Chapter 292: Chasing the Deer

"The Sword Mad Murong Longtu has emerged from the martial world."

"Qin Wu Hou slaughtered the imperial clan, committing brutal acts."

"The Son of Heaven went on an autumn hunt."

In the capital of Ying State, a handsome strategist with violet eyes remained silent, sensing a faint hint of impending global upheaval—like the dampness in the air before storm clouds gather and winds collide.

"The time is nearly ripe."

Po Jun said: "My Lord, there are three great turning points in the world; you are about to encounter the first. Allow me to fulfill the part of the world you once envisioned."

After finishing his wine, Po Jun had already uncovered Jiang Wanxiang and Jiang Su's scheme; now, all he needed was to give it one final push just before they succeeded.

Po Jun sought out the Second Imperial Prince, Jiang Yuan.

Jiang Yuan had long since shed the arrogance and brutality he displayed in Chen State over a year ago; now he was poised, gentle, virtuous, and martially imposing—courteous to scholars, humble, and without pride, earning him excellent reputation throughout Ying State.

He had repeatedly declared he would not contend with his elder brother, presenting the image of fraternal harmony; thus, his popularity steadily rose, as many young nobles from powerful clans, once reckless, gradually matured.

Hence, the clans readily accepted Jiang Yuan's transformation.

Today, when Po Jun arrived, Jiang Yuan greeted him personally; the Second Prince was nearly thirty, and held profound respect for Po Jun. He led him to a pavilion on his estate, modeled after Zhaixing Tower but significantly shorter, where they drank wine together beneath the wind.

After only two cups of tea, Po Jun said:

"I must take my leave."

These words caused Jiang Yuan's face to darken instantly, his hand trembling.

"Why does Mr. speak thus?"

"Have I not shown you sufficient sincerity?"

Po Jun did not answer—he knew Jiang Yuan had treated him excellently.

But Po Jun also knew: the better Jiang Yuan treated him now, the harsher his retribution would be once he became emperor. Such men could share hardship, never prosperity—cruel, cunning, yet capable of profound humility.

Even Jiang Wanxiang could produce such a disposition.

Po Jun said nothing, only sighed:

"The Crown Prince is benevolent at heart and holds immense prestige throughout the court—supported by the clans, the civil and military officials, even the common people. The Emperor favors him. You cannot possibly defeat him."

"The strategies I've given you so far only ensure your survival."

"When the Crown Prince becomes Emperor, his benevolence will allow you to live as a virtuous prince."

Jiang Yuan's face darkened, his heart seething with resentment—but Po Jun offered no further strategy, only drank steadily. Jiang Yuan's mind shifted; feigning to fetch more wine, he slashed through the staircase of the seven-tiered pavilion.

With a thunderous roar, the highest level of the pavilion became a suspended platform.

Po Jun's Wu Gong was mediocre—he could not descend.

If he tried to force his way down, he would die.

Po Jun's expression changed drastically: "What is the Prince doing?!"

Jiang Yuan swept his sleeve, made no threats or bribes, but lowered himself to his knees on the ground, bowing deeply: "Jiang Yuan is foolish and unwise, yet I cannot accept such a fate. Please, Mr. —help me one last time. Otherwise, I will not let you leave."

Po Jun seemed helpless.

He said: "Since you insist, I have only one strategy left."

Jiang Yuan's eyes lit up: "Mr., speak!"

Po Jun said: "The Crown Prince is older than you and has been heir for many years. The entire Ying State looks to him with expectation. You have reformed yourself, but his prestige grows daily—you still cannot surpass him."

"There is only one way: ruin his endeavors."

"Diminish his reputation."

"Then you will have a three-in-ten chance."

Jiang Yuan said: "I beg you to instruct me."

Po Jun said: "Ordinary matters cannot lower Jiang Gao's prestige. Only one thing can make Jiang Wanxiang and Jiang Su lose faith in him: the unification of the world."

"There is indeed a way now. The autumn hunt in Zhongzhou has begun, and the Seven Kings of Tujue are being held here—not for their safety, but so General Yuwen Tianxian may return with them when the great upheaval arrives."

