The Sickly Regent Prince Who Was Abandoned as a Substitute Bride

Chapter 609

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats approached from afar, breaking the silence of the night.

"Urgent report from the capital!" A messenger, covered in blood, stumbled to the front of the ship. "The Crown Prince has sealed off the Prince's residence on charges of treason, and the Princess Consort, the Heir Apparent..." Before he could finish, Zhao Xuan snatched the letter. In the dim moonlight, the handwriting pierced his eyes like steel needles: The Prince of Zhennan has colluded with foreign enemies and plotted a rebellion. His residence is hereby confiscated, and his family members are to be escorted to the capital for trial.

The letter rustled in the wind, and Zhao Xuan felt his vision blur. He remembered the Crown Prince's full moon celebration, the Princess holding the child in the courtyard, her eyes crinkling with laughter; he remembered the warmth of his elderly mother placing a good luck charm in his palm before he went to war. His nails dug deep into his palm, the taste of blood spreading in his mouth, yet he remained oblivious.

"Order the entire army!" Zhao Xuan's voice seemed to burst from the depths of his chest. "Break breakfast at dawn, depart at Mao hour!" He turned to look north, his eyes burning with the flames of revenge. "Prepare fast horses; I must go to see the Southern Border Commander tonight. Since the Crown Prince has already torn off all pretense of civility, then don't blame me for showing no brotherly affection!"

A sudden gust of wind swept across the river, and dark clouds obscured the last ray of moonlight. A distant rumble of thunder echoed, and large raindrops pounded on the deck, splashing up sprays of water. Zhao Xuan stood in the rain, letting it wash over his face, but a raging fire burned within him. This fratricidal conflict would ultimately be repaid in blood.

As dusk fell like blood, the setting sun painted the stone walls of the southern border pass with an eerie crimson hue. Zhao Xuan was covered in blood, his warhorse's mane still glistening with undried ice crystals. He tore open his blood-stained cloak; the jade belt at his waist was broken, revealing the mottled arrow marks on its lining. The garrison commander, Li Ming, gripped the bronze tiger tally tightly, looking at the once elegant prince now disheveled, the sweat on his palms almost denting the tally.

"Does Your Highness know that moving this tiger tally is a capital offense of treason?" Li Ming's voice echoed in the empty council hall. A corner of the "Landscape Painting" hanging on the wall was lifted by the draft, revealing a hidden compartment behind the scroll. He subconsciously reached for the soft sword at his waist, and memories of fighting alongside the old prince twenty years ago suddenly surged up—back then, Zhao Xuan was just a child riding on his father's shoulders, but now he was about to drag the entire dynasty into an abyss of blood and fire.

Zhao Xuan suddenly overturned the table, shattering a celadon teacup on the brick floor, shards splashing onto Li Ming's boots. "Last night at the third watch, a secret agent delivered a letter written in blood." He pulled open his collar, revealing a fresh branding scar on his collarbone. "My niece, not yet ten years old, was drugged and locked in the dungeon." His hoarse voice carried a metallic tinge. In the flickering candlelight, half a bloodstained gold lock slipped from his sleeve—the very lock he had personally given the princess on her birthday.

Li Ming stared at the golden lock on the ground, his Adam's apple bobbing. Ten years ago, his daughter fell seriously ill, and it was Zhao Xuan who secretly sent him a rare medicine from the Western Regions. At this moment, the sound of the night watchman's clapper echoed outside the council hall. After the fifth clapper, the deadline for raising the army would be approaching. "Bring me the Xuan Tie sword left by my grandfather!" Li Ming suddenly turned around, and the sword case on the weapon rack, which had been sealed for many years, hummed. When the sword was drawn, it brought a cold glint, making the bloodshot veins in Zhao Xuan's eyes appear even more crimson.

