Chapter Ninety-Eight: Bonds of Affection

Yang Guang watched Chen Pingwu, who was fighting fiercely before him, and sighed inwardly, as if he had returned to his childhood.

Two young boys, each holding a wooden sword, sparred with each other in the estate of the Prince of Changwu.

A boy in white was brimming with passion, shouting as he launched powerful attacks.

The boy in black, however, remained expressionless, calmly defending, his stance flawless.

The two tangled for a long time, until snowflakes began to fall from the gray sky.

Gradually, the boy in white grew exhausted, his sword slowing, his breaths heavy.

Seeing this, the boy in black swept his wooden sword sideways, knocking the weapon from the white-clad boy’s hand.

Then he pointed his sword at the other’s throat, ending the bout.

“Oh dear, I’ve lost again!”

The white-clad boy laughed, scratched his head, and then slung his arm around the black-clad boy. Together they returned indoors.

His gaze returned to the present: Chen Pingwu, just as he had been in childhood, was swinging his sword with all his might, his stamina failing, his movements slowing.

Yang Guang sighed softly and spoke coldly.

“Heir, you have lost.”

A flash of blade in Yang Guang’s hand darted toward Chen Pingwu’s right hand, but things did not unfold as expected.

Chen Pingwu, seemingly spent, suddenly threw aside his long sword and sprang at Yang Guang. The surprising move caught Yang Guang off guard. He saw Chen Pingwu’s lips curl into a faint smile, and then—sharp and sudden—a dagger pierced his lower abdomen.

“Not necessarily,” Chen Pingwu whispered in Yang Guang’s ear, his eyes showing not a trace of triumph, only a gentle sorrow.

Chen Pingwu remembered: the dagger in his hand was a gift from Yang Guang at his coming-of-age ceremony.

Back then, the Prince of Changwu had teased Yang Guang about the dagger’s humble appearance.

But Chen Pingwu knew that Yang Guang had spent a whole month forging it from celestial steel for his ceremony. Its exterior was plain, but its edge was razor sharp, able to slice iron as if it were mud.

Neither of them could have imagined the dagger would one day appear in such a fashion.

Yang Guang stood frozen. Chen Pingwu hurriedly retreated, grabbed Wang Jia nearby, and fled for their lives.

For a long time, the evening breeze rustled Yang Guang’s hair, and past conversations echoed at his ears.

“Yang Guang, couldn’t you make me a bigger one? This is so small, not imposing at all!”

“If your martial skills aren’t strong, heir, then in the face of a true expert, only an ambush will work.”

“You don’t understand! I rely on my wits…”

Yang Guang slowly lowered his head, reached for the dagger in his abdomen, and let a rare smile touch his lips. He spoke softly.

“Your heart is always too soft.”

He pulled the dagger out without expression; blood gushed forth.

Yang Guang seemed not to feel any pain. Tearing off a corner of his garment, he crudely wrapped the wound and stopped the bleeding.

Then he pursued the two fugitives.

...

Within the county magistrate’s office of Yanwu, Fang Yang led the legal advisor to the jail, gazing coldly at Feng Yewu, who was imprisoned, and the wounded Lu Jue. He sneered and began his interrogation.

“Speak. Who are you two, really?”

Feng Yewu, hearing Fang Yang’s question, understood that the Prince of Pingyi had not given them any prior instruction, so he replied calmly.

“We are from the Court of Judicial Review, sent to investigate the murder of Li Ru.”

Fang Yang and the advisor exchanged glances, calculating. Even the lowest officials of the Court outranked them. This only confirmed they could not let the two go.

Otherwise, revenge would surely come, and they’d have nowhere to hide.

The advisor’s gaze turned stern, and he shouted loudly.

“Nonsense! You killed all thirteen members of Li Ru’s family and now impersonate capital officials. Your crimes are heinous!”

Feng Yewu, hearing such accusations, laughed coldly, his gaze full of contempt.

Fang Yang, feigning a friendly smile, quickly addressed Feng Yewu.

“My advisor is unaccustomed to the ways of the world. Since you two are officials from the capital, do you have any credentials?”

Feng Yewu, caught off guard by the question, realized he had never brought credentials when leaving the palace, and Lu Jue’s badge had been taken by Wang Jia. For the moment, he truly could not prove their identity.

“We came in haste and did not prepare credentials, but Minister Wei Nanxi of the Court of Judicial Review can vouch for us.”

Upon hearing this, Fang Yang burst out laughing, then his expression turned severe as he rebuked them.

“You really take me for a fool? The minister of the Court is a third-ranked official. I am but a minor county magistrate—how could I ever verify that?”

Lu Jue, wounded, sighed helplessly at Feng Yewu’s reply.

Feng Yewu, having lived long in the palace, was ignorant of local customs. Fang Yang was just an eighth- or ninth-ranked petty official; let alone a third-ranked minister, even an ordinary fifth-ranked official would be near impossible to meet.

Now that the magistrate knew they could not prove their innocence, he was likely eager to dispose of them quickly.

Fang Yang sneered, looked at the silent Feng Yewu, flicked his sleeve, and declared,

“In three days, you will be executed in the street!”

He departed.

Watching the officials leave, Feng Yewu returned to Lu Jue’s side and sat down on the ground.

Lu Jue, supporting himself, smiled bitterly through ragged breaths.

“Your Majesty, if not for my case, you would not have fallen so low.”

Feng Yewu, hearing Lu Jue, quickly helped him up, worry in her gaze but not a trace of reproach.

“Say no more. I did this willingly. I simply never understood how arbitrary these local officials could be—no trial, swift conviction. When we get out, I will certainly…”

Before Feng Yewu finished, Lu Jue’s violent coughing interrupted her.

In truth, Lu Jue should not have been so frail, but Yang Guang’s blade was brutal, and after fierce fighting and heavy blood loss, he had grown weak.

Now imprisoned in a dank, cold cell, his wounds worsened.

After his coughing subsided, Lu Jue looked up at Feng Yewu and explained bitterly.

“Your Majesty, you may not realize it, but as soon as you mentioned we were from the Court of Judicial Review, our chances of survival vanished.”

Feng Yewu was confused and asked,

“Why? Is it simply because we cannot prove our identities?”

Lu Jue shook his head and slowly explained.

“Your Majesty, you are high-born and unfamiliar with the ways of local bureaucracy. Even if we could truly prove our identities, they would never let us leave alive. That magistrate is but an eighth- or ninth-ranked official—if we really are from the Court, how could he not repay this humiliation someday?”

Hearing this, Feng Yewu was furious.

“Unthinkable! To harm imperial officials—how many heads does he think he has?”

Lu Jue sighed softly and replied,

“If someone knows, it counts as murder. But you and I infiltrated Yanwu County in plain clothes. As long as they claim ignorance, by law, we are guilty of impersonating imperial officials. Killing us would only cost them their positions, not their lives.”