Chapter 526: Toasting, Playing Chess, Thirty Games in Thirty Years

The two hundred thousand elite troops of Chen State deployed in formation outside Zhenbei Pass, fighting to the death against the Turkic grasslands; afterward, many of the subordinate units were divided into batches and reassigned to the lands south of the river, each settled in their own place.

Those responsible for the resettlement were Fang Ziqiao and others, who handled matters with great care, resolving potential hazards as thoroughly as possible; after the Great Khan died in battle, smoothing out the scattered unrest of the Turkic grasslands also consumed a period of time.

During this period, Chen Tianqi went to the front to campaign against those great nobles of the grasslands, while Chen Dingye, astonishingly, swept up the last of the Chen State officers and soldiers still willing to remain loyal to him, along with over ten thousand trusted followers, and retreated toward the northwest.

Only this time, Chen Dingye's retreat did not take Ye Chongdao and Zhou Xianping with him.

By the time these two famed generals reacted, Chen Dingye had already departed.

Ye Chongdao was not lightly wounded; when he stumbled out of the place where he had been recuperating, he saw Zhou Xianping also rushing in—Zhou Xianping was not wearing armor, his bare body wrapped and bound up like a zongzi.

"Ye Chongdao! Ye Chongdao!"

"Where are you?!"

Zhou Xianping shouted loudly, but then saw Ye Chongdao also walk out; the former froze, his brows drooping, his lips trembling: "You... were also left behind..."

Ye Chongdao pressed his lips together; he looked at Zhou Xianping. These two generals, who had campaigned in all directions and already had white hair at their temples, realized that the brutal and murderous Emperor, when making his final choice, had left them behind.

Whether it was sorrow, or relief, or rather something unspeakable—a pain, as generals who had grown up in Chen State yet never truly reached the very end.

Ye Chongdao, Zhou Xianping, and the other generals received the caskets given by Chen Dingye.

They seized these caskets from the hands of their personal guards. Ye Chongdao looked at the casket; Zhou Xianping was likewise silent. In an instant, both famed generals sensed the heavy weight in each other's hearts, sensed each other's struggle.

They were both generals well-versed in military texts, who had campaigned in all directions for untold years in this age of chaos. At this moment, in their minds, those classic battles of the past rose up one after another—

What if the secret letter left inside ordered them to cause chaos within the Fire Qilin army's main camp?

What if it ordered them to assassinate those strategists within the Fire Qilin army?

To buy time for Chen Dingye's escape.

The two of them—should they do it or not? And the person opposite them, this close friend, this lifelong rival—what choice would he make?

If such a secret letter truly existed, should they act?

If the friend opposite them acted, should they stop him, or remain unmoved?

Life and death, the world, home and country, betrayal, lord and vassal.

All manner of emotions surged within their hearts, leaving neither of them able to speak. Even Zhou Xianping, who had always liked to laugh and joke, was at this moment silent and solemn as a mountain rock.

Just as his palm touched the casket, a voice suddenly came:

"Wait."

Zhou Xianping's hand trembled; he raised his head and saw Ye Chongdao—it was the latter who had spoken. Annoyed, he cursed: "You never made a sound before, why speak up suddenly at a time like this? You nearly scared a man to death!"

"What is it now?!"

Ye Chongdao said: "Let us put down our weapons."

Zhou Xianping looked at his friend: "Mm."

The two famed generals both set down the weapons in their hands—the Ye Chi Blade, the Hooked Halberd—arms almost tied to the fate of the three-hundred-year Great Chen, and intimately bound to the history of those two uniquely Great Chen elite forces, the Ye Chi Cavalry and the Hooked Halberd Infantry.

They went to open the casket again.

"Wait!"

Ye Chongdao suddenly spoke again.

Veins bulged on Zhou Xianping's forehead: "They always say a military general should remain unmoved when mountains collapse before him, hold thunder in his chest yet wear a face as calm as Pinghu—where is your composure? Did a dog eat it?!"

Ye Chongdao said: "You ate it."

Zhou Xianping's fury flared up in an instant; the corners of his forehead twitched.

Ye Chongdao looked at the casket and said: "Open it."