"General Yuwen Tianxian has just crushed the Eleven Kings of Tujue; if he returns now, conflict will reignite. When the Seven Kings and the Tian Kehan clash, the Central Plains will be free from distraction, allowing the Emperor to pursue his ambitions."

"If the Seven Kings return early, without Ying State's army escorting them, the steppe will not immediately erupt in war—Ying State will be forced to divert attention to the grasslands, unable to commit fully against Chen State."

"Now that the Emperor is away, all matters rest with the Crown Prince."

"If the Seven Kings depart with the Imperial Princess, the Crown Prince will bear full blame."

Jiang Yuan's face twisted in conflict: "This is Ying State's greatest strategic plan."

Po Jun sighed: "Yes—if it succeeds, the world will be unified."

"Then the Emperor of Ying State will be the Founding Emperor."

"The Crown Prince will become Emperor Wen of Ying's Second Generation."

The conflict vanished from Jiang Yuan's face.

What use was the unification of the world if it wasn't his throne?!

He hardened his heart and said: "Teach me, Mr.!"

Po Jun placed his hand over Jiang Yuan's fist: "No need for such gestures."

"This is also for my Lord."

Jiang Yuan understood: "It is also for the Seven Kings."

Po Jun and Jiang Yuan plotted in secret. That night, Jiang Yuan hosted a banquet at his residence, inviting his elder brother, Crown Prince Jiang Gao. The Crown Prince accepted gladly; the two brothers reminisced about their youth, speaking merrily.

Unaware, they drank too much. Jiang Yuan wept, lamenting his past foolishness in opposing his elder brother, begging forgiveness. Jiang Gao sighed in sympathy. Jiang Yuan then cut his palm with a dagger, swearing an oath of blood: never to betray his brother.

Then, in the central courtyard, he danced with his sword, singing as he moved.

Finally, Jiang Yuan respectfully saw his brother off, saying he had never enjoyed such a joyful feast, and now, in his happiness, he could not help but think of their mother, who had passed away long ago—his heart ached.

Now that their mother was gone and their father absent, only the elder brother remained.

Could the elder brother grant him a personal keepsake, to remember her by?

Jiang Gao, drunk and naturally kind-hearted, thought it perfectly normal for his own flesh-and-blood younger brother to ask his elder brother for a gift; so he took a sword from its sheath and handed it over, saying:

"This sword was used by Father in his youth. It accompanied him in his struggle for the empire and during the palace coup. When I was six, Father gave it to me. Today, I give it to you, my brother."

That night, Jiang Gao returned to the Eastern Palace; Jiang Yuan's expression was torn.

He held the sword—known throughout court as the Crown Prince's weapon—and his face twisted in agonizing conflict, memories flooding back: when he was a child, his brother had taken him wandering, when he refused to study and ran off to climb trees.

Jiang Gao had abandoned his scrolls to play with him; then, perched on the tree, he'd aimed his slingshot at birds, while his brother sat on a stone watching him. Jiang Yuan had worriedly asked, "Won't this hurt your studies?"

Jiang Gao had answered gently: "Books are endless—you could read every day and never finish them. The books you miss today can wait till tomorrow. But my little brother—you're the only one I have."

"We'll grow up eventually. The days I can play with you grow fewer with each passing one."

At that moment, Jiang Yuan had been moved deeply, believing his brother to be the most important person in the world.

Now, Jiang Yuan's expression softened—his grip on the sword loosened—until he heard voices approaching: passing officials, seeing Jiang Gao's direction, leapt from their horses and prostrated themselves in full obeisance, crying, "Your Highness!"

Jiang Yuan's face hardened slightly.

He thought of having to kneel and bow before that man.

His expression turned rigid.

"I can't blame you, brother."

"There's only one brother born of the same father and mother."

"But the dragon throne—the sovereign ruler of all under heaven—"

"There's only one of those too!"

He said: "I don't want you as my brother."

The sword, passed from Jiang Wanxiang to Jiang Gao, then from Jiang Gao to Jiang Yuan, now lay in the hands of Po Jun. That day, the Seven Princes were chatting with the Princess of Ying, when suddenly an eunuch rushed over and whispered to the Princess:

"Your Highness, disaster has struck."

