The sleeping palace sank into an eerie silence.
The two men’s gazes met in the empty air, like a silent duel to the death.
Suddenly, Ji Yuan clapped his hands and laughed heartily. “Good, good! Worthy indeed of being the Great Shaman of the Miao Territories — such skill greatly pleases Zhen!”
Miao Shuang smiled modestly. “Your Majesty flatters me.”
Ji Yuan stood up, delighted, and clasped a hand on his shoulder, putting on an air of ruler and subject in perfect harmony. “You have resolved troubles and eased worries for Zhen — Zhen must reward you well. Zhen felt the wedding gift last time was a bit too modest, so Zhen will further bestow upon the General’s residence ten thousand taels of silver and a hundred bolts of fine silk — what do you think?”
“These are things your humble subject ought to do. I do not covet Your Majesty’s rewards — it is only that in ‘treating’ General Qi’s injuries, I require many medicinal herbs to assist. There are a few ingredients I searched every apothecary in the capital for and still could not find. I wonder if Your Majesty might help?”
“Easily done, easily done. Whatever else the Great Shaman needs, simply say so.” Ji Yuan’s fingers withdrew from the side of his neck, and he beckoned, signaling for the young eunuch attending with brush and ink to come record it.
After stating what he needed, Miao Shuang took his leave. Ji Yuan watched his retreating figure, his gaze gloomy and cold.
This Miao man’s breathing was steady, his pulse normal — this did not look like the backlash of a Life Gu. He probably wasn’t lying.
After all, he had seen with his own eyes what a Life Gu backlash looked like.
Ji Yuan touched the red mole on his wrist, turned around, and cast a cold glance at Eunuch Zhu.
Eunuch Zhu gave a sudden start.
****
Cold sweat seeped out densely along his temples, dampening his snow-white hair. Miao Shuang left the palace at a brisk pace, his face deathly pale.
Blackness kept flashing before his eyes. He forced his body forward; the post-rain chill and damp had already been driven off by the sun, and sunlight fell upon him, yet he could not feel the slightest warmth.
The pain brought by the Life Gu backlash was truly agonizing — had he chatted with the Emperor even a little longer, even he would not have been able to hold on.
The Emperor was deeply suspicious — he had actually come in person to check his breath and pulse. Fortunately he had stabilized himself beforehand using Gu techniques, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have been able to walk out of the palace alive today.
At the same time, he had also learned something the original novel had never mentioned —
Ji Yuan actually knew martial arts, and his skill was not weak.
That made sense, too. A man this suspicious would naturally think of every means to add to his own life-preserving methods.
Miao Shuang walked on with his head down. His steps gradually stopped being weak and unsteady; the exhaustion and nausea that had sunk into his very bones finally dispersed. By the time his senses cleared again, he found he was already standing on a bustling street in the capital, the coming-and-going crowd brushing past him. He stood lost amid the worldly bustle, pausing blankly in the clamor.
He took a deep breath of air still carrying the scent of earth, and came back to himself.
Because his appearance was too distinctive, the people passing by always turned to glance at him again — those gazes carrying surprise, curiosity, searching… for now, it seemed no one had yet recognized him as the Great Shaman of the Miao Territories.
These Han people always carried an innate rejection and disdain toward other ethnicities. To avoid unnecessary trouble, he should hide his appearance for now.
Miao Shuang walked toward an empty corner and summoned forth a Gu butterfly. The blue Gu butterfly landed on his hair, and as its wings opened and closed, it shed fine scale-powder invisible to the naked eye.
This scale-powder had a slight hallucinogenic effect, able to change how he appeared in others’ eyes — though its range of influence was limited, and it did not last long.
The exhaustion after the intense pain left him somewhat irritable. He did not want to return to the General’s residence for now, and decided to wander nearby for a while instead.
Not far ahead there was a teahouse. He went upstairs and found a seat by the window.
It was nearly noon, yet he had no appetite. He didn’t order any refreshments, only called the waiter over and asked for a pot of tea.
The snake in his sleeve had no appetite either, coiled limply around his arm as though it might slip out at any moment.
There weren’t many people in the teahouse — mostly wealthy, idle young men affecting refinement, or scholars who fancied themselves men of great learning, gathered in twos and threes, drinking tea and chatting idly.
