Chapter 115: The Breaking Point, A Night of White Hair

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Shengjing, General of the Western Campaign’s Mansion.

Within the vast and open training ground, a tall and vigorous man wielded a silver gleaming spear. The red tassel on its tip fluttered wildly, the shaft sliced through the air with roaring wind, his movements fierce and overwhelming like a mountain crashing down. Each strike was delivered with all his strength, reckless and seemingly driven to madness.

Suddenly, with a sharp “crack,” the silver spear shaft snapped cleanly in two. The towering man collapsed heavily to the ground, kneeling and sitting back on his heels, staring blankly at the broken spear in his hands. Blood slowly trickled from the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

Madam Chu, hidden in the shadows, sighed deeply, wiping tears from her eyes. She hurried to his side, knelt down, and gently embraced him, calling out with tender pain, “Ze’er...”

Feng Ze gradually regained his senses. Seeing Madam Chu, he seemed unable to hold back any longer, his strong, chiseled features etched with profound sorrow. Grasping her sleeve, he choked out, “Mother, Qianmo—she...”

“I know, my son, your heart aches. Ze’er, if you’re sad, let the tears fall. Don’t keep it all inside to hurt yourself, understand?” Madam Chu gently patted his back, soothing him.

“Mother...” The iron-willed man finally broke down like a child, silently sobbing in his mother’s embrace.

Madam Chu’s own tears flowed freely, her heart aching deeply.

Ah, such a rare and graceful woman, how could she be gone like this? Is it true that beauty often meets a tragic fate?

Thinking this, she sighed once more. What will become of my stubborn, foolish son now?

*************

Northwestern border town, Licheng.

After enduring countless wars, the already barren frontier town of Licheng had become even more desolate.

The only somewhat decent mansion in the city was the temporary residence of the Xuān Prince’s household.

Now, the Xuān Prince’s mansion was the center of widespread public opinion. Some condemned the prince for wanton slaughter and cruelty, others accused him of treason and betraying the emperor. Some defended the mansion, claiming the rumors were slander, while others secretly speculated about the mysterious relationship between the missing Xuān Princess and the late Prince Luo, who was said to have been killed by the prince. Among women, many envied the prince’s passionate devotion, risking all for his beloved princess.

Yet, no matter how the world gossiped, it made no difference to Meng Yuanheng and the Meng family army temporarily stationed in Licheng; they remained silent and unaffected.

The man so widely reviled and pitied lay quietly on his bed, unconscious.

With a bang, the door was flung open. Yun Yi, clad in white, entered swiftly, bringing a chill from outside with him.

“Has Meng Yuanheng woken up yet?” he asked anxiously, his handsome face exhausted. Usually fastidious, his hair was disheveled, and his white robes no longer spotless.

Situ Gong, sitting by the bedside taking Meng Yuanheng’s pulse, shook his head. “The prince shows no signs of waking.”

“Damn it!” Yun Yi ran his fingers through his messy hair, cursing unceremoniously. “The imperial summons to return to the capital came again—this is the fifth one! And he just lies there, lifeless, ignoring everything. Leaving such a mess for us to clean up—what are we supposed to do?”

Meng Yuanheng had been tirelessly searching for Shen Qianmo for three days and nights. His body, not yet fully recovered, finally gave out under the strain of worry and the sudden devastating blow. On the fourth day, while searching along the riverbank, he coughed up fresh blood several times and lost consciousness.

He had been in a coma for ten days.

During these ten days, nearly ten thousand Feiyun Cavalry soldiers led by Wenren Yuan, along with all the secret guards of the Xuān Prince’s mansion and the Woyun Villa, never ceased searching for Shen Qianmo. Yet, there was still no trace.

Their hearts grew colder by the day. Was there truly no hope? Would the princess be lost forever?

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Burdened with worry, Yun Yi felt on the verge of collapse.

The green bamboo girl wept and wailed before him daily, threatening to end her life—if not for Xue Hao’s intervention, she might have died several times over. Then there was that stubborn kid called Ironhead, even more troublesome. After being denied entry into the Feiyun Cavalry by Wenren Yuan, he clung to Yun Yi, begging to be taught martial arts, eager to fight those who had caused Shen Qianmo’s death.

Yet at this moment, the court issued urgent edicts demanding Meng Yuanheng to immediately withdraw troops and report to the capital. The old emperor seemed to have gone mad, sending five such urgent orders in ten days, each more demanding than the last. But Meng Yuanheng remained in a deep coma, and no one else could make decisions, driving Yun Yi to desperation.

