Three days later, Feng Wuzheng traveled the road home. The carriage was the same carriage, the attendants the same attendants. Ying Zheng was dead, yet within Qin's borders, the waters remained still. No mourning ceremonies marked the capital, and the counties and prefectures along the return route showed no signs of change. Were it not for the lingering ache in the golden wound on his left shoulder, he might have doubted it all was but a dream.He recalled his teacher Deng Lingzi's divination, that whirlwind that had twisted an ominous omen into one of uncertain fortune—truly the will of heaven, for he was not destined to die within the Qin palace. He also remembered the prophecy heard in Xianyang: "When the Hu enter, the Qin perish." Suddenly he understood—it was not "Hu" (barbarians) but "Hu" (foxes). The people of Qin were the "Qin" people, for the character "Qin" itself resembled two hands pounding grain. When the fox-like Yan entered, Ying Zheng perished—a fate predetermined in the unseen.
Today the sun bathed the land in golden light, the sky a washed-blue expanse. At the horizon, peaks draped in cloud shadows; before him, myriad pine trees crowned with snow. Below, Mirror Lake rippled gently as two lines of pelicans rose; in the valley, slender bamboo swayed softly, echoing with the distant calls of deer. Amidst this picturesque scene, the carriage crossed the Qin border and entered the lands of the Wind Kingdom.Wu Zheng gazed into the distance, his heart filled with profound emotion. He had never dared hope for a safe return, yet here he stood upon his homeland once more. Soon, the Qin army would retreat, the feudal lords cease their wars, and the people would live in peace and contentment. After paying his respects to his mother and grandmother, he sought only to live out his remaining days as an ordinary nobleman.The immense peril he had faced now seemed suddenly clear. What merit did Feng Wuzheng possess to deserve such divine favor? Immersed in the splendid landscapes of his homeland, the burdens weighing on his heart dissolved, leaving only boundless joy.
Only one matter still tormented him: his wrongful accusation against his father. His father had clearly assured him of a safe journey, yet he had refused to believe it. Not only had he suspected his father of plotting to kill him through Qin agents, but he had even cast doubt on his mother's death, blaming his father. What a disobedient son he had been!Amidst his shame and remorse, he suddenly recalled the precious sword he had received from Ying Zheng. Placing it across his knees, he examined it closely.The blade was pure white throughout, its patterns undulating like flowing water. Engraved upon it in seal script were the characters "Tai'a"—none other than the legendary Tai'a sword mentioned in Li Si's Memorial Against Expelling Guests! Wuzheng was overjoyed. He resolved to present this treasure to his father, hoping it might somewhat atone for his disobedience.
Just then, the light streaming into the carriage dimmed significantly. The carriage and horses had entered a deep gorge. Towering stone walls rose dozens of feet high on either side, blocking all but a sliver of sunlight. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground, tangled with thickets of wild brush. The muddy terrain after the snowfall made it difficult for the horses to move forward. The carriage wheels spun twice before slipping back once.Wu Zheng recognized this place. They had passed through here two months earlier when entering Qin, though the return journey seemed particularly arduous.
Wu Zheng set his sword aside and peered out the window.The moment the curtain lifted, he found himself staring directly at a crossbow mechanism. Mounted atop a high rock, the crossbowman remained concealed behind it, squinting as he took aim. Instantly, an arrow pierced the carriage window. Its tail feathers grazed Feng Wuzheng's right cheek as the arrowhead embedded itself firmly into the rear wall of the carriage.He threw himself to the floor, narrowly avoiding several more bolts. When he looked up again, the front wall was already riddled with iron tips piercing through. Outside the carriage, the clanging of swords clashing echoed from all sides as two factions engaged in fierce combat.
I've just narrowly escaped death and returned with a victory under my belt—who dares seek my life now?
He clenched his jaw, his blood boiling, driving away the winter chill entirely. Arrows pierced the carriage walls like a dense forest of snake fangs, each one closer than the last.It seemed the guards couldn't hold them off. He had to fight his way out; waiting for death was not an option. Gripping the Ta'ao sword, he leapt suddenly from the carriage, landing in muddy water where the snow had melted. Before he could assess his surroundings, a blade swung at him—then a second, then a third. With his back to the carriage for cover against stray arrows, he was now pinned by three warriors from the front.He parried one, only for another to strike; blocked the second, and the third followed. The slightest delay in his hands or eyes would have meant broken bones and torn tendons. As he struggled to fend them off on both sides, on the verge of defeat, the three warriors suddenly lost all strength. They collapsed forward limply, like solidified fat splashed with hot soup, tumbling down in an instant.
