Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 74

Chapter 74:

Jiang Henian (Part 4):

He Didn’t Want to Be a Consort, He Wanted…

Yu Lin held no official rank, just a common soldier in the Chongwu Battalion, but the jade pendant he carried, a gift from the East Palace, spoke volumes. Those with discerning eyes knew he was the Crown Prince’s protégé, destined for greater things, a future commander at least.

He slept in the barracks, a far cry from the East Palace’s comforts, surrounded by snoring men, their bodies rough and calloused, the air thick with the smell of sweat after a day of training.

He received special treatment, though the conditions were still a hundred times worse than what he was accustomed to. The battalion was filled with sons of noble families, their futures secured, their positions predetermined, those without connections serving as their sparring partners.

Yu Lin needed no such favors. He fought without hesitation, his silence a weapon, his fists hard and unforgiving, his strength humbling the arrogant young nobles.

His lack of restraint was a liability.

But the East Palace’s protection shielded him from punishment.

He returned to the East Palace once a month, paying his respects to Jiang Henian. Today, however, Jiang Henian was meeting with Zhao Yinyang, and Princess Zhaoping, seeing the bruises on his face, approached him, a smile on her lips. “You’re always causing trouble the moment you leave the East Palace,” she said.

She wasn’t reprimanding him. “But at least you’re winning. Otherwise, I wouldn’t let you back in!”

Yu Lin, his silence a response, smiled faintly. He wouldn’t disgrace the East Palace.

The door opened, and Jiang Henian emerged, his formal robes and crown still in place, his jawline sharp and defined, his bearing regal.

“Master,” Yu Lin said, his voice slightly hoarse, bowing deeply.

“I’ll take my leave,” Zhao Yinyang bowed, his face etched with worry, his gaze lingering on Yu Lin as he left.

Yu Lin met his gaze, his dislike for the old man evident. He disliked his presence in the East Palace, his monthly visits a constant annoyance.

“You’ve improved,” Jiang Henian said, his voice calm, his words neither praise nor criticism.

“He’s become quite arrogant, Brother!” Jiang Wan exclaimed. “He beat up three of the Wang clan’s nephews! Broke their noses and teeth! The complaints are piling up! If it weren’t for you, they would have torn him apart!”

“They insulted me, called me incompetent, insulted the East Palace, belittled Master. I couldn’t let them disrespect you,” Yu Lin replied calmly. “I broke their teeth for their insolence.”

“I haven’t lost yet.” He wasn’t afraid of their anger, of the Wang clan’s influence, his confidence unwavering. “Master will protect me, won’t you?”

His words made Jiang Henian laugh.

Yu Lin remembered the insults, the disrespect, his anger overriding his sense of propriety, his actions impulsive, but he didn’t regret it. He had been prepared for punishment, but it never came. He knew he had the prince’s favor, his confidence growing, almost to arrogance, everyone waiting for his downfall.

“They couldn’t even defeat one person,” Jiang Wan said. “They deserve to be taught a lesson, those pampered Wang brats, they need to be reminded of their place.”

“Xiao Wan,” Jiang Henian said, and she smiled. “I’m not wrong, Brother! I would have done the same.”

“Why are you looking at me? Do you look down on me?” she turned to Yu Lin, her voice challenging. “I lost to you, not to every man in the world.”

Yu Lin envied her closeness to the prince, her casual familiarity, while he could only maintain a respectful distance, the prince’s favor a strange and unsettling gift, a burning ember in his chest, the pain a constant reminder of his place.

“If you keep returning with injuries, the East Palace’s medicine supply will be depleted,” Jiang Henian said, his gaze lingering on Yu Lin’s bruised face, his silence a response.

The months in the military camp had hardened him, his fourteen-year-old self, timid and unsure, now replaced by a confident warrior, his scars badges of honor.

Yu Lin’s lip was split, his forehead bruised, but his clothes and hair were neatly arranged. “I’ll try to avoid conflict,” he replied.

