The Sickly Regent Prince Who Was Abandoned as a Substitute Bride

Chapter 613

Seeing the words "Return to the capital immediately to report to the Emperor" on the yellow silk, the deputy general's face flushed with anxiety: "General, leaving now could cause unforeseen circumstances to arise in the defense line!" Zhao Xuan gazed at the village with rising smoke in the distance, gripping the jade pendant at his waist—a gift from the Emperor, engraved with the words "Loyalty and Bravery." "Prepare the horses," he said in a low voice, "Since His Majesty has summoned us, we must travel day and night."

On the day he entered the capital, a north wind swirled with fine snow. The crowds who should have lined the streets to welcome him were nowhere to be seen; only the occasional cry of a child could be heard from behind tightly closed doors and windows. Zhao Xuan rode his tall horse through the Vermilion Bird Gate, noticing the guards' shifty eyes on the city wall and the unfamiliar tassels on their swords. Passing his own general's mansion, he saw the vermilion gates tightly shut, dust covering the door knockers—a stark contrast to the bustling scene before his departure.

Inside the palace, the bronze cranes lining the imperial path gleamed coldly in the wind. Zhao Xuan unfastened his sword, straightened his clothes, and stepped into the Qianqing Palace. The hall was dimly lit by candlelight, and the emperor sat on his dragon throne, his face hidden in shadow. After Zhao Xuan completed the three kneelings and nine kowtows, he caught a glimpse of the impeachment memorials scattered on the imperial desk, one of which still showed the edge of his portrait. "Your subject Zhao Xuan, as decreed..." His voice echoed in the empty hall, but was interrupted by a sudden cough.

"I've heard that the general enjoys great popularity at the border," the emperor's voice seemed to drift from afar. His long, black iron spear leaned against the dragon throne, its tip reflecting the flickering candlelight, as if it might fall at any moment. Zhao Xuan's heart sank. He finally understood that this summons was not a formal report, but a meticulously planned trap. Outside the hall, the wind and snow intensified, sweeping away his unfinished words, along with his recently settled heart, into the unknown darkness.

Cold Palace Snow Blade

A biting north wind, carrying snowflakes, lashed against the vermilion pillars of the Golden Palace, making a soft, rustling sound. Zhao Xuan knelt on one knee on the cold blue bricks, his back beneath his python robe already soaked with cold sweat, a chill creeping up his spine to the back of his neck. He gazed at the gilded dragon-shaped candlestick on the imperial desk; the flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows on the emperor's somber face, as if foreshadowing an impending storm.

"Your Majesty, since I began guarding Yanmen Pass, I have never slackened for twelve years." A bitter taste rose in Zhao Xuan's throat, and his fingertips dug deeply into his palms. "In every battle, I have always led from the front, sharing weal and woe with my soldiers, all for the sake of protecting the peace and stability of my people." Before he finished speaking, a shrill laugh suddenly rang out in the hall, startling the copper bells on the eaves into a tinkling sound.

The emperor slowly rose, the hem of his black dragon robe sweeping across the scattered memorials on the floor, the five-clawed golden dragon embroidered in gold thread gleaming coldly in the candlelight. He strode to Zhao Xuan, the sound of his dragon boots on the blue bricks like heavy hammer blows, each strike pounding the tense air in the hall. "I've heard that the people of Yanmen Pass have erected a shrine in your honor, and even call you the 'True Lord Who Guards the Border'?" The emperor leaned forward, the scent of ambergris mingling with his oppressive aura wafting towards him. "If the hearts of the people all belong to you, then where do I stand?"

Zhao Xuan abruptly looked up, meeting those icy eyes. Memories flooded back: three years ago, on a frosty night, he led three thousand light cavalry on a hundred-mile raid to rescue kidnapped women and children; last autumn, to raise military provisions, he sold the Zhao family's ancestral home... But now, these past events felt like a blade hanging over his neck. "Your Majesty, please understand! My loyalty is uttered..."

With a loud crash, the palace doors were flung open, and a biting wind, carrying snowflakes, rushed into the hall. Twelve guards clashed in their armor, their gleaming sabers pointed directly at Zhao Xuan's throat. The cold metallic sheen brushed against his skin, and Zhao Xuan instinctively clenched his fists, his nails drawing blood from his palms. He suddenly remembered the amulet his elderly mother had tremblingly placed in his bag before his departure; it now lay quietly in his arms.