When Wuzheng finally caught his breath, he realized the bodies sprawled before him were the Feng Kingdom guards who had escorted him all along—each pierced through the chest by arrows. Looking up, he saw shadowy figures in the distance. Every protruding rock in the valley held an armored soldier, some bearing bows and crossbows, others gripping spears and halberds, all staring at him like statues of clay. Just as bewilderment filled him, a voice echoed through the valley:
"Congratulations on your triumphant return, young master!"
The words bounced back and forth between the sheer cliffs, like river water slowing after crashing against the banks. By the time they reached Wuzheng's ears, they had become indistinct, like the murmurings of a dream. Then, one of the figures leapt down from the rocks and strode toward him.The sun still hung low over the mountain peak, its backlight obscuring the figure's features, leaving only a golden-edged silhouette. Wu Zheng felt a strange sensation, as if a wooden carving from his workshop had come to life and was now walking toward him with vivid realism.When they were but a few paces apart, the other's imposing frame blocked the sun behind him. Wuzheng suddenly lunged forward, kneeling before the man. Oblivious to the cold iron beneath him, he wrapped his arms around the man's armor skirt and wept like a child—wept like a puddle of mud, wept like a single tear of pent-up sorrow.
After ten years apart, Master Feng Zhong had reached his seventies, yet he looked almost exactly as Wu Zheng had imagined: shoulders slightly hunched, hair and beard as white as silk, eyes bright as lightning, even the lines on his face matching seven or eight out of ten. After weeping for a while, Wu Zheng solemnly bowed three times and said:
"Your humble disciple fled in fear of disaster back then, betraying your trust. Please punish me, Master!"
Feng Zhong helped him up and said:
"Let bygones be bygones. Your assassination attempt on the Qin king preserved the Feng clan's ancestral line. Such a feat is unparalleled in history. It is this old servant who owes you gratitude, not the other way around."
"Where have you been these past ten years? How did you learn of my assassination attempt?"
"After you departed, I returned to my homeland to plead my case, resigned my post, and retired to my hometown. My Feng clan has been enfeoffed in Feng territory for generations—would I lack a place to call home? As for the assassination attempt, though the prince's actions were secretive, they could not be hidden from me. I only regret that the news came too late—by the time I learned of it, you had already crossed the border."
"So it was all within the teacher's control. But why?" Wuzheng pointed at the corpses littering the battlefield after the great battle, most of whom were the guards who had journeyed with him.
Feng Zhong sighed, seemingly reluctant to speak, yet duty compelled him:
"This was the King's command. Had the young master perished within the Qin palace, it would have been that. But should he have survived by some fluke, the guards were ordered to assassinate him en route. Daring not act within Qin territory, they struck the moment we entered Feng's borders."
"What do you mean, Master? How can you speak of 'surviving by some chance'? Was it not agreed between Father and Prince Ying Xi of Qin that after assassinating the Qin ruler, I would be returned to Feng? Otherwise, how could I have left the Qin palace?"
Seeing Wuzheng's disbelief, Feng Zhong, though still reluctant, could only reveal the truth:
"The King and Ying Xi agreed that after the mission succeeded, you would be killed to silence you. Unexpectedly, Ying Xi regarded you as the Heaven-ordained one and refused to commit such a vile act for Feng. Fearing divine retribution, he let you return."
"Master, do you have proof to back this claim?"
"I stake my life on it."
Wuzheng clenched his fists until veins bulged, eyes narrowed, teeth grinding so hard they felt like steel. "I never coveted the throne! Why this relentless persecution?" He added, "If so, my return to the capital means certain death..."
"This old servant has led the private troops of my fiefdom to await you here for precisely this reason. Please flee with me to another kingdom. We can plan our next steps later. It is far better than walking into a trap."
Just moments ago, Wuzheng had been filled with remorse for wrongly accusing his father and joy at the prospect of reconciling with him. Now, he drew his sword, roared in fury, and cleaved a boulder in the mountainside in two.
Feng Zhong urged, "Prince, please restrain your anger for now. We must depart swiftly. Delay invites danger."