Meanwhile, inside the Eastern Palace in the capital, Crown Prince Zhao Yi was feeding grapes to his concubine. Wisps of smoke rose from a gilded incense burner, and his desk was piled high with secret memorials impeaching Zhao Xuan. "The southern border is a harsh and cold land; he can't possibly cause any trouble," he thought casually, tossing the memorials into the brazier. Sparks landed on a Persian tribute carpet, burning black holes in it. Thunder roared outside, and rain poured down, but he remained oblivious, engrossed in playing with the jade pendant in his hand, a symbol of his status as Crown Prince.

Three days later, at midnight, a torrential downpour began. The guards at the nine gates of the capital huddled in the corners of the city walls, raindrops dripping from the gaps in the arrow towers onto their weapons. Suddenly, eerie ripples appeared on the moat, and three hundred elite soldiers, shields gleaming, burst forth, silently annihilating the gate guards. Zhao Xuan, clad in heavy black iron armor, rode his black steed, pounding the water, his southern cavalry surging like a black tide across Zhuque Street behind him. The lanterns lining the street swayed in the wind, casting long, long shadows of this vengeful army.

When the Crown Prince was awakened, the Eastern Palace was already ablaze. In a panic, he put on his dragon robe, only to find that his usual attendants were nowhere to be seen. "Protect the Emperor! Protect the Emperor!" his cries echoed in the empty palace, answered only by the distant clanging of weapons. When Zhao Xuan's blade was pressed against his throat, the Crown Prince finally saw the blood seeping from the gaps in the other's armor, its color strikingly similar to the jade belt at his waist—the very same as the birthday gifts his father had bestowed upon his two brothers.

"Do you know..." the Crown Prince began, trembling, but was cut off by Zhao Xuan. "My mother, on her deathbed, was still calling out your childhood name." Zhao Xuan's voice seemed to come from the depths of hell. With a slight turn of his blade, he severed the red rope symbolizing the royal bloodline around the Crown Prince's neck. The torrential rain washed over the palace walls, gradually erasing the traces of this bloody palace coup. Only the morning bells from the distant bell and drum towers continued to tell of the inescapable fate of dynastic change.

In the bronze crane incense burner of Xuande Hall, wisps of ambergris smoke rose, yet could not dispel the stagnant chill within the hall. Zhao Xuan stroked the intricately carved dragon patterns on the armrest of the dragon throne; the gilded surface stung his eyes in the morning light. As Censor-in-Chief Wang Su unfolded his impeachment memorial, a strange gust of wind suddenly arose outside the hall, causing the official tablets beneath the steps to clang like the frantic heartbeats of the officials.

"Your Majesty has defied the law by using force, murdering your brother and seizing the throne. This act violates the established order!" The wind lifted the corner of Wang Su's official robes, revealing the cloud pattern embroidered on the lining—the insignia of the Crown Prince's former faction. Amidst the uproar among the officials, Zhao Xuan noticed that the Chancellor Li Chong, head of the right rank, nodded slightly, and a jade thumb ring slipped from his sleeve, subtly matching the jade pendant at Wang Su's waist. These undercurrents, dormant for months, finally surfaced with the help of the court assembly.

"Enough!" Zhao Xuan abruptly stood up, his black dragon robe sweeping across the dragon throne, causing the golden bells on the dragon pillars to jingle. Looking at the flickering gazes below, he suddenly recalled the palace coup three months ago, when seemingly loyal faces cried out "Long live the Emperor!" amidst pools of blood. Just as he suppressed his murderous intent, the Imperial Attendant stumbled in, his sweat-soaked secret report leaving a long trail of water on the blue bricks.

"The Northwest Wolf Cavalry have broken through the Jade Gate Pass!"

A deathly silence fell over the hall. Zhao Xuan took the secret report, his fingertips tracing the charred wax seal on the edge—an urgent message sent by an old general guarding the frontier using a coded letter from home. He suddenly let out a cold laugh; the timing was impeccable, clearly a vicious scheme orchestrated by both insiders and outsiders. But the lives of the 100,000 soldiers on the frontier allowed no hesitation. He grabbed the tiger tally from the table, the jade gleaming coolly in his palm.