Just as the atmosphere became tense, hurried footsteps sounded outside the hall, the snow crunching under the boots. A young eunuch tumbled and crawled into the hall, his official hat askew and his gold-embroidered robe covered in mud and snow: "Your Majesty! Urgent report from the border! The Xiongnu King, leading 50,000 iron cavalry, has breached Hulao Pass while General Zhao was away from his post!"

These words struck like a thunderbolt. The emperor's fingers, gripping the dragon throne, tightened abruptly, causing the memorials on the table to be swept away by the wind and scatter to the ground. Zhao Xuan, watching the emperor's face turn deathly pale, suddenly straightened his back, which had been bent by the cold wind. "Your Majesty! The Xiongnu harbor treacherous ambitions; this battle concerns the very survival of our dynasty!" His voice echoed in the empty hall, carrying the resounding force of a warrior on the battlefield. "If you trust me, I am willing to don armor and wield weapons, to atone for my crimes with merit! I will surely drive the Xiongnu out of our borders and reclaim every inch of lost territory!"

A deathly silence fell over the palace, broken only by the wind and snow battering the windowpanes. Zhao Xuan knelt on the snow-covered floor, feeling the chill seep into his bones from his knees. After an unknown amount of time, the emperor waved his hand, and the guards sheathed their weapons, their footsteps fading into the distance. "I'm giving you 100,000 elite troops. You must set off within three days." The emperor turned and walked towards the dragon throne, his back appearing somewhat frail in the candlelight. "If we cannot achieve victory..."

"If I am defeated, I am willing to offer my head as atonement!" Zhao Xuan kowtowed heavily, his forehead striking the blue bricks with a dull thud. As he rose, he gazed at the swirling snow outside the hall, and it was as if he had returned to that winter when he first went to the battlefield. Back then, he was dashing and spirited, vowing to protect his country; now, his temples were streaked with white, yet he still harbored the heart of a child.

The wind and snow howled as Zhao Xuan mounted his horse. Behind him, the eaves of the Golden Palace gradually disappeared into the snow curtain; ahead lay the beacon fires of the border and the unknown fate of his horse. He gripped the reins tightly and spurred his horse forward. In the rising snow mist, he seemed to see the eager eyes of the people beyond Yanmen Pass and hear the thunderous war drums.

Snow Blade Piercing Clouds

The thunderous roar of a hundred thousand troops shattering the frozen river echoed across the northern lands. Zhao Xuan reined in his horse, gazing at the churning, leaden clouds on the horizon. A biting wind, whipping up shards of ice, stung his face like the scimitars of the Huns scraping against his skin. He raised a hand to wipe the frost from his eyelashes, catching a glimpse of the vanguard's banner fluttering in the blizzard, the scarlet character "Zhao" torn almost to shreds by the wind and snow.

"General, scouts report that a three-zhang breach has been breached in the walls of Hulao Pass." The lieutenant's voice, tinged with cold, was hoarse. Zhao Xuan narrowed his eyes. In his memory, Hulao Pass was an impregnable fortress built against the mountain, but now it resembled a giant with its chest torn apart, dying in the wind and snow. He suddenly ripped off his cloak, revealing the battle-worn black iron armor beneath, its cold gleam shimmering in the twilight: "Order the entire army to reach the pass before midnight tonight!"

The thunderous sound of hooves rolled across the snow-covered plains. When the army arrived, the Xiongnu wolf-headed battle flags still fluttered atop Hulao Pass. Zhao Xuan trudged through knee-deep snow to the beacon tower, the biting wind carrying the stench of blood. In the distance, the Xiongnu camp stretched for miles, their campfires flickering like the eyes of ferocious beasts in the darkness, the faint sounds of drums and drunken shouts echoing through the air. He gripped the tiger tally at his waist, his gaze sweeping across the winding icy river before the pass—the key to turning the tide of battle.

