Chapter 369: A Change of Heart

When doing something, one could move quickly.

But one could not panic.

At the same time, a man had to understand himself.

So although Count Zheng knew perfectly well that his reputation inside the Yan army was no longer small, and although everyone knew he was the Prince of Jingnan’s favored man, the truth remained that he was not a native son of the Jingnan Army.

Chief Commanders like Chen Yang and Ren Juan were polite to this latecomer who had climbed past so many others.

They acknowledged him too.

But in the end, Zheng Fan had never been one of the men who had spent years eating from the same cauldron beside them.

A faint distance still remained.

More importantly, whether one spoke of the Jingnan Army specifically or the entire Eastern Expedition Army surrounding Yupan City, there was only one man whose word truly carried absolute authority:

Tian Wujing.

So without Tian Wujing personally issuing an order—and without the Prince granting Zheng Fan his command token—trying to mobilize every formation in the area would have meant looking down far too much on the military discipline Tian Wujing had spent years forging.

But one could never ignore the enthusiasm of the masses.

That enthusiasm genuinely existed.

And that meant this was precisely the moment when one needed a shill.

Back in his previous life, when Zheng Fan had first opened his studio, business had once become extremely difficult.

At the poorest point, everyone had even run out of basic living expenses.

So Zheng Fan took the entire studio crew to a nearby real-estate sales office and worked as hired fake buyers.

Two hundred yuan per person per day.

Lunch included.

That little hustle had carried them through the worst period.

This time the shill Zheng Fan had chosen was Li Fusheng.

Zheng Fan’s “performance” was excellent.

But expecting him to imitate Tian Wujing—stand there in gilded armor with overwhelming majesty and receive unconditional obedience—was obviously impossible.

Even when shouting earlier, Zheng Fan had poured qi and blood into his voice so the words would carry farther and higher.

Even so, most Yan soldiers were still hesitating.

The several Jingnan Army Chief Commanders were even more bewildered.

But then Zheng Fan personally cut down a Chu soldier.

And Li Fusheng’s cavalry charged.

After that the surrounding Yan formations finally began to move.

The Chu had been scrambling for grain.

They had starved for many days.

Their bodies were already weak.

They had surrendered their weapons.

And now they were packed together in complete disorder.

Before disciplined elite cavalry they were little different from lambs huddled in one place.

Li Fusheng’s cavalry smashed directly into the mass of Chu soldiers.

Sabers rose and fell.

Iron hooves trampled flesh.

Screams erupted everywhere.

Elsewhere, individual Yan riders began breaking formation on their own and galloping out to join the killing.

Then groups followed.

Then larger groups.

Before long, wave after wave of Yan cavalry began charging the Chu concentration from several different directions.

In truth, this was another form of a **soldiers’ roar**.

A mass reaction among troops.

A spontaneous collective eruption occurring without formal orders from their superiors.

The Chief Commanders, Assistant Generals, and other senior officers now found themselves in an awkward position.

On one hand, they had received no military command at all.

All they had seen was Zheng Fan riding a Pixiu and calling on everyone to slaughter prisoners.

The deep military instinct carved into their bones resisted the idea of obeying Zheng Fan under circumstances like these.

On the other hand every one of them understood Zheng Fan’s relationship with the Prince of Jingnan.

For Zheng Fan to suddenly do something this outrageous something carrying such enormous consequences who could say Tian Wujing’s shadow was not standing behind it?

And so the officers did not immediately restrain their troops.

Instead they adopted a posture of tacit acceptance.

In short the rhythm had been set.

The Yan army raised its butcher knives.

Then began cutting down the fleeing Chu madly.

As for Zheng Fan the man who had started the entire wave he did not immediately throw himself into the slaughter with Li Fusheng and enjoy the so-called feast of blood.

Whether Zheng Fan personally swung another saber now no longer mattered.

The outcome had already been decided.

So perhaps he could rest a moment.

And indulge himself in a little sentimentality.

His saber hung downward.

Drops of blood slid from the edge one after another.

The Pixiu beneath him turned its head and looked back at Zheng Fan.

Truthfully, the beast wanted to go play.