"Issue the decree!" Zhao Xuan's voice echoed through the empty hall. "Order General Li Meng to lead the vanguard and assemble an army of 100,000 within three days." His gaze swept over Li Chong's instantly frozen expression, and he continued, "I will personally lead the central army and depart from Chang'an at dawn three days from now." Thunder roared outside the hall, and a torrential downpour shattered the whispers of the assembled officials.

On the eve of the expedition, the candlelight flickered in the ancestral temple. Zhao Xuan knelt before the ancestral tablets, gazing at his father's majestic face in his portrait, recalling how his father had held his hand as a child and written "The world is of utmost importance." Ripples spread across the cold wine on the offering table. He drew his sword and drew blood from his palm, letting the blood drip into the wine cup: "Even if Xuan'er bears the infamy of murdering his brother, he will protect this land!" The aroma of wine mingled with the stench of blood, filling the air between the beams and pillars. Candle wax dripped onto his newly made dragon robe, spreading dark stains.

Outside Chang'an, 30,000 Xuanjia soldiers pressed down on the city like a dark cloud. Zhao Xuan, clad in golden armor, glanced meaningfully at Li Chong in the farewell procession, then suddenly removed his helmet and tossed it to his deputy. "If we win this battle, this helmet will be my medal of honor; if we lose, it will serve as a sacrifice to the flag!" The sound of hooves shattered the morning mist. He glanced one last time at the majestic city walls, where the old and new dragon flags fluttered in the wind. Meanwhile, deep within the imperial court, new secret messages were being transmitted through clandestine channels, and a web of intrigue had been quietly woven anew behind him.

The north wind, whipping sand and gravel like arrows, lashed against the soldiers' armor. The 30,000 Xuanjia soldiers, like a scarred black dragon, snaked their way through the desolate Gobi Desert of the Northwest. Zhao Xuan gripped the reins tightly; his sheepskin gloves were worn raw by the wind and sand, his knuckles white from the strain. In the distance, the Qilian Mountains stretched across the horizon like a grey-blue barrier, their withered branches twisted and gnarled in the twilight, a menacing omen.

"Report—!" The sound of hooves grew louder as the scout, covered in sand, tumbled off his horse. "Your Majesty, there's unusual dust in Black Wind Valley ten miles ahead, as if a large force is lying in ambush!" Zhao Xuan abruptly pulled on the reins, and his black horse reared up, its neighing startling the vultures circling low overhead. He squinted at the throat-shaped canyon, the reddish-brown rocks on the cliffs resembling congealed blood in the setting sun. Suddenly, the meaningful smile of Li Chong before his departure flashed through his mind.

"Pass down the order: the entire army will form a wedge formation, with shield bearers in front and crossbowmen guarding the flanks!" Zhao Xuan drew his sword, its cold gleam reflecting the flickering flames in his eyes. The army slowly advanced, their iron hooves crushing the salt crust on the ground with a soft, cracking sound. The moment the vanguard stepped into the valley entrance, a sharp horn suddenly blared from the rock face, and countless logs and rocks rained down like a storm, screams mingling with the clanging of metal echoing through the valley.

"It was a trap after all!" Zhao Xuan roared, his spear tip deflecting the stones hurled at him. Enemy troops lying in ambush on both sides surged forth like a tide, and the dark patterns embroidered on their black uniforms made his pupils shrink—the insignia of Li Chong's private army! He gripped his black iron spear tightly, the tassel whipping in the blood mist, causing men and horses to fall wherever it went. The stench of blood mixed with dust filled his nostrils, and for a moment he felt as if he were back on the night of the palace coup, the sensation of sharp blades piercing flesh and bone coming from his palms.

In the heat of battle, the sound of rapid hoofbeats suddenly came from behind. "Your Majesty! The camp has been attacked, all supplies and provisions lost!" A broken arrow was stuck in the messenger's armor. "It's Li Chong's trained assassins, they're flying the imperial banner..." Before he could finish, a cold arrow pierced his throat. Zhao Xuan stared at the rising smoke in the distance, as if he could still hear Li Chong's hypocritical words of advice to hold the line in court, his nails digging deeply into his palms.

