish between the two?"
Lady Wei pondered for a moment, then rose and retrieved a brocaded robe for infants from a cabinet. She said:
"This was hand-sewn by me for my grandson Feng Wuzheng. I shall have someone deliver it to Zhao'er, instructing him to hang it before his carriage as a curtain during the journey. Tell your retainers: the carriage bearing this robe belongs to Zhao'er, while the one without belongs to Feng Bolai."
The robe was pure white as snow, embroidered with a golden sun on the left and a silver moon on the right. A border of pearls and jade adorned its edges, while a circle of agate encircled the collar. Lady Wei blew out the candle. In the darkness, the garment glowed with its own light, bright as countless stars, dazzling and captivating.
Wei Sheng exclaimed, "Brilliant! With this as proof, there can be no mistake. I shall dispatch my retainers at once!" He spun around as if eager to release an arrow from its string, yet the hand gripping the bowstring hesitated. Lady Wei called him back, saying:
"Wait... Is there truly no other way? Though Young Master Bo Li is not my biological son, we share a mother-son bond. While he harbors ambitions for the throne, he has yet to act upon them. Once Zhao becomes king, he will likely abandon those thoughts.In my view, perhaps... perhaps it needn't come to this?" Since her husband's critical illness, she felt like a broken string of beads—her thoughts scattered chaotically across the floor, picking up one only to lose another, torn between choices, caught between a rock and a hard place.Lately, nightmares plagued her nights, and even in daylight, her mind would drift, forever replaying the day she entered the Feng Palace: a three-year-old child, timidly bowing before her, uttering the words, "I greet my stepmother." Yesterday, a sudden impulse seized her, driving her to secretly watch the palace cooks slaughter cattle and sheep—merely to witness the death she never saw in her daily life.
"Alas! We've dissected this matter countless times—why ask again, Sister? Feng Bolü commands the vital border city. After the King's demise, he will inevitably lead his forces to storm the capital. The situation will be perilous! Even if we could suppress him, it would require massive armies and years of struggle. Now, by luring him out with a ruse, a handful of assassins would suffice. Our past indecision has brought today's troubles;hesitation now invites retribution tomorrow. Gongshu Duan's rebellion against Duke Zhuang of Zheng, Prince Dai's expulsion of King Xiang of Zhou—these are lessons from history. Better to act decisively than regret it too late." She added, "When Zhao ascends the throne, you shall be Empress Dowager. Would you truly risk solitary confinement in the cold palace for a mere Feng Bolǐ?"
Her fingers finally released the bowstring, and the arrow shot forth like a flying arrow. Lady Wei composed herself, then summoned two eunuchs in their late teens into the hall. She handed the brocaded robe to one of them:
"Go northeast and inform Prince Zhao that the imperial decree transferring the throne has been dispatched by official courier and will arrive shortly. Tell him to pack his belongings and prepare to depart. Also, deliver this item to him and instruct him to hang it on the front curtain of his carriage."
She then handed the forged edict to the other:
"You shall journey northwest to deliver the edict to Prince Bo Li."
No sooner had the assignments been given than the latter eunuch suddenly threw himself prostrate on the ground, pleading:
"Your humble servant begs not to deliver the message to Prince Bo Li. I implore the Lady to send me instead to Prince Zhao."
"Why?"
"This humble servant is coarse and foolish. I once offended Prince Zhao. I wish to use this opportunity to express my remorse and repentance. Otherwise, once Prince Zhao ascends the throne, I fear I will no longer be able to serve Your Majesty!"
The eunuch bowed repeatedly, weeping bitterly. The Queen favored this eunuch for his loyalty and sharp wit, relying on him for all matters. Seeing him thus, her heart softened. She said:
"It was a trifling matter. Young Master Zhao has likely forgotten it long ago. Why trouble yourself with such worries? Very well. I shall grant you this favor."
The queen signaled with her eyes, and the two eunuchs exchanged the items in their hands.
"You two must ride at full speed. It must be delivered by this time tomorrow. Is that clear?"
The two men shouted their assent and vanished in a flash.
From dawn until noon, Lady Wei had secured the crown prince, forged the imperial edict, instructed her younger brother, and dispatched trusted confidants. The taut string within her finally slackened, and the fervor in her blood abruptly receded, leaving her vision hazy. She leaned against the armrest and collapsed onto the bamboo mat.