It wanted to charge into the crowd and trample things.

But for some reason its fellow sufferer sitting on its back had suddenly gone very quiet.

The Chu screams never stopped.

They were not pleasant.

But after so many campaigns, Count Zheng had long since become accustomed to such sounds.

He raised his head.

Looked into the distance.

And discovered that the shock and panic he had felt when Tian Wujing first gave the order had already disappeared.

Instead his body felt strangely light.

Almost floating.

It was an odd sensation.

He could not say he liked it.

But neither did he dislike it.

The Pixiu tentatively took a few steps forward.

Zheng Fan did not react.

So it took a few more.

Just as the beast prepared to break into a joyful run and charge into the crowd—

Zheng Fan suddenly tightened the reins around its neck.

“ROAR!”

The Pixiu gave a dissatisfied cry.

But still obeyed.

It turned away from the battlefield and began circling north.

Gradually the shouts of killing and cries of agony faded.

Not because the Chu prisoners had already been completely slaughtered.

Even if there were forty thousand pigs waiting in one place, killing them all quickly would still take time.

The noise simply grew quieter with distance.

The Pixiu pawed the ground in irritation.

Zheng Fan dismounted.

Then walked toward the riverbank.

He copied Tian Wujing’s earlier posture, crouched beside the Wang River, cupped some water in both hands, and splashed it across his face.

The water was cold.

It carried the faint earthy smell of the river.

Zheng Fan shook his head.

Then lowered himself backward and sat by the shore.

He raised his head again.

Watched the distant sunset.

Sometimes his brows tightened.

Sometimes they relaxed.

Then, by habit, he reached inside his clothes and took out a small iron case.

Only one cigarette remained inside.

He had not returned to Shengle since marching out on campaign.

Naturally, his supply of Blind Man-brand cigarettes had never been replenished.

This final cigarette was something Zheng Fan had deliberately saved.

A little keepsake.

He lit it with a fire striker.

Took a deep drag.

Then slowly closed his eyes.

Smoke drifted from his mouth.

At that moment, the Pixiu behind him became restless.

Then, unusually lowered its head close to the ground.

Another fully grown Pi Beast slowly approached.

Tian Wujing sat atop it.

He looked at Zheng Fan.

His gaze was calm.

Yet beneath that calm there seemed to be thunder.

Tian Wujing dismounted.

He walked behind Zheng Fan.

Then asked:

“Uncomfortable?”

When Tian Wujing’s voice sounded behind him, Zheng Fan did something highly unusual.

He did not immediately stand and salute.

Instead, he naturally flicked some ash from the cigarette and nodded.

“Look at you.

“Pathetic.”

Jade had to be carved before it became a vessel.

Tian Wujing had always regarded Zheng Fan as a kind of student.

In truth, in any age, the inheritor of one’s mantle could sometimes matter more than one’s own descendants.

Children continued the bloodline.

A true inheritor continued the spirit.

After several generations, even the deepest blood relationship grew thin.

But certain things carried through spirit could remain fresh for far longer.

Of course, being Tian Wujing’s “student” sounded wonderful.

The pressure behind it, however, was something ordinary people could hardly imagine.

When he treated you well he treated you extremely well.

When he tempered you one mistake might kill you.

“Your Highness, I feel uncomfortable because I realized...

“I don’t actually feel uncomfortable.”

Hearing this answer—

Tian Wujing slowly closed his eyes.

Two men.

One sitting.

One standing.

The standing man held higher rank.

The sitting man lower.

A long silence passed.

Then Zheng Fan suddenly laughed.

He tossed the cigarette butt into the river.

Then grabbed a handful of wet mud beside him and threw it into the water.

“You dislike it?” Tian Wujing asked.

Zheng Fan raised his head.

Looked at Tian Wujing standing behind him.

And said:

“Your Highness—

“I want to become like you.

“But I don’t want to become *you*.”

What Zheng Fan wanted was the image of Tian Wujing riding across battlefields with countless iron cavalry beneath his command.

He did not want Tian Wujing’s life.

That suffocating existence that had become almost indistinguishable from self-harm.