Their conversation fell into Miao Shuang’s ears. A young man in a blue robe said, “Strange — I was just saying the tea doesn’t taste right today. Why did they switch out the storyteller?”
“Brother Zhou, you only just noticed?” said another young man in a purple robe. “When I arrived I asked the shopkeeper. He said the capital’s forbidden the story of General Qi Yan now, so the old storyteller up and quit.”
“…If they won’t allow Qi Yan’s story, just tell something else. That Qi Yan’s a rebel traitor now anyway — even if they could tell it, we wouldn’t want to hear it.”
“Exactly,” another voice cut in, mocking, “If you ask me, that old man probably only ever had the ink in his belly for one kind of story his whole life. Now that he’s not allowed to tell it, of course he can’t keep going!”
The group burst into laughter together. Their conversation drew the attention of others, and a few guests from the neighboring table joined in.
“Speaking of Qi Yan… did you all hear? His Majesty released him from prison again recently!”
“Released? Wasn’t the Qi family already executed to the last member? The crime of treason, and yet the man himself can still be released?”
“Who’s to say — probably it’s in consideration of his illustrious military merits that his life was spared.”
“Illustrious military merits? No matter how you spin it, he’s just a general — what’s so remarkable about that? Our Great Yong is mighty in national strength; surely we’re not lacking for want of one general? As for those barbarian types, whoever goes to fight them will fight them the same way. Put someone else in his position and they’d achieve illustrious merits just the same.”
“Isn’t that the truth. I hear that General Jin who took over his post has, these past two years, beaten the Dili till they scattered like fallen petals — it probably won’t be two more years before the whole of Mobei belongs to our Great Yong!”
The group couldn’t help laughing heartily at this. After a moment, someone said, “Did you all know? Not only did His Majesty release Qi Yan, he even bestowed a marriage upon him.”
“A bestowed marriage? No way — whose daughter would be so unlucky as to marry a rebel traitor whose whole clan was wiped out?”
“That I wouldn’t know. My father’s been tight-lipped about the matter — no matter how I probed him sideways, he wouldn’t let it slip. But I did hear that although that Qi Yan was released, he’s already become a cripple — not only a rebel traitor, but a paralytic as well.”
Miao Shuang frowned slightly and turned his gaze out the window.
An old man nearing sixty stood below the building, a bundle on his back. He turned for one last look toward the teahouse, his weathered face carrying disappointment and sorrow, and sighed deeply. “Loyal and worthy men persecuted, treacherous officials holding sway, troubles within and threats without — the realm is no longer a realm…”
The old man’s retreating figure gradually grew distant. Miao Shuang raised his head and looked at the sky, washed clear blue after the rain, narrowing his eyes.
Yan’an City…
What a picture of rivers clear and seas calm, the nation prosperous and the people at peace.
****
Setting aside how the capital’s common folk gossiped about General Qi Yan, General Qi Yan himself had once again slept until the sun was high before waking that day.
He had been tormented into unconsciousness by Miao Shuang’s Gu worm the night before, and upon waking today, he felt as though he’d been thoroughly beaten, his whole body ready to fall apart.
Only after resting for a good while longer could he manage to sit up. He sat at the edge of the bed, still shaken with lingering fear.
…It really did hurt.
Whatever punishments he’d endured in the prison all became nothing compared to this Gu technique. Mere flesh wounds were nowhere near the pain of being gnawed by Gu worms — as if his entire being had been split open, his very soul bitten clean through.
At the height of the agony, he had sensed the presence of that Gu worm, but unfortunately he had lost consciousness the very next second. A night had passed, and the worm was no longer in its original position.
Must think of some way to dig this damned thing out…
Suddenly, footsteps interrupted his train of thought. Lai Fu came in to add charcoal to the brazier and discovered he was sitting up. “General, you’re awake.”
Qi Yan’s expression was listless; he gave a faint “mm” in response.
Lai Fu had been at the residence for half a month now, and this was the first time he’d heard the General respond to him. He couldn’t help feeling a bit pleased, and wanted to say a few more words to him. “Shall this lowly one attend to your washing and dressing?”
Qi Yan had no habit of being attended to, and coldly refused. “No need.”
