Chapter 64

The commotion inside had already alerted the guards outside. They drew their swords and rushed into the room, warily eyeing the intruder.

He Xuan slowly rose, gazing at the man surrounded by beautiful maidservants, his eyes as cold as ice yet burning with intense heat.

Mo Yin lifted his sleeve slightly, “Everyone, leave.”

The guards in the Grand Master’s mansion were trained to the point of seeming thoughtless. Faced with such a scene, they obediently sheathed their swords and withdrew silently at Mo Yin’s command.

The maidservants, reacting a bit slower than the guards, descended from the couch, tidied their skirts, bowed to Mo Yin, and then also left the room.

Only the two of them remained.

Mo Yin still reclined leisurely, casting a glance at He Xuan, “General, haven’t you washed up yet?” His tone was calm and indifferent, making it hard to discern his true feelings, and the casual nature of his question left one with a sense of disquiet.

He Xuan clenched his fist slightly, “The letter was from you.”

Mo Yin neither confirmed nor denied.

“Why?”

He Xuan took a step forward, his gaze fixed intently on Mo Yin’s face, “Mo Zigui, why exactly?”

Mo Yin did not answer, merely scrutinizing He Xuan’s face. From the city wall earlier, he hadn’t seen clearly.

After three years apart, He Xuan’s appearance hadn’t changed much, though he was more mature and composed than before. If He Xuan used to be a sword occasionally unable to hide its edge, now he was fully restrained, his eyes exuding a deep, oppressive aura, his presence like a web pressing down on others, making it hard to breathe.

Under Mo Yin’s scrutiny, He Xuan turned his face slightly, breaking the eye contact.

“Why what?” Mo Yin asked, “Are you asking why I wrote the letter urging you to return to the capital, or why I shot arrows at you from the city wall?”

He Xuan glanced back.

Mo Yin lowered his eyelashes, a smile tugging at his lips, “The General has impressive martial skills. I knew those few arrows wouldn’t harm you.”

Despite his battlefield-hardened heart, He Xuan felt a wave of emotion. He clenched his fist and took another step forward. The closer he got, the more he felt he couldn’t see the person before him clearly.

Mo Yin had changed significantly from He Xuan’s memory.

The bright official robes made his skin appear whiter, his eyelashes darker, and his facial features sharply defined, like a finely detailed ink painting, every stroke exuding strength.

When he raised his eyelashes, his icy eyes were revealed, devoid of the familiar, easygoing smile He Xuan remembered. The casual warmth of drinking under the moon seemed like a long-forgotten dream.

Unknowingly, He Xuan had approached the couch. Mo Yin looked up at him indifferently, his expression unchanging as he met He Xuan’s intense gaze.

The strong sense of oppression and complex heartache in He Xuan’s eyes were clear to Mo Yin.

What was He Xuan pained about? His current disadvantage?

This was only natural.

Mo Yin felt he should be extremely pleased, but somehow, the joy was shallow. He Xuan’s gaze was making him irritable.

“How did the Emperor die?” He Xuan asked.

Mo Yin replied flatly, “Are you questioning me?”

He Xuan’s breath hitched, “Are you afraid to answer?”

Mo Yin’s eyes locked onto He Xuan’s, his lips moving slightly, “Do you think…” He paused, scrutinizing He Xuan’s face like a predator observing its prey, “…there is anything in this world I would fear?”

A thunderous realization struck He Xuan’s mind, providing answers to nearly all his suspicions. He abruptly stepped back.

His expression was extremely rigid, devoid of the satisfaction Mo Yin had anticipated. Mo Yin, finding it uninteresting, let go of the hand supporting his head, sat up straight on the couch, and deftly slipped on his boots, “The food and wine prepared for you at the inn didn’t suit your taste. Stay and dine here, then.”

Mo Yin stood up, ready to leave with his hands clasped behind his back, when he felt a force on his shoulder. Without hesitation, he swung a hand chop backwards. Perhaps his body had weakened too much, or he had been away from the battlefield too long, but most of all, Mo Yin preferred to believe in the protagonist’s aura—He Xuan caught his attacking wrist.

