Welcoming the Emperor Back to the Court (2)
Within the South Heaven Gate, He Langfei, the head of the He family, led a white silver lion, bowing to the ground. The giant beast wore a silver saddle and bridle, letting out a thunderous roar towards the cloud chariot's top.
The slaves before the chariot prostrated themselves in the dust.
Qi Jiafu, like a leaf caught in a whirlpool, was suddenly swept away by the roar.
The roar wasn't just in the ears but in the chest. His heart felt gripped by a giant hand, his old wounds flaring painfully. Those scars twisted like snakes through his chest, consuming his core, gripping his limbs, and tearing out his spine. He tried to move, but his arms wouldn't obey. When his palms hit the ground, pain shot from his spine through his arms to his fingers—black blood seeped from the brand on his wrist.
"You know we can't hear that thing's roar." That day, Li Meng had pointed to Madam Shao's ear and said casually.
The White Silver Lion wasn't just a legend; it was the sacred beast proving imperial bloodline, the war god's mount in myths. It fed on rebellious slaves, growing stronger with each soul it devoured.
Its roar echoed through the world, fading into the distance.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty—" came the old and young voices together in praise.
Qi Jiafu carefully raised his arm, looking incredulously at his wrist—the blood had stopped, black and congealed on his hand like twisted vines.
He had heard of the White Silver Lion. Among slaves, its power was exaggerated to the extreme. Yet, until now, he hadn't believed it. Now he had to admit—those brands, seared on his wrists from birth, had never hurt until that beast roared. Fifteen years of hard training became a joke against such power.
Are there really miracles? If so, is the blood of the young emperor different from that of slaves in the dirt? If not, where did this inexplicable fear and shame come from? The beast haunting his nights—was it this one?
He forced himself to look up, trying to stay rational—
Among all the slaves, only the lion slave stood impassively, holding a silver scimitar in her right hand, with a fine chain connecting the armguard on her left arm to the lion's collar. Her eyes were tightly shut, the silver powder on her eyelids glimmering, with four intersecting lines drawn on it, like an "X." It was the ancient slave curse, symbolizing the four original sins of slaves—greed, fear, hatred, and hope.
Legend says breaking these sins could free the soul and kill the beast. But without hope, how could one live?
Qi Jiafu watched the young emperor, slowly walking toward the White Silver Lion.
One step, two steps, three steps... This boy, hidden in the mountains for fifteen years, was walking into his ancestors' shadows.
At the end of the slave road, a horse slave cloaked in a brocade blanket knelt by the lion's saddle, her back straight as if unmovable.
Qi Jiafu focused on her hand—the thick fringe of the blanket covered her wrist, but when the young emperor stepped on her back, it shifted, revealing a scarred arm.
It was Madam Shao! Qi Jiafu's heart pounded. He had sparred with her before; this close, it was almost certain.
The young emperor stepped on her back, gripping the lion's saddle, looking bewildered. Though rideable, the lion wasn't a horse, and aside from the silver saddle, had no handholds. The emperor, unable to climb, looked back for help.
The Empress Dowager's stern gaze embarrassed him further. Shaking the loose saddle, he risked falling. Desperately, he scanned for aid, looking like a crowned mole. When his eyes met Qi Qingzheng's, the latter couldn't help but laugh softly.
Infuriated, the young emperor stomped on Madam Shao's back.
She had been waiting for the perfect moment—when he was unbalanced and vulnerable. But his stomp made her act. She grabbed his right foot and twisted, flipping herself to strike at his abdomen with her left hand.
A shadow leaped from the slave crowd—no weapon, no time to grab one—rushing towards the lion.
In a split second, between Li Meng and Madam Shao, the lion slave's silver sword struck with deadly precision.
Qi Jiafu, hailed as Changxiang City's fastest blade, could scarcely believe how quickly the strike came and went.
He saw only the result.
No flash, no sound, no warning—just the result. Madam Shao's left hand on the emperor's belly, right hand at his ankle. Blood poured from the wounds.
The little emperor's harrowing scream finally came out.
He cried, "Mother—"
The tip of the lion slave's sword rose slowly, at a speed comparable to that of an ordinary person.
Her first strike was unavoidable, but between the two strikes, there was a deliberate pause.
Madam Shao's gaze passed blankly over the crowd. Qi Jiafu knew she had seen him, and she was saying, "You came, I knew you would come, good."
This wasn't a farewell—it was an invitation to watch them duel.
Li Meng completely abandoned the White Silver Lion and lunged towards the silver chain between the White Silver Lion and the lion slave. With his massive and powerful body, he pulled hard, and although the lion king didn't move, the lion slave stumbled half a step. Li Meng exerted all his strength, roared, and punched the lion slave's left temple.
Qi Jiafu could clearly hear the "bang"—Li Meng's iron fist hitting a rock would shatter it, hitting cast iron would dent it, hitting a human head could nearly knock it off.
There was a cracking sound as the lion slave's head tilted heavily to the right, a one-finger-long crack appeared on her silver-coated neck, exposing withered flesh and stiff blood vessels. The lion slave righted her head with her right hand, slowly turned to face Li Meng.
Li Meng tried to step back, but the lion slave had already leaped into the air, the silver chain wrapping around his waist, passing the White Silver Lion.
The White Silver Lion lowered its head, bit Madam Shao's foot, and shook its silver mane, dragging her.
Madam Shao screamed shrilly, the sound accompanied by a horrifying chewing noise. The lion ate slowly, but its mouth was so large that with each movement of its jaw, half a foot of her body disappeared into its bloody maw.
No one could save her. The silver chain around Li Meng's waist tightened abruptly, the thin chain embedding into his flesh and internal organs through the slave's coarse clothes. He howled, his fingers like hooks, slashing at the lion slave's chest, aiming for her heart.
Li Meng's fingers pierced through the thin silver armor on the lion slave's chest, and he pulled out his hand, dragging out half her chest along with the armor, white flesh spilling out like rotting debris.
Where her heart should have been, there was a fist-sized lion, vividly alive, still throbbing as if it might mischievously jump out.
The lion slave's silver sword struck down a second time, slicing Li Meng from right shoulder to left waist, cutting him in two.
Li Meng's final action was to grasp Madam Shao's right wrist.
Madam Shao had stopped resisting the White Silver Lion, staring into the emperor's eyes, her face contorting, her eyes widening as the lion's sharp teeth pulled her withered flesh back, exposing her bloody eye sockets. The little emperor tried to turn his head, but his neck wouldn't move. He wanted to close his eyes, but they widened with hers.
Madam Shao mouthed, "I am next."
The little emperor blankly followed, mouthing, "I… am… next…"
Madam Shao was swallowed up to her chest, her hand held tightly by Li Meng. The lion's swallowing lifted Li Meng's upper body off the ground—for the White Silver Lion, eating one and eating one and a half was no different.
She even managed a smile before her head disappeared into the lion's maw.
The little emperor began to vomit in the guards' arms, his neck stiff, face contorted, the vomit staining his chest. The imperial physicians and guards swarmed around him, shielding him completely.
Madam Shao and Li Meng were gone, devoured swiftly and calmly by the lion, which let out a contented burp.
From its teeth, only a clump of torn hair fluttered, one strand yellowed and another dark brown.
Assassinations always shock. Only after the situation was under control did the crowd start to stir. City defense teams, ceremonial guards, personal guards...every leader issued urgent orders and sought new instructions. The Wolf Fang Seventh Regiment charged out of the city gates while the Wind Shadow Riders charged in. Slaves lying on the road were dragged up by countless hands and knocked aside. The citizens outside the guard circle craned their necks to look around, the crowd behind surged forward like a tide, and those hearing the news fled, turning the southern gate into chaos.
Prime Minister Qi had just descended from the cloud carriage, slightly hesitant—it was a celebration, and celebrations should not be heavily suppressed; restoring order quickly was the best strategy. He turned and discussed briefly with Yang Dingtu, appearing to have a minor disagreement.
In that moment of hesitation, He Peiyu had already mounted his horse: "Sound the horn!"
The warriors of the Wolf Fang Seventh Regiment raised their bronze horns to their lips, blowing a long, mournful note.
The horn's chilling sound, filled with a murderous air, echoed in every ear, sending a desolate shiver through everyone.
The noise of the crowd rose like a tide and then fell, silence spreading like waves through the people, catching up with the farthest whispers and murmurs.
The horn continued, low and unceasing, until it merged with the distant wind and rustling trees.
He Peiyu sat upright on his horse, its tail sweeping over the Qi family's seat. He frowned slightly, his long hair entwined with the silver shoulder armor, one hand holding the reins, the other resting on the hilt of his ancient long sword. Half of his face was bathed in the setting sun, like molten bronze poured into the statue of an ancient warrior, breaking apart in the wind, bursting with the sharpness of iron and silver.
"Any movement will be punished by death." His voice was soft, with a metallic ring at the end.
"Any movement—punished by death—" The Wolf Fang Seventh Regiment echoed, raising their long swords, repeating the order word by word.
They didn't form ranks but scattered in groups of three or five, firmly pinning the agitated crowd to the ground.
The guards moved quickly, the slaves were swiftly removed from the ceremonial team, and the people on both sides of the road fell silent again.
He Peiyu lowered his hand from his sword, a black jade ring rolled into the dust, three feet away from Qi Qingran.
Qi Qingran's maid quickly picked it up, holding it on a cloth above her head: "Young General!"