Though being refused was no surprise, Lai Fu still couldn’t help sighing inwardly. All this time, the General had never let them attend to him — whether washing, bathing, changing clothes, or anything else — clearly inconvenient though his body was, he still insisted on doing everything himself.
Part of it was being unaccustomed to it; the other part, no doubt, was simply being unable to accept it.
To think, he had once been a great general who campaigned in all directions, taking enemy generals’ heads amid chaotic battle as easily as reaching into his own pocket — what commanding, heroic prowess that was. And now he couldn’t even manage his own daily life without others’ care. Such a fall from grace — truly no ordinary person could bear it.
Lai Fu, too, had grown up as a child listening to stories of General Qi Yan. He still remembered how vividly his elders used to tell it — that the young general had grown up in the army since childhood, showing extraordinary military talent at a young age. At twelve he went into battle alongside his father to kill the enemy; at fourteen he led troops for the first time, and with a vastly outnumbered force defeated a much larger one, driving the Dili back three hundred li — a feat that made him famous in a single battle.
Now, a full sixteen years had passed since Qi Yan’s first time on the battlefield. General Qi was no longer young, and had ended up with his martial arts utterly destroyed and his body riddled with injury…
Lai Fu knew the hope of his returning to the battlefield was slim, yet he still couldn’t help praying in his heart that — at the very least — it shouldn’t end this way.
After hesitating a long while, he finally summoned the courage to speak up in advice. “This one knows the General is newly married, and indulging a bit is only human nature, but… but the General really ought to take care of his health.”
Qi Yan looked up and glanced at him, baffled.
Indulging? Take care of his health?
Sensing his gaze fall upon him, Lai Fu couldn’t help breaking into a cold sweat — perhaps it was the effect of years of campaigning, but General Qi always carried a fierce, killing aura about him; few dared meet his eyes directly. Only the Madam wasn’t afraid of him.
Lai Fu kept his head lowered, not daring to look at the other man’s face. His gaze swept hastily past the small dark mole beside his Adam’s apple, and suddenly he felt something was off.
Strange… did the General have a mole on his neck before? How had he never noticed it until now?
After a brief moment of distraction, he steeled himself and continued. “This lowly one has heard… that some people, after falling ill, instead crave the matters of clouds and rain all the more, using spiritual pleasure to dilute the pain of the body. This method… though it may bring temporary pleasure, over time it harms the body. This lowly one hopes the General will… exercise restraint.”
Having said this, Lai Fu simply shut his eyes and waited to die. As a mere servant he really shouldn’t overstep to manage such matters, but the General… the General had knocked himself out — he truly couldn’t help but offer this advice!
Qi Yan’s brow gradually furrowed tight.
What on earth is this about? When did he ever… wait.
Could it have been last night?
Last night in the ancestral hall, he had indeed heard Lai Fu’s footsteps, but right after that he’d been pained into unconsciousness — Lai Fu shouldn’t have seen anything.
Could it be that after he passed out, Miao Shuang did something more to him?
At this thought, Qi Yan couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath — no wonder his whole body ached so badly upon waking today; so it wasn’t entirely because of that Gu worm?!
This Miao man… truly has no shame!
Even after he’d passed out, he still wouldn’t let him be — did he really take him for some convenient object to use at will?!
Qi Yan squeezed his eyes shut hard, his five fingers clenching the blanket tightly. The moment he thought of having done such a filthy thing in front of his ancestors’ memorial tablets, an indescribable fury and humiliation surged up in his heart, the tips of his ears burning uncontrollably hot.
Most crucial of all — at the time, he… hadn’t entirely resolved to refuse.
He clearly didn’t like men, and even less could he possibly develop any feelings for a southern barbarian of another race.
Why…? Could it be that Miao man had planted a Gu on him?
Getting no response for a long while, Lai Fu couldn’t help secretly opening his eyes to peek at him again, and then he noticed… that small mole beside the Adam’s apple seemed to have turned slightly redder.
What was going on — were his eyes playing tricks on him?
Before he could look more closely, Qi Yan had already composed himself. “Where is Miao Shuang?”
Lai Fu came back to himself. “The Madam was summoned into the palace by His Majesty first thing this morning, and hasn’t returned yet.”
