UCTOOT CH111

Shi Shu’s thoughts were consumed by seeing Xie Wuchi, and he hurried over.

Along the streets, many Min held sacred bells with solemn expressions, chanting incantations in anticipation of the Deity’s Nativity. Ordinary commoners peddled their wares as usual, but a company of men clad in costly animal furs pushed through the crowd with ferocious scowls, rushing along in frantic haste.

Stepping along the roadside, Shi Shu was jostled by a lesser tribal prince, who barked with unreasonable arrogance: “Out of the way!”

Shi Shu: “?” I didn’t even provoke you.

Before Shi Shu could react, he noticed the men looked utterly exhausted, dragging their weapons and armor in ruined disarray—a shattered, routed host steeped in a foul aura of defeat, cursing anyone who came within paces of them. As Shi Shu stepped back, a guard murmured, “Likely the defeated troops returning from Yunzhou.”

“The routed army? No wonder their faces look like shit.”

Shi Shu took a few more glances. The group had a clear objective, heading straight toward the estate of King Zhouchi—needless to say, to report their failure.

As Shi Shu looked around, surveying the crestfallen state of these vanquished soldiers, a hand lightly tapped his back.

Turning around against the backdrop of the magnificent city gate, a tall figure clad in moon-white robes blocked the glare of the sun. The broad chest pressed against his back belonged to none other than the Brother Xie he had been pining for.

Shi Shu’s heart gave a wild thump. Just as he was about to call out, Xie Wuchi spoke: “Come here. Have you eaten breakfast?”

Shi Shu: “No, I was waiting for you to retur—”

Xie Wuchi: “In public, I hold another identity. Come with me to meet someone.”

Shi Shu followed him into a teahouse. Behind a closed door sat Yuan Guan, accompanied by a middle-aged Taoist dressed in martial garb. Shi Shu swept a brief glance across the room. Upon seeing him, the Taoist’s face flushed with agitation. The moment the door clicked shut, he dropped to his knees: “Han Tian of Mount Wanglong greets the Second Young Master!”

Startled, Shi Shu stammered, “P-Please rise.”

Xie Wuchi supplied: “Daoist Tianwei of Mount Wanglong, mentioned previously.”

Shi Shu studied him closely: “You don’t look much like a Taoist priest; dressed like this, you look like a warrior.”

Han Tian burst into laughter: “When I was young, both my parents passed away. An old Taoist took me in, fed me, and taught me to read and write. Who could have foreseen that Dajing would lose the war and cede Yong’an Prefecture to the Min? They torched our temple to erect a shrine for the Deity Jidu. I carried the old master on my back, begging for food from door to door, intending to take him south to find a living. Yet just a few steps from the border line, he died. What point was there for me to drift alone in strange lands? So I returned to the temple, slew the perpetrators, and fled into the mountains to become an outlaw. I took a Taoist title for myself and rallied the displaced people of Dajing. Over a decade has passed, and we now have several hundred households up on the mountain.”

A pang of pity struck Shi Shu’s heart: “So that was it. None without grief; all bound by karma.”

Han Tian said, “If this humble one hadn’t borrowed this title and styled myself a master of the Dao, how could the common folk have found the peace of mind to pledge allegiance?”

After all, people might hesitate to trust a fellow mortal, but the emissary of a deity was another matter.

“Second Young Master, please take a seat.”

Shi Shu looked around. By all appearances, he was being treated as the guest of highest standing. He darted a glance toward Xie Wuchi, wanting to know what role he was playing. Xie Wuchi said, “Introductions were made earlier: this is General Commander Xie’s biological younger brother. Yuan Guan currently serves as a retainer in King Zhouchi’s estate. And I am a relative from the same village as the Xie family.”

A cousin?

Shi Shu inwardly rolled his eyes. Xie Wuchi was never fussy about minor details when fabricating covers. Yet it was understandable; the commander-in-chief infiltrating enemy territory in person carried far too much geopolitical risk, making an obscured identity necessary.

Han Tian asked, “May I ask how to address you?”

Xie Wuchi answered concisely: “Xie Xun.”

Clatter— Shi Shu had just picked up his teacup and was about to take a sip, but hearing that name made his hand freeze. He had known Xie Wuchi’s real name through the system for a long time, but actually hearing it drop from the man’s own lips struck him with a completely different sensation.

Shi Shu’s mind tangled into an unsettled knot. He wondered whether he should ask about the meaning of the name, while also worrying about the condition of Xie Wuchi’s injured leg. Just as thoughts churned wildly in his head, a commotion sounded outside the door.

Yuan Guan looked up, and everyone fell silent as if anticipating it. Heavy footsteps were heard heading into the adjacent room.

So the choice of this building hadn’t been random either? Was there a deliberate layout?

Shi Shu pricked up his ears as bitter complaints drifted through the partition wall.

“F-Fight, fight for what?! Back then it was agreed that once we flattened Dajing’s Eastern Capital, we’d be made kings and granted fiefs, and only then did we march out together! Who could have known we’d damn well lose?!”

“Now our men are dead, and the horses are dead too.”

“When I led those boys off the steppe, what did I promise their parents and brothers? That I’d bring them home safe, in carriages woven of military glory and gold, sending them back with honor… And now? All dead—”

“So many dead… It’s the Deity’s Nativity, how the hell are we supposed to celebrate this festival…”

Yong’an sat close to Dajing, with the highest degree of Han cultural assimilation; most people spoke the Jing tongue.