Three days later, late at night, a group of shadowy figures moved stealthily along the icy river like ghosts. Zhao Xuan personally led five hundred elite warriors, all wrapped in sheepskin coats, their blades smeared with sheep's blood to prevent glare. Just after the third watch, the gongs of the Xiongnu supply camp on the opposite bank sounded, when a deafening roar, like a muffled thunderclap, suddenly ripped through the night sky. Earthenware jars filled with oil exploded on the haystacks, flames instantly engulfing the entire camp, the neighing of frightened horses mingling with the screams of Xiongnu soldiers. Zhao Xuan leaped forward, spear tip piercing the helmet of a Xiongnu centurion; dark red blood splattered on the snow, instantly freezing into ice crystals.

On the day of the decisive battle, a fierce north wind whipped up heavy snow, reducing visibility to less than ten paces. Zhao Xuan gazed at the dark mass of Xiongnu cavalry before him and suddenly remembered the jar of imperial wine bestowed upon him by the emperor before his departure—at the bottom of the jar lay half a piece of jade, the very fragment of the Imperial Seal he had shattered twelve years earlier when he saved the emperor. "Beat the drums!" he roared, and his black steed, Black Cloud Treading Snow, charged into the enemy ranks. With a whirling spear, the Xiongnu's leather armor was torn apart as if by paper, warm blood spraying onto the cold armor, turning into rising white mist.

When the elite cavalry of the rear army charged out from the flank, the tide of battle finally turned. Zhao Xuan saw the Xiongnu Chanyu's golden banner swaying in the wind and snow, and swung his spear straight at the center of the army. In the melee, his black iron armor was slashed with several deep cuts, his tiger's mouth was split open, and blood flowed down the shaft of his spear. But every time the sword's edge grazed his ear, the smiling faces of the people of Yanmen Pass appeared before his eyes, and he remembered the amulet his old mother had stuffed into his bag—now pressed against his heart, warmed by her body heat.

As the sun set, the Great Yin's crimson phoenix banner rose once more atop Hulao Pass. Zhao Xuan, leaning against the blood-stained wall, watched the remnants of the Xiongnu flee in disarray across the snow-covered plains. The distant cheers of victory echoed, but his gaze remained fixed on the mountain of corpses piled beneath the wall—young faces, some still bearing the innocence of youthful beards. The cold wind whipped at his blood-stained cloak, and in a fleeting moment, the image of the dashing young general of twelve years ago overlapped with the now-white-haired commander before him, amidst the swirling snow.

On the day the news of victory reached the capital, Zhao Xuan was repairing the damaged city walls. A young eunuch, holding a gleaming imperial edict, said with a fawning smile, "His Majesty says that General Zhao has achieved great merit in this battle and has been granted a pardon..." Before he could finish speaking, an urgent report came from afar: the northwest defense line was in dire need of attention. Zhao Xuan looked at the newly rising smoke signals on the horizon, casually stuffed the edict into his robes, and turned to walk towards the reviewing stand. The wind and snow continued to howl, and he knew that this journey to protect his country would never end.

Cold armor reflects a loyal heart

The north wind whipped sand and gravel against the tattered military flags. On the reviewing stand, the armor of 100,000 soldiers was covered in dust, and the frozen earth beneath their boots still bore the bloodstains of Hulao Pass. When the bugle call of "Northwest in distress!" tore through the sky, the previously hunched backs suddenly straightened, and a wolf-like glint ignited in their weary eyes. Zhao Xuan stroked the blood-stained mane of Wuyun Taxue, his warhorse that had accompanied him on twelve campaigns, now pawing restlessly in the cold wind.

"My comrades!" He leaped onto the high platform, his black iron armor gleaming coldly in the setting sun. "The camel bells of the Hexi Corridor are being trampled by the barbarian cavalry, and the people outside Yumen Pass are waiting for us!" Before his words had even finished, a thunderous response erupted from below, causing the snow on the city walls to fall in a flurry. Zhao Xuan gazed at the familiar faces—some wrapped in bandages, some limping, but all gripping their long swords until they were white. He suddenly remembered the plague at Yanmen Pass three years ago, when these men would rather drink snow water to stave off hunger than give their own rations to the people.

