Chapter 90:
Jiang Li – “Brother, Will You Beg for Mercy?”
A rumble, the ground cracking, shadows emerging from the fissures, like black mushrooms, their caps covered in faces.
A hundred ghosts, lured by Chen Henian’s blood, their hunger overriding their fear of Jiang Li’s array, their blood-red eyes fixed on him, their gaping maws a terrifying sight, their cries a mixture of rage and desperation.
“Insolent creatures,” Yu Lin’s voice, a low growl.
Black water erupted from beneath his feet, a swirling torrent, engulfing the array, dissolving the ghostly figures, their forms twisting and dissolving, their cries silenced. He pulled Chen Henian closer, leaping into the center of the chaos.
The ghosts lunged, their claws outstretched, and Yu Lin threw the black umbrella, its edge sharp as a blade, spinning through the air, decapitating the nearest ghosts, their severed bodies absorbed into the umbrella’s darkness.
Chen Henian, his feet not touching the ground, his weight supported by Yu Lin’s arm, snatched the jade bottle, his fingers closing around it.
Yu Lin, his power immense, held back the ghosts, but Jiang Li wouldn’t stand idly by.
A gust of wind, a crack of thunder, a bolt of lightning splitting the sky, like a silver snake.
Jiang Li stood before them.
Yu Lin raised his hand, deflecting the attack, then, his arm around Chen Henian’s waist, pulled him behind him, shielding him.
“Brother, if you won’t choose me, then you force my hand. I killed you once, I can do it again,” Jiang Li sneered, his gaze fixed on Chen Henian.
Yu Lin scoffed, his eyes narrowed in contempt.
The dead tree behind Jiang Li, so similar to the peach tree in the East Palace, crumbled to dust, revealing his true form, his body rooted to the ground, half his face a grotesque mask, not his own, but the blood ghost’s, its connection to him a dark and twisted bond, the remnants of the creature that had killed his past self.
Jiang Li had devoured it, its essence now a part of him, a monstrous hybrid, half-jiangshi, half-ghost, his aura a swirling vortex of resentment, the souls he had consumed trapped within him.
He had been hunted by the Southern sect, his crimes numerous, his escape a desperate flight.
“Brother…”
He reached out, his hand outstretched towards Chen Henian.
Yu Lin’s form, a swirling mass of black mist, shielded Chen Henian, his voice cold. “You’re not worthy of calling him that.”
He remembered him, the second prince, his existence a shadow, his light dimmed by the brilliance of the Crown Prince, the one Yu Lin had served.
Princes fought for power, their battles a game of winners and losers, right and wrong irrelevant.
Yu Lin, guarding the East Palace, had observed him, their first encounter after Yu Lin’s return from the battlefield, a brief interruption during a conversation with the Crown Prince.
The young man had approached them, a smile on his face. “Brother rarely eats at banquets, I had some snacks prepared for you, would you like to try some?”
No one else dared address Jiang Henian so informally.
It was the second prince, Jiang Li, Jiang Henian’s half-brother, his features delicate, his appearance mirroring his deceased mother.
Born in the Cold Palace, his mother a disgraced concubine, confined to her chambers, forgotten, until Jiang Henian, mentioning him to the King, had secured his release, allowing him to attend the royal academy, to study alongside the other noble children. He had been eight years old, finally allowed to leave his prison.
Jiang Henian had gained a companion, a brother, and Yu Lin hadn’t expected them to become close.
He had asked about him later.
Jiang Henian had told him he was a pitiful child, their first encounter in the Ministry of the Interior, a winter day, Jiang Li begging for charcoal, the servants ignoring him, their cruelty a casual disregard for his status.
Jiang Henian, seeing his chapped and bleeding hands, had intervened, ordering the servants to treat him with the respect due a prince, punishing their insolence.
He had heard of Jiang Li’s diligence at the academy, his efforts to bring honor to the royal family.
But his birth, his mother’s disgrace, had marked him.
Jiang Henian remembered the look in his eyes, a desperate plea for help, for acceptance.
He had helped him once, and they had become acquainted, Jiang Li seeking his company, his presence tolerated, the palace staff, seeing the Crown Prince’s favor, treating him with respect.
Jiang Li had been grateful, initially addressing him formally, then, seeking a closer connection, calling him “Brother,” his visits to the East Palace frequent, though never venturing into the inner chambers, their conversations confined to the outer halls.
He came every week.
Yu Lin, his time in the East Palace limited, hadn’t welcomed the intrusion, his blunt words, his sharp tongue, often making the young prince blush.
Jiang Henian, noticing this, had asked him one day, “What do you think of Jiang Li?”
“Does Master offer kindness to every pitiful soul he encounters, bringing them to the East Palace, offering them shelter?” Yu Lin had countered.
“No,” Jiang Henian had replied. “I only seek those with potential, those I find… agreeable.”
Yu Lin, his heart aching, had said honestly, “I dislike Jiang Li.”
“Why?”
He hadn’t been able to answer. “My likes and dislikes are irrelevant. As long as Master doesn’t mind his presence, I won’t interfere.”