Jiang Henian didn’t press the matter. “I also heard you tamed a wild horse.”

“Yes,” Yu Lin’s face lit up. “It’s mine now, I earned it.”

“Well done,” Jiang Henian smiled.

Yu Lin’s joy was uncontained, his smile genuine, but a hollow ache remained, a desire for something more.

…

Three years in the military camp, all for this moment.

In the twenty-third year of Jiang Wuwen’s reign, the Beimu people attacked Yaque Fort, a border outpost. The situation was dire, and Yu Lin, now a captain, was sent to reinforce them, under the command of General Wang. War was a young man’s game, a proving ground, this campaign not only a matter of national security, but also a generational shift in the military’s leadership. He was ambitious, determined to prove himself, not just for the Crown Prince, but for himself.

He hadn’t seen Jiang Henian before his departure, only a set of armor waiting for him in the East Palace courtyard.

He rode his warhorse, his silver helmet gleaming, his sword at his side, his position in the ranks behind the general.

“The King is on the wall, seeing us off,” a fellow officer said.

Yu Lin turned, his gaze searching, and he saw him, Jiang Henian, standing beside the King.

The Chongwu Battalion, mostly young men, their energy and enthusiasm palpable, their hands gripping their reins, their hearts pounding with excitement and anticipation.

Jiang Henian watched the young warrior on horseback, the boy who had entered the East Palace timid and silent, his body thin and wiry, his hands calloused, now a strong and capable soldier, his posture straight, his eyes sharp, his features hardened by years of training.

He watched him ride away, a sigh escaping his lips, the East Palace feeling even emptier now, without his presence.

In the third month, the Chongwu Battalion reached Yaque Fort.

In the seventh month, news of victory reached the East Palace.

Two thousand Jiang soldiers against three thousand Beimu cavalry, a decisive victory! Yu Lin had personally killed one hundred and ten enemies.

He sent a letter to Jiang Henian every two months, written in his own hand.

A single line on yellowed paper.

Are you well? I miss you dearly—

Just four characters, yet Jiang Henian could read between the lines, the strength or weakness of his strokes revealing his injuries, his triumphs, his emotions, his handwriting honed under Jiang Henian’s tutelage.

Jiang Henian oversaw the war effort, ensuring the steady flow of supplies and reinforcements to the front lines, the East Palace’s influence a stabilizing force.

In the tenth month, another victory, but Yu Lin was placed under arrest, awaiting trial. He had disobeyed the general’s orders, launching a surprise attack on the Beimu supply lines before reinforcements arrived, turning the tide of the war.

Disobeying orders, a punishable offense. Crippling the enemy, a commendable feat.

Jiang Henian defended him before the court, facing the Wang clan’s accusations, his voice unwavering. “One should trust those one appoints. A young man’s impulsiveness is a valuable asset on the battlefield. General Wang has served the kingdom well, but he is old, his judgment clouded by caution. He wouldn’t hinder a young warrior’s courage. Captain Yu’s actions deserve reward, not punishment.”

To identify the enemy’s supply lines and launch a successful attack despite being outnumbered was a testament to his courage and ingenuity, the kind of talent the kingdom needed.

“By the order of the King,” King Wu declared, “Yu Lin is promoted to commander.”

Yu Lin, unaware of the events unfolding in the capital, received the news of his promotion.

He had been on the battlefield for almost a year.

Snow fell in the capital, earlier in the border regions, the cold biting, the wind carrying snowflakes.

Jiang Henian, wrapped in a fur coat, a hand warmer in his hands, dismissed his attendants, sitting alone on the veranda, watching the snow fall, just as he had done at four years old, Yu Lin’s latest letter beside him. Princess Zhaoping entered, picking up the letter, reading it silently.

“He’s so reckless, Brother! A night raid on the enemy camp, all alone, and he escaped unscathed!” she exclaimed. “Risking his life for glory, I almost admire him.”