Three days later, on the northeastern border of the Feng Kingdom, two young nobles sat facing each other, sharing a drink.
"My eldest brother has traveled far and endured the rigors of the journey. Let your third brother offer the first toast!" The speaker, Prince Zhao, had just turned twenty. Though not peerlessly outstanding, he possessed a refined and handsome appearance, his brow radiating a spirit of valor.
"Not far at all. From the northwest to here took but two days' journey. Come, let me offer you a cup, younger brother!" Feng Bolǐ, eight years Feng Zhao's senior, bore a certain resemblance in both build and features. Yet years of commanding troops had darkened his skin and honed his frame into lean, sinewy strength.
The brothers raised their cups and drained them in one gulp. As Feng Bolin set his cup down, he suddenly covered his face and wept, tears streaming down like rain. Feng Zhao hurriedly asked:
"Why are you weeping, elder brother?"
"You were destined to be Crown Prince, yet died young. Our father's illness grows grave—his recovery seems unlikely. Once he passes, you shall return to the capital to ascend the throne, leaving me alone in the northern frontier. I have lost three dear ones in succession—how could I not grieve? My journey here was solely to see you one last time!"
"How can you say such a thing, Your Royal Highness? Though I am the legitimate son, you are the eldest. Moreover, you have defended the frontier, repeatedly defeating the mighty Qin, your merits well-known. Our father will surely name you as heir."
"Since ancient times, the eldest son is not necessarily the heir—this is the established order. Moreover, my younger brother has also guarded this frontier for many years. Are his merits any less than mine?"
"My duties here are merely ceremonial. How could they compare to your great achievements in resisting Qin?"
"Ah! Even so, your birth mother was but a palace maid who gained favor with our father and was elevated to consort. As the saying goes, a son's status follows his mother's rank. With such humble origins, how could I ever aspire to the throne? I merely seek to fulfill my duty and serve the state faithfully. I only pray that after you ascend, you will often summon me back to the capital to ease the longing between brothers."
After speaking, Bo Li wept again, his sobs growing ever more wretched. Feng Zhao could not console him, and his own longing for father and elder brother stirred, bringing tears to his own eyes. Until the age of five, Feng Bo Li had been the sole son of the sovereign, showered with unparalleled affection. Even then, there had been counsel to designate him heir, but ultimately, his mother's lowly status prevented it.Later, Lady Wei entered the palace and bore a legitimate son. Mother and son plummeted from the clouds to the depths. Then, the king ordered all princes to leave the capital and guard the frontiers, separating him from his birth mother for years. The depth of this sorrow was beyond Feng Zhao's comprehension.Now that the succession was vacant, Feng Zhao remained outwardly modest though inwardly confident. Seeing his elder brother's profound grief stirred a wave of compassion within him. Their mother had often suggested his brother harbored ambitions for the throne, but witnessing his genuine sorrow now, Feng Zhao realized her fears had been unfounded.
Feng Zhao said, "Brother, do not grieve. Let us make a pact: whoever ascends the throne shall summon the other back to the capital to serve as an official. Thus, we shall see each other day and night. What say you?"
Upon hearing these words, Bo Li's face finally cleared like clouds parting to reveal sunshine, and a smile spread across his features:
"I think of the old capital and my birth mother day and night. If my third brother truly means this, he must not forget it when the time comes."
The brothers clinked cups and exchanged tales of their youth, their conversation flowing freely. By late afternoon, Bo Li took his leave, reminding his brother once more not to forget their promise. No sooner had he departed than an imperial messenger arrived from the capital. Feng Zhao opened the decree to find himself named Crown Prince. Overjoyed, he hurried to share the news with his wife.
Within the inner quarters, a young woman in the bloom of youth played with her one-year-old son while gazing out the window. Seeing her husband return, she stepped forward and asked:
"Has Young Master Bo Li left?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't he see our son?"
"Ah, he started crying the moment he saw me. He cried so much I forgot."
"Uncle and nephew are the closest of kin. You shouldn't be so careless." A hint of reproach flashed across her face. She was the legitimate daughter of the Han family, named Han Yijian. Though her beauty was only above average, it couldn't hide her graceful poise, calmness, and dignified demeanor.When Feng Zhao was on a diplomatic mission to Korea, among all the princesses, he could only see her. The more she wore simple, understated attire, the more she resembled a budding flower—reserved and serene—the more deeply he fell for her. After returning home, disregarding his mother's objections due to Korea's weakness, he pleaded with his father to arrange the marriage. Thus, Yijian became his wife in the Feng Kingdom.