"Change formation!" Zhao Xuan's voice pierced through the sounds of battle. "Tiger Warriors, follow me to break the enemy! Feathered Forest Guards, return to reinforce the camp!" He turned his horse around, the tip of his spear pointing directly at the enemy commander's banner. The Black Armored Army, like a sharpened sword, tore a bloody gash through the enemy ranks. When he knocked off the enemy general's helmet, he was shocked to find that the man was none other than the head instructor of the guards he had seen at Li Chong's residence.

As dusk settled, a secret letter was slipped into Zhao Xuan's blood-stained palm. The yellowed Xuan paper was densely covered with secret agreements between Li Chong and foreign enemies, and even a list of military equipment provided by the Crown Prince's former subordinates. Zhao Xuan held the letter close to the torch, watching the writing curl into ash in the flames, then suddenly threw his head back and laughed, the sound startling the crows circling above the battlefield.

The sandstorm gradually subsided, and moonlight spilled onto the scattered corpses. Zhao Xuan wiped the blood from his sword, gazing eastward towards Chang'an. The congealed bloodstains on his battle robe fluttered away with each movement, but could not conceal the ever-growing killing intent in his eyes. "Li Chong, the day I return in triumph will be the day your entire family is exterminated," he murmured, his voice carried away by the night wind and dissipating across the vast Gobi Desert.

The sands of the Gobi Desert seemed to groan beneath the horses' hooves; of the original 30,000 troops, less than 3,000 remained. Dark red scabs of blood clung to Zhao Xuan's armor, and his jade belt, broken in half, swayed precariously on the saddle. He watched the last rays of the setting sun sink below the horizon, a metallic taste rising in his throat—three days without water, the groans of the wounded growing fainter in the twilight.

"Report! A huge cloud of dust is rising from behind!" The scout's voice was hoarse, like a broken bellows. Zhao Xuan gripped the reins tightly, and his black horse, sensing its master's trembling, pawed restlessly at the sand. He turned to look at the billowing yellow dust, and Li Chong's sinister smile flashed before his eyes. The other man was probably waiting to use his head to curry favor with the enemy. Beneath his tattered armor, blood seeped from his wounds again, but he gripped his longsword even tighter.

As the sandstorm subsided, a troop of lightly dressed riders in white emerged from the dust. The leader, his silver spear held at a slant, caused Zhao Xuan's pupils to constrict as the wind whipped his hood up—the vermilion birthmark beneath his left eye on that handsome face was still as striking as ever. "Your Majesty!" the newcomer exclaimed, dismounting with a flick of his stirrups, his black cloak sweeping across the scorching sand. "Lin Yu is late!"

Memories surged like a tide. Twelve years ago, the two studied together at the Imperial Academy, swearing an oath under the moon to conquer the world. Later, Zhao Xuan became embroiled in the struggle for the throne, while Lin Yu went to the northern frontier to guard the border. At this moment, behind Lin Yu, five hundred elite cavalrymen gleamed in armor, their saddles laden with jars of water, and medical officers weaving through the ranks bandaging the wounded.

“Li Chong colluded with foreign enemies to set an ambush; I must regain the initiative.” Zhao Xuan spread the blood-stained map on the camel bone, the candlelight reflecting his resolute eyes. Lin Yu traced a red circle on the map with his fingertip: “The enemy’s supply camp is located at Crescent Lake, a place easy to defend and difficult to attack, but…” He suddenly drew his dagger, drawing a winding underground river in the sand, “Three days ago, during a sandstorm, I discovered a hidden passage leading directly to the rear camp.”

Three days later at midnight, the White-Clad Army and the remnants of the Black Armor Army approached the camp like ghosts. Lin Yu, wielding a modified repeating crossbow, was the first to extinguish the torches of the sentries. Zhao Xuan, holding the short blade Lin Yu handed him, cut open the tarpaulin on the grain cart—inside were weapons privately forged by Li Chong. "As expected!" He gritted his teeth and lit a hemp rope soaked in tung oil; flames instantly engulfed the entire camp. Amid the explosions, enemy soldiers panicked, some scattering and fleeing, some carrying banners bearing the character "Li."