Jiang Henian exhaled, his gaze fixed on the icicles hanging from the eaves. “His courage makes me feel cowardly…”

Jiang Wan, startled by his words, said softly, “Brother… you’re not happy.”

“I am happy,” he replied.

But her concern was evident. “But you’re worried, Brother. About someone? About him?” she asked. “You’re not even looking at the peach blossoms anymore.”

His gaze shifted from the falling snow to the peach tree, its branches bare, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“I never understood what you were looking at, but now I think I do,” she said. “He’s changed you, Brother. Are you thinking about him?”

Jiang Henian pulled his coat tighter, his voice low. “It’s… strange, not having him around.”

He missed his presence, the young man’s youthful energy, his boldness, his unwavering loyalty, his attempts to understand him, to anticipate his needs.

Yu Lin’s emotions were always transparent, his triumphs and frustrations evident, but Jiang Henian didn’t find him arrogant, he felt seen, understood.

His gaze was sharp, his answers always confident, aligning perfectly with Jiang Henian’s own thoughts.

Jiang Wan sat beside him, her head resting on his lap. “Brother, I sometimes dream of you becoming a celestial being, ascending to the heavens, leaving me behind,” she said, her voice soft.

“Do you believe Zhao Yinyang’s prophecy, Xiao Wan?” He looked down at her, his hand gently stroking her hair, a familiar gesture from their childhood.

Zhao Yinyang, defying the King, had declared Jiang Henian the headless dragon, unfit to rule.

“Nonsense!” she said, her voice filled with indignation. “With me here, no one else can have the throne! I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you, Brother!” She looked up at him, her eyes fierce. “I want to join the army! I don’t want to be a political tool, married off to some official! I want to earn my place by your side, to be your most trusted advisor!”

Jiang Henian smiled sadly. “The war is almost over.”

It had been three years.

The Jiang army drove the Beimu people back across the border, and the Beimu, seeking peace, sent envoys to the Jiang capital. The victorious army, led by General Wang, returned.

Yu Lin, after three years on the battlefield, was no longer the young, inexperienced guard who had stood outside the palace walls. He entered the capital with the army, presented to the King by General Wang, his valor earning him the title of General Feiyu, his gaze finding Jiang Henian, his master, standing beside the King, a smile on his face.

He declined the King’s offer of a general’s mansion, donating his reward to the royal treasury. “This servant believes there is still a place for him in the East Palace,” he said, his loyalty to the Crown Prince a public declaration, a wise move in the eyes of the court, but only he knew his true desire.

He had grown accustomed to the battlefield, the constant presence of death, the horrors of war, his ambition fueled by a desire for glory, for a place in history. He had disobeyed orders once, risking execution, saved only by the East Palace pendant, the prince’s name his shield, buying him time to await the King’s decree.

“Master,” he had said, his armor still on, his helmet obscuring his face, his skin tanned by the sun and wind, his features sharper, his eyes darker, a seasoned warrior, the scent of blood clinging to him, a permanent mark.

Even his voice had changed, deeper and rougher.

“You’ve lost weight, but you’ve grown taller,” Jiang Henian’s hand rested on his cold armor, his gaze soft, his admiration undiminished.

He didn’t recoil from the scent of blood, pleased by his safe return.

“Master has changed too,” Yu Lin looked at him, his features and voice matured, his beauty even more striking, like a deity in a painting, his every gesture elegant and refined, a distant, untouchable presence, his height still exceeding Yu Lin’s, but their eyes almost level now.

Jiang Henian smiled. “It’s been three years,” he said, exhaling slowly.

“Come, let’s return to the palace.”

Yu Lin followed silently, his hand instinctively gripping the sword at his side, a warrior’s habit, a homing instinct.

He had earned his place in the army, the soldiers respecting him, obeying his commands, forging bonds of brotherhood in the crucible of war, and as he looked at the familiar courtyard, its layout unchanged, he felt a sense of belonging.

Jiang Henian hosted a feast in his honor, only he, the prince, and the princess present.