They slowly opened the casket. Inside, as expected, each held a secret letter, along with a pot of wine sealed with wax. The atmosphere was silent as they opened the letter and saw what was written.

It was Chen Dingye's handwriting.

It was indeed a secret letter.

Each contained simple orders, demanding that Ye Chongdao and Zhou Xianping, in the rear, sabotage the Fire Qilin army's logistics and disrupt its deployments, and at the same time, seize the opportunity to use the methods of a Grandmaster-level general to cut down those strategists with weak Wu Gong.

'You are all loyal ministers of the state; you should naturally lay down your lives for the country.'

'If not—'

'Then drink the poisoned wine dry; it still counts as dying for one's country.'

'Strike out in loyalty and righteousness, or betray the country and drink—General, the choice is yours!'

Ye Chongdao looked at the letter in silence for a long while. Zhou Xianping curled his lip and said softly: "... Such a method—truly the Your Majesty we know well. In this age of chaos, a venomous dragon with claws and fangs spread wide."

"Damn it, you really can't expect anything from this fellow. Just because he still had some spirit when facing the Turks, you can't forget what kind of temperament our Your Majesty truly has."

"Ye Chongdao."

"We can't mess up the future our children have carved out with their own hands."

Zhou Xianping spoke softly.

Ye Chongdao gazed quietly at the letter and replied: "Their age has already surpassed ours when we first set foot on the battlefield. Bu Yi, the assault general, is already at the late stage of the Sixth Heaven, and has a great chance of becoming a Grandmaster before thirty."

"Liu Ying is also on the battlefield against the grasslands, having reached the Sixth Heaven."

"They're only in their twenties—far stronger than we were."

"As generals, to die campaigning against the Turkic grasslands and establish a feat unseen in eight hundred years; as fathers, to see one's child reach this step; as vassals, yet unable to see it through to the end—there is, after all, a regret."

Ye Chongdao set down the letter, picked up the wine pot, and calmly removed the wax seal. The fine wine was pure in color, looking extremely inviting. Ye Chongdao calmly poured himself a cup.

Zhou Xianping laughed freely: "A true man, able to campaign in all directions, subdue the grasslands, and in the end, die for his country—isn't that also a glorious thing?"

"Although, as a vassal, there is loyalty and righteousness."

"But between heaven and earth there still exists a great righteousness—to lay down one's life for a just cause. There is no better moment than now."

Zhou Xianping set down the secret letter left by the Emperor and poured himself a cup of wine. He sniffed it—this was the very fine wine prepared that day for the Turkic Great Khan. He looked at the leader of the Ye Chi Cavalry opposite him, and the two raised their cups.

Before they had even drunk, they seemed already drunk.

"Come, Ye Chongdao—the world is in great chaos, and it has been long since we last drank together."

Zhou Xianping raised his cup, a faint smile on his face:

"To the Night Gallop Cavalry, three thousand armored riders, charging through chaos to shatter the Tiger Barbarian cavalry!"

Ye Chongdao sat upright, clinking his cup against Zhou Xianping's, and said calmly:

"To the Hook-and-Gou Lian Qiang Qiang Troops, discipline like Rushan, spears piercing through Turkic iron cavalry!"

"To the founding emperor of our great Chen, ally of chaos, tearing apart the world!"

"To our great Chen divine general, Chen Tianqi, where his long spear points, enemies are shattered deep!"

"To Tai Ping Gong!"

"To Shen Wu Wang!"

"To Lu Youxian!"

The two drank deeply, cups clashing, then burst into laughter, draining both flasks of poisoned wine, collapsing backward, until the wine dripped from their cups onto the ground—the two divine generals lay there, silent forevermore.

…………

Rapid footsteps approached; Ye Buyi nearly crashed into his father's quarters, Zhou Liu right behind him—they had learned Chen Dingye had created an opportunity to leave, yet knew their fathers had been left behind.

Their hearts lurched.

Damn it!

Both Ye Buyi and Zhou Liu's faces darkened.

They had barely time to report the front lines before sprinting here in desperation.

Thoughts surged endlessly, flashing through their minds in rapid succession.