Tian Wujing seemed to think about it.

Then nodded.

“I know.”

“Huu...”

Zheng Fan adjusted his posture.

He moved from sitting into a one-knee kneel facing Tian Wujing.

“Your Highness.

“Please forgive my offense.”

“What you said was merely the truth.

“In the army, falsely reporting military intelligence is a crime.

“Speaking the truth is not.”

Tian Wujing lowered himself too.

He sat on the riverbank.

Then glanced at Zheng Fan, still kneeling.

He patted the place beside himself the spot where Zheng Fan had been sitting earlier.

“Sit.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

And so the two Pi Beasts stood side by side behind them.

The smaller one was visibly uneasy, almost lacking confidence.

Just like the two men before them.

One possessed a back like a mountain.

The other seemed somewhat diminished beneath his presence.

Yes, General Zheng could command immediate obedience inside the Shengle Army.

Yes, in Shengle City, a simple wave of his hand could provoke cheers from the common people.

But beside Tian Wujing who in the world could truly suppress this man in sheer presence?

Of course, there was no real need to try.

“In truth,” Tian Wujing said, “this Prince does not want you to walk the same road as me.”

Zheng Fan froze.

A moment earlier, he had simply wanted to vent a little and had allowed himself a rare moment of honesty.

Tian Wujing might be overwhelmingly imposing.

But to Zheng Fan he had always felt somewhat like a stern elder brother.

A younger brother, within limits, could cry a little.

Make a little trouble.

Vent his emotions.

That was not unreasonable.

Of course, one had to control the degree.

Go too far and it became irritating.

Wei Zhonghe had once joked that the Directorate of Ceremonial desperately lacked talent like Zheng Fan.

Because knowing how to appear intimate with one’s master without crossing the boundary that was the highest art for servants trying to climb upward.

In Eunuch Wei’s eyes, Zheng Fan was practically a grandmaster of the discipline.

But how Zheng Fan played was one thing.

What he had not expected was that Tian Wujing now seemed to want to speak honestly as well.

That immediately made Zheng Fan feel instinctively nervous.

“This road,” Tian Wujing said, “is too bitter.

“Too exhausting.

“And too lonely.”

Zheng Fan understood.

Because this road was soaked in blood.

Blood that could never be washed away.

“Your Highness.

“If you were given another chance... what would you choose?”

In the end Zheng Fan still could not stop himself from asking.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence...

After a long while a faint smile appeared on Tian Wujing’s face.

It was not warm.

But neither was it bitter.

If anything there was a slight sense of release.

He said:

“This Prince... has already chosen.”

At that moment, the surface of the Wang River before them had begun turning red.

Blood from the Chu massacre upstream was entering the river.

Tian Wujing pointed upstream.

“Go look.

“Do not waste it.

“Your vision is broad.

“But if you do not possess enough courage to fill that vision—then however broad it is, it will remain empty.”

Zheng Fan silently stood.

He turned and looked once at Tian Wujing, who remained seated by the river.

Then began walking upstream.

Tian Wujing’s voice sounded behind him again:

“The martial path and life are actually the same.

“The higher you climb—the more blood and corpses you will see.

“You do not need to enjoy them.

“If you enjoy them, you become like Li Fusheng and drift onto the wrong path.

“But you must not become numb either.

“Because numbness causes you to ignore more than merely the things you do not want to see.”

“Then what should I do, Your Highness?”

Zheng Fan asked while walking southward along the riverbank.

“You must—learn to adapt.”

That was Tian Wujing’s answer.

The blood on the river before Zheng Fan was fresh.

He could see it spreading and rolling through the current.

Even the air seemed to carry a faint smell of blood.

Zheng Fan adjusted his breathing.

Step by step he continued walking.

Tian Wujing’s words still echoed inside his mind.

This was instruction.

A piece of guidance offered by a terrifying man who had once defeated the Sword Saint in a direct fight.

Zheng Fan naturally understood how precious such guidance was.

He could not waste it.

The Pixiu belonging to Zheng Fan saw him walking away alone and instinctively tried to follow.