He Peiyu neither looked nor took it, still staring ahead: "Miss, you dropped something."
Qi Qingran was startled, slightly raising her head: "Young General?"
"Miss, as long as you don't lose it, it's yours." He Peiyu spurred his horse forward, leaping off just before crossing the ceremonial boundary, and loudly proclaimed: "Please, Your Majesty, ascend the throne!"
"Wolfish ambition!" Qi Qingzheng cursed lowly, reaching to slam the table, but Qi Qingran caught his hand, slowly lowering it.
In the crowd, the little emperor, one foot lame, belly scratched, his face completely twisted, could not regain his senses no matter how they rubbed and slapped him. The imperial physicians murmured—he had been too frightened, the ceremony could not continue.
Prime Minister Qi and Yang Dingtu discussed briefly, hesitatingly looking at the Empress Dowager.
The emperor was young and had just endured a long journey from the southern Snowy Mountains. Even without the torture of Mu Rong's technique, witnessing a giant beast eating people was enough to scare him senseless.
"Please, Your Majesty, ascend the throne!" General He also knelt by his son's side.
The Empress Dowager slowly nodded.
"Please, Your Majesty, ascend the throne—" Prime Minister Qi led the officials in kneeling.
Supported, the emperor trembled as he walked toward the White Silver Lion, but as soon as he saw its bloody maw, he shook his head violently as if trying to shake it off, pointing at the hair in the lion's teeth, and screamed incoherently, "No... Mother... I... I don't want to see it!"
"Your Majesty, rest assured." He Peiyu half-kneeled, comforting him: "The White Silver Lion is a holy beast protecting the throne, you need only ascend."
"No... no! I don't want to! Don't!" The emperor tried to cover his face, but the empress dowager slapped his hand away. He still struggled to avoid looking, shaking his head so violently his crown jingled.
"Remove that thing." The empress dowager sighed, gesturing to He Peiyu.
He Peiyu hesitated. The White Silver Lion was indeed a holy beast, but a beast nonetheless. Who would dare clean its teeth right after it had eaten someone? Besides, the lion's mouth contained filthy slave flesh, something he couldn't touch.
He looked at the prime minister, who looked at Qi Jiafu.
Qi Jiafu stood, wiping his hands on his clothes, taking deep breaths.
This task was naturally his. The Wind Shadow Riders had been overshadowed by the Wolf Fang Seventh Regiment, and the prime minister needed a chance to turn the tables.
But his hands trembled uncontrollably, just like all slaves, he had a natural fear of the White Silver Lion.
"Jiafu—" Qi Qingzheng began, but Qi Qingran once again held his hand, stifling the "brother" she was about to say.
Qi Jiafu glanced over, seeing Qi Qingzheng's flushed face and clenched fist, and Qi Qingran's pale face with her hand on her brother's fist, her bracelet trembling slightly.
She seemed to make an important decision, taking a handkerchief from her sleeve and handing it over: "Jiafu, give the ring to the young general for me."
Qi Jiafu was shocked. He Peiyu's ring had been somewhat bold, but Qi Qingran's act was even more audacious, unlike her.
"Still hesitating?" Qi Qingran seemed slightly impatient: "I asked you to give the ring to the young general."
She bit off the "you" decisively. Her face was expressionless, her mouth set with familiar stubbornness, her hand outstretched.
Qi Jiafu took the warm handkerchief, bewildered.
Qi Qingran gave a subtle nod, as if saying: Yes.
Qi Jiafu stomped his foot, taking the handkerchief, wrapping the ring in it, and jogged towards the White Silver Lion. He knelt: "Prime Minister."
"Jiafu, assist the emperor in his ascension." The prime minister ordered calmly.
"Yes." He walked over.
He no longer trembled. If spirits of the dead exist, Madam Shao and Li Meng would be watching him. Their flesh and hair entwined, at that moment, they should not be afraid.
Their brand marks should be gone, and mine will disappear too.
Qi Jiafu reached into the lion's teeth, staring unblinkingly at the giant maw. The lion did not move, and he gently pulled out the strands of hair, slow and tender, as if removing a lover's hair from a comb.
Then he bowed, kneeling upright: "Your Majesty."
The little emperor stepped on his back, his wound reopening, leaving a blurred bloodstain.
The crowd cheered.
The lion slave led the White Silver Lion toward the mountaintop altar.
Tonight, the sacred fire on the altar would be lit, never to extinguish. Changxiang City would welcome its king, and the gods and ancestors would protect this naive boy. Every word he spoke would be divine will and decree.
For his veins carried the noblest blood on the Xiang Continent, he was the sole master of the White Silver Lion, the son of the gods, the king of kings.
The crowd followed the White Silver Lion, like waves obeying the sea's command. Countless legs and feet passed by, hurried steps chasing a grand event.