"Ah, I understand. I shall recall my eldest brother to the capital soon. Uncle and nephew will have ample opportunity to meet." As he spoke, he walked to the bedside, lifted his son, and teased him, "Who is this? Prince Feng Wuzheng of Feng Kingdom—the future sovereign." Then he turned to his wife and said, "And who is this? The Queen of Feng Kingdom—the future empress dowager."
Yijian shot Feng Zhao a sidelong glance:
"Did the envoy proclaim you the crown prince?"
Feng Zhao gave a sharp nod, searching his wife's face for the joy of having married well. But Yijian offered none.
"Are you not pleased, my lady?"
"When I married you, I thought being the second son meant you wouldn't have a harem. But now you're the Crown Prince. Once you ascend the throne, who knows how many concubines you'll take? What's there to be happy about?"
Feng Zhao flashed a flattering smile: "I won't take any. Not a single one. Only you. And you'll bear me seven or eight children."
Yijian shot him a reproachful glance. "Nonsense! How could I bear so many? Besides, I'm not one to be jealous. I simply don't want the rift between legitimate and concubine-born children passed down to our son's generation."
"I have my own plans," Feng Zhao declared, his voice thick with the weight of impending power. He swept his wife into his arms. "While our son is still an infant, let us reconsider naming him 'Wuzheng' (No Strife). 'Wuzheng' might be tolerable, but pairing it with 'Rang' (Yield) only amplifies the impression of weakness.I've commanded troops here and earned some military merit, yet court ministers still find me lacking in martial prowess. If my son lacks this too, how can he ever rule? Why not name him 'Bijiang'—meaning 'to expand the borders'? What do you think?"
"You know full well you can't sway me, so why ask? Our son shall be named 'Wuzheng'. Let him live quietly, free from contention, avoiding calamity and misfortune, ensuring a lifetime of peace."
Feng Zhao surrendered at last: "Enough, enough. By the way, I'll set out for the capital first thing tomorrow morning. The journey will require day and night travel. You and our son cannot endure such hardship, so stay here for now. Within ten days, I'll send a carriage to fetch you."
"Very well. When you return to the capital, please convey my regards to my parents."
That night, the couple rested together, inseparable as glue and lacquer. At dawn the next day, Feng Zhao mounted his carriage and set off for the capital.
Beneath a wooden bridge a hundred li away, assassins lay in ambush. One night, a carriage bearing the banner of the Prince of Feng passed by. The front curtain reflected moonlight, gleaming like a mirror. Remembering their orders, the assassins silently let it pass.The following day, a procession of horsemen approached. Finding no insignia, the assassins used ropes to snap the wooden beams—already sawed with hidden gaps—causing the bridge to collapse instantly. The carriage plunged into the river. The assassins shot the occupants dead with crossbows, severed their heads, and delivered them to the Feng Palace that very night.
Within the Wind Palace, Lady Wei, ever since dispatching the two eunuchs, had waited with a heart aflame, her nerves frayed. She calculated the distance, estimated the time, convinced the mission must have concluded within the past day or two. Yet the news failed to arrive, driving her to endless, frantic speculation.A slow fire seemed to burn within her chest, scorching her organs. Unable to sit or stand still, she paced from left to right, then right to left. The weather was sweltering, the palace doors thrown wide open. The night sky was as black as the bottom of a cauldron, pierced only by a small hole through which the moon peered.Court attendants and guards had all been dismissed. The hall was brightly lit, white spirit flags hung from the pillars, fluttering like ghostly apparitions. A breeze carried the dampness from the pond, making the painted candles resist extinction, their flames hissing and whistling. Lady Wei had scarcely rested these past days, each time waking abruptly after only a short while.Rumor had it that when longing reached its peak, dreams might come. She yearned to hear even a single word from her deceased eldest son, or to receive word of her second son Feng Zhao's safety. But there was nothing.Had she known waiting would be this agonizing, she never would have heeded her brother's urging. Dawn—she would wait only until dawn. If there was still no result by then, she would have her brother recall the assassin, pretending nothing had ever happened—she couldn't endure another day.