But the larger Pi Beast beside it moved sideways and blocked its path.

Under the fading glow of sunset—

Zheng Fan continued walking.

Slowly.

Step by step.

Upstream, the Yan slaughter of Chu prisoners intensified.

The red in the river grew deeper.

Perhaps stimulated by what he saw the qi and blood inside Zheng Fan’s body gradually began stirring as well.

One Chu corpse floated downstream.

Then a second.

A third.

A fourth...

Very soon there was no point counting anymore.

Too many.

Upstream, Yan cavalrymen had already begun pursuing downstream along the bank.

They used bows to shoot Chu soldiers attempting to hide themselves in the river and escape.

Chu men, generally speaking, were far better swimmers than Yan men.

But once the Yan had begun killing there would be no courtesy.

No possibility of leaving escape routes.

When the riders passed Zheng Fan, many recognized him.

Recognized Count Pingye.

Recognized the Chief Commander who had set this massacre in motion.

Some called out greetings.

Others simply struck their saber hilts against their breastplates in salute.

When they noticed Zheng Fan seemed to have no attention to spare for them, walking southward alone with his head lowered they did not stop.

They continued chasing their targets.

Once a butcher knife had tasted blood stopping immediately was never easy.

When Tian Wujing exterminated his own clan, the Jingnan soldiers had killed until their eyes were red and their minds strained nearly to breaking.

They had almost continued the slaughter into the quarters where the Empress herself was staying.

Fortunately there were plenty of Chu prisoners here.

Perhaps not enough for every single Yan soldier to personally take one head.

But enough to splash blood across everyone’s armor.

Zheng Fan walked.

And walked.

Then suddenly he felt as though another shadow had appeared beside him.

On his left side.

Walking in step.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a man in a black hoodie.

A cigarette hung from his lips.

His eye sockets were slightly sunken.

His knuckles had gone pale.

The man looked familiar.

So familiar it nearly broke through some invisible membrane and spilled directly into reality.

And yet strangely unfamiliar too.

Like a stranger separated by far too many years.

No matter how powerful longing was no matter how much one missed the past once the present and the past became divided, they could become the most distant places in the world despite standing only inches apart.

Zheng Fan felt his vision beginning to blur.

His understanding of reality began drifting.

A strange disorientation seized him.

*Who am I?*

*I am Zheng Fan.*

*Then which Zheng Fan—*

*am I?*

Images surfaced in his mind.

He saw himself sitting inside the old studio, rushing to finish pages.

The ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.

Two instant-noodle cups sitting in the trash can beside his feet.

The curtains were tightly closed.

There was no way to tell day from night.

For certain people the rhythm of working at sunrise and resting at sunset had long ago ceased to be normal life.

*Thud-thud-thud-thud!*

“AAAAAAAH!”

Hooves thundered beside his ears.

From the Wang River came the miserable shrieks of Chu soldiers struck by arrows.

Those sounds pulled Zheng Fan violently back out of memory.

He opened his eyes in confusion.

A cloud of dust blew directly into his face and stung his eyes.

“Count!”

“My lord!”

Passing cavalrymen continued saluting him.

Zheng Fan merely rubbed his eyes.

He did not respond.

Eventually the irritation faded.

But when he cautiously looked toward his left again the Zheng Fan in the black hoodie was still there.

Still walking with exactly the same rhythm.

Step after step.

And on that man’s face was a faint smile.

Directed toward Zheng Fan.

Mockery?

No.

Disdain?

Not that either.

It looked more like someone had just witnessed something interesting.

Something that struck exactly the right point of amusement.

Zheng Fan raised a hand and smacked himself lightly on the head.

He did not know whether this was the sensation he had been searching for.

But he felt miserable.

He wanted out.

And so he no longer dared look left.

He turned his attention to the right, hoping the figure would disappear from his field of vision.

But he was wrong.

Because only then did Zheng Fan notice there was someone standing on his right as well.

This man was covered in blood.

He wore exactly the same armor Zheng Fan currently wore.

In fact, he looked almost exactly like the present Zheng Fan.

There was only one obvious difference.

The pupils in that man’s eyes glowed scarlet.