The winters in the border regions were harsh, the cold biting, requiring strong liquor for warmth and courage, the men huddled around fires, some with wives and children waiting for their return, the casualties of war a constant reminder of their mortality, his own brushes with death leaving scars, both visible and unseen.

In his moments of pain, his thoughts had always returned to Jiang Henian.

His comrades had envied him, his bravery earning him the prince’s favor, suggesting he might even become the prince’s consort, the thought taking root in his mind, a dangerous seed, his ambition fueled by a forbidden desire. He had drunk eight bowls of wine that night, his madness a secret.

He didn’t dare get drunk in Jiang Henian’s presence, and the prince himself only took a small sip.

He spoke of his experiences on the battlefield, stories he hadn’t shared in his letters, his words bringing a smile to Jiang Henian’s face, his laughter a reward.

Their bowls clinked together, and Yu Lin’s gaze, fixed on Jiang Henian’s face, flushed with wine, felt a warmth in his chest, a strange contentment.

Half a month later, the Beimu envoys arrived, seeking an audience with the King, their purpose peace, their offer a marriage alliance, Princess Zhaoping to be wed to the Beimu king.

Ridiculous.

Yu Lin, standing among the generals, looked at the envoys with disdain, his gaze turning to Jiang Henian, whose expression, though calm and controlled, hardened, his eyes turning cold. The Beimu’s arrogance was infuriating. He wanted to draw his sword, to spill their blood on the palace floor.

A marriage alliance could bring peace, allowing both nations to recover, to open trade routes, ensuring the Beimu’s survival through the harsh winter. The King didn’t refuse outright, the proposal having its merits.

Jiang Wan was twenty-four, still unmarried, only Jiang Henian’s intervention preventing her from being betrothed to last year’s top scholar.

The King had bestowed upon her the title of Princess Zhaoping at fourteen, even building a princess’s mansion for her, but she had remained in the East Palace since birth, the palace staff whispering that the King didn’t favor her, but the Crown Prince doted on her, the princess, now a grown woman, destined to be a pawn in the game of politics.

“Marry the Beimu king? He’s an old man!” she raged, upon hearing the news. “If a princess can be sacrificed, why not a prince? Why not marry Jiang Li to a Beimu princess?”

The attendants had been dismissed, her words safe within the East Palace walls. Jiang Henian poured her a cup of tea, his movements calming.

“Brother…” Her anger subsided, replaced by a quiet resignation. “Why was I born a princess?”

“What do you think would happen if we went to war with the Beimu again?” Jiang Henian asked Yu Lin, not offering his sister empty comfort.

If Jiang Henian had a weakness, it was his love for his sister. Yu Lin knew he wouldn’t allow her to be married off, his question a formality.

“The Beimu barbarians are no match for the Jiang army. With our current forces, I can drive them back to the grasslands,” Yu Lin replied, his voice filled with confidence.

“I trust your judgment,” Jiang Henian said, his gaze fixed on the swirling tea leaves in his cup. “Xiao Wan, you wanted to join the army, didn’t you? Then I’ll grant your wish.”

“But Father…”

“I know what I’m doing,” his voice was calm and reassuring. “The Chancellor offered me a sword a few days ago. He’ll present it during tomorrow night’s banquet. Xiao Wan, take it.”

No Crown Prince would dare scheme against the Chancellor, the consequences dire, but Jiang Henian did it anyway.

A banquet was held in the envoys’ honor, the King expected to announce his decision. Jiang Henian couldn’t gamble on his love for his daughter outweighing his duty as a ruler.

That night, the Chancellor, after a long and flowery speech, presented the sword, its name Hegemon.

It was a battle-worn sword, its aura fierce and bloodthirsty.

Everyone knew the Crown Prince wasn’t a warrior, the gift a mere symbol of authority, but as he reached for it, Princess Zhaoping stood up.