Whether their fathers were abandoned pawns, hidden agents, or something else—both their hearts clenched; no one knows a son better than his father, yet as sons grow, they gradually understand their fathers' stubbornness and silence.

They understood all too well what these old men would do!

Ye Buyi and Zhou Liu chose Li Guanyi and the others because these young people carried fierce dreams, while for these old men, they too had once held fierce dreams in their youth.

But now, that once-beautiful, blazing dream had rotted.

The ideal they had followed had not always been this way.

Could they abandon the white moonlight, the beautiful dream now spoiled?

Abandon the youthful vigor, the fiery martial spirit of youth, abandon the comrades and friends who died for this dream before it rotted—sometimes, even when one knows the path is wrong, there is no turning back.

Cannot. Will not. Must not. Will not yield.

Zhou Liu nearly carried Shi Dalin over.

Nearly ten years had passed; the former Seven Old Ghosts of the Fire Qilin Army had become a white-haired old man, slinging a small medicine chest over his shoulder—this chest, still made by Lei Laomeng himself from hacked wood.

A fine thing: insect-resistant, fireproof, impervious to blades.

Swung by its strap, it could serve as a heavy hammer, shattering armor.

Press one hidden latch, and it transformed into a Gongsun repeating crossbow, firing twelve bolts at once.

Holding such a treasure, Shi Dalin was still carried like firewood by this young general, wind rushing past his face, rustling wildly, whipping his white hair about, blurring his vision—everything before him flashed by at blinding speed.

He gripped the strap tightly, yet still shouted reassurance to the two outstanding young commanders: "Ah, Ye lad, Zhou lad, don't worry, don't worry—those two generals are upright men!"

"Even if Chen Dingye, that old poison worm, poisoned the wine or the medicine, don't fret, cough cough cough…"

"Look, here's this!"

"We've got this!"

Shi Dalin slammed his medicine chest with force, as if trusting it more than himself, and declared confidently: "This is the fully restored secret medicine chest of my late master, Mr. Hou Zhongyu!"

"You know Mr. Hou Zhongyu? The one who brewed the elixir of immortality!"

"He brewed the elixir of immortality!"

"So curing poison and illness? That's child's play!"

Zhou Liu, anxious, still chattered: "Yes yes yes, I know, Old Man, you're amazing, amazing!"

"We'll be counting on you now."

"You must fully display Mr. Hou Zhongyu's medical arts and miraculous techniques—don't shame his name!"

His tongue remained sharp, perhaps using this chatter to soothe himself, to mask his fear and dread.

They reached the quarters of the two generals, Zhou and Ye—yet upon arrival, they hesitated, frozen in place; even Zhou Liu could not speak. Only Ye Buyi fell silent a moment, then kicked open the tent with force.

The sight within stunned them.

A box lay open, a letter resting inside; on the table stood two flasks of strong wine. Zhou Xianping and Ye Chongdao lay slumped over, thoroughly drunk—but with no sign of mortal danger.

Shi Dalin dashed forward, poking and prodding, then snorted:

"Just drunk."

"This stuff—strong, pungent smell, hah hah hah—strong enough to knock down a Grand Master. It's imperial wine, similar to the Thousand-Day Drunk the Array Master once brought back from overseas."

"Master Wen Qingyu nearly got knocked out cold by that same Thousand-Day Drunk."

Zhou Liu exhaled sharply; only now did he realize he'd been sweating all over—he kicked his drunken father, gritting his teeth: "Damn old bastard, you scared the hell out of me!"

"Shit!"

Then he paused, eyeing Ye Buyi warily:

"I'm just expressing emotion—not referring to a plant."

Ye Buyi stared at him, expression unchanged, and said succinctly: "You associated a single word with a plant, then felt compelled to explain that to me—it truly makes one…"

Ye Buyi paused, choosing his words carefully.

Said succinctly: "... laugh out loud."

Shi Dalin suddenly felt the air grow colder—he shivered.

But then again, the northern lands are always cold this time of year.

Hmm, probably. Maybe.

Zhou Liuying: "…………"

Damn, this guy really deserves a beating!

