The Legend of Chu Qiao: Division 11's Princess Agent-Chapter 215
Chapter 215
Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
“Yue Qi, even if our family is in a disadvantageous position, they have provided for us since we were young. However bad Xia is, it is the land we used to live on. Now that they are in trouble, how could we spark another conflict in that already ravaged land?” Yue Qi was completely stunned as Zhuge Yue continued to speak, “Furthermore, I am heavily indebted to Zhao Che.”
Zhuge Yue turned to leave as he finished speaking, leaving Yue Qi standing there and reflecting over what he had just said. He did not know what to feel. Subconsciously, he knew that Master was right. However, as he thought about his ordeals over the past two years, he felt a strong sense of indignity which he was unable to suppress. Was Master really indifferent towards this matter?
Of course, it mattered to Zhuge Yue.
A short laugh sounded out in the pitch-dark room. How could he not care? How could he not care about his childhood days, in which he had fought so hard to survive in rugged conditions? How could he not care about the times where he had journeyed so far away, only to be restrained? How could he not care about the time where he painstakingly broke out of hell, only to be spat on, humiliated and despised?
He could never forget, even if he died.
He was no longer willing to think about what he had just felt, and what emotions Yue Qi’s words had managed to stir within him. His heart was made of steel. Having wandered about all his life, what exactly had he wanted? To accumulate credit and be meritorious? To stand out amongst the crowd? To become a saint of power, able to command the people below him with just one word? That was a fatal temptation. To any man, it was like a drug which they would never be able to wean their addiction for.
He was not welcomed warmly despite having managed to survive the impossible. His name was universally hated; he had been abandoned by his family and country, becoming the number one public enemy of Xia. He was not a saint. How could he not feel resentful? Perhaps, what Chu Qiao said was true. He might have felt a sense of elation at the fact that Xia was crumbling in the hands of Yan Bei. He was tempted to capitalize on the fact that the political scene of Xia was unstable and chaotic, which would have allowed him the opportunity to strike out with his troops and conquer the place. He would have been able to terrorize the entire place and exact his revenge on the people who despised him. However, as he was about to make that thought a reality, he backed out at the last moment.
The impoverished civilians on the plains of Qinghai were staring fervently at him. Those were the people who had kindheartedly adopted him when he had nowhere else to go. They were all waiting for him in the hope that their lives would change for the better, that no one would succumb to the harsh conditions of wintertime.
Yes, he was unable to tell this to Yue Qi and his other subordinates who had loyally followed him. He anticipated that they would look at him with their eyes widened and ask that all-important question, “Master, are you really going to give up the chance to conquer West Meng for the ordinary civilians of Qinghai?”
Yes, they were but the descendants of prisoners who had been exiled to that land. They were but ordinary, uneducated people who did not know the meaning of life. In the past, he would have thought the same way as his subordinates, choosing to ignore these people with disdain. As a noble aristocrat himself, he was expected to aim high, instead of being hesitant and cowardly. However, along the course of life, his way of thinking had been altered. When he was looked down and shunned by the entire world, someone opened a door of warmth and let him in. Even if that door was rundown, and that the hut was dilapidated, he sat there and drank that mouthful of porridge, which he considered the warmest mouthful of porridge that he had stomached his entire life.
At that moment, it finally dawned on him. He finally understood Chu Qiao, that young lady who had always told him to wait and see with an unwavering determined look on her face.
He thanked the heavens profusely for this chance. If not for this, he would never have been able to understand her. He would never have been able to understand the intricacies of creating and defending one’s beliefs. To his surprise, he realized that that sense of accomplishment did not actually lose out to the feeling he felt when he conquered or destroyed.
As for Xia, as for reciprocity, as for conquering West Meng… He closed his eyes and told himself silently: I know what is most important.
Yes, he needed to continue fighting, to continue dealing with situations, to continue defending and snatching, all based on his own abilities. He still needed to scheme against his politically ambitious rivals, and to clash against enemies with different ideologies on the battlefield. Ultimately, his ambitions did not lie in the land of Xia, but he was not willing to see it decline in the hands of anyone else. Furthermore, he was driven to the point of no return. When he led his troops out of Cuiwei Pass, when he assumed the position of the Xia army’s Grand Marshal, when he stopped the war between Xia and Tang, the stage had been set.
He thought of the time that year when he had been driven to desperation when he made a pact with Zhao Che on the frosty lands of Donghu. Then, his eyes evoked a cold sharpness.
Suddenly, a calm pair of eyes looked at him from over the darkness. That gaze was gentle, but its sorrow was evidently visible. He closed his eyes quietly as his fingers brushed against the walls of his white cup. He smiled bitterly and coldly, like icy snow.
This was only the beginning of the end. They had always been like this, bumping into each other and being separated at inopportune times. Destiny bestowed upon them a dark path full of obstacles, as they stumbled and got back to their feet repeatedly.
The house was pitch-dark; a ray of moonlight shone into the room via the window and onto his body. Ultimately, he was still a young man in his twenties. Although he had been through so many setbacks and hardships, he still had the occasional dream where he returned victorious as a hero who had accumulated countless merits. He presented whatever he had to his beloved as he proclaimed proudly, “Here, it’s all for you!”
Alas, it was all but a dream.
He leaned back on his chair as the corners of his lips rose, his smile as gentle as a big child’s.
The weather after the snowstorm was usually the coldest and most intolerable. The winds swept across the blades of grass, revealing the crimson red ground. The skies were overcast as the winds scattered the snowflakes into the air, causing them to rest on the surface of Shuofang Palace, which had just been constructed. The war at the eastern region had entered a temporary state of ceasefire, while the Quanrong people at the northern region had been defeated. The warriors retreated back into the pass as they prepared to celebrate the new year, which was a rare occasion for them.