And his face was filled with naked greed and enjoyment.

Zheng Fan instinctively raised both hands and covered his ears.

He understood that he had probably entered some form of psychological breakdown.

Perhaps the order to massacre prisoners had triggered it.

Perhaps Tian Wujing’s words had.

Or perhaps the feelings and questions Zheng Fan had accumulated deep inside himself over the past several years had finally found a chance to burst free.

*Who am I?*

It was a question almost everyone asked at some point.

But at this moment—

Zheng Fan desperately needed an answer.

Unfortunately the Blind Man was not beside him.

Zheng Fan stopped walking.

He lowered his head.

Then crouched down.

One chaotic image after another began flashing through his mind.

For one moment he stood inside the hospital room where he had undergone euthanasia.

Then, he stood atop the walls of Snow Sea Pass, watching savages attack below.

Then, he stood inside a roast-duck restaurant while Little Sixth smiled at him with an entire roast duck in his hands.

Then, he stood before a birthday cake.

His studio companions sang *Happy Birthday* to him.

As the images spun faster and faster an overwhelming wave of nausea surged upward.

“Ugh...”

Zheng Fan planted both hands on the ground.

He began retching violently.

He felt horrible.

His head hurt.

His entire being felt as though it were being torn apart.

And worst of all he had no idea where he was supposed to go.

In his previous life, the Blind Man had been a psychologist.

Truthfully, none of the other Demon Kings had been ordinary people either.

Their temperaments and mental resilience were all extraordinary.

Even Fan Li, the supposedly simple and honest one could anyone really claim he was *that* simple?

But perhaps this was what people called darkness beneath the lamp.

By spending so much time with the Demon Kings, Zheng Fan had indeed been growing.

Changing.

Forcing himself to adapt to them.

And to this world.

The Demon Kings had been delighted by the changes in their Master.

Barring accident, everyone would remain bound together for life.

Naturally, they did not want their Master to remain useless forever, lying around eating and waiting to die.

But Zheng Fan was still human.

The Demon Kings possessed their own experiences.

Their own character settings.

And after awakening in this world, they had mostly continued living according to their original natures.

If they did not need to accommodate someone they did not.

Being happy.

Living freely.

Doing as they wished.

Those things mattered most.

Zheng Fan, by contrast, had been forcibly polished into something else in a very short period.

Deep inside too many negative emotions had accumulated.

He had never truly had a place to release them.

Meanwhile, the Demon Kings gradually became accustomed to the ever-changing, ever-improving Master and began treating him as simply another member of their group.

Because of that blind spot even the Blind Man had failed to notice how Zheng Fan’s emotions and psychology were changing.

Naturally, no one had helped him sort or regulate any of it.

Originally, these problems would not have exploded today.

Zheng Fan could still endure.

His tolerance had not yet reached its limit.

But today everything erupted.

Some cavalrymen passed Zheng Fan and called out:

“Count!”

“My lord!”

Then, not long afterward, they noticed their Prince walking behind Zheng Fan.

Immediately—

“Your Highness!”

Tian Wujing had followed.

Originally he had not planned to.

What he wanted was simple:

Use the blood and killing intent of this massacre to push Zheng Fan through the bottleneck of Seventh Grade and into Sixth Grade.

Tian Wujing did not think that would be difficult.

Zheng Fan’s talent was excellent.

But gradually—

Tian Wujing realized something was wrong.

Compared with the agitation of qi and blood inside Zheng Fan’s body—

Zheng Fan’s own thoughts seemed to be sinking into something far more complicated and painful.

This was no longer a simple Seventh-Grade breakthrough into Sixth Grade.

This was qi deviation.

Going berserk.

For many martial cultivators, qi deviation was a dangerous threshold that had to be faced at some point.

But Tian Wujing had never expected it to appear on Zheng Fan now.

He had genuinely never heard of someone suffering qi deviation merely while breaking from Seventh Grade into Sixth Grade.

It was like Zhang San stealing Li Si’s chicken and then requiring the Emperor himself to sit in the Golden Hall and personally judge the case.