He knit his brows, yet still laughed out loud, letting out a long sigh of relief.

Ye Buyi looked at the two secret letters on the table, then at the two pots of wine. After a long while, his brow smoothed out. He looked at the two divine generals—two generals who had fought through a hundred battles, sitting on the ground leaning against the table. They were thoroughly drunk, drunk, yet seemed still sober.

Still able to murmur and speak.

Ye Zhongdao raised his cup and murmured: "Drink, drink…"

Zhou Xianping laughed drunkenly: "Drink, drink!"

"Whoever doesn't drink is a grandson!"

Zhou Liuying supported him, saying: "Old man, you're drunk!"

Zhou Xianping flung Zhou Liuying's hand away forcefully, shouting loudly in defiance, saying: "Who, who's drunk?! I'm perfectly clear-headed, come, drink, keep drinking, burp…"

"Old Ye, how come you've gotten younger?"

"And, and you've got three faces, six eyes, hahaha, yet still only one neck and one mouth, no wonder you don't like to talk, keep drinking!"

Zhou Xianping staggered up. This was a fierce general who, in his youth, had followed his father onto the battlefield, who had faced the Tie Futu's charge without retreating a single step. Yet after only two steps, he staggered and fell back down to sit, leaning against Ye Zhongdao.

The two lowered their eyes, their bodies bearing countless wounds, no longer young, no longer in their prime.

They seemed finally drunk, yet after getting drunk, they still murmured.

Just murmurs, just voices only they themselves could barely still hear:

"Drink, drink…"

Their hands curled as if holding wine cups, then they clinked cups against each other. The crisp sound of the cups clinking could be heard at their ears. They squinted, leaning back, as if toasting their own youthful era.

"To these three hundred years of romance and spirit."

"To the fall of Great Chen."

"To this, the age of great contention."

"To this… moment of light drinking."

…………

The hoofbeats were heavy and low. Chen Dingye's expression was calm. He gripped the reins tightly, merely glancing to the side, and said with a smile: "Ye Zhongdao and Zhou Xianping are both there too. I'm just curious, Master Yan Chen, why don't you stay behind?"

"Your son Yan Daiqing is now only twenty-seven years old."

"Yet he already oversees an entire nation's logistics. When he reaches thirty, he'll be qualified to become a prime minister of a nation, and what's more, he's doing an excellent job."

"In times of chaos and contention, when founding a nation and establishing a cause, such prodigies always appear."

"It is the times, it is fortune, it is fate."

"Because he possesses great talent, but also because he possesses great fortune. Without great talent, he could not bear such a heavy responsibility; but without great fortune, how could he, at such an age, step to the forefront of the world and leave his own mark?"

"You have such a fine son—why don't you stay?"

"They surely would arrange a good settlement for you."

The Yan Chen beside him said: "Your Majesty is walking toward the end. The army you bring consists of Chen's last loyal confidants. This army will fight to the very end, but no matter what, it is after all the fall of a sovereign."

"When a sovereign dies, even if he is a foolish tyrant or a cruel tyrant, there cannot be no Shi Guan by his side."

Chen Dingye burst into laughter, laughing quite heartily.

Then his tone carried a hint of smugness, as he said:

"I left some gifts for Ye Zhongdao and Zhou Xianping—secret letters and fine wine. Those two fellows have been looking at me with worry in their eyes lately; they must be afraid that in the end I'll order them to turn against the Fire Qilin Army, to turn against Li Guanyi and the others."

"So I deliberately left these two things behind."

"To tell them: go kill people, or if you won't kill, then go kill yourselves. Given those two's temperament and boldness, once they've made up their minds, they'll drink down that so-called poisoned wine."

Yan Chen said: "What was that wine?"

Chen Dingye said: "It was something those two had wanted to sneak a drink of since they were young. Back then we were all still small—it was during the annual martial arts ceremony. Those two were even more willful and unrestrained than Ye Buyi and Zhou Liuying were in their youth."

"They deliberately lost the competition and snuck off to steal a drink."

"They didn't get to drink the wine, but ran into Chen Chengbi and got a good beating."

