Chapter 589: Epilogue · The Form of the Dragon and Phoenix (Final)

Epilogue · The Form of the Dragon and Phoenix (Final)

Li Guanyi’s voice landed in Li Zhao’s ears and heart; in an instant, Li Zhao tightened her right hand behind her back, fingernails digging into her palm, the skin slightly whitening—only the faint sting kept her expression as calm as ever.

She studied the Qin Emperor before her, trying to find traces of his youthful face, but finally only smiled and said, “Your Majesty came to the Western Regions—why not let me know beforehand, so I might properly prepare to receive you?”

Li Guanyi chuckled: “If I do not go, why should you not come?”

Li Zhao remained silent, her gaze shifting slightly, then smiling naturally:

“Your Majesty still has the leisure to discuss poetry and inspiration?”

The Qin Emperor made no reply.

The fortune-teller cried out in alarm, hugging his stall and shrinking to one side, trembling; Tu Shengyuan, glancing at him bound in the grass nearby, immediately recognized him as the Grand Master of the Yin-Yang School of the Xuegong—who had sealed his own memories and wandered the mortal world again.

Tu Shengyuan shook his head in disdain.

Why are all the Yin-Yang School people such fools?!

Hmph!

A bunch of fools who love watching entertainment, yet always end up becoming the entertainment themselves.

I refuse to be counted among you!

He lifted his head, then wriggled his body like a caterpillar, trying to slip away silently—but alas, when Ling Pingyang had once bound Wen He back to Jiangnan, he perfected a masterful binding technique, combined with a thousand-day drunkenness and a compound anesthetic; Tu Shengyuan had been completely incapacitated and could not move.

Finally, Wen Qingyu grabbed him by the collar, and he sighed: Fine, can’t run anymore. What can I do? What can I do? He began muttering inwardly to his late wife, without much resistance.

My dear, this isn’t me wanting to watch this gossip.

It’s this brat Wen Qingyu who dragged me here!

In your spirit, this doesn’t count as me breaking our promise.

Tu Shengyuan offered no further resistance; he glanced over, and had his mouth not been stuffed, he would’ve already spat out a “tsk,” but now he could only let the rag inside his mouth twitch.

The two people across from him conversed calmly, laughing and chatting merrily.

Everything followed proper etiquette, nothing transgressed—but the Marquis’s gaze was glued to the Qin Emperor; as they walked side by side, his right hand, fingers behind his back, lightly tapped the railings along the path, rising and falling like spring wind brushing willow branches.

Yet he still restrained himself within the bounds of propriety.

Though they adhered to the rites of sovereign and minister, the formalities and rituals, the affection in their eyes had not faded.

Tu Shengyuan understood eight-tenths of it.

This man was battling himself—his thoughts turned, and he grasped nearly the whole truth: the Marquis of Li, born noble, how proud he was; such a man would never abandon the empire to return to the palace; yet despite that, the bond from their youth, the loyalty through life and death, could not be let go.

He wanted this, and he wanted that.

And he could not give up either.

The rites of the Marquis, the rituals of sovereign and minister—these were the final veil protecting his pride and self-respect; beneath it burned a fire, the most intense affection the world had ever known.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk!”

Let’s see how long before that veil catches fire.

Tu Shengyuan couldn’t help but mutter “tsk” again, but no sound escaped.

“Mr. Tu, have you thought of something?”

A gentle, sincere voice—Tu Shengyuan froze like a snake had fixed its gaze on him; he didn’t want to look, yet he couldn’t help it, turning his head slightly to see Wen Qingyu smiling at him.

Tu Shengyuan shook his head like a rattle drum; Wen Qingyu did not press, only gazed calmly at the two across from him and said:

“Most likely, it’s because of the Emperor and Empress.”

Tu Shengyuan stiffened, staring at Wen Qingyu as if seeing a ghost.

It was said that on the day the Emperor married, the Marquis of Li did not attend; Sun Wuchou’s face had been twisted into a grimace just to cover it up.

These two words—Marquis of Li, Empress Xue—and all the tangled affairs of their youth, the reclusive Lady Yaoguang didn’t care; but the Marquis of Li, born into the highest echelon of political elites, could not possibly ignore them.

Especially not a proud Divine General.

Tu Shengyuan was numb—he felt he hadn’t just said what he shouldn’t have, but had also heard what he shouldn’t have.

Is this how I’m going to die?!

My dear, do you really think so little of me?

Old Tu wore a mournful face; seeing Wen Qingyu’s smile, he said: “I happen to have the most thrilling, most fascinating story to tell tonight—Old Sir, interested?”

Tu Shengyuan shook his head violently.

Wen Qingyu pulled the sack from Tu Shengyuan’s mouth, his voice as gentle as jade, refined and harmless: “Then I’ll tell the Marquis and the Empress everything you heard today.”

Tu Shengyuan’s eyes went glassy.

Finally, with a faint sense of resignation, a quiet deathly calm, he laughed helplessly.

“Damn it all!”

Wen Qingyu added: “I swear by my name, and by the Emperor’s will—this will be the absolute pinnacle of storytelling. Miss it, and you’ll regret it for life.”

Tu Shengyuan noticed: this time, the strategist used his real name and the Emperor’s—so he hesitated, saying: “You say… the absolute pinnacle?”

Wen Qingyu: “The absolute pinnacle since ancient times.”

Tu Shengyuan’s mind knew the man’s words were utterly untrustworthy—he should have angrily and decisively refused, declaring even if you kill me I won’t agree.

But he had a mouth.

So he heard himself say: “Tell me?”

………………

Iron hooves pounded the ground; soon, the Marquis of Li’s elite Xuanjia Army arrived—the Qin Emperor’s inspection tour to the Marquis’s residence had been forewarned by the Xuanjia’s advance scouts.

In Xiyicheng, upon hearing the Emperor and the Marquis had returned together, officials at every level felt ripples stir within them, as if a heavy stone pressed on their hearts.

The Marquis had not entered the capital for three years to report; these officials had all whispered doubts—now that the Emperor and the Marquis returned together, some began wondering: would the Marquis accompany His Majesty back to the capital?

For the old retainers of the Marquis’s household, the bond between the current Marquis and the Emperor was crystal clear—even without knowing the details, they could sense it; their earlier separation had likely been a sulk, and now that they met, ice would surely melt.

Then, after the Marquis enters the capital—

Who will take over guarding the vast western frontier of the empire?

When Li Jianwen heard the news, he fell silent for a long time; he had no desire to compete with his sister—but now, with his third brother dead and their father aged, if his sister became an Imperial Consort and left…

Li Jianwen stared at his cup; the tea within rippled.

Hearts are not fixed—they shift with circumstances. Many came to Li Jianwen seeking favor; many more believed that though Li Jianwen was capable, compared to Li Zhao, he was firefly to the moon—no comparison at all.

If the Marquis’s duties were given to Li Jianwen, the Western Regions could not remain as prosperous and stable as now; though chaos wouldn’t erupt, the people’s livelihood and governance would likely decline.

But Li Zhao had finally met the Emperor—preventing her departure would be inappropriate.

Sun Wuchou’s stomach nearly twisted in agony.

On one side: the Marquis’s position as the stabilizing pillar of the Western Regions might be given to someone less capable; on the other: the decade-long romance he had watched—choosing between them made his belly ache.

Amid this atmosphere, like hidden undercurrents beneath the sea, the Qin Emperor’s crimson dragon-banner, accompanied by the thunder of Xuanjia cavalry, slowly approached; Xiyicheng welcomed His Majesty’s western inspection with the highest honors.

As always, he inspected the merits and faults of his ministers, evaluated their scholarly and agricultural achievements.

At the night banquet, Li Zhao remained composed, leading the Xuanjia troops out to perform the “Qin King’s Battle March,” smiling: “Your Majesty, do you still remember when we were young, charging through ten thousand soldiers to take an enemy general’s head? These are the soldiers who fought beside you then.”

Li Guanyi laughed: “All brave warriors. Come, drink!”

He brought out fine wine and poured it for the soldiers; at the banquet, Li Guanyi and Li Zhao’s words and actions followed sovereign-minister etiquette perfectly; Li Shude glanced at Li Jianwen, then at Li Zhao, and understood everything.

He sighed deeply.

Li Jianwen lowered his eyes, silent. Among the ministers, some exhaled in relief, others felt resentment; still more, those who clung to the conspiracy theory that “the Marquis’s three-year absence from the capital proves disloyalty,” were numerous.

But who could blame them? A frontier lord, a guardian general of the realm, had not entered the capital for three years after the empire’s pacification—unprecedented indeed.

The banquet ended only when the moon rose high; ministers with weak liquor tolerance prepared to take their leave—when suddenly, a clatter shattered the drowsy mood; all turned in shock, the air turning slightly sharp.

They saw Li Jianwen’s cup fall to the ground; he exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering, then hardening. He rose first, paused, looked at his sister and the Emperor, placed his right palm over his left, and bowed deeply before the ministers—all watching with varied thoughts—and spoke, voice like forged metal:

“I will not take over the duties of Xiyicheng.”

A murmur erupted; all the ministers’ drunkenness vanished.

Li Shude’s eyes widened.

Li Jianwen said: “The Great Qin has its own system of selection; there are rulers above and below, maintaining the Western Regions’ order—it cannot rest on one man’s shoulders. I am merely one among many.”

“Marquis, Second Brother—you and His Majesty have reunited after long separation, yet have not gone to the capital.”

“Now you may go. Do not hesitate.”

He looked at his sister, his voice softening:

“...Do not let the title of Marquis trap you, Second Sister.”

Li Zhao fell silent. Li Jianwen turned and strode away; his gaze swept over the officials who had visited him beforehand, making them all shiver inwardly, silently cursing—but none had expected the elder brother of the current Marquis of Li to be anything but a fool.

The ministers dispersed, feigning drunkenness to take their leave one by one.

One bold soul, unaligned, tried to eavesdrop; Sun Wuchou punched and kicked him out.

Eavesdrop? Eavesdrop on what?!

Li Zhao lowered her gaze, smiling naturally: “Brother truly wants me to report to the capital? Your Majesty, the drinking is done—these voices are noisy and tiresome. The Marquis’s garden is pleasant. Come with me.”

Both the Qin Emperor and the Marquis possessed peerless martial arts; unless they drank a thousand-day wine, ordinary liquor had no effect on them.

Li Guanyi, dressed in imperial regalia, wore a golden crown, his sleeves embroidered with sun, moon, and stars in gold thread, a jade belt at his waist, a sword hanging at his side; Li Zhao wore the full ceremonial attire of a Marquis—her crown and robes one rank below Li Guanyi’s, yet still radiating noble splendor.

The two walked through the moonlit garden; the moon hung high as they casually spoke of the world of old and their youth in Jiangnan. Li Zhao’s hands were behind her back, fingers slightly curled, holding a wine jar; suddenly she smiled:

“Tonight’s scenery is perfect. Your Majesty, do you remember when we ran together under such moonlight in Jiangzhou City? That was when I learned you were Li Guanyi.”

“In the blink of an eye, more than a decade has passed.”

“Life truly is like a white horse passing through a crevice—suddenly gone.”

Li Zhao extended her left hand; her pale palm trembled slightly in the night, as if stirring the moonlight like a lake. Her profile bore a touch of melancholy, restraint; her gaze fixed on Li Guanyi, then on the night-lit city of Xiyicheng, and finally she said:

“Your Majesty, it’s late. We should…”

The moon hung high. No one around.

Changsun Wuchou squatted outside the Duke Prefecture, frowning in distress.

Li Shude patted Li Jianwen on the shoulder and sighed; Li Jianwen said nothing, and the other ministers each harbored their own private thoughts, the atmosphere heavy with tension.

Only Wen Qingyu sat there, eating western fruits, slowly counting the time.

Suddenly, a dragon’s roar echoed through the sky, like a thunderclap shaking the four directions, instantly dispelling the mood—and naturally drawing every gaze. Even drowsy commoners were jolted awake, looking up to see, beneath the long night, scales like a hellfire of flame, gliding between the moonlight.

As the people gasped in shock, a deep, powerful voice rang out.

“Talk of fate, speak of fate—what determines it? Where is the heart?”

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!”

“Don’t be wrong!”

“Don’t be wrong!”

“Hahahaha! I am but a wandering storyteller, a leaf adrift on the stream. Today, all you listeners are here—so let me tell a fine tale.”

“Today, we speak not of that mad swordsman of old, who wielded a three-foot blade and dared turn heaven and earth upside down, nor of the Wolf King’s roar, whose might swept the land. Today, we speak of one collision—a true bond!”

“One, a scion of imperial blood, phoenix in bearing; the other, a dragon hidden in the depths, claws and fangs concealed.”

The voice was loud and aged, yet carried an undeniable grandeur—as if the greatest storyteller in all history were recounting a vast tale, and telling it brilliantly, laying bare every detail of the events over a decade past.

Li Jianwen exclaimed in shock: “Is this about Second Sister and His Majesty’s old affair? Who is this man…?!!”

“Who dares be so bold?!”

Li Shude’s eyes gleamed, and he burst into laughter: “Hahahaha! Good! Good!”

“The greatest storyteller since ancient times!”

“Hahahaha! Excellent!”

The dragon’s roar stirred the four directions.

Tu Shengyuan sat atop the Crimson Dragon’s head, wind whipping his face, loudly telling his tale, his heart pounding—damn, sitting atop the Crimson Dragon, telling the story of the Emperor and the Duke’s old bond, in Xiyicheng—damn, this was thrilling!

True, this was dangerous, and one misstep and he’d become a laughingstock.

So naturally, this matter was—

Truly, impossible to—

Refuse!

He had asked the Crimson Dragon why it agreed.

The Crimson Dragon said Li Guanyi promised that if this succeeded, they would join forces with Li Zhao to fight him for three days and three nights in the western desert!

The Crimson Dragon said: “So I agreed!”

Tu Shengyuan couldn’t help laughing: “What a brain full of muscle…”

He caught the Crimson Dragon’s threatening glare.

This time, Tu Shengyuan’s mouth finally learned caution: “Auspicious omen!!”

The Crimson Dragon was satisfied.

Tu Shengyuan now felt exhilarated; below him stretched the vast western lands, lit by human lanterns—he cast all consequences aside, slammed his wooden clapper into the void, unleashed his Master-level aura, and roared: “Li Zhao! Li Zhao!”

“In chaotic times, whose grace?”

“On the mountain peaks, thrice asked.”

“Are you still remembering the Third Pact today?”

The voice rang far and wide. Li Zhao halted, her gaze flickering, then turned to the Emperor, and sighed: “Was this arranged by Your Majesty too? Why must you force me?”

“I’ve resolved to preserve our old bond—between us, clear as river and tributary. But why…?”

Li Zhao closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and said:

“Brother Li, I rely on you—fulfill the Third Pact.”

The Emperor nodded: “Erlang, speak!”

The phoenix-like woman looked at him and whispered:

“Cease your inner Qi. Do not cultivate. Do not resist. Do not strike back!”

Li Guanyi obeyed, halting the circulation of his inner energy. In an instant, the woman stepped forward, sleeves swirling, hand extended—her palm pierced the clear moonlight, just as that carefree young man-dressed girl had over a decade ago.

She seized the Emperor’s collar and yanked him hard toward her.

The touch of lips—warm, dominant.

Beneath the moonlight, one kiss sealed it.

A pair of phoenix eyes gleamed bright.

She stepped back, her sword-calloused fingers brushing her lips—the crimson rouge instantly blurred, like the tail feathers of a phoenix. Her Duke robes, the corners of her eyes and brows—held an indescribable, unrestrained ease. She sighed:

“Why force me, Emperor? You know my nature.”

“I held myself back for so long—tried very hard to confine myself to the role of a Duke bound by propriety and history. Now…”

Li Guanyi was stunned—he realized his expectations had gone awry.

Li Zhao leaned slightly forward and bowed.

Then, gripping the sun, moon, and stars embroidered on the Emperor’s collar, she smiled:

“Your Majesty, I am weary of these empty formalities!”

Her sleeve swept out.

A phoenix’s cry pierced the heavens.

Three hundred lanterns of the Duke Prefecture went dark at once; ministers and servants were all flung back by the surge of energy. The Duke hoisted the Emperor into the mansion, and as he turned, his gaze lifted to the sky—half-smiling, half-sardonic.

Tu Shengyuan’s smile froze; his scalp prickled.

This is wrong!

I must flee!

The south won’t do, the seas won’t do, the west won’t do—no choice, no choice—I must head to the Central Plains, to the mountain ridge where Chen Guo and Ying Guo once met, where martial sects gather!

No wonder I’m the best—steady as rock!

The rumors across the land, that the western Duke meant to rebel, that he bore disloyal intent—had all calmed. If you ask why:

“Chew, chew…”

Sa Atandi, chewing a large date, held her brush, counting time on her fingers, then wrote with knife-like strokes upon the historian’s scroll:

【In the spring of Tai Ping Year Three, the Emperor toured the west and slept in the Duke Prefecture】

【He emerged seven days later】

———《Historical Records · Annals I》