Chapter Twenty: Then You Shall Go and Meet the Late Emperor

The Marquis of Sacred Might was dressed with remarkable simplicity. He wore a plain blue robe of coarse cloth, so thin that it could hardly ward off the cold winter of the Eastern Capital. Except for the warm jade at his waist, there was not a single trace of luxury about him. Nothing seemed unusual—until he spoke.

Those who heard his words gradually understood the truth behind the battle years ago. First, the loss of Tong Pass was not as rumored in the streets: that the Marquis had abandoned his post and allowed the Northern Yan army to invade. Rather, he had held the pass for three months before finally succumbing to their assault and retreating. Second, the contents of the late emperor’s deathbed edict were at last revealed to all; it was not as recorded by the historians. According to the Marquis, the emperor had stripped all seventeen princes of their titles, leaving only the ranks conferred upon them in adulthood.

Yet the three youths by Shanglin Park cared little for such matters. The proud bearing of the Marquis, especially his declaration—“I am not wrong, so why should I bend?”—left a deep mark on their hearts.

Across Chang’an Street, the three thousand cavalry of the Tiance Guard, led by the three great generals, made no move. Yesterday, Tiance had already caused a commotion before the Shangguan residence, and memorials impeaching the Tiance Palace were piling up in the Ministry of Rites. Though the emperor had issued no decree on the matter, his displeasure was evident. Should another violent confrontation erupt at Shanglin Park today, the emperor would not tolerate Tiance’s recklessness and severe punishment would surely follow.

Most people in the world choose to act with certainty, siding with the advantage. The wisest choice for Tiance Palace now was not to tear apart the fragile peace. Better to wait for their soldiers to return from the northern frontier before settling accounts with the Shangguan family. Chu Ge thought this, Yang Zixu thought this, and the three generals in the distance thought the same. Thus, at first, Tiance’s cavalry did not directly intervene.

But the Marquis of Sacred Might thought otherwise.

“Does the Marquis plan to stay in the Eastern Capital forever, guarding Tiance Palace for a lifetime?” Shangguan Qing asked coldly.

“Why not?” replied the Marquis calmly.

“But as the guardian of Tong Pass, do you not care for its safety? Should you not defend the peace of Great Tang?”

The Marquis narrowed his eyes, replying coldly, “Tong Pass is my responsibility. What are you worried about?”

“But the late emperor’s edict forbade you from ever leaving Tong Pass. Now you have abandoned your post and entered the Eastern Capital in secret. Marquis, are you committing treason?” Shangguan Qing’s voice was heavy.

Most at court did not fear the Marquis; the late emperor had decreed he never leave Tong Pass—a marginalized prince at the empire’s frontier, what could he do even if he held military power? Two centuries ago, he had more cards than any prince, yet still was trapped at Tong Pass. These years, it was almost like exile, far from the center of power.

Yet now, the Marquis disregarded the edict as mere paper, standing in the Eastern Capital, before the battered gates of Shanglin Park.

“Shangguan Qing, you accuse everyone of treason, but after killing the Prince of Qi, was that not treason itself? According to Tang law, even if a prince is guilty, it is the Office of Imperial Kin who judges, the Emperor reviews, and the Three Dukes proclaim the verdict. No official outside the Office of Kin may detain royal kin. You killed the emperor’s favorite son; tell me, is that not treason?” The Marquis smiled faintly, cold light flickering in his eyes.

“Oh, and you were close to the emperor. Back at Tong Pass, you led his guards. Since you’re so familiar with him, perhaps you should go meet him now.”

As his words faded, the Marquis’s sleeve stirred.

In the cold wind among falling plum blossoms, his azure sleeve rippled, and a blade flashed forth.

With a crisp clang, dozens of streams of white air whirled before Shanglin Park.

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Watching these air currents, before Shangguan Hong could react, King Jingwu’s expression changed to utter shock. His royal robe whipped in the wind, eyes bright as stars, and he raised an iron spear.

With a tearing sound, the surface of Chang’an Street shattered like fragile paper. A blade sliced through the blue stone, breaking through the air with a terrifying howl, slashing toward Shangguan Hong.

