Yan Zheng raised the corner of his eye, his gaze settling on the man behind him carrying an iron hammer: “Mohan, you are Meng Ze’s top general. Why have you traveled so far to Great Xia—just for my worthless younger brother?”

“Who’s your brother?!”

Yan Zhao’s voice was sharp with fury, but Mohan remained solemn, pressing a hand to his chest in a respectful bow. “Third Young General, it has been a long time. Our young khan once said that among those worthy to be his rivals, your father, the great General Yan, was one, and your elder brother, the heir Yan, was another. Alas, both have returned to the Eternal Sky. Now, only you remain.”

The corner of Yan Zheng’s lips curled, though his eyes held no warmth. “Oh? Meng Ze thinks so highly of me? Then this marquis cannot let you return empty-handed. How about this—leave behind an arm, and I’ll let you go back alive. What do you say?”

Mohan’s expression shifted, and one of the southern barbarian soldiers behind him snapped, “You crippled bastard, how dare you—”

Before he could finish, the iron hammer came down, smashing through his skull in a spray of blood and brain matter.

Chu Ruolan screamed, covering her eyes, while Chu Ruoyan shielded her with a frown.

Why had the southern barbarian struck down his own man so brutally?

Mohan didn’t even glance at the fallen soldier, calmly retracting his hammer and bowing again to Yan Zheng. “Third Young General, my subordinate was ignorant and offended you. Please forgive us.”

Yan Zheng waved a dismissive hand, and Mohan barked an order: “All soldiers, sever your left arms!”

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but Mohan had already raised his hammer and smashed it down on his own left arm.

Crack!

The sound of shattering bone cut sharply through the night. With their commander leading the way, the remaining soldiers had no choice but to grit their teeth and break their own left arms.

Groans of pain rose and fell in waves.

Mohan, barely containing his agony, looked to Yan Zheng. “Th-Third Young General… are you satisfied now?”

Yan Zheng smirked, glancing at Yan Zhao. “There’s still one left.”

Mohan’s face darkened, while Yan Zhao let out three disbelieving laughs. “Good, good, good! Yan the Third, you truly are ruthless—even your own brother isn’t spared!”

Yan Zheng replied coolly, “Aren’t you returning to the southern barbarians to be a prince consort? This marquis has no brother who’d marry into their ranks.”

Yan Zhao flinched as if struck. “Shut up!! You think everyone is like you, a coward who betrayed his own for glory? You abandoned your country’s vengeance for the sake of your mother’s status! I misjudged you! Do you even remember how our eldest brother saved you on the single-rope bridge at Hangu Pass?”

“He sent you across, then held the bridge alone! You couldn’t have forgotten—hundreds of southern barbarians, yet not one got past him! It was Amuze who fired the arrow that snapped the rope. To keep you from falling into the abyss, our brother lunged to grab the broken end! That was when the barbarians seized their chance—they hacked at him twenty-one times!”

“Twenty-one strikes, all on his back! They wanted him to let go, to send you plunging to your death! But he never did. The rope tore his hands bloody, his back became a sieve—yet he held on! Only when you were safe did he use his last strength to cut the other end, ensuring no enemy could follow!”

“And you? Did you ever look back? Did you even glance at him?!”

Tears of blood streaked Yan Zhao’s face as he laughed bitterly, each word dripping with grief.

“Yan Zheng, you didn’t. You ran like a coward, never once turning around!”

Chu Ruoyan’s heart clenched as she looked at Yan Zheng—the mockery in his expression had vanished.

His dark eyes were fathomless, like a lifeless abyss.

“Yes, I didn’t.”

He spoke slowly, closing his eyes as if reliving that day of fire and blood.

Flames scorched the sky as his eldest brother dragged him out, slaughtering enemies while pressing half of a carved tiger tally into his hands.

“Yan Zheng, go to Hulao Pass and warn them—Hangu is lost, but Hulao must stand!”

“No matter what others say, you must live!”

“Run forward. Don’t look back!”

So he obeyed, running with everything he had.

Even when the single-rope bridge swayed beneath him, even when he nearly fell into the abyss, even when someone pulled the rope to help him cross—

He never looked back.

“Ha… hahaha!” Yan Zhao’s laughter was ragged with grief as he leveled his final, damning words: “Yan Zheng, you don’t deserve to be his brother.”

Crack.

The armrest of Yan Zheng’s wheelchair snapped under his grip.

Splinters dug into his palm, blood welling, yet he felt no pain. Instead, he clenched tighter, driving the wood deeper—

As if physical agony could dull the torment inside.

“Enough!!”

A clear female voice cut through the tension as Chu Ruoyan stepped forward, shielding Yan Zheng.

“Young Master Yan Zhao, forgive my bluntness, but while you rage at your third brother—where were you that day?”

Yan Zhao’s eyes were red. “I was holding the enemy at the city gates, too far to help—”

“Exactly! If you couldn’t act, why blame him entirely? Your eldest brother sent him to deliver a warning—to ensure Hulao Pass wouldn’t suffer the same fate!”

“Do you think your third brother wanted to escape? That he chose to be branded a coward? Circumstances forced his hand! Do you know what he did to reach Hulao? He shattered his own legs!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

What kind of resolve did it take to break one’s own bones?

And how had he crawled that impossible distance?

Yan Zhao froze, staring as Chu Ruoyan continued softly, “Young Master Yan Zhao… sometimes, dying is easy. Living is the harder path.”

Silence fell, so deep even the pond’s frogs stilled.

Yan Zhao’s gaze dropped to Yan Zheng’s ruined legs, memories surfacing—of the once-peerless warrior of the capital. His voice wavered. “But… our brother is dead…”

“Not just him. Father, Mother, Second Brother, Fifth Brother—all gone.”

The boy’s hollow tone made Chu Ruolan’s chest tighten, though she couldn’t find words to comfort him.

Finally, Yan Zheng spoke. “Come back. The position of Yan family head is yours.”

Shock rippled through the onlookers.

The Yan heirship was a prize many coveted—even the second and third branches of the family had fought viciously for it.

Yet here he was, offering it freely?

Yan Zhao hesitated, conflict flickering in his eyes.

Mohan interjected urgently, “Prince Consort, have you forgotten Princess Meng Ji? To bring you back, she leaked military secrets and stole the command tally. The young khan swore to execute her if you don’t return! Can you truly bear that?”

The image of a girl—gentle where her brother was ruthless—flashed in Yan Zhao’s mind, her voice calling softly, “Yan Zhao gege…”

Innocent as a blank sheet of paper, she had fished him out of the Lancang River, nursed him with care, and even lied about having consummated their marriage to save him.

This time, his escape was entirely thanks to her…

A struggle flickered across Yan Zhao’s face before he finally spoke in a low voice, “I can’t bring harm to her!”

Meng Ze was an unreasonable madman—he had witnessed firsthand how the man, on a whim, slit a beautiful concubine’s throat and drank her blood as a toast to liven the mood…

He would never let Meng Ji end up the same way!

A trace of mockery flashed in Yan Zheng’s eyes. “Have you made up your mind?”

“I have! A true man knows what must be done and what must not. I will save Meng Ji first, then return to Great Xia to avenge my father and brother honorably. I won’t disgrace the Yan family name like you, bowing to our enemies as if they were kin!”

Chu Ruoyan’s lips twitched. How could Yan the Sixth remain so naive after enduring such upheaval?

But before she could speak, Yan Zheng declared, “Fine! Shadow, let them go!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep