Chapter 72: Qiankun – Show No Mercy

“Not eating is fine, but why chase me away?” Xue Cheng grumbled as he left Qin Yan’s tent. “What do you mean I eat ugly? I’m considered refined in the army. What ugly? You should see what real ugly looks like!”

Inside the tent.

Gu Changhuai sniffed the lingering aroma of roasted lamb leg, savoring it greedily. He flopped onto the wide chair, curling up softly into a ball, and let out a yawn.

Confident that no one could see him, his posture wasn’t exactly graceful—scandalously lazy, even. The chair was spacious enough to cradle his huddled form. He rested his forehead on the armrest, bored enough to play with his breath. He took a deep inhale, puffed out his cheeks rhythmically, and soon his eyelids drooped as he drifted off to sleep.

Qin Yan sat in the main seat, flipping through military reports in his hand. At the end, he glanced sideways, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

…

After wandering for this period, Gu Changhuai had basically confirmed that this was the illusion projected after the Dream-Making Flower shattered.

He hadn’t returned to the real past; he merely existed in distant memories.

Rong Ye’s memories from back then had no place for him, so he could only roam this world as a ghost.

Perhaps Rong Ye’s divine sense was too powerful, making everything in the illusion incredibly realistic—real enough that one couldn’t tell it apart or confirm if they could ever wake from it.

The peaceful days didn’t last long.

While the Xuan Jin rear palace and court schemed fiercely, with the Noble Consort growing ever more favored, Qian Yuan reignited the flames of war at that very moment. They seemed divinely aided, pinpointing every pass’s layout with precision. The Old General was gravely wounded on the battlefield and, with his dying breath, handed full authority to Qin Yan.

He lay on the couch, severely injured, clinging to life by a thread as he gripped Qin Yan’s wrist tightly. Though he was on the verge of death, his eyes burned with startling intensity. Word by word, he said, “Root out the traitor. Don’t let Xuan Jin fall into villains’ hands!”

Only after Qin Yan nodded did he finally let go of that breath, his pupils losing focus.

The Old Emperor in the Capital City was too far to influence the frontier war, but he didn’t want to be a ruler who lost his nation. Qian Yuan pressed aggressively, having already seized two Xuan Jin cities.

It wasn’t until the third city that Qin Yan and Xue Cheng joined forces in a ploy, rescuing the traitor who had leaked the army’s city defenses. Only then did the tide turn once more.

The traitor incident implicated the Noble Consort in the palace. She was none other than the Qian Yuan Princess. Though she wept and claimed ignorance, she still fell from the Old Emperor’s favor.

But the lesson wasn’t deep enough for the Old Emperor. Seeing the princess so pitiful, he abandoned thoughts of execution and merely sent her to the cold palace.

Things quieted down for a time after that.

Of course, those two cities were gone for good.

In his panic, the Old Emperor hastily named the Third Prince as Crown Prince. If the frontier truly fell and enemies reached the capital, he planned to abdicate and flee, abandoning the mess.

Once the situation stabilized, the Old Emperor regretted it. Naming the Crown Prince had been too rash. Looking around at his heirs, none had truly matured—only the Ninth Prince showed some wit, but he was too young.

After much deliberation, he let it stand. The Third Prince it was; he wouldn’t cause much trouble anyway.

By now, Qin Yan had fully seized control of the frontier’s military power.

He inherited the Old General’s prestige, led the army to repeated victories, and exposed the traitor. In the soldiers’ hearts, retaking the lost cities was only a matter of time.

But the capital forbade it.

Countless soldiers cursed the court inwardly as weak fools, too cowardly even to reclaim seized cities… And at that moment, the Old Emperor chanced upon the Noble Consort, banished to the cold palace.

Dressed plainly with simple hairpins, she pitifully nibbled on a steamed bun. Her belly had swelled—she was six or seven months pregnant.

The rear palace had seen no new heirs in years. The Old Emperor was overjoyed, forgetting past scars in an instant. In his delight, he brought her out, throwing grand feasts in celebration.

Meanwhile.

A great drought struck, leaving Qing Tang City barren and starving. The local magistrate’s urgent memorials to the capital went unapproved. All granaries were emptied; not a grain remained. Everyone grew gaunt and sallow.

Until someone, desperate to survive, ate a child’s corpse. This unlocked the gates of sin.

People found a way to live.

They exchanged children for food.

With numb expressions, they stewed meat soup in pots. Even so, many still starved to death, corpses piling up and sparking epidemics.

While the capital reveled—scattering gold foil, feasting on wine and meat—the urgent eight-hundred-li express memorials were casually discarded, then perfunctorily approved.

An army quarantined Qing Tang City to contain the plague. The city overseer begged aid from neighboring cities but received only a bill.

Unwilling to ship official granaries to Qing Tang, they demanded silver under pretexts like road and wall repairs—extorting the city for all it was worth.

Qing Tang was in utter misery. To save his people, the overseer had already tightened his belt, selling all he could to buy grain. There was nothing left.

Plague raged, earth cracked. The infected were herded into dark rooms to die—some weakly calling for help, others wailing in agony.

Darkness stirred the worst in people. Desperate patients with strength left slit their fellows’ wrists, sucking warm blood.

No food, no aid—death by starvation or disease. When even bile wouldn’t come, survival meant one more day.

The sky was bright, the sun scorching, yet it chilled to the bone.

This horror persisted until a general passed by with his army and intervened. The Qing Tang overseer, hanging by a thread, blocked the general’s path, trembling as he presented the city’s plight and the neighbors’ deeds.

Qin Yan slew the neighboring corrupt officials with one stroke of his sword, executing over twenty officials. He opened granaries for relief, diverted half his army’s supplies, deployed military doctors, and summoned physicians from surrounding areas…

But unlike those who papered over crises, he unflinchingly exposed the truth upon resolution, spreading it to the capital where it boiled over streets and alleys.

Public outrage grew, unsettling the court. Unable to save face, the Old Emperor urgently dispatched an imperial envoy to handle the disaster.

…

By the time the court’s men arrived, Qing Tang’s affairs were mostly settled—just tidying up. Such obvious merit—if the Emperor punished it—would only erode the people’s hearts.

The Old Emperor already loathed Qin Yan. Now, with military control and popular support, he could no longer ignore him… He sought ways to weaken Qin Yan’s forces, obstructing from all sides. But court views of Qin Yan had shifted. Disaster star or evil star? Nonsense. A general who truly held the frontier was rare.

Officials had watched the Emperor’s recent moves and lost faith. To keep the Seventh Prince in place, they feigned ignorance of the Emperor’s hints, insisting the Seventh Prince had general’s talent—the best for the frontier.

Unbeknownst, this rhetoric made the Third Prince wary and threatened.

Troops redeployed to original posts; Qin Yan traveled back to the frontier with only his small personal guard. Xue Cheng muttered the whole way—no Qingke Wine, no festive sights.

Qing Tang’s disaster was fresh; the best Qingke Wine was gone, food supplies exhausted—now all imported.

The latest batch wouldn’t be ready till next year.

Hearing Xue Cheng lament missing the Qingke Wine, Gu Changhuai recalled its taste and glanced at Qin Yan atop his tall steed.

A Ghost Face Mask concealed his face completely, revealing only deep emerald eyes.