Chapter Forty-Two: Sixteen Years Ago

This was a dark secret chamber, small and bare, without even a table or chair—only a narrow, simple bed. The darkness was near complete, broken only by a feeble ray of light that slipped through a tiny hole in one wall, just enough to make out the vague silhouette of a man sitting on the bed. His hair was disheveled, and he sat utterly still, his hands and feet fettered by iron chains that hardly permitted him to leave the confines of the bed.

“Time to eat.” The iron door that sealed the chamber was lifted just enough to create a slit through which a bowl of thin rice was slid inside. A voice called out from beyond the door, which then fell shut once more.

The man on the bed looked at the bowl with an expressionless gaze and reached for it. Clearly, this was a routine he had repeated countless times. With little effort, he grasped the bowl and ate in silence.

When he had finished, he stared wordlessly at the small hole in the wall. It was impossible to say how long he had endured this existence, or when it might end. Each day was the same, spent in mute contemplation; no one ever spoke to him. Many times, he had thought of simply dying here, but he could not resign himself to that fate. He did not know what had become of his wife. When he was imprisoned in this cell, his wife was still pregnant—he did not even know if he had a child. He wondered whether that cold-hearted usurper had shown his wife any kindness.

The events of sixteen years ago were etched in his memory, never to be forgotten.

Sixteen years before, after a victorious campaign, the King of the Southern Front finally received the imperial summons to return to the capital. A peace treaty was signed between Eastern Ling and Western Yuan, and the god of war, Zhan Tianyi, at last was free to leave the borderlands and return home. At that time, he was a young hero of great renown—handsome and admired by all, the object of countless women’s dreams.

Yet Zhan Tianyi’s heart already belonged to another: Yang Yuxin, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Western Yuan. They met by chance, and love blossomed quickly. But as the two countries were then at war, he dared not pursue her further. When peace was finally declared, he mustered the courage to ask Duke Yang Weiqian for her hand. The Duke, who had faced the King of the Southern Front many times in battle and never prevailed, admired him deeply and readily agreed to the match.

At that time, the King of the Southern Front was at the height of his glory—victorious in war, married to a beauty, the envy of all. Within half a year, his wife was pregnant, but he refused to take a concubine or even a chambermaid, remaining devoted solely to his wife.

The two lived in happiness. One day, a man claiming to be Yang Yuxin’s cousin arrived at the gates of the king’s residence—Yan Kuan, the son of her paternal aunt. Yang Yuxin was delighted to see kin from her family and quickly arranged a feast.

“Brother-in-law, tonight we drink until we drop!” Yan Kuan declared, raising a wine jar and drinking heartily.

“Very well, until we drop!” The King of the Southern Front was not to be outdone, and he too drank deeply.

Yang Yuxin made no move to stop them. Being pregnant, she was often tired and soon retired early, leaving the two men to their revelry.

As they drank, the king suddenly felt ill. When he tried to summon his inner strength, he discovered to his shock that all his martial power was gone. He stared at Yan Kuan in astonishment, but the other merely smiled coldly, struck his mute acupoint, lifted him, and with a light step, whisked him away to the outskirts.

“Why?” Zhan Tianyi gasped when Yan Kuan finally released his acupoint.

“Why?” Yan Kuan sneered. “You dare ask? Did you not know that my cousin is the woman I love? What right did you have to take her from me?”

“She and I are bound by mutual affection—why must you do this?” Zhan Tianyi tried to reason with him.

“Mutual affection?” Yan Kuan laughed bitterly, tears springing to his eyes. “No matter how well I treated her, she never glanced my way. Yet you, a general from an enemy nation, won her heart. How absurd! Was it just because you’re the god of war?”

“What do you intend?” Zhan Tianyi could not fathom his intentions. Would he kill him? But if he did, would Yang Yuxin love him for it? Surely, she would only hate him.

“What do I intend? You’ll soon know. Since she loves the King of the Southern Front, then I shall become him.” Yan Kuan’s eyes burned with madness.

“How could you become me?” Zhan Tianyi could hardly believe what he heard.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Yan Kuan produced a small porcelain vial from his pocket and tipped out a tiny, pitch-black insect. “Do you know what this is? This is the Masking Gu. Once it bites you and I swallow it, I can take on your appearance, down to the last detail.”

“Even if you look like me, you are not me, and the one Yang Yuxin loves will never be you.” Zhan Tianyi stared at him in horror, unable to believe the depths of his madness.

“It matters not. So long as I can be with her, that is enough. As for you, I will keep you alive—to feel the pain of knowing your beloved is in my arms. Then you will know the agony I have suffered.” Yan Kuan’s voice was cold as ice.

“You madman!” Zhan Tianyi shouted.

“Yes, I went mad the moment you married her,” Yan Kuan replied, his eyes bloodshot and full of hatred.

Zhan Tianyi was paralyzed by poison, unable to move, and could only watch in despair as the black insect bit into his flesh before Yan Kuan swallowed it. In but a moment, Yan Kuan had taken on Zhan Tianyi’s very likeness.

Never in all his nearly twenty years had Zhan Tianyi felt so helpless.

“It is done. Now I am the King of the Southern Front, and you will go where you belong. From this day forth, she is mine.” Yan Kuan took out a small mirror, examined his new face, and smiled with satisfaction.

From that day, Zhan Tianyi was imprisoned in this secret chamber. Sixteen years passed. He could not recall how many times he had wished for death, but he could not surrender. He had not yet seen his wife or his child. He had not yet told her the truth—that the man by her side was not her husband, but a mere impostor. He clung to hope that one day he might escape and slay the man who had stolen his wife.

Zhan Tianyi sat on that narrow bed, struggling to break the chains that bound him, but to no avail. Before locking him away, Yan Kuan had destroyed his martial skills. All these years, he had never ceased to train, slowly recovering his abilities from memory. But the chains were too thick; all his efforts could not break them. Dejected, he closed his eyes. He had tried countless times, always without success. Yet he never gave up, continuing to train relentlessly, hoping that one day he would break free from this prison and reclaim his wife.