Qi Yan frowned slightly, not pressing further, and asked instead, “Why is the residence so noisy today?”
“It’s the batch of servants the Madam newly hired for the residence — they arrived today, and having just moved in, are still tidying up their rooms, hence the noise.”
Qi Yan said coldly, “Then shouldn’t you hurry and go help?”
Lai Fu startled, quickly lowering his head. “Yes.”
The General is displeased.
He didn’t dare say anything more, and swiftly left the room.
Once he had gone, Qi Yan’s tensed body slowly relaxed, his mood gradually settling into calm.
Setting aside all that chaotic mess, last night he had once again tested Miao Shuang, and indeed had tested out some results.
In that moment, he had truly and clearly felt Miao Shuang’s hatred. As the Great Shaman of the Miao Territories, he evidently still cared about his own people — it was only natural he’d hate this general who had led troops to bathe the Miao Village in blood.
Since he hated him, then he should equally hate the Emperor of Great Yong. He could basically be certain now — Miao Shuang’s surrender was not sincere; he had other designs.
But these past few days he hadn’t mentioned the Miao Village chieftain even once, as if he didn’t care at all about his death. Last night, too, he had only mentioned “you killed my people, seized my people’s sacred relic” — and combined with his holding back from striking during their earlier confrontation… all signs indicated that this Great Shaman and the chieftain likely weren’t of one mind either.
Great Yong had stood for over a hundred years since its founding, and these Miao people had often wavered back and forth between Yong and Nanzhao. Since Miao Shuang wasn’t helping the chieftain, that showed he had no wish to ally with Nanzhao either.
Unwilling to ally with Nanzhao, yet also unwilling to pledge loyalty to Great Yong — though he didn’t know exactly what Miao Shuang was scheming, he was nonetheless the enemy of an enemy. Even if they couldn’t become friends, there was no reason he couldn’t be made use of.
Thinking this over, Qi Yan slowly shifted himself to the edge of the bed, attempting to move himself into the wheelchair.
He had no strength at all in his hands; every time he got in or out of bed was difficult. Today, for some reason, his body was especially weak — his arm failed to support him, the wheelchair slid back a little, and his whole body crashed hard onto the floor.
His entire body ached as one mass of pain; for a moment he couldn’t even tell which part had struck what. Qi Yan was left dazed from the fall, and it took him a long while to recover.
This was not the first time he had fallen from the wheelchair. He frowned and tried to crawl up, but his legs, which would not obey him, were nothing but a burden now, failing him again and again, sending him crashing back down again and again.
After struggling for a good long while without managing to get up, what little strength remained was spent. Qi Yan sat on the floor, and suddenly burst out laughing.
Dragging along a ruined body like this, what exactly was he still fantasizing about? Even if he could make use of Miao Shuang, so what? Could he possibly mount a horse again, fight again for Great Yong, clash with the Di people on the deserts and grasslands beyond the frontier?
These hands once drew the heaviest of bows — now they could only clutch viciously at his own legs… and couldn’t even manage to make it hurt.
Qi Yan’s eyes burned red-rimmed. He slowly wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees; even the burning brazier could not drive away the chill that had settled into his very being.
Had he known it would come to this, perhaps he shouldn’t have survived in the first place.
He should have confessed decisively when His Majesty made his move back then, ending it all at once — that way, at least, he could have seen his father one more time, rather than being left as he was now, with only a letter written with such force it had pierced through the paper.
Last night in the ancestral hall, kneeling before his father’s memorial tablet, he had truly wanted to ask — was it really worth it, sacrificing the three hundred-some lives of the Qi family in exchange for his life alone?
What could his living even change? Could he really save this crumbling realm of Great Yong from its crisis?
His thoughts were in chaos, matching the sorry state of his battered body in kind. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the floor, when suddenly a voice pulled him back to reality —
“Why is the General sitting on the floor?” Miao Shuang walked in from outside, smiling brightly. “Hadn’t you knelt enough in the ancestral hall last night? If you like staying on the floor so much, why not just sleep on a floor-mat from now on too.”
Qi Yan slowly raised his head.
He finally let go of the dignity that had already been trampled into the mud, and said hoarsely, “Pull me up.”