The horizon was already tinged with pale red. Lady Wei glanced absently toward the palace doors and suddenly saw a wooden box suspended in midair. Looking closer, she realized it was a warrior clad in black, standing motionless, his entire form receding into the night, only the object he held faintly visible.Lady Wei's heart dropped with a thud. Moments later, the wooden box rested upon the Queen's desk. Her hand rested on it, turning crimson before she could even open it. She normally could not bear the sight of such objects, yet the slow fire within her chest continued its torment. Compared to this agonizing restlessness, a touch of terror was nothing.
"Bo Li, do not blame your stepmother. I will have Zhao'er bury you with the honors befitting an heir apparent..."
The lid slid open slowly, revealing the head of Feng Zhao within.
Outside the hall, Feng Bolai listened silently as Lady Wei wailed with heart-rending grief. Her cries began shrill as a whistle, then turned mournful as an owl's hoot, finally fading into the faint moans of a dying patient—breath alone, no sound.Like a bat lapping up blood, he wasted not a drop. Only when the wails nearly ceased did he step into the hall. Lady Wei lay nearly unconscious, her entire body sprawled across the table, her face pressed against the wooden coffin lid.
"Mother."
These two words were spoken in the softest whisper, drifting toward Lady Wei and massaging her slumped shoulders. In her daze, the Queen heard someone calling her name. Through tear-filled eyes veiled by heavy fog, she glimpsed her son's figure and thought the long-sought dream of his plea had finally arrived. Summoning her strength, she forced herself to rise and took two steps forward. Suddenly, the double vision in her field of sight merged into one, and her memory reconnected with the present moment.
"It was you! You killed your own brother? You beast!"
"Compared to your stepmother's forged edict plotting against the legitimate heir, this is no less heinous." Feng Bolai drew the counterfeit decree from his robe. With a flick of his right hand, the queen's crimes unfolded in a rustling cascade. "Is there a duplicate of this edict on file with the court historians?"
The palace seemed to have turned into a cold palace prematurely. Lady Wei, whose body had been burning red with hatred, suddenly plunged into an ice cave. The cold made her tremble like a sieve, her lips pressed shut like a mountain pass, locking in the grinding of her teeth.
"Mother, look upon this!" Bo Li's left hand held a scroll of fur, a cascade of snow-white fur that shimmered like the sun and moon, sparkling with jewels.
"So you colluded with palace eunuchs! The King will not spare you!" The first object filled her with dread, the second with fury—she vowed to tear that ungrateful, treacherous eunuch named Hu to pieces.
"Ever since Hu offended Feng Zhao, he secretly corresponded with me. For years, you never suspected a thing. This brocade robe and the forged imperial edict left the palace and reached me within a single day. At first, I hesitated, doubting its authenticity. So I rode two days without rest to visit my third brother. There, I witnessed imperial envoys arriving to proclaim the true edict. Only then did I realize you truly intended to commit this act that defies all human decency.So I abandoned my post, hung the token on my carriage, and raced back to the capital. My third brother was slain by assassins sent by the Lady—do not blame me for that. It was the embroidered robe, hand-stitched by the Lady herself, that saved my life. I owe her my very existence!"
Lady Wei, consumed by rage and humiliation, drew the bronze sword from its rack and swung it at Feng Bolai. If she killed him, she would avenge her son; if he killed her, he would bear the guilt of murdering his own mother.Yet Bolai did not strike back. He merely dodged left and right, wearing down her strength—he needed her cooperation to seize the throne, and this matter required her willing consent to proceed smoothly. As she raised the sword for the final blow, mournful wails suddenly echoed from the northern bedchamber. His heart settled. He stood firm, no longer retreating, waiting directly for the blade to cleave toward his crown.True to his expectation, the blade suddenly veered, slicing past him before drifting to the floor like a willow catkin. A smile touched his lips as Lady Wei knelt, clutching his waist and crying out, "Zhao'er, Zhao'er, my Zhao'er."
Ten days later, the new king, Feng Zhao, ascended the throne. Lady Wei became the Empress Dowager, Han Yijian the Queen, and the infant Feng Wuzheng the Crown Prince. The ministers uttered not a word, merely cheering and bowing in celebration. Prince Bo Li was ambushed by bandits on the official road and met an unfortunate death. He was buried alongside the late king in the ancestral tomb.
...