At last, Tian Wujing watched Zheng Fan crouch on the ground with both hands clutching his head.

His body began convulsing and twitching.

The qi and blood inside him were moving toward complete loss of control.

No matter how great a God of War Tian Wujing might be he could never know Zheng Fan’s secret of having lived two lives.

So from Tian Wujing’s perspective, perhaps he had pushed Zheng Fan too hard.

Used methods that were too extreme.

Forced the man beyond his ability to endure.

And now, the boy was beginning to collapse.

Just as Zheng Fan sometimes regarded Tian Wujing as something like an elder brother, Tian Wujing did not see the man who had taken in his son without hesitation as merely another subordinate either.

People possessed feelings.

Even the coldest man was still human.

Tian Wujing slowly opened his right palm.

Around him threads of blue wind began appearing.

Everyone under Heaven knew the Prince of Jingnan was a terrifying Third Grade Martial Artist.

Few knew—

Tian Wujing also possessed methods of Daoist cultivation.

Even though he did not cultivate the Dao.

Using Daoist heart methods to forcibly stabilize the mind and rebuild the heart would be enough to pull Zheng Fan back from qi deviation.

But before Tian Wujing could move a wisp of black qi rose from Zheng Fan’s body.

That black qi carried a filthy, polluted aura.

Tian Wujing stopped.

His gaze sharpened.

He did not move forward again.

Ahead—

Zheng Fan stopped retching.

His body stopped convulsing.

Then, he even staggered back to his feet.

Everyone possessed his own opportunities.

From Tian Wujing’s perspective, he did not care if Zheng Fan carried a few private secrets of his own.

And as a commander of armies, Tian Wujing certainly did not possess the narrow obsession with “orthodox” and “evil” methods that some wandering Qi Refiners did.

As long as it helped Zheng Fan—

Tian Wujing did not mind its existence.

Of course, the condition was that it truly helped.

“Interesting...”

...

“Heh-heh...

“Heh-heh...

“Heh-heh...”

A child’s laughter entered Zheng Fan’s ears.

Zheng Fan raised his head in confusion.

He looked forward.

There stood the Demon Child.

Wearing a little bellyband.

Looking at him.

And on either side of Zheng Fan the other two Zheng Fans still remained.

They copied his movements exactly.

For a moment—

Zheng Fan could not tell.

Could not be sure.

When the Demon Child called which one of them was he calling?

When a person lost certainty over his own identity, the resulting panic spread through every part of him.

The estrangement was worse than walking alone through city streets late at night and realizing there was nowhere in that entire city where you truly belonged.

It felt as though he were an abandoned child.

Heaven and Earth stretched endlessly around him yet not one place existed where he could put down his feet.

Tian Wujing had not acted.

The Demon Child did.

What was the Demon Child best at?

Illusions.

Dragging people into false worlds.

Using everything inside those illusions to magnify weaknesses in the heart.

Then driving prey toward collapse.

Toward hysteria.

That was the Demon Child’s pleasure.

But put differently someone skilled at creating problems first had to understand how problems were solved.

The Demon Child was genuinely puzzled.

Normally, so long as its “father” was not being shot or hacked apart, it could simply sleep comfortably inside the special hollow in Zheng Fan’s armor.

But then, while sleeping something suddenly felt wrong.

It woke.

Looked around.

And discovered that its own “father” had somehow trapped himself inside a mental cage and was about to kill himself with it.

*You can die.*

*But you can be killed by me.*

*What the hell do you mean by killing yourself?*

That was the Demon Child’s first thought upon waking.

And once that thought arose it appeared without hesitation.

Even though behind its father stood a terrifying existence powerful enough to make even the Demon Child feel wary.

“Heh-heh...

“Heh-heh...

“Heh-heh...”

In Zheng Fan’s eyes the Demon Child was still laughing.

Zheng Fan grew more confused.

More lost.

He even began backing away.

By now he had almost forgotten who he was.

And he no longer dared claim which “self” was actually him.

Like a man without registration.

Without identity.

“Pat-pat-pat-pat!”

The Demon Child ran toward him.

