Elon had good insight. “Then, His Majesty the King awaits the two lords in the palace. The enemy is rushing toward Gaochang—the situation is dire. Please don’t delay too long.”
“We’ll see,” Xiang Xian said, giving no firm commitment.
Elon and Gemu Wen then departed.
“We can’t go along with Bila Ge’s intentions,” Xiang Xian said. “Otherwise, Gaochang will send us out to fight endlessly. Why should we?”
“Got it, stop,” Xiao Kun said. “I understand.”
Xiao Kun was upright by nature. Whenever trouble arose from his actions, he owned up to it. He still believed the root of this lay in the negligence of the War Dead Corpse Ghost Clan. Mr. Liu had seized the initiative, his birth father Jing Pian Ge had been schemed against, leading to today’s disaster. Halting the black tide’s eastward advance was their responsibility.
But Xiang Xian, seasoned in Great Song’s officialdom, deftly deflected the blame with a single move. This was an incident within Gaochang’s borders; at its core, Grand Vizier Lierful couldn’t escape involvement. Bila Ge had to handle his own country’s problems first—they couldn’t bear the full burden.
“The Gaochang King is a capable ruler. I respect him for opening the inner city,” Xiang Xian said. “In Kaifeng, the Official Family might not have that resolve.”
“Nor in Great Liao,” Xiao Kun said after sipping his milk tea. “I’ll go check on the kids.”
Xiang Xian watched Xiao Kun’s retreating figure. He recalled that after their first meeting, Wu Yingzong had investigated Xiao Kun’s background and character. Back then, in the Liao Kingdom, he had sponsored many orphans. Now, with his homeland destroyed, where had those children gone? What must Xiao Kun be feeling?
He heard children’s laughter and chatter from the inn room after Xiao Kun entered. These kids didn’t yet grasp the meaning of leaving home and wandering, nor the parents’ worries about returning. They probably even found the flight exciting.
Xiang Xian fetched a tray, loaded it with food, and brought it in. He saw Xiao Kun sitting on the floor against one wall. Several children played with his Pei Saber, but he held it down, not letting them draw it. Another kid clung to his back, arms around his neck, whispering affectionately in his ear.
Xiang Xian smiled at the sight. Xiao Kun told the children, “He’s here, so I have to go. Get to sleep early.”
“Nooo—” many kids shouted, unwilling to let Xiao Kun leave so soon. Someone had finally come to play with them.
Though Xiang Xian didn’t know what Xiao Kun had been saying before he entered, it was probably about him. “He can do magic tricks. Have him show you one.”
Xiao Kun couldn’t extricate himself, so Xiang Xian left again. He had the innkeeper clear the table and bring wine, then sat alone drinking. A quarter-hour later, Xiao Kun finally emerged, closed the door, and said sternly, “Time to sleep. It’s late—no more talking.”
By the third watch of the night, the inn grew quiet, leaving only Xiao Kun and Xiang Xian sitting across from each other. Like so many nights before, yet their feelings had deepened with greater understanding, making everything feel different.
“Seven years ago in Shangjing, I sponsored a lot of kids too,” Xiao Kun said. “I told them to call me ‘Big Brother,’ but they refused—insisted on ‘Daddy.’”
Xiao Kun still wasn’t used to the Song people’s habit of calling someone “Big Brother”—it felt too intimate.
“Master once said everyone has their own fate,” Xiang Xian murmured, sketching a long weapon on a sheet of yellowed paper with a charcoal pencil. “Fate decrees we’ll meet many people and things. Once the bonds of karma form, we’ll reunite someday.”
Xiao Kun caught the comforting intent—hoping he’d let go of his homeland’s fall—and nodded.
“What are you doing?” Xiao Kun asked.
“Last time, Chaosheng mentioned wanting to forge a weapon for Old Wu,” Xiang Xian said.
Xiao Kun watched for a bit, then changed the subject. “Sometimes I can’t help wondering: if we got the Wheel of Fate, what would we use it for?”
Xiang Xian looked up, gazed seriously at Xiao Kun for a moment, and hesitated.
“Suppose you obtained this legendary treasure,” Xiao Kun pressed. “What regret would you fix?”
Xiang Xian’s brows knitted deeply. After a long pause, he said, “I have no regrets.”
Xiao Kun fell silent.
Xiang Xian smiled. “I think things are fine as they are. But I know you have regrets.”
“After Father told me, I thought a lot. I have too many selfish obsessions. If I got it, I might activate it without hesitation.” Xiao Kun gazed into the distance. “Maybe that’s why the Heart Lamp rejected me.”
“You want time to rewind before Shangjing fell? Then we wouldn’t have met.” Xiang Xian said.
Xiao Kun replied, “That’s no reason. I could still come find you, meet you again. Even if we forgot everything, with our personalities, we’d still end up… end up… good brothers.”
At the end, Xiao Kun felt a bit embarrassed, but voicing his inner thoughts occasionally was fine. After all, since the great battle in Kizil River Valley and the Abyss Divine Palace, their bond could only be described as “born together, die together.”
“It’s not about that,” Xiang Xian said candidly. “To be blunt, brother: a nation’s fall is an unchangeable heavenly mandate. A country’s fate rests on millions of lives—harder to reverse than one person’s lifetime.”
“Then what about striving to save Great Song?” Xiao Kun asked.
“That hasn’t happened yet,” Xiang Xian replied.
Xiao Kun said, “Maybe it already has?”
Xiang Xian fell silent, pondering for a moment.
“See? You have obsessions too,” Xiao Kun said.
“I just can’t bear to see over two hundred thousand in Kaifeng die in the flames of war,” Xiang Xian said.
Xiao Kun said lightly, “Same for me.”
Wu Yingzong returned to the inn, carrying the sleeping Chaosheng in his arms. They halted their discussion. Xiang Xian shifted to lie shoulder-to-shoulder with Xiao Kun behind the table. The inn was filled with people lying every which way.