He Xuan’s palm, thick and calloused, roughly pressed against Mo Yin’s wrist. Mo Yin’s wrist was not delicate either; it was strong, the skin slightly raised over the bones, marked with faint scars. He Xuan glanced down and saw the old wounds, faded to a near-flesh tone, a pale gray overlay hinting at invisible shackles once bound to these hands.

A different kind of heartache seized He Xuan’s throat, stifling the words he had intended to say.

Mo Yin pulled his wrist from He Xuan’s grasp, the cold official robe brushing against He Xuan’s hand. This time, Mo Yin left quickly, not giving He Xuan another chance to touch him.

Before long, guards entered the room, their expressions unfazed as they addressed He Xuan. “General, fresh clothes have been prepared. Please follow us to wash up.”

The situation was somewhat absurd, but He Xuan, not being an ordinary man, followed the guards with a stern face.

The mansion was filled with indifferent guards and many beautiful maidservants. The maidservants, more lively and bold than the guards, cast curious glances at He Xuan as he passed by, causing him to clench his hands behind his back even tighter.

The guards led He Xuan to a clean and tidy courtyard. Inside the room, hot water and clothes were indeed prepared. One guard asked, “Would the General like a maidservant to assist you?”

He Xuan wordlessly shut the door.

After washing up, He Xuan opened the door, his face still stern. The guard waiting outside said, “This way, General.”

Mo Yin awaited He Xuan in a pavilion. He had also washed up, changing from his red official robe into the green clothes he usually wore. His hair was simply tied back, making him appear less lofty and more approachable. The table was set with food and wine, and Mo Yin was already drinking by himself. The summer evening light lingered, the sun still hanging low, casting a warm, lingering glow.

There were only two seats. Mo Yin occupied one, and He Xuan sat down opposite him. His cup was already filled. He Xuan watched as Mo Yin raised his hand and drank a cup of wine. He Xuan drained his cup in one go, then turned to the guards nearby and said, “Bring a large bowl.”

The guards remained motionless until Mo Yin said, “Do as General He says.” The guards then turned and left.

He Xuan looked at Mo Yin, whose face still carried a sickly pallor. He hadn’t drunk much, and his face was devoid of color, his expression extremely calm.

The guards brought a large bowl, and He Xuan filled it with wine himself.

The two drank in silence, reminiscent of old times, but the unspoken understanding that once flowed between them was gone. It was as if they were two strangers with nothing to say to each other.

Mo Yin was watching the sunset.

The setting sun was as red as blood, but somewhat monotonous, not as dreamily unpredictable as the desert sunsets.

He Xuan placed his bowl on the stone table and gazed at Mo Yin’s profile, his face flushed slightly from the wine.

“Why?” He Xuan asked in a deep voice, “What is all this for?”

Mo Yin did not respond immediately. He slowly finished the wine in his cup before saying lightly, “You ask too many questions.”

“But you have not answered.”

“I told you, there is nothing I wouldn’t dare do,” Mo Yin said. “I am merely curious—what right does a General have to question a Grand Tutor?”

He Xuan remained unprovoked. “This is He Zangfeng asking Mo Zigui.”

Mo Yin glanced at him dismissively, “Is that so? Then you have even less right.”

He Xuan clenched his fist again, his voice tense, “Did you never consider me a friend?”

Mo Yin laughed again, “A friend? Since I entered the court, I have had no friends.”

He Xuan felt as if his chest had been struck heavily, a wave of intense sorrow washing over him. He remained calm, at least outwardly. “So from the beginning, you joined the military just to use your achievements to return to court?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Mo Yin turned the wine cup in his wrist, drinking half of it. “I relied on my own abilities,” he said coldly, casting a glance at He Xuan. “He Zangfeng, I owe you nothing.”

“Good, good, good—”

After repeating “good” three times, He Xuan suddenly stood up, his voice deep, “Mo Zigui, you plan to use the Emperor to command the feudal lords. I won’t let you succeed.”

Mo Yin smiled at him, “If you truly wanted to stop me, you shouldn’t have revealed your intentions.”

