Chapter 20: Endure or Strike Back

Yan Cheng was dead.

He died right in front of the imperial city.

The killer was a madman.

Chaos erupted at the scene.

Yang Xuan rushed over, dropping to one knee beside the old man. Staring into his wide-open eyes, he couldn't help but recall that saying:

—So long as the Five Great Clans stand, I cannot rest in peace, even in death.

Yang Xuan reached out, gently drawing his hand over the old man’s eyelids and whispered, “It’s not worth it.”

He let go. Those lifeless eyes gazed up at the blue sky.

Yang Xuan’s heart trembled. He brushed the eyes closed once more. “It’s not worth it.”

Yet even then, those stubborn eyes seemed to defy him, still fixed on the sky.

“Move aside!”

Yang Xuan was pushed away roughly, and two soldiers lifted Yan Cheng, carrying him at a run toward the city. Blood dripped steadily from beneath Yan Cheng, like the rain of late spring.

“Physician!”

The soldiers who rushed into the imperial city shouted harshly, “Help! Save him!”

Yang Xuan turned and saw Zhao Sanfu, his expression grim, and farther behind, He Huan, whose face was cold and laced with mockery. Standing next to He Huan was a middle-aged scholar, smiling as he spoke. Yang Xuan remembered this man had always been by He Huan’s side. Zhao Sanfu had said he was He Huan’s strategist, Chen Ju.

The crazed murderer lay nearby. A soldier went over, gave him a kick, squatted down to check him, then called back, “Neck’s half snapped—he’s dead.”

Yan Cheng was slain. What would the Emperor do?

The Mirror Terrace was dispatched. Zhao Sanfu hurried inside, and when he came out with the others, he carried an oil-paper package.

“This is from Yan Cheng for you.”

When Wang Shou heard the news, he sent men to investigate the murderer’s background, and Zhao Sanfu was among them. He said hastily, “Yan Cheng said his family was poor. The day he saw you in patched clothes, he guessed you weren’t well-off. He couldn’t repay your life-saving kindness with money, so he gave you books instead.”

Yang Xuan took the oil-paper package and left without another word.

One group from the Mirror Terrace rushed out of the imperial city; the lone youth walked away in the opposite direction.

Yang Xuan felt a heaviness in his chest, but today, the sky was cloudless, and the spring breeze was fresh.

No one was around. Yang Xuan spoke, “Vermilion Bird.”

“I’m here,” came the soft reply.

Yang Xuan asked, “What does it mean to give someone books? Especially history books.”

Vermilion Bird replied, “In books, you may find beauties; in books, you may find golden mansions. To give books is to grant a future. To study history is to learn the rise and fall of nations...”

So that’s what it meant.

Yang Xuan returned home, opened the window, and set the only table in the house before it. Sunlight streamed in from outside. He placed Vermilion Bird on the table, sat beside it, and opened the oil-paper package.

Three volumes of history lay within.

Yang Xuan opened the first page.

Four bold, forceful characters in black ink:

—For Home, Country, and All Under Heaven!

The ink was still fresh; it must have been written only a few days ago.

“For home, country, and all under heaven?” Yang Xuan forced a light-hearted laugh. “I’m just the son of a rebel. What’s it to me?”

He went to prepare a meal.

After eating his fill, he knelt and sat there, slowly reading the history books.

The history of the Chen state was hardly worth mentioning, at least for its first thousand years. Like all empires, Chen gradually declined, until Emperor Wen restored its fortunes, prolonging the dynasty for another hundred and fifty years.

Then the world descended into chaos... Wait!

Yang Xuan turned a page—there was a slip of paper inside, covered with annotations.

—The greed of the powerful, and the ambitions of those outside the worldly order: these are the reasons for Chen’s downfall.

Yang Xuan understood the part about the greed of the powerful, but those outside the worldly order...

“Does that mean the recluses?” Yang Xuan scratched his head—recluses seemed harmless enough. Take, for instance, the state religion of the Great Tang; its followers were all deeply devout.

He sat there reading for a long time. On the desk, Vermilion Bird was long since fully charged.

After a while, Yang Xuan looked up, rubbed his brow, and asked, “Why can the powerful kill with impunity? Why? Why? Why?”

He asked the question three times, then raised his eyes. “Vermilion Bird, who can kill with impunity?”

Vermilion Bird replied stiffly, “The Emperor.”

“Oh!”

The youth understood, but then added, “But they’re not the Emperor!”

He stood, slowly tidying his things, finally putting Vermilion Bird in a small leather pouch, a bit reluctant. “Vermilion Bird.”

“I’m here.”

Vermilion Bird was an ever-patient companion, always ready with an answer.

Yang Xuan asked, “Vermilion Bird, what do I do when I can’t bear the injustice in my heart?”

Vermilion Bird replied, “Either endure, or strike back.”

...

Yang Xuan left his house. Most of the neighbors were out, or busy indoors. Chen Lane was silent.

When he first arrived here, every time he came or went, the dogs would bark at him. Now, even if he strode loudly past, making all kinds of noise, the dogs didn’t utter a sound.