"The steppe and our great Ying state are about to go to war. The Emperor, in fury, plans to imprison you and execute the Seven Princes. But the Crown Prince says this must be the work of a villain—he cannot bear to lock you away, and he knows you've given your heart to the Seven Princes."

"Killing the Seven Princes won't just break your heart—it will bring bloodshed to countless lives."

"The Crown Prince cannot bear such a thing."

"He has detained the emissary sent by the Emperor to execute the Seven Princes."

The Princess Jiang Yujing naturally did not believe him—but the Crown Prince's eunuch drew forth a sword and said: "Your Highness also feared you'd doubt him, so he sent this sword as proof."

She glanced at the sword.

Her face turned pale.

Jiang Wanxiang had the bold, ruthless nature to do such a thing.

She knew of the tensions between Ying and the Tujue, of the Tujue's purchases of war materials; and she knew that Jiang Gao, the Crown Prince and elder brother, was a man who cherished his siblings. This sword had been gifted by the Empress in her youth to her husband, then passed to the Crown Prince.

This token was no ordinary thing.

She staggered, her heart in chaos.

The eunuch said: "The Crown Prince bids you and the Seven Princes flee at once—to the steppe, to lie low until he can calm the Emperor's rage. Then you may return together."

"If the Seven Princes are not killed, our great Ying will not go to war with the Tujue."

Jiang Yujing, her mind in turmoil, went to find the Seven Princes.

Po Jun was in secret conference with the Seven Princes, revealing part of the plan, and concluded: "Soon, you and the Princess will depart Ying alone, using the Crown Prince's sword as proof, journeying to the steppe to evade the Great Khan's forces and reach your own domain."

The Seven Princes' face changed several times: "I still have over a thousand loyal men."

Po Jun cursed: "Fool!"

"If you leave safely and reach the steppe, your troops remain safe. But if you insist on staying here, and when Jiang Wanxiang orders Yuwen Tianxian to bring you back to the steppe—will you fight the Great Khan now?!"

"Will you have these steppe warriors die to the last man against the Great Khan's elite Tie Futu?!"

The Seven Princes' expression shifted several times: "What of Mr.?"

Po Jun said: "Tell them you're going hunting. I'll stay behind to hold them off—if I vanish too, they'll grow suspicious."

Seeing this, the Seven Princes realized clearly: Po Jun was staying to cover their retreat.

Moved, he thanked him profusely, gritted his teeth, took Princess Jiang Yujing, mounted two warhorses, loaded them with silver, and declared they were going hunting. With his retainers and Po Jun still present—and the Crown Prince's ever-present sword—no one doubted them.

Yuwen Lie, Jiang Su, and Jiang Wanxiang were all absent.

And the final of the top five generals, He Ruo Qinhu, was of Jiang Yuan's faction.

With this scheme set in motion, none could stop it.

Po Jun, with casual ease, fulfilled his promise of that day. The ginkgo groves of Ying were in full golden bloom, leaves drifting gently down—but none knew the seeds of tomorrow's calamity had already been sown. He reached out, his expression serene.

Po Jun Star—the auxiliary star of Bai Hu Da Zong.

He had come into this chaotic world to ignite its fires and smoke, to plunge this already turbulent age into full-scale war, and to aid Bai Hu Da Zong in restoring order to the realm.

A task completed, its purpose achieved.

He had gained leverage over Jiang Yuan, created a weakness in Jiang Gao, and secured the favor of both Jiang Gao and the Tujue's Seven Princes. All believed this strategist was helping them—none knew his true aim.

Po Jun pinched a falling leaf, his violet eyes calm and flat:

"Thus, the chaos of Ying, the fracture of the realm—all have been planted. The pact drawn long ago is now fulfilled. It is time I return to my true form. The realm is splitting, the Son of Heaven has lost his deer; the warlords now vie for it."

"Three hundred years of strife."

"Eighteen provinces of the south, under the command of Qin Wu Hou, commander of the Fire Qilin Army."

"Chief strategist: Po Jun."