The Marquis swung his blade at Shangguan Qing, his movement exceptionally simple—almost careless, as if he paid no heed to the act. The long blade cut through the air; an iron spear blocked its path, but the blade’s aim was not the spear, but the man behind it, Shangguan Hong. The blade’s intent was clear: if you try to protect him, I’ll cut you down as well.

Seeing this unwavering blade intent, King Jingwu was first shocked, then enraged.

Anger, unwillingness... yet he had no choice but to raise his spear and block.

A thunderous crash.

Plum blossoms whirled through the air, blood splattering onto the white petals.

King Jingwu was thrown back, spewing blood, crashing heavily into the courtyard opposite Shanglin Park. Amidst dust and shattered stone, his furious, unwilling roar echoed.

“Li Chengrui, you’re mad!”

...

Just as the Marquis’s blade was about to fall upon Shangguan Hong, a clear cry rang out across Chang’an Street. Someone in the shadows could not hold back, darting to Shangguan Hong’s side.

His movement was swift as lightning, bringing a pressure heavy as a mountain. In his hand gleamed a strange blade, emitting rays bright as the sun, yet chilling to the bone.

In all aspects—movement, technique—he inspired a sense of icy dread.

His gaze was sharp, his manner grave.

The Marquis smiled coldly. King Jingwu had intervened to shield Shangguan Hong, and now even Shangguan Wu had appeared; clearly, many did not wish Shangguan Hong to die here today.

Yet, with his current skill, the Marquis had no absolute confidence against Shangguan Wu, whose abilities matched his own. Even so, the Marquis was determined to kill Shangguan Qing.

Shangguan Wu’s slender hand broke the Marquis’s blade momentum. His hand, though thin and not suited for grasping his blade, was thick-palmed—clearly a master of the spear. Shangguan Wu now stood between the Marquis and Shangguan Qing, his unfamiliar blade blocking the Marquis’s attack.

Two powerful auras collided.

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Just then, a furious shout rang out on Chang’an Street. King Jingwu, like a flying stone, shot back, covered in dust and debris, iron spear roaring with wind and thunder as he stabbed again.

Wounded, King Jingwu was even more frenzied. His tattered robe was stained with blood, and his eyes burned with wild ferocity.

“Thirteenth Brother, stand down!”

At that instant, before the gates of Shanglin Park, a dazzling sun appeared. When the blinding light faded, a commanding face was revealed. The man looked to be around thirty, with a complexion warm as jade, tall and noble in bearing, his hands pale and delicate, each finger longer than most. He gently grasped the tip of the iron spear, preventing it from advancing.

He stood between King Jingwu and Shangguan Wu, left hand holding King Jingwu’s spear, gazing calmly and intently at the Marquis, like an old friend long unseen, then nodded lightly.

Yet just as he nodded, the Marquis’s sleeve moved again.

In the gentle rain and wind, the azure sleeve rippled, and the blade rose anew.

The Marquis swung his blade at Shangguan Qing, his movement exceptionally simple—almost careless, as if he paid no heed to the act.

A flash of blade appeared among the cold wind and falling plum blossoms.

That blade shone brightly, illuminating the winter plum petals on the street and the eyes of the onlookers, also concealing a faint silver light.

...

Then, several plum blossoms falling from the sky suddenly turned red.

It was blood that stained them.

Amidst swirling wind and snow, countless cold sword lights appeared, followed by the dense sound of blades piercing flesh and muffled cries.

Shangguan Wu’s strange blade shattered, Shangguan Hong collapsed in a pool of blood, no longer breathing.

Blood splattered onto the petals piled on the blue stone, stark and glaring.

All this happened in an instant—from King Jingwu’s spear being stopped, to Shangguan Qing’s collapse. It was as if rehearsed countless times, culminating in this moment.

“Seventh Brother! Ninth Brother! What are you two trying to do?” King Jingwu, seeing who stopped him, cried out in grief across Chang’an Street. It was not for Shangguan Qing’s death that he mourned, but for the silence and neglect among the factions for two centuries. Could this balance not continue? Why must it be broken?

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