Xiao Rong was just about to retort when Qu Yunmie’s impatient voice suddenly rang out not far away, “Xiao Rong’s insistence is my insistence. Yuan Baifu, if it were your parents, would you still be able to say such things?”

Yuan Baifu immediately turned his head to look at Qu Yunmie and anxiously tried to explain. “Your Majesty, I didn’t mean—”

Qu Yunmie didn’t want to hear him speak. “You may act on your benevolence freely in the army, but don’t impose it on me. I don’t need you to forgive anyone on my behalf!”

He was already in a bad mood, and now it had worsened. He took a deep breath and said to Yuan Baifu. “Get out. All of you, get out of my tent!”

Yuan Baifu clenched his jaw tightly and held back his anger. Then he cupped his fists toward Qu Yunmie and said, “Yes, I take my leave.”

After speaking, he quickly left the royal tent. Gongsun Yuan silently followed him. Although Qu Yunmie hadn’t yelled at him directly, he had said “all of you,” so Gongsun Yuan considered himself included.

Xiao Rong stood there silently for a while. He glanced cautiously at Qu Yunmie and, seeing that he had no further reaction, figured that he wasn’t included in that “all of you.” So he picked up the medicine bottle and walked toward Qu Yunmie.

Once in front of him, Xiao Rong said, “Lift your hand.”

Qu Yunmie looked up, frowned, and stared at Xiao Rong. Since he made no move, Xiao Rong had no choice but to sit to his right and forcibly lift his hand.

Qu Yunmie’s palm had calluses, which protected him from many small injuries—but burns were a different matter. Xiao Rong looked at his reddened palm in confusion. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

He himself had once gotten burned by a clay pot for just one second—only a tiny patch—and it had hurt so much he had to cold-compress it for two hours.

Qu Yunmie looked at his hand being held by Xiao Rong. After a moment’s silence, he said, “It didn’t hurt until you mentioned it. Now that you did, I think it hurts a bit.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

Ha, so now it’s my fault?

Xiao Rong didn’t respond. He just applied the ointment. The cool sensation spread through Qu Yunmie’s palm, and at the same time, Xiao Rong said, “In chaotic times, harsh laws are needed. Your Majesty, you must no longer show such mercy to traitors. If we catch them, we execute them. If we don’t, we leave them be. As long as they think they have a way out, they’ll cling to hope. I did this to intimidate the Xianbei, and also our own men. Lingchi—”

He paused, then, “General Yuan was right. It’s a brutal punishment. That’s why I only intend to use it on traitors. I hope no one will end up that way in the future.”

Qu Yunmie blinked. “Treason? I thought they just betrayed me.”

Xiao Rong looked up at him with a helpless expression. “At this point, whether you want to admit it or not, Your Majesty, you’re already half a monarch. Publicly, we can’t say that. We’ll still raise the banner of the King of the North—but the truth is clear to everyone. You’re just one step away from declaring yourself Emperor.”

Such an emperor wouldn’t last long. In the past 180 years, there had been many Emperors. As soon as they saw the opportunity, they proclaimed themselves, and how did they end up? They died in all kinds of ways, and once they died, their dynasties vanished.

This wasn’t what the system wanted either. It wanted Qu Yunmie to be the ultimate victor, to establish a long-lasting, unified Southern-Northern dynasty of his own.

Not just the system—Xiao Rong only accepted the second path. He had paid too much to merely see Qu Yunmie enjoy a few good years. There was so much more he wanted to see and accomplish.

Qu Yunmie listened to him and then said honestly, “I can’t even manage being the Northern King properly.”

Xiao Rong had lowered his head again to apply the medicine. Upon hearing this, he frowned and looked up. He never thought that self-confidence would be something he’d need to correct.

Just when Xiao Rong thought maybe he didn’t know Qu Yunmie well enough, Qu Yunmie grinned at him and said, “It’s a good thing I have you. You say Yuan Baifu is my right-hand man, but I think my true right-hand man is you. No, you’re even more important. You’re like… another me. As long as you’re here, I’m not afraid of failing.”

Xiao Rong listened, then slightly lowered his eyes. He gave a faint smile and replied, “Maybe so.”

＊

No matter how much Yuan Baifu opposed it, Gongsun Yuan still set out the next day.

Among the Northern Army’s “F4,” Jian Qiao seemed to have the worst temper and liked to beat people himself, but the truly ruthless one was Gongsun Yuan. His knowledge of so many cruel punishments proved his dark heart.

Forget punishing a few traitors—he wouldn’t even blink if asked to build a mound of skulls.

Even Xiao Rong hadn’t expected Gongsun Yuan to personally carry out the execution. Once the high platform was built, he didn’t seek someone meticulous for the job—he believed no one in the entire army had a more precise hand than himself.

…

At first, the Xianbei didn’t know what was going on. Since Gongsun Yuan advanced with his troops, they thought the Northern Army was about to attack. They had already formed defensive lines when they saw Gongsun Yuan ordering the construction of a high platform.

Tens of thousands of Xianbei looked on in confusion as the Northern Army busied themselves. When Gongsun Yuan personally walked up with a blade in hand, their expressions gradually stiffened.