As dusk broke, the shophouses by the two sides of Wuxuan Street closed for the new year. Thin grains of yellow sand were strewn across the street to prevent the horses pulling the carriages from slipping. From afar, the street glowed a shiny, bright yellow, like a land full of treasures. Tall, golden curtains lined the sides of the road, as the civilians retreated into their homes. Officials knelt by both sides of the road as various guards of honor advanced forward, their formations neat and synchronized. In no time, the street was packed with carriages, as flamboyant clothes were visible everywhere.
This day was the day where Yan Bei conducted its annual winter hunt. The elderly with good memory reminisced about the last winter hunt, which had occurred 12 years ago. The traditional hunting ground was situated at the Western Wall which stood atop the Central Hills, near the heart of Luori Mountains. Its back was faced towards the southern peak of Huihui Mountains. It was a vast, snowy ground which had been colored with a tinge of red. It was unknown as to whether this was a natural phenomenon, or that human blood had been responsible for this sight.
Yan Xun sat on the tall throne with a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders. Many people stood in front of him. From afar, the human crowd looked like two black wings. The officials knelt in front of their ruler, their hearts in tenterhooks. Their knees ached due to the cold, but they did not dare to look up with the exception of AhJing, who could not make out Yan Xun’s face clearly.
“General Zhuang.” A cold voice boomed out from above. A man in his fifties trembled in fear as the muscles on his face twitched. He stood up slowly and made his way to the center, kneeling down. With a respectful voice, he replied, “What can I do for Your Majesty?”
“Nothing much. I wanted to share something fun with you, which I acquired recently.” Yan Xun’s voice carried a tinge of joyfulness, like a playful child anticipating the results of his prank.
General Zhuang knelt on the ground and frowned as his fingertips turned white, but he lowered his head and replied emotionlessly, “Thank you for thinking of me, Your Majesty.”
Yan Xun smiled, his eyes carrying a tinge of playfulness. He waved his hand lazily and remarked, “Bring it over here.” A series of rumbling sounds started to break out as a horse carriage entered the scene. A thick piece of black cloth was draped over it; the sounds inside resembled that of indistinct chatter. Everyone turned around and looked at the carriage, intrigued. A suffocating silence blanketed the atmosphere.
Smack! Everyone was shocked as Yan Xun sat on his throne, using his whip to strike against his golden seat.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
No one dared to speak a word. An imperial bodyguard in his thirties walked over to the first carriage and reached out his hand to remove the cloth that was covering the carriage.
Gasping sounds started to emanate from the audience, as every single one of them looked shocked. Despite that, no one dared to question anything.
The horse carriage was filled with a group of pretty young ladies who were about 16 or 17-years-old. Due to the cold weather, they huddled together, their faces pale. They were also bound by their hands and feet.
General Zhuang took one look at the sight in front of him and was stunned. In the cold weather, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.
Yan Xun’s laughter echoed out from behind him. With a tone that assumed the normalcy of things around him, he commented, “General Zhuang, you are one of the pillars of Yan Bei. You have done quite a few favors for me over these years. You have the honor of firing the first arrow today.”
As the cage inside the horse carriage was opened, some soldiers walked up in a boorish manner and assaulted the girls, coercing them to get down from the horse carriage. They were all barefooted; their feet turned intensely red as it made contact with the ground.
“Run! Faster!” the soldiers brandished their whips and lashed out at the ladies, inflicting bloody wounds on their bare backs, following which cries of agony started to fill the air.
They had been untied. They started to stumble clumsily as they made some resemblance of an attempt to escape, while covering the wounds on their bodies.
As an imperial bodyguard handed over a bow and arrow to General Zhuang, Yan Xun stood behind him and coaxed, “General Zhuang, hurry up.”
General Zhuang’s face turned pale as the color drained away from his lips. He adopted a firing posture as he slanted his crossbow to the side, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.
As the young ladies ran across the snowy ground, light reflected onto their bodies. They seemingly sensed the impending danger that was about to befall them, turning their heads behind in a panicked state. As they saw General Zhuang holding his crossbow, they were all stunned as they stood rooted to the spot.
Swoosh! A sharp arrow flew out, but it was devoid of strength. It followed along a short trajectory in the air, before landing on the ground meekly.
“General Zhuang, this is unlike you,” Yan Xun uttered slowly as he raised his eyebrows, looking at General Zhuang coldly with the intention of seeing through his inner self.
General Zhuang stood at his original position. He wanted to speak out, but was unable to. As his body quivered non-stop, some officials below him started to discuss amongst themselves, “I heard a group of palace maids tried to assassinate Your Majesty a few days ago. Are these the ones?”
“Cheng Yuan, since General Zhuang is getting on in years, you have the honor.”
“Thank you for your love, Your Majesty.” A general dressed in a green robe walked up and decisively assumed a firing posture. Swoosh! Another arrow, like a homing missile, embedded itself into the back of a young lady who had run the furthest distance. A short yelp echoed out from across the vast plains as she spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground below. As the blood splattered out, it was a blinding sight.
Upon seeing what had happened, the other ladies panicked. One of them, who had sat on the ground and cried all along, broke down as she crawled pathetically towards the throne, pleading, “Sir, save me! Save me! Mister Zhuang, I am… Ah!”
An ear-piercing scream reverberated across the plains. Another young lady not far out suddenly pounced on her, grabbed her by the neck and snapped it with one swift and decisive motion.