……………………

The Seven Princes, with the Princess of Ying, rode alone toward the steppe. At that moment, the Son of Heaven of Zhongzhou began his autumn hunt—a tradition of the Chi Emperor lineage, echoing customs from thousands of years ago, when the feudal states vied for dominance.

It served to remind the feudal heirs to revere the central Emperor, and to ensure the Emperor's line never forgot martial valor. Zhongzhou had its own hunting grounds, cultivated for centuries, encompassing vast territories.

Great human and material resources had been spent to gather rare and exotic beasts from across the realm, placing them within and assigning dedicated personnel to care for them. Normally, the grounds were sealed—no one permitted entry except during the Emperor's autumn hunt.

Once, during a drought, a hunter whose meager fields yielded nothing bit his lip, took his bow, and slipped in, hoping to kill a few beasts to feed his elderly mother and children—but he was spotted by the exquisitely trained hunting hounds.

In the end, he was beaten with thirty blows and died before he could even walk back.

It was those officials, accustomed to the imperial hunting grounds, who mocked him by releasing dogs to tear at him—those beasts were exceptionally skilled at mauling people, as if they had been trained all along to chase and bite humans for sport.

Yet none of those officials were punished.

Instead, the hunter was hanged publicly, and his several acres of land were seized and added to the imperial hunting grounds as punishment.

This place had always been forbidden to commoners.

It was usually very quiet.

But today was different: the once-silent hunting grounds were bustling with activity; banners of various colors and battle patterns fluttered in all directions, the tallest being the Crimson Dragon flag, beneath which flew the black tiger-emblazoned Jiang flag, the blue dragon-emblazoned Chen flag, and the crimson qilin-emblazoned Li flag.

After these, came the banners of other clans and lineages.

Even families whose ancestors had produced dukes now had to stand beneath these three flags.

They looked over at the group there with fearful eyes.

A stone table, four people: the foremost was Ji Zichang, dressed in imperial robes and jade belt; to his left and right sat Chen Dingye, Jiang Wanxiang, and Li Guanyi, all clad in hunting attire—modified a thousand years ago by a monarch whose honorific title was Wu.

That monarch had been valiant his entire life, adopting barbarian dress and mounted archery, yet ended up starved to death by his own son—heroic in youth, absurd in old age. These four men chatted lightly, yet the other nobles and imperial clans dared not approach.

Previously, they had feared Jiang Wanxiang's tyranny and dreaded Chen Dingye's coldness.

But now, even the Qin Wu Hou, wielding a wooden sword, was no less formidable than they.

Just three days ago, after that sword-mad battle, the Qin Wu Hou—who had once seemed mild, even youthful—grew quieter day by day; when drinking, his gaze swept across the crowd, now radiating the aura of a formidable warlord.

Li Guanyi's gaze swept over them, and the nobles who watched him instinctively lowered their heads.

After lowering their heads, they felt profound humiliation, anger, and resentment.

They felt that bowing was a disgrace to their families.

Yet if they were to raise their heads and meet the boy's gaze, they dared not.

So they comforted themselves: others were doing the same—just giving this minister face. Our family, eight hundred years of nobility, has no need to speak to this butcher born from sword and spear.

Li Guanyi set down his cup: "The weather is fine today."

Jiang Wanxiang laughed loudly:

"Indeed—autumn is crisp and clear, the season of harvest, when many beasts emerge. The animals think this is when seeds ripen, when fruits abound everywhere, greedy for the bounty—unaware they themselves are prey."

"It seems the prey has been released."

"It's rare to have an autumn hunt—Chen Dingye, let's not wait for these generals to bring us game. Let's go ourselves," Jiang Wanxiang said, seizing a battle bow. "What do you say, we hunt ourselves?!"

From the imperial hunting grounds, a great stag was released—massive, its antlers towering skyward, almost ornate. Originally, the hunt had been for the Fire Qilin, but after the First Master rescued it, he declared the qilin an omen of fortune, and harming it was wrong.

Thus, they switched to hunting this stag, which bore some resemblance to the qilin.