The horizon was already tinged with a faint red. King Feng Zhao glanced absently toward the palace gates and suddenly saw a wooden box suspended midair. Looking closer, he realized it was a warrior clad in black robes standing motionless, his entire form receding into the night, only the object he held in his hands faintly visible.The King's heart dropped with a thud. Since dispatching Prince Feng Ke to the ancestral tomb yesterday, he had received no report and feared something had gone awry. Moments later, the wooden box rested upon the King's desk. Queen Tian, beside him, was overjoyed. Both placed their hands upon it, staining them crimson before it was even opened.
"Wuzheng, do not blame your uncle. I shall bury you with the honors befitting an heir apparent..."
The lid slowly lifted, revealing the head of Feng Ke within.
Outside the hall, Feng Wuzheng listened silently as Lady Tian wailed with heart-rending grief. Grand Tutor Feng Zhong, bound by the Empress Dowager's reputation, had concealed this past for over thirty years. Only yesterday, desperate to prevent Wuzheng's flight to another kingdom, had he revealed the truth.Afterward, Wuzheng knelt for a long time before the tombs of Prince Bolai and his grandmother, Lady Wei. Everything from his childhood to the present suddenly made sense: why his father had never favored him; why his grandmother had doted solely on him yet feared his father; why his mother had taught him endurance yet never discussed what would happen after he ascended the throne.Now clad in armor and wielding the Ta'ao sword, he stood guard with other guards outside the rear hall of the Feng Palace.
The wails within the hall gradually faded to gasps, followed by the furious roar of the Wind King:
"Someone! Someone! Where are the guards?"
Outside the palace stood a row of stone statues, unmoved by the roaring winds that swept past.Wu Zheng stood among them. He drew a deep breath, letting the dampness of his homeland soak his throat, then gazed toward a palace emerging from the night sky in the southeast: The Palace of a Thousand Attendants lay empty and lonely tonight. Its current master was dead, and its former master stood here. The wall engraved with the words of princes past would soon bear the mark of a new one.He removed his helmet, lifted his armor, and used the inner robe to wipe the dew from his sword hilt. Then he walked toward the palace gates, where he encountered the Wind King stepping out to search for guards.As their eyes met, the elder man first spent a fleeting moment grasping the situation: his nephew was still alive, the palace guards were no longer under his command, and court officials must be plotting rebellion. Another instant passed as he expected the younger man to show his usual timidity, to avert his gaze—but this person was not the Feng Wuzheng he knew.Then, in another instant, his gaze swept over the sword hilt at the younger man's waist, while his own hands were empty. The final instant was shattered by Wuzheng's cry of "Uncle!" The Wind King spun abruptly, dashing toward the sword rack beside the throne. His toes pointed forward, his neck twisted backward, his gray beard fluttering, unable to keep pace with his jaw.Truthfully, Wuzheng had no intention of pursuing him. He closed the palace doors, bolted them shut, and when he turned back, Feng Zhao—or Feng Bolai—already had his sword pointed at him.
"It was you! You killed your own brother? You beast!"
Wu Zheng responded with the sharp hiss of his sword leaving its scabbard, and instantly, the two were locked in combat. Bo Li wielded a great sword seven feet long—three sword handles longer than Wu Zheng's—its broad blade gleaming crimson in the candlelight. Held high in the Wind King's hand, it came crashing down.Wu Zheng raised his blade horizontally above his hair bun, deliberately meeting the enemy's edge. The moment the swords clashed, he redirected the force downward, causing the longer blade to slip aside, its tip plunging over half an inch into the floorboards. Bolai attempted to sweep downward with the momentum, but Wu Zheng kicked his wrist gripping the hilt. Before Bolai could swing again, Wu Zheng had already retreated several paces.Thus, the Wind King fragmented his attack into countless strikes—left thrusts, right jabs, upward chops, downward cleaves. Wu Zheng remained purely defensive, gripping his sword at his navel. His upper arm remained still while his forearm and wrist rotated, drawing the blade in a circle before him. He parried the opponent's blade like an umbrella, leaving not a single opening.Though the Wind King attacked fiercely, most blows relied on the sword's weight rather than strength in his grip—after all, nearing sixty, his vigor was no longer that of youth.
