Chapter 117: Raising the Army, the Sorrow of Longing

Fifty miles north of Zhengyang Pass lies Jingzhou, Ye City.

Zhengyang Pass serves as the last line of defense for the Great Sheng dynasty against the northern Di tribes and other neighboring states to the northwest. Jingzhou, in turn, is a crucial fortress guarding Zhengyang Pass. Although situated in the barren northwest, Jingzhou has always been fiercely contested, engulfed in the smoke of war. For centuries, it has been garrisoned primarily by the Meng family army, the most formidable fighting force of the Great Sheng.

Meng Yuanheng chose Jingzhou as the rallying point for his three hundred thousand-strong Meng family army for precisely this reason.

Within a single night, the mighty Meng family forces, strong and well-equipped, converged from all directions like celestial warriors descending from the heavens, sweeping into Jingzhou city en masse. Before the Great Sheng garrison could react, the entire city was seized effortlessly. The loyal troops of the Great Sheng were expelled outright, and any who resisted were ruthlessly executed.

Tragically, it was only when their heads rolled or they were driven into exile that the Great Sheng soldiers realized their once-loyal Meng family army of the Xuan Prince’s mansion had turned into rebels.

From that moment on, on the battlefield, comrades-in-arms became sworn enemies.

Ye City, lying at the heart of Jingzhou, is a relatively prosperous place amid the desolate northwest, home to the prefect’s government residence.

Inside the prefect’s study, a lean man clad in black with stark white hair lounged lazily behind the desk, his slanted eyes scanning a scroll of bright yellow imperial edict before him. A sneer curled the corner of his mouth, but his cold, clear eyes betrayed no warmth.

“Stripped of his title, deprived of his military command. Hmph, is this all Meng Tianxu is capable of?” With a disdainful snort, he flicked the scroll carelessly to some forgotten corner of the study.

By his side, Yun Yi and Wen Renyuan shared a glance brimming with helplessness.

Yun Yi gazed at this icy white-haired man before him and sighed quietly. Did he even grasp the gravity of the situation? Meng Tianxu’s actions were a deliberate attempt to slander the Xuan Prince’s mansion and the Meng family army, winning the hearts of the people. Henceforth, the Meng family army and the Feiyun Cavalry would no longer be the exalted, invincible guardian spirits honored by all in Great Sheng; they would be branded as treacherous rebels intent on mutiny and massacre.

Several times Yun Yi wanted to caution him, to offer advice, yet each time the words caught in his throat upon seeing that dazzling white hair. He dared not speak.

This man was no longer the Meng Yuanheng he had known for over a decade. The bloodthirsty, ruthless gaze and the chilling, austere aura made him a stranger and a source of dread.

More than a month had passed since Shen Qianmo fell off the cliff. Except for Yan Mo and several dozen secret guards of the Xuan Prince’s mansion who remained near Xueling to continue the search, all Feiyun Cavalry and Meng family troops had withdrawn from Jinyang Pass. It seemed Meng Yuanheng was gradually accepting the fact that Shen Qianmo was gone.

During their more than ten days in Ye City, he had handed over all military affairs to Wen Renyuan and Yun Yi, locking himself away in the study, staring vacantly at several case files left behind by Shen Qianmo.

No one knew what plans stirred within Meng Yuanheng’s heart—if he had any plans at all—or if he was simply venting his grief and fury.

After a long sigh, Yun Yi could not help but speak: “Your Highness, Meng Tianxu has declared this imperial edict publicly, clearly aiming to cast the Xuan Prince’s mansion into an abyss of ruin, stripping it of popular support and subjecting it to universal scorn. I’ve heard he is attempting to forge alliances with the northern Di, Xiliang, and southern Zhan kingdoms. It appears he intends to form a coalition of four nations to annihilate the Xuan Prince’s mansion. Should we devise a countermeasure?”

“How can the hearts of the people be so easily swayed by a mere edict from Meng Tianxu? As for this so-called coalition of four kingdoms—hmph, in my view, it is but his wishful thinking.” Meng Yuanheng’s voice, usually low and deep, had turned icy enough to freeze. “How is the morale of the Meng family army?”

The Xuan Prince, at last, had not lost all reason and still understood the importance of stabilizing the troops’ spirits. Yun Yi rolled his eyes inwardly, while Wen Renyuan promptly reported, “Since the Meng family army took Jingzhou over ten days ago, morale has remained stable. However…”

Wen Renyuan paused, casting a sideways glance at Meng Yuanheng before cautiously continuing, “The soldiers are rife with speculation, uncertain of Your Highness’s next move.”

Since the former Xuan Prince fell in battle seven years ago and Meng Yuanheng was crippled by a rare poison, the influence of the Xuan Prince’s mansion had greatly diminished. As the saying goes, a tiger fallen to the plains is bullied by dogs. The Meng family army had long harbored pent-up resentment, feeling the sting of opportunistic suppression. Now, with the prince’s fierce resolve to rise in rebellion, the soldiers’ passion was ignited and their numbers swelled.