Jiang Henian had smiled then.
What was he smiling about?
Perhaps he had seen his jealousy, his possessiveness, despite his claims of indifference to rewards and titles.
Yu Lin had always been wary of Jiang Li.
He would carefully inspect any gifts sent from his palace before presenting them to Jiang Henian.
Despite their shared blood, Jiang Wan and Jiang Li were different in his eyes.
The Wang clan supported Jiang Li, his ambition a potential threat, any enemy of Jiang Henian his enemy too.
Their rivalry had been inevitable.
During the autumn hunt, a competition held by the King, the court officials and nobility gathered to watch.
The King, wanting to promote the younger members of the royal family, hadn’t included Yu Lin, a seasoned general.
Jiang Henian, not a warrior, hadn’t participated.
Jiang Li had won, his skill with bow and arrow unmatched, his victory earning him a prize from the King, a longbow once used by a previous emperor.
“The Crown Prince, virtuous and wise, and the Second Prince, young and capable, the Jiang Dynasty is blessed,” the officials had said, their words a chorus of praise.
It was Jiang Li’s first public display of skill, and he had raised the bow, his voice echoing through the hunting grounds. “Brother is frail, I am strong, I will protect him, share his burdens!”
His words had brought a mix of reactions, amusement and disapproval.
A child’s boast might be forgiven, but Jiang Li was a prince, his words a challenge, his ambition too obvious, and the King, enraged, had ordered him back to the palace, the longbow shattered, his punishment to be decided later.
Jiang Li’s mistake had been one of timing.
The hunt had been for Jiang Henian, the winner meant to join his ranks, to serve in the military, to strengthen the East Palace’s influence, to counter Yu Lin’s growing power.
But Jiang Li had disrupted his plans, his words a veiled threat, interpreted by some as treason.
The King, his anger a swift and merciless punishment, had ordered the execution of Jiang Li’s closest servant, a family retainer inherited from his mother.
Jiang Li had knelt before the King all night, his pleas unanswered.
Only Yu Lin knew that it was Jiang Henian’s intervention that had saved his life.
The King had wanted to imprison him, to confine him to the palace for life.
“Why did you plead for him?” the King had asked, his voice sharp.
“His crime doesn’t warrant such a harsh punishment. Father sees him as a blemish, not a son, but you know it’s not his fault,” Jiang Henian had replied.
The King had relented, his decree amended.
Jiang Li had also begged Jiang Henian for mercy, his pleas echoing through the East Palace gates.
But the gates hadn’t opened, his hopes dashed, his status reduced to that of dust beneath their feet.
Crown Prince Jiang Henian, so intelligent, yet so blind, hadn’t he seen the machinations of the court? The only person who cared for him in the Cold Palace, executed, Jiang Li’s grief turning to resentment.
The prince’s affection had been a facade.
He had severed all ties with the East Palace.
Until the coup, when he had returned, entering Jiang Henian’s inner chambers.
“Brother, will you beg for mercy?”
He had been consumed by madness then.
He owed his current position to Jiang Henian and his father.
If not for the execution of his servant, he wouldn’t have met the Daoist in the slave quarters.
The Daoist, with his sorcery, had helped him seize the throne, claiming Jiang Henian was a curse, a sickly, short-lived prince, not the rightful heir.
But Jiang Henian, even in death, had shown no fear, no emotion, his silence a final defiance.
He had killed Jiang Henian, killed Jiang Wan, claiming the throne.
But his victory hadn’t brought satisfaction, his days spent in the empty East Palace, talking to Jiang Henian’s corpse, until Yu Lin’s return.
The Daoist had said he was the true dragon, his destiny inevitable.
Imprisoned, humiliated, rescued by the Daoist, his body hidden in a tomb, buried alive, a thousand years of darkness.
His hatred, his resentment, the only constants in his existence.
…
Jiang Li’s eyes glowed red, his aura a swirling black mist.
Chen Henian watched as the two forces collided, Yu Lin’s aura shielding him, but the cold was still a physical presence, seeping into his bones.
They were evenly matched, their power a stalemate, Jiang Li not retreating, his strength surprising Chen Henian. Even a millennial jiangshi shouldn’t be able to withstand Yu Lin’s power. Then, its form shifted, becoming Chen Henian’s.
Not quite Chen Henian.
But Crown Prince Jiang Henian.
Its face, a grotesque mockery, a pale mask, its eyes filled with a cold, malicious glee.
Chen Henian stared at it, a sudden realization.
Why had Jiang Li’s power increased so dramatically?
Because it…
“It devoured a Tai Yin body,” he said, his voice low.
A Tai Yin body, his past life, Jiang Henian’s body.
Jiang Li had hidden the body before Yu Lin’s return, the Tai Yin body in his possession, a chance to consume its essence, to absorb its power.
“Yes,” Jiang Li laughed, his voice filled with triumph. “The body you searched for so diligently is already inside me.” He licked his lips. “I’m so happy. Now I’ll devour your soul too, and we’ll be one. I’m a bastard, and so are you.”