Truthfully, if one ignored the eyes the Demon Child looked like an adorable infant.

And even those eyes after staring at them long enough one gradually became accustomed to them.

The Demon Child reached Zheng Fan.

More precisely, it reached all three Zheng Fans.

Then the Demon Child extended one chubby hand.

Like a little child who had run ahead, realized his father was no longer following, and turned back to grab his father’s hand and pull him forward.

The Zheng Fan in the black hoodie extended a hand.

The Zheng Fan in blood-covered armor extended one too.

Only the real Zheng Fan did not dare move.

But the Demon Child ignored both of the other hands.

It kept waiting.

Waiting for Zheng Fan.

*You’re...*

*waiting for me?*

Zheng Fan could hardly believe it.

At this moment, he felt as though he had sunk into a swamp.

He genuinely could not believe anyone would still reach out and grab him.

Every person possessed vulnerable periods.

No matter how strong a man or woman appeared, once certain events struck—or emotion accumulated to a breaking point—there could come a night when they lay alone in bed and cried silently.

Nerves that had seemed thick and rough all day suddenly became damned sensitive.

Zheng Fan was precisely in such a state.

He was still Zheng Fan.

But right now he was unbelievably fragile.

“Fa...

“Fa-fa...”

The Demon Child urged him.

At last, Zheng Fan extended one trembling hand.

The Demon Child stepped forward and grabbed it tightly.

*He—*

*chose me?*

In an instant a powerful sense of recognition flooded Zheng Fan.

It felt as though light had returned to his world.

The cowardice.

Fear.

Panic.

All the emotions that had consumed him began dispersing.

And with them the two false Zheng Fans standing beside him disappeared.

*You cannot see Mount Lu’s true face because you stand within the mountain itself.*

When Zheng Fan allowed the Demon Child to pull him upright when his eyes suddenly opened again when his vision no longer held that fragile, sentimental haze he regained reality.

Remembering how weak he had been moments earlier he suddenly found it almost ridiculous.

*What the hell was wrong with me?*

*How could I think something that stupid?*

*Was that really me?*

*If the Blind Man and the others found out, they’d laugh themselves to death.*

Zheng Fan straightened.

Then, almost instinctively, tried to cover his earlier loss of composure.

He gave two dry laughs.

Then stretched.

At that exact moment the agitated qi and blood inside his body suddenly calmed.

It began circulating smoothly and in perfect order.

The threshold that had blocked Zheng Fan for so long was crossed naturally.

No enormous blast of energy surged into the heavens.

No wild wind roared across the four directions.

There was only a faint flash of black light across Zheng Fan’s body.

So fast almost impossible to catch.

Even Zheng Fan himself failed to realize at that moment that he had advanced so quietly.

Still the sudden clarity and comfort flooding his body felt extraordinarily pleasant.

Upstream the Chu screams continued without end.

Zheng Fan yawned.

He did not feel excited.

But neither did he find the slaughter especially cruel or frightening anymore.

Every army marching to war had already accepted one thing:

It would kill.

And it might be killed.

What was strange about that?

Zheng Fan turned.

He looked at the Wang River, now reddened by Chu blood from upstream.

Then he suddenly knelt beside the river.

Lowered his head.

And plunged his entire face directly into the water.

A long time passed.

Only then did he lift his head again.

He straightened.

“Huu...

“Huu...”

Zheng Fan wiped water from his face while breathing heavily.

Then turned his head.

Tian Wujing stood not far away.

Zheng Fan could not help laughing.

“Your Highness—now *this* river has some flavor!”

...

After the alliance was concluded, the Chu army left Yupan City.

At one command from the Prince of Jingnan, forty thousand surrendered Chu soldiers were slaughtered.

Their blood dyed the Wang River red.

When the news reached Yanjing the imperial court erupted in fury.

The Emperor of Yan erupted in fury.

Immediately two imperial decrees were issued.

One was sent to Chu expressing apology.

The other was sent to Yupan City denouncing Tian Wujing for arrogance and tyranny and stripping him of his princely title.

And so the Prince of Jingnan became once again the Marquis of Jingnan.

[End of Chapter 369]