In the past, ministers and lords rode horses, their banners snapping behind them, wielding spears and bows to drive the stag, until the Son of Heaven himself killed it—this was the grandest, most important, and most ceremonial act of the autumn hunt.

But today, Jiang Wanxiang and Chen Dingye both picked up weapons and chased the stag themselves.

The stag sensed a faint aura of slaughter, broke free from the hunting officials, and galloped wildly. Jiang Wanxiang laughed: "Stag, don't run!" He mounted his warhorse, drew his great bow, and gave chase.

Chen Dingye did the same.

Ji Zichang watched the commotion—the two monarchs chasing the sacred stag, symbol of imperial glory, their backs followed by armored soldiers clad in the armor of two nations, banners flying, and for a moment, it seemed to echo the glory of the ancient Red Emperor.

Ji Zichang let out a bitter laugh, raised his cup, and muttered to himself:

"They call it a stag—but it is the Son of Heaven's glory."

"Qing, why don't you go?"

Li Guanyi wore a crimson battle robe, still with his golden-threaded hairpin. He hadn't bothered to prepare proper hunting attire—on the night he killed Ji Yunqing and his grandfather to "beg forgiveness," Ji Zichang had asked him why. The boy had replied, unashamed: "Too expensive. Can't afford it!"

That night, Ji Zichang had laughed until his stomach ached, tears streaming down his face.

Now, faced with Ji Zichang's question, Li Guanyi did not answer, but said:

"I should leave Zhongzhou."

Ji Zichang froze, then sighed, forcing a smile: "You too must go out into the world. Yes, but without the Imperial Academy—even if Gongyang Su Wang is willing to stay, it will be far lonelier."

Li Guanyi said: "The people you mentioned the night you got drunk three days ago."

Ji Zichang looked at Li Guanyi.

That was the night Li Guanyi killed Ji Yunqing and his grandfather to beg forgiveness.

Ji Zichang had been utterly drunk, and in his drunkenness, named one by one the members of the imperial clan—his eyes red, tears nearly falling. Now, Li Guanyi suddenly brought up those names, and Ji Zichang's expression changed:

"Qing, Master of Medicine—what are you going to do?"

He instinctively reached out and seized Li Guanyi's arm, staring at him fiercely:

"Don't act rashly."

But Li Guanyi only smiled, gently removed Ji Zichang's hand, raised his cup, and drank:

"Aren't they already stirring public opinion, calling me Li Guanyi some monstrous villain, a tyrant who seizes imperial power? If I don't continue to satisfy them, won't I be utterly out of touch with the mood?"

Ji Zichang stood stunned, his face filled with sorrow.

Li Guanyi said calmly: "Let me do this one last thing for you."

"The people you dare not touch—I will kill. The deeds you dare not do—I will do."

"You said it."

"A king who loses his country must look like one who loses his country."

"Then a minister who holds power must look like one who holds power."

Li Guanyi set down his cup, rose, and his sleeves fluttered as the Fire Qilin stirred; the golden-threaded hairpin held his hair in place. He smiled, lowered his gaze, turned his back to Ji Zichang, and extended his hand—threads of golden light gathered, coalescing into a divine battle bow in his palm.

Li Guanyi suddenly sighed with a laugh, like the carefree youth he had once been:

"But, Brother Changwen, I wonder—when history writes in its blade-like brush, how will it speak of us two? Of this last king, and his arrogant, unyielding minister? Of this slaughter, this karmic debt, this web of grudges and affections, this boundless heroism?"

Ji Zichang had no answer to this question.

At that moment, the autumn hunt for the stag had reached its fever pitch.

The sound of hooves churned like boiling water; the banners crackled fiercely.

Chen Dingye and Jiang Wanxiang simultaneously loosed their arrows; the arrows whirled through the air, nearly slaying the divine deer—when suddenly, a sharp piercing sound tore through the sky. A single arrow twisted and shifted mid-flight, overtaking them with startling speed, smashing both arrows to pieces!

Everyone was stunned.

A loud laugh suddenly rang out.

Qin Wu Hou had already mounted his horse, gripping his battle bow, and said: "My friends, do not rush!"

He laughed, his brows sharp, bold, and blazing.

"Li Guanyi comes too!"