Chapter 233: Zhao Kuangyin's Soliloquy

Chan Prefecture.

Compared to the turmoil of Bian Liang and the stern killing of the Northern Frontier, this city, which had become important due to the successive management of Chai Rong and Chen Wen, now has a place that is unusually quiet and oppressive.

To the west of the city, a manor that originally belonged to a certain wealthy merchant and had been temporarily requisitioned and turned into a prison was heavily guarded.

On the high walls, the silhouettes of spear‑armed soldiers patrolling could be seen;

Outside the walls, plainclothes agents also crept back and forth day and night.

The one imprisoned here was none other than the former Palace Guard Commander who had failed in a mutiny and been stripped of all offices and titles, Zhao Kuangyin.

Deep within the compound, in a room whose doors and windows had been reinforced, leaving only a small iron window for ventilation,

Zhao Kuangyin let his hair hang loose, wore a gray prisoner's uniform, had his back to the door, and sat cross‑legged on a cold straw mat.

Before him stood a low table holding a pot of clear water, a bowl of vegetable broth without a trace of oil, and two hard steamed buns.

The food was hardly touched.

His once burly and stalwart frame had now noticeably slimmed, his cheeks hollowed, his stubble unkempt; only his broad frame still hinted at the former dignity.

His gaze, through that tiny iron window, rested on a patch of sky outside that had been divided into neat squares, a dull gray expanse.

There was no angry roar, no hysterical unwillingness.

Only a profound, bottomless silence remained, like the dead stillness after a storm has ravaged everything.

Yet his thoughts, like a lone bird occasionally flitting past the window, flew back to the past, to the moment that had decided his fate.

Chenqiao Station.

Yellow Robe.

That glory ought to have been his, Zhao Kuangyin's—the fruit of his painstaking efforts and years of waiting, the mandate of heaven finally returned!

But why?

Why, of all people, was it that seemingly steady, low‑born Chen Wen?

The fellow who had climbed up step by step from Jiao Tu Zhen, the one who, relying on farming and inexplicable luck, had earned Chai Rong's favor as a Defense Commissioner!

What did he rely on?

Zhao Kuangyin's fist clenched silently inside his sleeve, the joints whitening from the force.

His mind flashed back to the few direct encounters he had had with Chen Wen.

At the Battle of Gaoping, that man had shielded Chai Rong amid the ten‑thousand‑strong army, displaying extraordinary bravery;

Later, in Bian Liang, when faced with his own suppression and probing, that man appeared to yield but in fact laid down roots step by step, his foundation astonishingly solid;

Until finally, on that night at Chenqiao Station… that man arrived late yet struck first, with a speed and power he could scarcely comprehend, dismantling all his arrangements and kicking him straight down from the heights into the abyss!

"Chen Wenzhong…"

From Zhao Kuangyin's throat came a low, beast‑like groan, filled with defeat and hatred, and a trace of something he himself would not admit… fear.

Yes, fear.

It was not fear of power, but fear of a force he could neither understand nor control.

Chen Wen and the troops under him, at times bursting forth with inhuman combat power, were utterly contrary to reason!

Moreover, the mysterious Iron Crow Army that had aided him… they were just as unfathomable.

Zhao Kuangyin, confident in his own heroism, had risen step by step in the chaotic age through military merit and craft, believing he could see the whole board of the world.

But in the face of these two super‑normal forces—Chen Wen and the Iron Crow Army—he felt like a blind man, like a pawn, tossed about by an invisible hand, ultimately ending up with total defeat.

"Duke Chai…"

His thoughts drifted again to the figure who had died in illness at the Chan Prefecture Governor's Office.

If Chai Rong could have lived a few more years, would this world have been another scene?

Would Zhao Kuangyin still have a chance?

That thought merely flickered and then turned into deeper bitterness.

No 'ifs'.

Chai Rong chose Chen Wen, and perhaps even on his deathbed placed his last stake upon that man.

And Zhao Kuangyin became a ridiculous loser, an old minister cast aside by history.

Just then, an extremely faint, barely perceptible knocking came from outside the door.

It was not the rough thud of a jailer delivering food, but a light sound with a specific rhythm, like an insect's chirp.

Zhao Kuangyin jerked his head up; his eyes flashed with sharp light, but then quickly faded, returning to the previous stillness.

He recognized this signal.

It was the Iron Crow Army!

When he was first imprisoned, this signal had appeared once before.

Then, the message they conveyed was for him to be patient; they would try to rescue him.

But after that, there was no further word.

Until today.

Zhao Kuangyin's inner turmoil surged violently.

The Iron Crow Army was now the only external force he could possibly rely on, and also his hope for revenge.

But dealing with them was no different than making a deal with a tiger.

Their aims were strange, their actions hard to predict, and the chance of failure extremely high.

He remained silent, giving no reply.

The signal outside repeated once more, carrying a hint of urging.

In the end, the flames of revenge and the yearning for freedom outweighed the warnings of reason.

He slowly rose, walked to the door, and, with the same light force, tapped a few times on the door panel as a response.

A thin piece of paper, as delicate as a cicada's wing and rolled into a fine tube, was silently slipped in from beneath the door crack.

Zhao Kuangyin quickly picked it up, retreated to the depths of the room, turned his back to the iron window, and unfolded the paper.

On it was only a single line of small characters, the ink stain bright red like blood.

"The storm is coming; wait quietly for the opportunity. The old pact still stands."

"The storm..."

Zhao Kuangyin chewed on those two words in a low voice.

Does it refer to the assassination of Chen Wen on his northward return?

Or does it refer to the larger turmoil plotted by the Iron Crow Army?

"The old pact still stands..."

Do they still remember the promise they made to support me back then?

Or am I still merely a pawn they can use?

He felt no joy at all, only a heavy sensation, as if sinking deeper into mist.

The Iron Crow Army came again, and it was certainly not just out of goodwill to rescue him.

They surely have some scheme, and they need this "pawn" of his to play some role in the upcoming "storm."

He held the paper to the oil lamp, watching it quickly curl, blacken, and turn to ash.

The flickering flame illuminated his ever-changing face.

Joining the Iron Crow Army might offer a sliver of survival, even a chance to take revenge on Chen Wen.

But what is the price?

He, Zhao Kuangyin, must he really become a puppet and accomplice of these strange beings?

But if he refuses to cooperate, will he simply waste away in this lightless prison, watching helplessly as Chen Wen secures his realm and founds his so-called Chen Dynasty?

No!

He is unwilling!

A surge of hostility rose from his heart.

He, Zhao Kuangyin, will never admit defeat here!

No matter what the Iron Crow Army's purpose is, for now he needs to rely on their strength to escape his predicament.

As for the future…

A flash of ruthlessness crossed his eyes.

As long as he breaks free from this prison, he may yet have a chance to turn the tables!

In this chaotic world, who can truly control anyone's fate?

He sat back down on the cushion, closed his eyes, as if nothing had happened.

But the once-dead pool of his inner heart had been struck by a boulder, stirring up turbulent undercurrents.

He is waiting.

He is waiting for the Iron Crow Army's so-called "storm," waiting for that "good opportunity" whose nature—blessing or disaster—is unknown.

In this game, he has not yet been completely eliminated.

As long as he still has breath, he will struggle, he will make a bold move!

Whether for revenge or for that once‑within‑reach… the world!