But Wuzheng could not leave. One matter remained unresolved: "This disciple must return to pay respects to my mother and grandmother. Even if it means certain death, I shall have no regrets. Should I survive, I shall obey your every command without question."
Feng Zhong fell silent upon hearing this, knowing persuasion was futile. He paced back and forth in the valley, his hands clasped behind his back like iron rings, occasionally raising his head to sigh deeply at the heavens, then lowering it again to ponder silently.Wu Zheng watched his teacher's troubled, conflicted expression and recalled their conversation before fleeing Qin years ago. How many times over the years had he silently vowed: If I ever see my teacher again in this lifetime, I will obey his every word—yet here he was again today.
"Since that is the case, please guard yourself carefully, young master. This old servant shall protect you from the shadows."
With that, Feng Zhong removed his close-fitting soft armor and handed it to Wuzheng. He then whispered a few words of entrustment that sent shivers down his spine.
"Your words, Master, I shall remember. Yet though Ying Zheng is dead, the Qin troops have not withdrawn. We've not even heard of funeral rites. Why is this? When I tell Father that the great task is accomplished, he may not believe me. What then?"
"Ying Xi usurped the throne, sparking palace intrigue. That's why news is sealed and the death announcement suppressed. Simply report the truth to His Majesty. He will surely send envoys to Guanzhong to investigate. Then he will believe."
"All my guards are dead. How can I return alone to the capital and explain this to my father?"
"Claim you encountered bandits en route. Whether the King believes you or not, it matters little. Do you understand my meaning, young master?"
Wuzheng nodded grimly. Feng Zhong unhitched one of the four horses pulling the carriage. Wuzheng entrusted his treasured sword, Tai'e, to his teacher for safekeeping. Then he mounted his horse, bid farewell to his teacher, and rode off. After traveling only a few dozen paces, Wuzheng suddenly remembered something. He reined his horse back and asked:
"Master, do you know where the Yu people's egg sent to Qin originated?"
"In the lands of Yunnan and Guizhou flows a great river. The Feathered People dwelled upstream, while our kingdom lay downstream. When Qin troops attacked the Feathered People, that egg fell into the river and was swallowed by a great fish. That fish was then caught by the Feng people, and thus it passed into the hands of Lady Tian."
His long-held mystery finally solved, he spurred his horse toward the capital.
...
Three days later, Feng Wuzheng stood once more at the foot of the hundred-step staircase leading to the Wind Palace's main hall. Since parting with Feng Zhong, the skies had remained overcast, as if brewing a heavy snowfall. Now, the Wind God, swollen with mist and clouds, blew a mighty breath toward the south; the Rain God, tilting his great jar askew, let a few strands of waterfall drift down to the mortal world.Wuzheng waited quietly for his name to be called. The surrounding pavilions and halls embraced him, yet he was a man who had scaled the pinnacle of the Qin Palace and emerged unscathed. He couldn't help but look down upon all the palaces and towers of the world. Those two months of relentless striving, forgetting death, had made him more steady and worldly than a lifetime of evading danger and clinging to life. At this moment, a thought, bold to the point of defiance, crossed his mind: he would play a trick on his father shortly.
"Deposed Crown Prince Feng Wuzheng requests an audience!" The eunuch's sudden voice echoed from the hall.
He stepped forward, feeling each stair beneath his feet as if they belonged to him rather than his father—for had he not risked his life to assassinate Qin, this Feng Palace would have become Ying Zheng's retreat sooner or later. Thus, this time he did not silently count the steps. Upon crossing the ninety-fifth stair, he met his father's piercing gaze head-on, causing the other to flinch and avert his eyes first.Standing at the hall's entrance, the eunuch Hu discerned the tension in the air. He bowed deeply and murmured, "I presume the young master has succeeded. This old servant offers congratulations." Wuzheng gave no reply, merely glancing at him as though observing a skeleton.
"Feng Wuzheng pays his respects to His Majesty." He knelt before the throne, his nose once again catching the scent of qi wood.
"Has the assassination of Qin been accomplished? Is Ying Zheng dead? Will the Qin troops retreat?" The King of Feng's three questions were like hooks, impatiently seeking answers from his mouth.Observing the questioner, he saw the man craning his neck, eyes bulging, his entire body leaning forward as if pulled by a rope. The comical expression reminded Wuzheng of his own childhood: he too had once stood behind the Eastern Palace railings, craning his neck toward the main hall, yearning to catch sight of his father's approaching figure—a wish never fulfilled.Now the roles were reversed. A cold smile touched his lips, like a merchant holding rare goods—the more eager the buyer, the more he relished holding out for a higher price. He replied with feigned alarm:
"Your humble servant is incompetent. I failed to trigger the mechanism. I beg Your Majesty to punish me!"