Another sword slashed down from above. Wuzheng had anticipated it long before, knowing he could parry even if it came twice as fast. He held his blade horizontally in readiness. But suddenly, the Wind King shifted his power from his hands to his lower body. As the sword blade naturally dropped, he kicked out with his right foot, striking Wuzheng squarely in the chest.His back collided with the pillar with a dull thud. His chest felt like a leather bag struck from both sides, the air inside forced out, leaving him nearly suffocating for an instant. He gasped for breath, only to see Bo Li's blade already upon him. Like a stone tumbling down a mountain, he rolled across the ground, narrowly avoiding the blade's edge several times.These thrusts were as swift as thunderbolts, revealing that his uncle had been feigning weakness all along. Fortunately, the elder's strength was like a shallow pond—quick to overflow, quick to dry up. Bo Li's power gradually waned, and his movements slowed.Wuzheng seized the moment, about to roll to his feet, when Lady Tian hurled a square bronze wine vessel from the throne's direction, striking his wounded left shoulder. The heavy bronze vessel, half-filled with wine, sent excruciating pain through half his body, crippling his waist and abdomen.The Wind King roared, wielding his long sword like a great axe. Dragging it along the ground, he lunged forward in quick, short steps toward Wuzheng, who was struggling to rise. Then, swinging the blade from behind to the front, he traced a crescent moon through the air and brought it crashing down with all his might.Wuzheng hesitated a split second in pain. By the time he looked up, it was too late to dodge. Yet blocking with his sword was futile—the blow carried enough force to shatter metal and stone, certain to shatter his internal organs.Closing his eyes, he heard a clang as the seven-foot blade snapped three feet short—Wuzheng had placed the wine vessel before him. The sword sank over two inches deep, then snapped clean in two like brittle candy.
This strike drained Feng Bolai's strength. Panting heavily, he stared at the broken stump of his sword, then at Wuzheng rising with his blade. He feigned a lunge forward but actually spun around the pillar to flee. Yet before he could take five steps, he slipped on the spilled wine from the jar and fell. Wuzheng followed with another strike. Feng Wang felt warmth surge through his calf, knowing instantly he was crippled.Lady Tian, witnessing this, hurled more cups and plates, but Wu Zheng deflected them effortlessly. With nothing left on the table to throw, she curled up beside the throne, shrieking at the top of her lungs.
King Feng leaned against a pillar and sat up, laughing and coughing in turn. Between coughs, he declared:
"You learned fine martial arts from the Mo School, yet why could you not kill Ying Zheng? You are utterly useless—cowardly since childhood, failing to assassinate the Qin ruler. What face do you have to seek revenge on me?"
"Do you recognize this sword?" Wuzheng twisted the blade, revealing the characters "Tai'a."
"The Sword of the Qin King... Could it be you killed Ying Zheng?"
"Indeed. This sword was meant for you, but today it shall take your life!"
King Feng suddenly understood, letting out a bitter laugh before saying:
"I never imagined you'd learn such treachery... Well, well! A ruler of a nation should indeed be thus. I suspect Feng Zhong must be your accomplice—is that correct? After my death, you shall claim the title of King of Feng, while he holds the seal of Prime Minister. Each gets what they desire—how splendid!"
"You think I'm after the throne? I wouldn't stoop to coveting something that breeds fratricide!"
"Oh... then it must be to avenge your father."
"It was Grandmother who first plotted against you—it was not your fault."
"Then it must be for your own vengeance. You were never favored by this sovereign from childhood—no wonder you harbored resentment..."
"You killed my mother!"
Wuzheng's thunderous shout startled the other two.He flung open the palace doors. Bound and gagged, a man in his fifties knelt outside the threshold—his eyebrows knitted together, his chin clean-shaven. Wuzheng grabbed him by the collar, lifting him as though he were boneless pulp. With a series of "Ow!" cries, he dragged the man into the hall, then tossed him down. The limp form sprawled before Bo Li.Two days prior, after Wu Zheng had returned to the palace to report, the eunuch had been suddenly dispatched by the Wind King to Qin. His mission was to question Prince Xi about why Ying Zheng had not perished. Unfortunately, before reaching the border, he had been captured by Feng Zhong, hence his current state of bondage.
Feng Wuzheng interrogated the eunuch Hu: "Thirty-four years ago, why did you betray the late Empress Dowager Lady Wei?"
"Prince Zhao accused this old servant of treachery and rebuked me. Fearing his reign would bring misfortune upon me, I..." The eunuch's voice trembled along with his body, like the indistinct buzzing of a mosquito drifting near and far on a summer night.The eunuch attempted to kowtow again, but his bound arms prevented him from supporting himself. He fell face-first into the mud.
"Why did the late King's consort, Lady Han, die? Speak truthfully!"