"Hahahaha."

Chen Dingye laughed heartily, a note of loneliness in his laughter, and finally said calmly:

"I know their temperament, and you know it too. They're loyal, but there's no need for it to go that far. They'll think it's poisoned wine, drink it with the resolve to die, and then we can consider that they have already died once for Great Chen."

"Already martyred themselves for the nation."

"After that, the days are theirs to live as they wish."

"As for the letter, it is a 【Tóumíngzhuàng】—a pledge of allegiance—meaning that even in death, they did not draw their weapons to attack the Fire Qilin Army. Only this way can those two truly settle down there in peace."

"Consider it I, the Emperor, inviting their younger selves for a cup of wine."

"One last cup, to drink together."

He tightened the reins and said calmly: "Even if I die, I cannot die there like a captive. I will fight to the end. Chen Dingye may die a pathetic death, but the Emperor of Chen cannot die a pathetic death."

"Death by suicide, death by hanging—those are not the ways for a sovereign to die."

"Resisting to the end, cut down by the rebel army—only that can be called a dignified death."

"I have no intention of being killed like a prisoner by Li Guanyi."

"If a sovereign must die, it should be beneath the blades that destroy his nation."

Yan Chen looked at him and cut straight to the heart of his thoughts, saying:

"Your Majesty wishes to give Qin Wang a proper, honorable revenge."

"Only by exhausting every stratagem and tactic, taking advantage of the period when Qin Wang is at the front, did you break away from the rear."

Chen Dingye laughed.

Yan Chen said: "And also to give yourself a chance to 'take revenge' upon yourself."

Chen Dingye fell silent, then burst into loud laughter, but did not answer.

After laughing, he glanced to the side and said with a smile:

"Master Yan Chen, the final appearance of Chen Dingye, I must trouble you to write it into the history books."

Yan Chen pressed his lips together, quietly watching the Emperor. The Emperor rode a horse, with the Director of Ceremonials leading the warhorse in front. The Emperor turned sideways to speak with him, but Yan Chen was on the left side, while Chen Dingye turned toward the right side to speak, as if he thought Yan Chen were currently on his right.

Chen Dingye's hair had all turned a ghastly white, and his pupils had already taken on the texture of wood and stone.

He could no longer see clearly what was ahead of him.

Using himself as the stake, he lured the Turks into a death trap, personally pushing forward the opening of this war to destroy the steppe. The price was that the feidu poison had already seeped deep into Chen Dingye's sinews, bones, and viscera; even without such a chaotic age, he would have died.

But he ought to have died amid the blades and arms of war.

Yan Chen looked upon this tyrannical, hateful, cold, and cruel Emperor, yet his thoughts drifted to a long time ago, to that day of pouring rain, when a poor scholar set up a chess stall outside the Imperial Academy of Chen, his mother lying ill at home.

No one was willing to play chess with this poor young scholar.

He watched the rain, which veiled the bustling Jiangzhou City, and veiled his future as well, like a haze.

That young Imperial Prince who came to play chess.

He seemed quite interested, coming day after day, playing thirty games of chess in a row. Setting down a piece, he said with a smile:

"You have great talent. After playing thirty games of chess with me, how about you accompany me for thirty years, Mr.?"

"Come, I will advance you sufficient silver as salary."

"I am Chen Dingye."

The young Imperial Prince held up a bamboo umbrella, bent over to shield the poor scholar from the rain, and said with a smile:

"The wind and spirit of a great Chen — the Chen that supports the realm; the Ding that props up the altars of state."

"The Ye of a king's grand ambitions."

"Chen Dingye."

That youth who would kneel an entire night in the rain for a eunuch, who loved talent and played chess, who helped a poor scholar save his mother, and even introduced him to a girl he came to love — in a daze, merged into the tyrannical, suspicious, and incurable monarch before his eyes.

The complexity of human nature goes no further than this.

Yan Chen rode quietly on his horse, following Chen Dingye.

Chen Dingye rode his horse, unable to see, his back held ramrod straight, gripping the reins, awaiting his own death with the composed dignity of a tyrant.

?? Begging for monthly tickets, friends~