The Wind King seemed not to have heard clearly, craning his neck forward once more:
"Failed to trigger the mechanism? Ying Zheng is not dead?"
"When Ying Zheng opened the wooden box, this son should have pressed the button to fire the arrow and kill him. Yet my heart froze, my body trembled, and I could not move. Thus I missed the opportunity. I beg Your Majesty's forgiveness!"
King Feng recoiled as if stung by a venomous insect, then roared like a raging beast from his throne:
"Useless! A cowardly, spineless failure! You should have died in Qin! How dare you return before me?"
King Feng leapt to his feet, drawing his sword from his waist as he stormed toward Wuzheng, cursing incessantly: "What use are you to me? What use are you to the Kingdom of Feng?"
As his father's blade drew near, Wuzheng cried out, "Let me pay my respects at Mother's tomb before I die!" Then he threw himself headfirst to the floor, prostrating himself completely. The sword's wind sliced through his hair, its tip brushing his ear—his life now hung entirely on his father's wrist. Suddenly, the eunuch outside the hall heard the commotion clearly. Rushing inside, he stammered urgently:
"Your Majesty, please calm your anger. Now that Qin has accepted our surrender, their defenses must be lax. Why not order Prince Wuzheng to lead a surprise attack? If he fails, both crimes shall be punished together." Having spoken, he shot a meaningful glance at the King of Feng.
King Feng, still panting heavily, suddenly grasped the meaning. The fury faded from his face as the sword slid back into its scabbard. He declared:
"Very well. You may pay your respects to your mother tomorrow. Afterward, come to court to receive the military insignia. Lead the troops to the border to resist Qin. Atonement through service."
Wu Zheng scrambled to his feet, muttered a thank you, then shuffled backward out of the hall, his body hunched like a shrimp the entire time, shoulders level with his waist, hands clasped above his head. Stepping outside the Wind Palace, the exhilaration surged within him like a raging sea—the sweetness of revenge, the satisfaction of controlling his own destiny, the triumph of toying with others at his whim. It was a sensation he tasted for the very first time in his life.Ever since learning his father sought to kill him, this thought had taken root—this was his way of striking back. Admittedly, this petty trick amounted to little. The King of Feng would fret for a fortnight at most before learning Ying Zheng was dead. Yet, bound by filial duty and the order of sovereign and subject, what else could he do?After tomorrow's memorial service for his mother, he would leave the Kingdom of Feng, never to return. Today's prank could be seen as a final act of defiance before his eternal farewell. Once the Qin army withdrew, would the King of Feng appreciate his eldest son's great service? Would he feel even a hint of regret for his actions? By then, Feng Wuzheng would be thousands of miles away, with no way to know.
That night, Feng Wuzheng slept soundly in his lodgings, drifting unknowingly into a dream. He found himself within the Qin Imperial Ancestral Temple, using a tabletop to shield Fox Yan's head from Ying Zheng. The latter loosened his grip, and two sharp arrows instantly embedded themselves into the wood. Ying Zheng had survived. He laughed, laughed, laughed unceasingly, then took Wuzheng's hand and led him out.The temple doors swung open. Outside, instead of moonlight, blinding daylight flooded his eyes. When he finally adjusted to the glare, his vision filled with nothing but azure sky—he was lying on his back on the yellow earth of Guanzhong, ropes tight around his limbs and neck, tethered to five horses.A sharp crack of leather sent him soaring from the ground into the air, every joint in his body cracking loudly...
He bolted upright, his heart pounding like a storm in his chest. Sweat drenched his body and face, soaking the bedding as if he'd been caught in a downpour. Gasping for air, he scanned his surroundings: the inn remained unchanged, the hour deep in the night. The winter moon hung high in the sky, pouring down a milky white light.
It was only a dream...