Situ Gong sighed helplessly. “The prince’s remaining poison has yet to clear, and on top of that, he suffered the enormous shock of the princess’s disappearance. That he held out for three days and nights was already a miracle.”

Yun Yi knew this well enough, but what could he do with such a mess on his hands?

He ran his hand through his hair helplessly, sighed deeply, and could only silently ask the heavens.

Late into the night, just after lying down, Yun Yi was awakened by a commotion outside.

Startled, he quickly got up and caught sight of Yan Mo hurrying by.

“Commander Yan, what’s happened?”

“Master Yun, the prince is missing!” Yan Mo’s usually stern face was now filled with anxiety.

Missing? The man who was lifeless in bed last night—how could he be gone?

Yun Yi rushed to Meng Yuanheng’s door and kicked it open. Sure enough, the bed was empty.

An hour later, after searching all of Licheng, the secret guards found no trace of Meng Yuanheng.

In a heavily guarded mansion, a city bristling with troops, a man who was comatose just hours ago had vanished without a trace.

As everyone panicked, Yun Yi looked up at a faint white light on the horizon, sighed softly, and said, “I have a pretty good idea where he went.”

Snow Ridge’s Thousand-Fathom Peak remained cold and windswept, blanketed in snow.

Before dawn, atop the peak shrouded in thick mist, Yun Yi and the Xuān Prince’s secret guards leapt up to find a solitary, lean figure.

He stood silently at the cliff’s edge, knowing they had come but unmoving, as if his soul wandered far beyond the world’s troubles.

No one dared disturb this silence, quietly standing behind him in respectful stillness.

As dawn broke and the mist cleared, the figure became visible—and everyone was shocked.

Yun Yi, closest to him, exclaimed, “Ah Heng, your... your hair...”

The fierce wind whipped the loosely tied long hair, the strands flying and nearly blending into the snowy mountain.

Meng Yuanheng’s once jet-black hair had turned entirely silver!

The oversized black robe draped over him framed his white hair fluttering in the wind, the stark contrast so striking that just this silhouette startled Yun Yi and the others.

“Ah Heng, are you... alright?” Yun Yi approached cautiously.

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Meng Yuanheng did not move or turn, merely asked in a faint voice, “Any news of Mo’er?”

Yun Yi sighed inwardly. After a moment’s silence, he hesitated before answering, “Ah Heng, Qianmo is clever and blessed. She will surely overcome this misfortune...”

“That means no news,” Meng Yuanheng interrupted calmly, his tone unexpectedly flat. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Ten... ten days,” Yun Yi replied, feeling the figure before him utterly unfamiliar. Meng Yuanheng’s strangely subdued tone sent a chill through his heart.

Ten days—he had truly been unconscious that long.

A long silence followed. Yan Mo and several secret guards from the Xuān Prince’s mansion stood behind him, sensing the abnormal low energy radiating from Meng Yuanheng. None dared speak; their hearts ached for their prince.

For the princess, he had gone white-haired overnight! How deep must his love have been? How great his sorrow?

Suddenly, Meng Yuanheng lifted his head and let out a piercing, earth-shattering howl.

The cry tore through the sky, filled with agony and rage, as if he wished to destroy heaven and earth.

Like an avalanche, snow cascaded down the peak, whipped up by the fierce wind from his roar, blotting out the sky and forcing Yun Yi and the others to stagger back several steps.

Yun Yi was secretly stunned. He had never imagined Meng Yuanheng’s inner strength was so profound.

The howl echoed long over the snowy ridge. Just as they trembled in awe, Meng Yuanheng’s calm and resolute voice sounded.

“Order the Meng family troops guarding the borders to withdraw immediately. In three days, I want to see all the Meng family forces gathered in Jingzhou City.”

His words were as casual as if discussing the weather. With that, the figure in black and white hair stepped away, treading through the scattered snow.

The north wind howled, billowing his black robe and silver hair. In the vast world, it was as if only he remained.

“Ah Heng...” Yun Yi hurried after a few steps, wanting to persuade him to reconsider.

To withdraw all Meng family border troops meant Meng Yuanheng had decided to sever ties with the court entirely. He had chosen to defy the ancestral teachings and rise against the throne.

Should he try to stop him? But how?

Yun Yi opened his mouth but found no words.

Before a man broken-hearted enough to turn white-haired overnight, any comfort or counsel was powerless.

From the snowy heights came a low, flat voice with no inflection: “Do not call me Ah Heng anymore. Only she may call me that.”

The cold tone, carried by the howling wind atop the peak, faded along with the lonely figure.

The wind whispered, seeming to mourn and lament this solitary departure.

That sorrowful sigh was like a whispered name, etched deep into his soul.

Mo’er... Mo’er...