“I hear the Beimu king was a skilled archer in his youth, capable of hunting wolves,” she said, her voice clear and strong, her hand gripping the hilt, the heavy sword lifting effortlessly.

“Zhaoping!” the King’s voice was sharp, a warning.

“Father, Mother was a general’s daughter, a skilled warrior, earning her rank before she married you. Her courage was unmatched, only marriage dimming her glory,” she said, her voice ringing through the hall, the Hegemon Sword in her hand, her gaze fixed on the Beimu envoys. “I, Zhaoping, will also be a warrior, like my mother! That old Beimu king is not worthy of my hand!”

The envoys, enraged by her insult, were about to protest, when she lunged, her sword piercing the lead envoy’s throat, his blood spraying across the floor, his death swift and unexpected.

Jiang Henian stood up. “Do we have swords for war?” he asked, his voice ringing through the silent hall.

Jiang Wan, her hand trembling slightly, the barbarian’s blood staining her clothes, her first kill, straightened her back, her voice strong and clear. “Zhaoping requests to lead the charge!”

“Insolent!” The King roared, rising from his throne, the officials prostrating themselves, his eyes red with fury, his finger pointing at Jiang Wan, his words caught in his throat.

The older officials saw a flicker of the late Queen in her defiance, and so did the King, his anger momentarily forgotten. Yu Lin stepped forward, his voice echoing through the hall. “This servant requests to join the battle! I will lead the charge against the Beimu!”

“We request to join the battle!”

“Your Majesty! We must fight!” Half the court officials echoed his call.

With the envoy dead, there would be no peace, only war, but Jiang Wan’s actions had defied the King’s authority.

“Princess Zhaoping’s actions were justified. The Beimu barbarians, defeated, still dare to demand a princess’s hand,” Jiang Henian’s voice was cold. “If we don’t make them pay, we dishonor the memory of our fallen soldiers.”

The King knew this was Jiang Henian’s doing, those officials his loyal followers, his gaze fixed on his son, his carefully nurtured heir, his anger fading, his body sinking back onto the throne, a sigh escaping his lips.

“My son, you’ve grown up.”

The prince had forced his hand, but he didn’t punish him. With General Wang advocating for peace, he appointed Yu Lin, General Feiyu, as commander, Princess Zhaoping, wielding the Hegemon Sword, second in command, their army to gather at Yaque Fort, the news of the envoy’s death a declaration of war.

This was exactly what Jiang Henian had planned. Defying the King was a serious offense, but he knew his father. Half the court supported him, the influence and authority a king desired in his heir, and his father wouldn’t allow Yu Lin to gain too much power. Jiang Wan’s presence in the army would balance Yu Lin’s influence.

He had given his father a satisfactory answer.

The next day, Yu Lin prepared to return to the battlefield, his brief respite in the capital over. He said his place was both on the battlefield and in the East Palace.

His armor clinking, he knelt before Jiang Henian, his voice firm. “This servant will protect the princess with his life, Master can rest assured.”

Jiang Henian had never doubted his loyalty.

“Rise,” he said. “I’m not just concerned for Zhaoping, but for you as well. You’re the commander, your duty is to your soldiers, to the Jiang army.”

He took Yu Lin’s hand, his voice soft. “The people I care about most, the people I trust most, are going to war. I don’t want to lose either of you, Xiao Wan or you.”

“This is for you.”

He placed something in Yu Lin’s hand, and his eyes widened. The tiger talisman!

“Master?” He looked up, startled, seeing the worry in Jiang Henian’s eyes.

“With this talisman, you can command the entire army, even without the King’s decree,” Jiang Henian whispered. “Keep it safe, this is our secret.”

The talisman burned in his hand, his voice silenced, his heart pounding, the autumn wind chilling the old wounds beneath his armor, his blood burning with excitement, the veins on his hand bulging, the familiar thrill of battle coursing through him.

“I’ll be waiting for your safe return,” Jiang Henian’s voice, soft and warm, echoed in his mind, drowning out all other thoughts.