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sensed something watching him. It was a white fox, its eyes burning like torches. The thick, vibrant mane around its neck couldn't hide the scar encircling its neck. It lay motionless on the cabinet, not moving or making a sound, just staring at him quietly.Wu Zheng struggled to his feet, wanting to stroke its soft, glossy fur. But with every step he took toward it, the fox retreated a little further, only to turn back and continue watching him. Gradually, the blue fox's expression shifted from disappointment and anger to sorrow and grief. The light in its eyes dimmed and faded, and two clear tears slid down its cheeks.
He jolted awake again, his heart still pounding wildly, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. The surroundings remained unchanged—the same lodge, the same silver moon—but the blue fox was nowhere to be seen.
Could this be... a dream within a dream?
A phrase echoed relentlessly in his mind like a drumbeat:
"When seated opposite the King of Qin, and the trap is revealed, you must not hesitate. Hesitation will ruin the plan and cost you your life—a double loss! Ying Zheng is cunning and deceitful; beware, my brother."
The letter Fox Yan had left behind was now burned, yet its words remained carved into his heart like chiseled stone. This dream had brought them back to him, and he buried his face in the silk quilt, weeping aloud.
I have been deceived by Ying Zheng after all. To have considered sparing his life—it nearly caused Hu Yan's death in vain. How can I ever face him in the afterlife?
He did not sleep again. By dawn, when he climbed into the carriage, his eyes were swollen like soaked beans. As the wheels rolled north toward the royal tombs nestled in the mountains, he sat inside the carriage, replaying in his mind how Ying Zheng had sworn on his deathbed, how he had vowed to mend his ways, begging only for his life to be spared.At what moment had his resolve begun to waver, nearly allowing him to believe? Perhaps when Ying Zheng promised his safe return to the kingdom, or when a sudden pang of pain shot through the spot where their shoulders touched— —he had ultimately succumbed to the desire to live.People never change. He wouldn't, and neither would Ying Zheng. So, had Fox Yan not fired that arrow in the twilight, he would have been deceived by Ying Zheng's sweet words, just like in a dream, and shattered to pieces.
The carriage rolled from the mountain dirt path onto a stone-paved avenue, its jolts softening. Wuzheng knew they had entered the imperial mausoleum grounds and lifted the curtain to peer outside:Stone warrior statues stood guard on either side of the avenue. Straight ahead, the road culminated in a towering mound. Its sun-facing southern slope had been cleared of trees, reserved as the burial ground for the Wind King. Queen Consort Tian would be interred there as well.His mother, demoted to a concubine in life, naturally had no place there. So Wu Zheng strained his eyes eastward. When the obstructing trees finally receded, a solitary mound emerged in the open field—low and humble, like a mosquito bite swollen on the earth.The mound stood utterly alone, unprotected before or behind, isolated on either side—a stark reflection of his mother's life. He thought he had cried dry, yet tears welled up once more.
Moments later, Wuzheng approached the mound and saw only five simple characters on the tombstone: "Tomb of Lady Han." He recalled his mother's final words to him outside the city gates on the day he left as a hostage: "After my son departs, I shall live in perpetual mourning, praying to heaven for your blessings."
Time and again, I faced mortal peril, yet each time I escaped unscathed—all through the power of your prayers. Yet here I stand, unable to serve you in life, nor avenge your wrongs in death. How can I bear to face heaven and earth?
He bowed his head before the tombstone again and again until his back ached unbearably. Then he simply lay down, surrendering his entire body to the earth.The winter air of Fengguo mingled with the earthy scent of soil filled his nostrils. He seemed to fall asleep, lying prone like a boulder, yet within his mind, a stage was erected. Memories of his mother became performers taking the stage, allowing him to relive each moment as if time itself had reversed.The actors vied for attention on the stage, but what ultimately captured his undivided attention was a childhood memory.
That year, he was a five-year-old boy. Spring had just arrived, the air still crisp with chill. Clutching the hem of his mother Lady Han's robe, he came to pay respects at his grandmother Lady Wei's palace on the Cold Food Festival. In ancient times, people drilled wood to make fire, renewing the fire seed annually. Thus, a day was chosen to extinguish the old fire and welcome the new.With the old fire extinguished and the new fire yet to arrive, cooking ceased—hence the name Cold Food Festival. As mother and son stepped into the Moonlight Hall, his grandmother heard the patter of his tiny feet and came out to greet him. She swept him into her arms, showering his face with kisses until his brow furrowed in discomfort, though he couldn't break free.Her grandmother's face radiated tenderness, while her mother beside her beamed with joy. Upon entering the inner chamber, the grandmother retrieved a bundle from the sunlight. Layer after layer of black oilcloth was peeled back—five layers in total—revealing crystal-clear, jade-like pastries within. The grandmother said:
"My dear child is still young and shouldn't eat cold foods, lest he suffer stomach pains. These pastries were sent to this old woman by the State of Wei the day before yesterday. Come, my child, try one."