The executioner said nothing. The one being executed begged Gongsun Yuan to just kill him.

Apart from the five thousand men Gongsun Yuan had brought, there were also many onlookers. Today was special. The Generals didn’t control their troops—anyone who wanted to watch could do so. It was a chance to mock the Xianbei.

As the traitors were executed, people below clapped and cheered, taunting the Xianbei, saying they’d be next.

Rumors had been swirling. Some said the Northern King was dead, others said he had recovered. The Xianbei claimed they weren’t afraid—but that was a lie. They knew they had done despicable things, and now they were waiting for retribution.

Knowing that the Northern Army might treat even defeated enemies with such punishments, many wished to desert.

Xiao Rong had deliberately staged this terrifying spectacle—not just to frighten these people, but also the nobles inside Shengle City, who were no better than the aristocrats of Jinling—and even Murong’s current leader himself.

…

The current Xianbei Emperor had a hard-to-pronounce name and a notorious weakness: cowardice.

He had only become Emperor as the best among a bad bunch. The Grand General should have inherited the throne, but he held military power. Back when the former Emperor was alive, the Xianbei were already in decline. Still, he insisted on marching south, giving away benefits to other nations for alliances. His grand plan was to restore the glory of the old Yuwen tribe and swallow the Central Plains whole, but he barely made it to the Han River before retreating in defeat.

The Central Plains were repeatedly plundered, and Emperor Guangjia’s decisive southern relocation left nothing valuable in the north. Years of fruitless war not only yielded no gain but cost the Xianbei dearly in soldiers and treasure. The nobles were traumatized.

The Grand General, being the former Emperor’s cousin, shared his delusions about the Central Plains. After the Emperor’s bitter death, the Grand General clearly wanted to continue his mission.

Another war? No way—they couldn’t afford it.

So the Grand General was suppressed, and this Emperor ascended.

One reason he was chosen was his aversion to war and willingness to let the nobles control him. He wasn’t actually stupid. Given a few years, he might have revived the near-dead Xianbei, but from the day he ascended, Qu Yunmie had been sharpening his sword. The Emperor hadn’t slept well since.

Now his nightmare had arrived—and worse, he had provoked it.

When he learned that Qu Yunmie had survived thanks to his subordinates, the Emperor wept daily. Others at least got angry and sought revenge—but that Qingfeng Cult Protector? Despite guards being assigned to watch him, he still managed to escape.

Everyone was overwhelmed. When news of the public execution came, the Emperor—who had just regained some composure—began weeping again.

Inside the palace, the most powerful Xianbei officials were gathered. Seeing the Emperor’s disgraceful behavior, one noble stood up in fury. “The Central Plains haven’t even invaded yet, and Your Majesty already assumes we’ll lose? Even if we’re defeated, we must fight them to the last drop of blood!”

Another noble quietly suggested, “Why don’t we follow Emperor Guangjia’s example and–”

The hot-tempered noble immediately cursed him. “Coward! How could a Murong act so shamefully?!”

The Xianbei Emperor: “…”

Actually, he really wanted to escape shamefully, but it wasn’t feasible.

Guangjia could move south because it was all their territory. The Xianbei couldn’t move north—the northern lands were home to Rouran, Gaoche, and others. If they showed weakness, those nations would attack.

Even if they fled to Qigu, Qu Yunmie would still pursue them. Worse, there was no Han River in the north to stop him.

When someone raised this point, the proposal to flee north was scrapped. That same noble then said softly, “We can’t just watch the Murong clan get wiped out. Don’t forget what happened to the Yuwen clan. Because they refused to flee, we exterminated them. We should at least preserve our bloodline.”

He said this without confidence. The Murong and Yuwen were all Xianbei, all Donghu tribes that worshiped strength. No matter how you spun it, running away was still just cowardice, and people hated that.

Many had been doomsaying recently, which made everyone think fondly of the Grand General. He was the real warrior—he would never flee.

Except in reality, the Grand General not only wanted to flee, he was already planning how.

Murong Kui, the Xianbei Grand General, had completely lost hope in his peers and no longer had any expectations for his nephew, the Emperor. He believed the Xianbei were doomed once Qu Yunmie recovered, and he agreed with the cowardly noble. Xianbei had to preserve its seed. Only if Murong people survived could they one day rise again and avenge the others.

Even so, Murong Kui believed the survivors shouldn’t be these useless nobles—they should be him.

…

He didn’t plan to truly escape. He just wanted to survive Qu Yunmie’s wrath. If he ran, he’d lose everything. Reorganizing his clan would be a pipe dream. He’d become a pitiful lone wolf wandering the north.

So he couldn’t run. He had to live—and stay.

That was almost impossible, so he had spent days secretly gathering intel on Qu Yunmie. His efforts finally paid off—he found something that might convince Qu Yunmie to spare him.

While everyone else worried about what to do, Murong Kui silently stole the item and hid it in his residence. Then he rushed to the palace. Upon entering the hall, he heard the same arguments being repeated. The Emperor stared at everyone, hoping for a way out.

Murong Kui lowered his head, sneered coldly, and sat in his seat.

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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