In time, he came to understand: to be a stranger is a kind of crime. The instinct to prey on outsiders is shared by both man and beast.

He shouldered a bundle and slipped quietly out of Yongning Ward by a secluded route.

He wandered until he reached the gate of the He family’s grand residence.

Inside, He Huan was reporting on today’s events to He Jincheng.

“Yan Cheng petitioned at the palace gates today—audacious, reckless. He’ll probably go down in the history books for it.” He Huan thought it a waste for the historians to bother recording such men. “We should have acted sooner, but ever since the Yangs failed last time, they’ve kept silent. Today, Yan Cheng publicly humiliated the Five Great Clans at the gates. I made a snap decision; I doubt they’ll be upset.”

He Jincheng had already heard. He calmly sipped his tea and replied, “The Yangs sent someone this afternoon. They said the killing was well done. The Imperial Father-in-law entered the palace earlier, left with a calm face, and was promptly rewarded.”

The head of the Yingchuan Yang clan, Yang Songcheng, had a daughter who was now Empress, so people often called him the Imperial Father-in-law.

He Huan sneered, “Yan Cheng thought himself a loyal minister, but to the Emperor, he was just a dog. By the way, Father, has the Left Chancellor, Chen Shen, been rewarded?”

He Jincheng put down his teacup, but kept his hands wrapped around it, a wary look in his eyes. After a long pause, he said, “No.”

Seeing He Huan smile, he shook his head and warned, “Chen Shen is a shrewd old fox. There have been countless plots against him over the years, yet he’s advanced step by step into the highest offices. Now, he stands as the foremost man beneath the Emperor. Never underestimate such a person.”

He Huan nodded. “Yes, Father.”

The father and son dined together that evening; afterwards, He Huan excused himself.

When he left, the advisor Chen Ju approached with a smile.

“You did well today,” He Huan praised. “In just a few moments, you turned a man into a fanatic willing to die.”

Chen Ju smiled. “It was only because of your and your father’s power.”

They shared a knowing smile. Chen Ju took his leave.

Red lanterns hung outside the main gate of the He residence. Night had fallen. The main and side gates were shut. The gatekeeper lounged in a small room nearby, secretly enjoying a drink.

“Open up.”

Chen Ju’s face was cold. As He Huan’s confidant, he wielded considerable authority in the He household. Removing a gatekeeper would be no trouble at all.

The gatekeeper wiped his mouth and hurried out, opening the side gate with a fawning smile, bowing as he sent Chen Ju off.

When Chen Ju was out of sight, the gatekeeper spat in his direction and cursed, “Damn! So what if I have a drink? You can go drink women’s foot-wash at brothels, but I can’t have a sip of wine?”

Chen Ju was a man of talent, and talented men often liked to show off—there was no better stage than the brothel.

Chen Ju turned the corner into a broad crossroads within the ward.

He squinted ahead, his mind busy with the day’s upheavals.

Thinking it over, he was pleased with his advice and actions today—surely He Jincheng would secretly approve.

“If not me, then who?” A fervor burned in Chen Ju’s eyes.

He worked as a strategist for the He family, but deep down, he still longed for official rank. To attain it, he had to keep proving his worth to father and son of the He clan. Today was a perfect opportunity, and he had seized it, letting them see his potential.

“Fame and fortune—how they call to the heart…”

The road ahead was dim. When Chen Ju noticed someone approaching, they were already close.

The man kept his head slightly lowered; Chen Ju paid him no mind, lost in thoughts of his bright future.

Just as they were about to pass, the stranger looked up.

In the night, those eyes were cold and piercing.

“Thud!”

A short dagger plunged into Chen Ju’s belly.

It withdrew.

It plunged in again…

Then twisted, hard, several times.

With a heavy thud, Chen Ju toppled, writhing in agony as the attacker approached—a youth.

He pointed at the boy, rasping, “You…”

Boom!

A sudden clap of thunder shook the air.

Yang Xuan leaned in, bent over him, and said quietly, “I don’t understand what it means to serve home, country, and all under heaven. But I know one thing: the more good people there are in this world, the better life will be for everyone. Good people must not be killed!”

Chen Ju felt his life ebbing away. He wanted to scream, but only a faint whisper escaped his lips, “Who are you?”

He saw the youth crouch beside him, take out three sticks of incense, light them skillfully, and place them before him.

Chen Ju was ice cold all over, not knowing what this meant.

He murmured, “Who are you?”

Yang Xuan replied, “Yang Xuan.”

“It’s you!” Chen Ju remembered it was this youth who foiled the first attempt on Yan Cheng’s life. But he couldn’t fathom why Yang Xuan would kill him. “Why?”

Yang Xuan bowed to the sky, prayed in silence, then lowered his head, raised his knife.

The short blade slid into Chen Ju’s mouth, twisting, tearing tongue and flesh. A final thrust pierced the back of his neck.

In his fading moments, Chen Ju saw the boy lean in close and whisper softly,

“Yan Cheng asked me to say hello for him.”