Wuzheng held one in his hand—it was still warm. Biting into it, honey oozed from the soft rice crust, sweet beyond compare.Grandmother was originally from the State of Wei. Whenever gifts arrived from her homeland, she always set aside a portion for her eldest grandson. The two women chatted about household matters. Mother, with fingers as slender as green onions, pinched the tangerine and peeled it bit by bit. The discarded peel was perfectly smooth, its four segments symmetrical and more beautiful than when wrapped around the fruit.Little Wuzheng sat in his grandmother's lap, nibbling on pastries while watching his mother's gentle, graceful movements and serene expression. Gradually, he became mesmerized. He couldn't understand why his father would neglect such a beautiful mother.
Just then, his grandmother asked him if anything interesting had happened lately. He replied:
In the Eastern Palace, there is a wall where successive crown princes have carved their words. Your son has seen Father's inscription—the one signed "Zhao" below—and Grandfather's is there too. Once your son grows a few more inches tall enough to reach it, he will carve his own there as well.
He was too busy eating the pastry in his hand to notice the shifting expressions of the two beside him. He continued:
"This honey is truly sweet. When I become king, I'll plant countless flowers across the land, so the bees can make their home in Feng Kingdom too."
Finally, he picked up one last piece, leaving the rest for his mother and grandmother. But when he looked up, he saw both of them suddenly lower their eyes and fall silent, as if someone dreaming a beautiful dream had been abruptly awakened, their earlier joy vanishing instantly.Just as Little Wuzheng pondered what he might have said wrong, palace attendants outside the hall announced the arrival of the King of Feng. Before he could rise from his grandmother's lap, she abruptly knocked the pastry from his hand and shoved him aside. He stumbled, and just as his mother reached to catch him, the King of Feng strode swiftly into the chamber.The two women hurriedly bowed in reverence, leaving the young boy standing there, utterly bewildered. Facing his father's furious glare, crumbs of pastry still clinging to his hands, tears welled up in his eyes.
...
His thoughts drifted back thirty years, oblivious to the world around him that had been turned upside down.He felt as if he had reverted to a fetus, sleeping soundly within his mother's womb. All external sounds were blocked out, leaving only a humming, rumbling din reaching his ears. Powerful arrows flew toward him, their points clattering against the soft armor beneath his robes, yet he remained oblivious, still kneeling before the stone stele.Later, dust swirled around him, choking him until his senses finally snapped back to the present. Rising to his feet, he discovered a man kneeling beside him—a young man in his early twenties, bound with ropes and cords. Wu Zheng studied him, suddenly recognizing his father's features, and gasped in horror. The man began prostrating himself, pleading:
"Brother, save me! Brother, save me!"
Only then did Wuzheng notice the hundred warriors standing around them, each in armor embroidered with the Feng clan crest, all stained with blood. In the distant woods, corpses lay strewn about, a scene of utter devastation after a fierce battle. Master Feng Zhong stood behind the bound man and declared:
"Crown Prince Feng Ke ambushed our forces, intending to assassinate the young master. He has been captured here."
Just days ago in the valley, Feng Zhong had secretly warned him of potential danger during the memorial rites for their mother. Yet he never imagined his own brother would be the one to strike. Feng Ke crawled on his knees to Wu Zheng's side, gazing up at him like a dog pleading with its master. His pale, narrow face was etched with the desperate plea: "Spare my life."
"Brother, save me! I was acting on Father's orders, just as you did when you assassinated the Qin prince—I had no choice."
Wu Zheng turned to Feng Zhong. His teacher offered no rebuttal, his expression as definitive as an imperial seal stamped upon a decree—irrefutable proof.
He addressed his younger brother: "If Father did this for no one else, then for whom? How can you utter such words of evasion and shirking responsibility?"
Feng Ke had no reply, only lowering his head in silence. Wuzheng pressed further:
"Was it also Father who, years ago, used Lady Han's letter as a pretext to send me the phoenix egg disguised as a jade disc?"
"Yes, yes!"