He Xuan retorted, “If you truly intended to rebel, you shouldn’t have written a letter urging me to return to Beijing.”

Mo Yin poured wine into his cup, filling it to the brim, nearly spilling. He looked at He Xuan with a somewhat drunken, yet serene, gaze as he raised the cup and drank deeply, the liquid glistening on his lips. “He Xuan, have you thought it through? Do you truly intend to stand in my way?”

He Xuan’s expression remained unreadable, but his face provided Mo Yin the answer.

Yes, they were not on the same side.

“No wonder the He family has been loyal for generations,” Mo Yin placed the cup down and stood up, though he staggered slightly. He Xuan instinctively took a step towards him, but Mo Yin steadied himself with the table, waving his sleeve with a smile, “You, so loyal, the regicide stands before you. Why do you not kill me?”

Although He Xuan had already suspected the truth, hearing Mo Yin admit to such a heinous crime still caused his chest to heave violently. His eyes were fixed on Mo Yin, fists clenched so tightly they trembled.

Mo Yin’s smile widened, “You sent Li Yuan to the south for reinforcements. Clever, but that leaves the He family in the south defenseless, the GrandMaster unguarded. Aren’t you worried about your father’s safety?”

A thunderous roar filled He Xuan’s mind. His clenched fist shot towards Mo Yin. Mo Yin laughed, meeting He Xuan’s strike with his own. In an instant, they exchanged several blows.

As their arms collided forcefully, Mo Yin coughed lightly and turned his head to gaze into He Xuan’s eyes, “If I suffer any harm, the Grand Master won’t live to a natural end.”

Fire seemed ready to burst from He Xuan’s eyes. “Mo Zigui, Mo Zigui—”

His last cry was nearly a roar, startling the birds outside the pavilion into flight towards the setting sun.

Staring at the person he had not forgotten for a single day in three years, He Xuan felt his heart wrenching, yet he didn’t understand why it had come to this.

“I have never wronged you…”

He Xuan’s voice grew softer, eyes filled with unspeakable pain and resentment.

This pain brought Mo Yin little satisfaction. Though there was some pleasure, there was also irritation. Mo Yin’s expression slowly vanished, leaving his face cold and clear. “Blame yourself for standing in my way.”

“You are already second only to one person in the empire,” He Xuan gritted his teeth, “Is that not enough?”

“Li Chenggui is a foolish and incompetent ruler. I am a thousand times better than him. If he can be emperor, why can’t I?” Mo Yin’s eyes blazed with fire. “Second to one? Why should I, Mo Zigui, settle for second to anyone?”

“He Zangfeng, listen well. I will become the supreme ruler of this world. If you assist me, I will credit you as a founding hero. If not,” Mo Yin’s voice grew cold, menacing, “I will exterminate your entire He family.”

At that moment, He Xuan felt a desire to laugh.

He wanted to laugh, to laugh loudly, hysterically.

A joke, a colossal joke.

And he did laugh, tears brimming, “Mo Zigui, after all I’ve done for you, you say you will destroy my entire family…” His laughter died away, his face turning hard as stone, “Very well, I await the Grand Master’s methods.”

Their entwined arms suddenly broke apart. He Xuan took two steps back, “I have sent urgent secret orders to the troops, commanding them to march to the capital. Can your Imperial Decree Office withstand tens of thousands of soldiers?”

Mo Yin also laughed, coughing lightly. His laughter was meaningful, “Do you think your orders hold much weight? Those who understand the times outnumber your expectations.”

He Xuan’s face tightened, “The righteous gain more support, the unrighteous lose it. You cannot predict everything.”

“Is that so?” Mo Yin said, “Then we shall see who laughs last.”

He Xuan looked deeply at Mo Yin, then turned and left.

“He Zangfeng—”

He Xuan halted.

“I await the day you kneel before me and submit.”

He Xuan turned back, the sun had completely set, leaving only a faint glow illuminating Mo Yin. His face was pale as snow, his eyes icy cold.

“There will never be such a day,” He Xuan’s hand behind his back clenched his wrist tightly, “There will never be such a day.”