King Feng nudged the eunuch Hu with his still-functional foot. Hu responded with a sidelong glance, his eyes pleading, "Your Majesty, please forgive me," before speaking:
"Months before Lady Tian was crowned Queen, Your Majesty ordered me to deliver poisoned wine to Lady Han's palace. She seemed to sense danger, praying before the shrine for His Highness. The wine was steeped in the venom of black hornets—its effects felt no pain..."
Wuzheng's heart ached with sorrow, yet hearing his mother had suffered no agony brought a sliver of comfort amid his overwhelming grief. He murmured to himself, "So Mother died from poisoned wine..."
"Er... Not quite. After her prayers, Lady Han declared she had sworn to the Supreme Heavenly Emperor to observe lifelong vegetarianism and devote herself to praying for His Highness. Though the black bee is venomous, she refused to kill any living thing. Thus, she refused the wine and insisted on hanging herself... This old servant was merely following orders! Following orders!"
In an instant, tears poured from Wuzheng like a torrent. He wept uncontrollably, plunging his sword deep into the floor to steady himself. After his sobs subsided, his grief turned to fury. He drew his sword and pressed it against his uncle's chest:
"What more can you say?"
"I am your uncle and the ruler of Feng Kingdom. Do you truly wish to bear the shame of killing your own uncle, of treason and regicide?"
"You should never have been king. You are also the murderer of my mother."
"Ha ha ha! My death won't bring your mother back to life!"
"Nor can she while you live!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Wuzheng unleashed his strength, driving the sword through Feng Bolai's chest and back, pinning him to the pillar where he died instantly. He neither heard Lady Tian's near-death curses nor saw the wet patch beneath the eunuch Hu Ku's crotch as he removed the imperial seal from the dead man's waist before turning and striding out of the hall.
Day had fully broken. The crimson sun rose in the east while a half-moon still hung in the west—an omen of sun and moon sharing the same sky. Feng Wuzheng stood atop a hundred-step staircase, facing a palace garden enclosed by white walls and green tiles that blended harmoniously with the azure sky. Pavilions and towers, cloaked in dew, shimmered with iridescent hues under the sunlight.The palace roofs on either side rose and fell like the heads of young children, tempting one to reach out and stroke them. Below the steps, civil and military officials stood in two ranks. Seeing Wuzheng standing tall before the hall, they chanted in unison:
"We beseech the young master to heed this auspicious sign and ascend the throne as king."
Crossing the threshold, stepping over it, Feng Wuzheng felt as if he had aged ten years. He began descending the steps one by one, his right hand carelessly dragging the sword, his left lazily swinging the imperial seal. He did not look like a vigorous king, but rather an old man whose lamp had burned out and oil exhausted.
Below the steps, officials bowed and danced in rhythm. Feng Zhong stood foremost in the ranks. Wu Zheng bowed deeply to his teacher, saying, "Master, choose a new ruler for the state," before handing over the imperial seal. He then walked through the rows of ministers and nobles, never looking back, heading straight for the palace gates.
The imperial proclamation echoed behind him:
"Prince Wuzheng, for his meritorious service in striking against Qin, is enfeoffed as Lord Ren'an and granted the city of E as his private domain."
On his way out of the city, news of Ying Zheng's death finally reached the capital. Feng Wuzheng was stopped in the street, surrounded by a sea of his hometown elders and common folk. The people cheered that the Qin army had retreated, hailed him as their benefactor, and shouted for him to stay and become king. Yet his horse's hooves still pushed through the crowd and out the city gates.
Upon reaching the outskirts, an old farmer blocked his path. Pointing two fingers at his face without hesitation, the man shouted:
"You are the greatest villain since time began! The four seas were on the verge of unification—a monumental achievement that would have ended war forever and brought a thousand years of peace. Yet you killed the Qin King, severing the path to unity! Now the states will fight endlessly, and we common folk suffer! You have doomed all under heaven. You deserve death—utterly and completely!"
Finishing, he slammed his bamboo staff into the ground, his fury unrelenting. Unable to respond, Feng Wuzheng rode away in silence. Only when the breeze carried the scent of foreign lands did he realize his homeland lay behind him.
Now the world was split in two: Qin to the west, dominating one half; the five states to the east, sharing the other. Feng Wuzheng had derailed the destiny of the Central Plains onto a different track. Whether this course would bring blessing or calamity, the curtain had only just risen.