"And the prophecies spread throughout Xianyang City—were those also Father's doing?"
"Yes, yes! All were Father's orders. We had nothing to do with it!"
"Then... sending envoys to persuade Father to wage war against Qin, intending to provoke the Qin King into killing me—was that also Father's doing?"
Feng Ke was rendered speechless, unable to respond. Feng Zhong snorted. Feng Ke recoiled as if scalded, his neck jerking back abruptly. Wuzheng picked up an arrow from the ground beneath his feet. Its sharp iron tip had curled from the impact—had his teacher not intervened, he would have perished beneath a hail of arrows. There was nothing more to ask. With the rites for his mother concluded, there was no reason to linger in the Kingdom of Feng.He walked toward his teacher's escort, who would guide him to safety in another kingdom. After taking only a few steps, he heard Feng Ke shouting behind him:
"Brother! Save me! Brother Wang! They're going to kill me!"
Wuzheng's footsteps halted briefly before resuming. The die was cast; he could not save Feng Ke. As he walked on, the shouts echoed again from behind:
"Feng Zhong intends to lure you to his fiefdom to raise an army and rebel! I am the current Grand..."
The words abruptly ended, like a scroll cut in half, leaving mountains and rivers severed midstream.Wu Zheng spun around violently. Feng Ke's head lay on the ground. He closed his eyes tightly, unable to bear the sight. When he opened them again, the body had been moved elsewhere, leaving only a pool of blood where it had fallen. He lunged toward Feng Zhong in a few swift strides, each word a hammer blow to his teacher:
"What Feng Ke said—is it the truth?"
Feng Zhong's face flushed with shame as he closed his eyes and remained silent.
"Had I followed you into the valley two days ago, would I now be branded a rebel?"
Feng Zhong remained silent, pacing back and forth in frustration.
"Why? Why on earth is this happening?"
"Your kindness is too great, young master. If I were to speak plainly, would you truly heed my words? That day, you promised that after honoring my mother, all matters would be left to my discretion. Have you forgotten?"
"Treason is a grave crime—how can it be treated lightly?"
"In the Shang Dynasty, when Emperor Taija indulged in debauchery and tyranny, Yi Yin exiled him to Tong Palace. The world hailed Yi Yin as a sage. Now, with our sovereign acting unjustly, I seek to restore order for the sake of the state—this is not rebellion. Since ascending the throne, the king has pursued scheming and intrigue, neglecting virtuous governance. He frames ministers and unjustly executes loyal officials.My son Feng Buyi, holding the office of Sima and commanding military power, was targeted by Feng Ke and his mother. They conspired to replace him with their own confidant, repeatedly spreading slanderous accusations. The king, to my horror, believed these lies and had my son unjustly executed. This grievance must be avenged."
Wuzheng was stunned to hear of his teacher's profound grief over losing his son, momentarily at a loss for words. Feng Zhong suppressed his anger and continued:
"The young master is loyal, righteous, filial, and kind. He has twice served the state with distinction, risking his life countless times. Yet the sovereign could not tolerate him. Right and wrong will be judged by the people. Once news of the Qin king's death reaches the realm, the people will surely turn to the young master, not to Your Majesty. This old servant is willing to give his life to assist the young master in ascending the throne. Do not betray the earnest hearts of the people of Feng."
The scene from ten years prior seemed to replay before his eyes: that day, his teacher had earnestly urged him to borrow Qin troops to return home and seize the throne, only to be met with his stern refusal. They had argued fiercely, and the next day, he had fled secretly. Since then, he had often pondered: had he heeded his teacher then, where would he be now? Would he be a king ruling from the south? Or would he have perished in defeat?Today, heaven had once again placed him at this crossroads, and his choice remained unchanged:
"A son's life is a gift from his father. If his father commands him to die, how dare he harbor resentment? When Emperor Shun's parents and brothers repeatedly provoked him, seeking to kill him, Shun fled when danger arose, yet returned afterward. His heart held no bitterness; he served them as before, never compromising the way of filial piety and fraternal duty.Though I cannot compare to Emperor Shun, how could I dare cause chaos? This matter absolutely cannot be done!"
He strode toward his horse and leapt onto the saddle. Just as he was about to crack his whip, Feng Zhong seized the reins and recounted an ancient tale. It struck like thunder cracking the sky, shattering Wu Zheng's thirty-five-year-long reverie.