Chapter Forty-Three: When Enemies Meet

Just as Zhan Tianyi was about to resume his cultivation, the iron door to his cell, which had remained closed for sixteen years, opened for the first time. Startled, Zhan Tianyi looked up. The light pouring in from the doorway illuminated the figure entering—a man with features identical to his own. Who else could it be but his sworn enemy?

"Yan Kuan, you've finally come," Zhan Tianyi said angrily.

"Well, how do you find your accommodations here?" Yan Kuan sneered.

"What do you want?" Zhan Tianyi demanded.

"I don't want anything," Yan Kuan replied, his voice dripping with mockery. "I've come to share some good news. Though, for me, it's good news. For you, perhaps not so much."

"What have you done to Xiner?" Zhan Tianyi asked anxiously. He had been imprisoned for over a decade, utterly cut off from the fate of his wife, unaware she had long since passed away.

"Xiner? You dare mention her?" At the mention of Yang Yuxin, hatred twisted Yan Kuan's face as though he'd like nothing more than to flay Zhan Tianyi alive.

"What happened to Xiner?" Zhan Tianyi pressed, panic rising in his voice.

"You still don't know?" Yan Kuan spat, his words seething with venom. "Xiner died fifteen years ago. She gave her life to bear your child, Zhan Tianyi. It was you—you're the one who killed her!"

"Xiner is dead?" Zhan Tianyi whispered, his voice hollow, his expression desolate.

"That's right. She's long gone. If not for you, if you hadn't made her pregnant, how could she have died in childbirth?" Yan Kuan placed all the blame squarely on him.

"Childbirth? Then what about my child?" Zhan Tianyi asked, horror-stricken. For years, he had clung to the hope of one day escaping this prison, never imagining she had already departed from this world.

"Your child? Ha! Perhaps it was heaven's punishment for you. Your child died a few months ago," Yan Kuan said with twisted delight.

"You killed my child?" Zhan Tianyi's voice was ragged with fury.

"Did I even need to? She was a wretched, short-lived thing," Yan Kuan laughed cruelly. "Let me tell you, before she turned five, she still resembled Xiner. Because of that, I couldn't bring myself to kill her. But after five, she grew less and less like Xiner—uglier by the day. She was nothing like my beloved. I was tempted to strangle her myself. But the doctors all said she was frail and wouldn't live past fifteen. So I let her linger a few more years out of mercy. She didn't disappoint—she died before reaching her fifteenth birthday. Ha! Tell me, isn't that your karmic retribution? Even the heavens couldn't stand seeing you steal the one I loved."

Zhan Tianyi's face turned deathly pale. Years of darkness had already left him ghostly white; now, hearing these cruel revelations, he seemed nearly transparent. Sixteen years of waiting, sixteen years of inhuman existence, and this was the reward fate had dealt him.

"You're lying. You're lying—it can't be true," he muttered, unwilling and unable to believe it. Once a general of great renown, now, at last, tears fell from his eyes. He no longer cared about showing weakness before his enemy. When he was first imprisoned, he felt only rage—now, there was nothing but despair.

"Ha! Zhan Tianyi, did you ever imagine things would end like this? Now you can die in peace, can't you? But Xiner has been gone for fifteen years—she's probably been reborn by now. You won't find her on the road to the afterlife," Yan Kuan said coldly.

Zhan Tianyi's eyes were vacant, as though all his strength had left him, and he slumped powerlessly onto the narrow cot.

"Oh, that's right. I haven't told you the best news yet," Yan Kuan said, evidently unsatisfied with Zhan Tianyi's suffering, eager to pour more salt into the wound.

Zhan Tianyi didn't respond. He lay motionless, wanting nothing more than to die.

Yan Kuan regarded him with disdain, but he wasn't finished. He continued maliciously, "You probably haven't heard. Xiyuan has attacked Dongling. The King of Dongling sent the Duke of the South to defend Wangcheng, but he betrayed the nation and colluded with the enemy. Wangcheng has fallen. Ha! Imagine that—you're going to die branded as a traitor. You will carry that shame to your grave."

Zhan Tianyi's fingers twitched imperceptibly. Only he knew the depth of his hatred for the man before him. He longed to tear him limb from limb. Not only had he lost his wife and daughter, but now this impostor had also saddled him with a disgraceful charge. To die now would be to die with everlasting regret.

Yan Kuan, oblivious to the shift in Zhan Tianyi's demeanor, assumed he was still drowning in grief. He had intended to end Zhan Tianyi's life that day, but seeing his utter devastation, he decided it was more satisfying to let him live in agony. With a cold snort, he opened the heavy iron door and left.

Staring at the closed door, Zhan Tianyi was beset by grief, hatred, and despair—a torrent of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. In that moment, he truly wished for death. The once-mighty God of War, the hero of the people's hearts, had lost everything. Death seemed the simplest relief, a way to escape this torment. Yet, he was not resigned. How could he die like this—branded a traitor, his loyalty and patriotism twisted into infamy? How could he face his ancestors? He had to survive, not only for vengeance, but to clear his name.

Meanwhile, in the imperial study of the Xiyuan palace, Emperor Yang Yuxiong wore a bright yellow dragon robe. Though only forty, strands of white had already appeared at his temples. Years of scheming and insatiable ambition had aged him beyond his years, making him look older even than the King of Dongling. As he read the dispatch from the frontier, learning that Prince Chun had retaken Hancheng, he could not help but frown.

"Your Majesty, the Duke of the South of Dongling requests an audience," a eunuch announced in a shrill voice.

"Show him in," the King of Xiyuan said gravely.

"Long live the Emperor," Yan Kuan greeted him with utmost deference.

"Rise. Yan, you have done exceedingly well this time. I will see that you are rewarded," the King said, satisfaction in his gaze. Truly, his chess piece of many years had proven invaluable.

"It is Your Majesty's wisdom and foresight. I merely followed orders," Yan Kuan replied humbly, deflecting the credit to the Emperor. Years ago, when the King was still crown prince, he had recruited Yan Kuan, instructing him to infiltrate Dongling. At the time, Yan Kuan had lost the woman he loved, and the Emperor's plan suited his own desires—so he accepted with alacrity.

"No need for false modesty. You remained hidden for sixteen years, never arousing suspicion—an extraordinary feat. When I unite the world, you, Yan, will be foremost among my meritorious subjects."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Yan Kuan said, delight clear in his voice.

"Now, the situation on Qier's front is still precarious. Prince Chun has retaken Hancheng. I am sending you to reinforce Qier's troops. Do you have any objections?" the King asked calmly.

"Your servant accepts the command, even if it means certain death," Yan Kuan replied sonorously.

"Good. I await your victorious return."