As the army marched to Liupan Mountain, a scout, covered in blood, rolled into the tent. "General, the Northwest military intelligence is a trap!" the scout ripped off his blood-soaked cloth. "Wang Jingwen, the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Personnel, is colluding with the Tibetans, forging military intelligence with urgent dispatches, waiting for us to penetrate deep into their deadly territory..." The candlelight suddenly flickered, casting a menacing shadow on Zhao Xuan's face. He stared at the markings of the Northwest defense line on the map, his fingertips tracing the Jade Gate Pass, the parchment making a soft tearing sound.

That night, the 100,000-strong army vanished into the vast Gobi Desert. Zhao Xuan ordered his men to wrap their horses' hooves in felt, so they would travel by night and hide by day. He stood atop a sand dune, watching his soldiers carrying provisions wrapped in camel hides, their silhouettes snaking like giant black pythons in the moonlight. "Order the Shadow Guard," he gripped the sword at his waist, engraved with the words "Loyalty and Bravery," "to sneak back to the capital and gather irrefutable evidence of Wang Jingwen's treason. Remember, see him alive or dead."

Upon reaching Yangguan Pass, the sun was obscured by a sky full of yellow sand. Zhao Xuan climbed the beacon tower, gazing at the endless tents of the Tibetan army camp, a cold smile playing on his lips. He ordered his men to release laxatives upstream from the oasis and bury oil on both sides of the valley. As the Tibetan cavalry pursued them along the water source, the gale suddenly shifted, and the fire, fanned by the wind, instantly engulfed the entire valley. Zhao Xuan charged into the enemy ranks, his spear tassel stained with blood, and for a fleeting moment, he found himself overlapping with the battle at Hulao Pass.

The day the news of victory reached the capital, Zhao Xuan was standing atop the ruined city wall of Yumen Pass. The commander of the Shadow Guard, covered in blood, clutched a sandalwood box tightly to his chest: "General, Wang Jingwen's secret letter regarding his collusion with the Tibetans, and the ledgers detailing his embezzlement of military pay..." Before he could finish speaking, an urgent imperial edict arrived: "Zhao Xuan is ordered to return to the capital immediately!"

In the Golden Palace, Wang Jingwen was still using flattery and eloquence when suddenly a loud crash was heard—Zhao Xuan slammed the sandalwood box onto the steps, scattering secret letters and account books like snowflakes. The emperor grabbed one of the letters, his hand suddenly trembling violently. The seal of the Tibetan king on the letter was as red as blood, and the words "Respectfully presented by Wang Jingwen" at the end were in a handwriting he recognized.

"Drag him away!" The emperor smashed the teacup beside him. "Execute his entire family!" Zhao Xuan looked at the treacherous minister slumped like mud below the steps, and his old mother's words before he went to war echoed in his ears: "Xuan'er, this world is corrupt, but there must always be someone who can see clearly." He raised his hand to take the newly bestowed tiger tally. The coolness of the metal penetrated his palm, but it was not as bone-chilling as the wind and snow on the frontier.

As dusk settled, Zhao Xuan once again embarked on his journey. Behind him lay the myriad lights of Chang'an, and before him stretched the endless snow and wind of the border. The hoofbeats of his soldiers, clattering through the snow, faded into the distance, yet resonated in the hearts of every warrior—as long as their patriotic hearts remained, this battle song to protect their homeland would never cease.

Nine Turns of the Flames

In late spring, on the streets of Chang'an, new willows were just sprouting tender buds, while Zhao Xuan's 100,000-strong army, shrouded in the frost and snow of the frontier, wound its way out of the city through the morning mist. Horse hooves crushed the thin ice on the bluestone slabs, and the black military flags fluttered in the wind, startling the white doves on the eaves of Zhuque Avenue. Zhao Xuan reined in his horse, Wuyuntaxue, and gazed at the majestic Chengtian Gate. Suddenly, he remembered the emperor holding his hand the night before, saying, "The Northwest is entrusted to you, my lord." Before the words had even finished, the sound of rapid hoofbeats suddenly came from afar.

"Report—urgent report from Jiangnan!" The messenger, covered in mud and water, collapsed on his horse, foaming at the mouth. "The Huai River has breached its banks, turning thirteen counties in Xuzhou and Yangzhou into a vast expanse of water! Local officials are embezzling disaster relief grain, displaced people are turning to banditry, and the bandit leader 'Hunjianglong' has already occupied the military granary in Gaoyou!" The morning mist carried this terrible news, instantly freezing the entire army in place.