Throughout history, the Meng family army’s loyalty lay with the Xuan Prince’s mansion, not the Great Sheng court. This was the primary reason the imperial court so dreaded the mansion’s influence.

When Wen Renyuan finished, he stood silently, anxiety gnawing at him. He could not fathom what his lord truly intended. He only sensed that the prince was no longer the cautious, patient man he once was. Though outwardly calm, within him burned a volcano, ready to erupt and engulf the entire realm.

Alas, the death of the princess had been a devastating blow.

Meng Yuanheng remained silent for a long moment after Wen Renyuan’s words. Just as the two men exchanged uneasy glances, his voice, cold and steady, finally broke the stillness.

“Inform the entire Meng family army that Meng Tianxu was the mastermind behind the Ghost Fury River tragedy seven years ago. It was he who secretly colluded with the underworld’s heretical sects—poisoning, arson, and slaughtering my father and one hundred thousand soldiers. I have sworn to clear this grave injustice and avenge them to soothe the restless souls. The time has come.”

Upon hearing this, Wen Renyuan understood the prince’s plan. Previously, they only suspected Meng Tianxu and Mo Hanshan of involvement in the Ghost Fury River incident. Now, regardless of their actual guilt, the charge was sealed.

The prince intended to use this as a pretext to march against the Great Sheng court.

Sure enough, Wen Renyuan’s suspicion was confirmed when Meng Yuanheng’s low, solemn command echoed through the chamber.

“Order the three armies to fortify Jingzhou as their base, strengthen the defenses, stockpile provisions, and within ten days, I want to see the Meng family army and Feiyun Cavalry capture Zhengyang Pass.”

“Yes, your command shall be obeyed,” Wen Renyuan replied, bowing respectfully. Just before departing, he suddenly recalled something and asked, bending slightly, “Your Highness, the Jingzhou prefect Jiang Tianyu appears ill. How shall we proceed?”

After occupying Ye City, they had seized the prefect’s residence and detained the entire Jiang family—thirty-seven souls—held in the dungeon. Today, the jailer reported that Jiang Tianyu had contracted a severe cold and urgently needed treatment.

Meng Yuanheng frowned slightly, seemingly impatient that such a minor matter required his instruction. Without hesitation, he said, “For now, spare Jiang Tianyu’s life, considering he still shows some cooperation. If there is nothing else, you may withdraw.”

After Yun Yi and Wen Renyuan took their leave, only Meng Yuanheng’s solitary figure clad in black with white hair remained in the study.

There is perhaps nothing more sorrowful and helpless in this world than being reminded of a lost loved one by the things they once touched.

His long fingers gently traced a white letter spread on the desk. This letter was written by Shen Qianmo on the night she decided to lead the troops in his stead. Over the days, he had read it hundreds of times, each delicate character etched deeply in his mind.

She had written that once he healed from his leg injury, she hoped he would mount his horse and ride to Jinyang Pass to bring her home, after which they would wed and journey side by side across the world.

Was this not the very hope he cherished most? Yet would such blissful days ever be his?

“Mo’er, where are you? Do you know how much I long for you…” he murmured, head bowed, silver strands falling over the letter and veiling his mournful eyes.

Suddenly, drops of crimson blood fell onto the letter, spreading like blooming red lotus flowers on the white paper—a haunting sight.

Meng Yuanheng carefully wiped the bloodstain and tucked the letter into his sleeve, then casually wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

He turned to other case files—notes Shen Qianmo had jotted down during her days at Jinyang Pass, carefully compiled by Meng Yuanheng into dossiers.

Shen Qianmo had the habit of scribbling her thoughts and ideas whenever pondering a matter, a professional habit cultivated in her former life. Though her notes seemed random and illogical, sometimes they held the key to solving mysteries. She had not abandoned this habit here.

“There are no eternal friends, nor eternal enemies, only eternal interests,” Meng Yuanheng read aloud in his deep, hoarse voice, quoting one of Shen Qianmo’s scrawled sentences. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and his cold eyes softened with warmth.

His Mo’er always had such unexpected ideas and remarkable talents.

Suddenly, a white shadow flashed through the window like lightning, landing on the desk beside him.

A pure white little fox curled amidst the scattered case files, reminiscent of how it always nestled in Shen Qianmo’s arms. It lifted its head and whimpered softly, those watery emerald eyes filled with longing and sorrow.

Meng Yuanheng reached out to gently stroke the little creature’s head, his touch tender, though a faint redness crept into his eyes.

“Mo’er, you were right. In this world, only interests endure forever. Hmph. You all love war, love to fight and seize power. Then fight to your heart’s content. You’d better pray that Mo’er returns safely soon, or I will shake this land until it knows no peace, and the whole world will perish with her!”