Beimin was an alliance of various nomadic clans. Evidently, these lesser tribes had joined the expedition only to return in devastating defeat.

Shi Shu listened intently. Under the table, his hand was gently taken by Xie Wuchi.

Shi Shu looked back at him, struck by the realization: was this gentle grasp meant to soothe him for being left alone last night?

Xie Wuchi, you… how did you spend last night all by yourself? It was their first night apart after finally confessing their feelings. Being apart was ordinary enough, but those previous days together had been so excessively, feverishly intimate.

Shi Shu’s brows twitched. He wanted to mull over it, but his attention was tethered to the room next door, so he simply squeezed the hand back and focused on eavesdropping.

“On the road earlier, I ran into an elder mother. She asked where the boys had gone, whether we suffered defeat and had no face to return. Mother said: it doesn’t matter if we lost the war; whatever home must be returned to must be returned to. If we can’t make a living in the army, we return to the steppe; the steppe feeds everyone equally.”

Mothers across the entire world were all the same.

Bang! Someone slammed a fist against the table:

“And yet, there’s still so much filth!”

“Our men took their scimitars and bows and left the pastures, riding south to seek a living, fighting for that land of milk and gold! But after we marched away?! Bastards took advantage of the steppe having no young men left to plunder our pastures, abusing our parents and wives!”

“I heard it too! Out west in the Chahar tribe and up north in the Gelun tribe, fires of war have broken out—people have come to steal our grazing lands!”

“…”

Taking advantage of another’s peril had existed since antiquity.

These Min warriors had ridden south, only to be stabbed in the back by their own kind.

“How are we supposed to celebrate this festival? We can’t! If King Zhouchi cannot provide a policy to appease us, I say we can’t survive on the steppe either—we might as well defect to the Jing people.”

“Watch your tongue! His Highness will not abandon us.”

“Drink! Just drink!”

“…”

The warriors of the lesser tribes drank deeply in bitter misery.

Shi Shu picked at his breakfast, his chest heavy with mixed emotions. Xie Wuchi remarked, “It has always been thus. The reason steppe confederations fracture: victory consolidates external hostility, while defeat inevitably triggers internal collapse.”

Downing his tea in one breath, Xie Wuchi turned his gaze toward Yuan Guan: “Next, it is time to seek out King Zhouchi.”

The day grew warm as sunlight crept across the window sill.

Shi Shu took his final sip of tea. At the other end of the table, Xie Wuchi rose to his feet. “Cousin, are you going as well?”

“I plan to disguise myself as Yuan Guan’s literary associate and visit the Nativity Temple to see King Zhouchi. What is it?”

Shi Shu: “What about me?”

“The inn I stayed at last night—head to that room and await my return.”

Shi Shu understood that these men were about to lay their traps. As the saying went, a battle of wits and tongues could sometimes outmatch tens of thousands of troops. Shi Shu parted his lips: “What should I do on the way…”

Xie Wuchi caught his drift: “I will escort you back to the inn.”

Walking shoulder to shoulder through the bustling streets, Shi Shu’s eyelid twitched incessantly: “Earlier you said your name was Xie Xun?”

“What of it?”

Before them stood a timber-framed lodge—a cool, shaded inn nestled beneath the canopy of several scholar trees. Shi Shu stared at the tiny pale-green larvae clinging to the leaves: “Xie Xun. I’ve heard that name before.” How was he supposed to bring up the system?

“Oh?”

Pushing the door open, they stepped inside and pulled it shut behind them.

Shi Shu asked, “Why that name?”

Xie Wuchi: “My real name.”

“…”

Shi Shu caught on. Although he had known through the system, Xie Wuchi had lived under an alias this entire time, seemingly without the slightest psychological burden.

Shi Shu: “Your real name…”

Xie Wuchi: “I dislike having too much true information known about me. First, it is unsafe; second, unnecessary. Moreover, to me, that name felt like a shackle.”

Shi Shu was at a loss for words, feeling as though Xie Wuchi owed ten bucks while he owed a thousand.

Absently, remembering the injury on Xie Wuchi’s leg, as Shi Shu stepped close to inspect it, a voice sounded above his head: “Yet lately, staying with you in that rural cottage, I suddenly felt that perhaps this shackle wasn’t so terrible after all.”

“…” Shi Shu’s hands froze mid-motion. “You liked living in that courtyard at the foot of the mountain too?”

Pulling back his robe to expose the gash on his leg, Xie Wuchi lowered his eyes: “Reading when idle during the day, sharing a bed with you through the night, having you comfort me constantly.”

Shi Shu had always been a somewhat rash, headstrong young fellow who knew little of domestic gentleness. Yet over these past days of kissing and holding Xie Wuchi, he could read the slightest shift in his mood with a single glance, saying things like “Let me tell you a joke” or “The fish got washed onto the riverbank, want to go check it out together?”

“So you like me treating you well? Doting on you, coaxing you, making you laugh. Formidable as you are, turns out you enjoy sweet talk and the countryside life too,” Shi Shu said.

Xie Wuchi sat motionless, letting Shi Shu tend to his wound: “Who wouldn’t?”

Shi Shu applied ointment to his calf. The skin remained slightly swollen and red, still fighting inflammation.

A wave of chill washed over Shi Shu’s chest, his scalp tingling. For some reason, an ominous sense of impending catastrophe hovered over him.

If he told Xie Wuchi about the system, laying the entire truth bare, what would happen in the end? For Xie Wuchi, claiming the title of “Co-Lord of the World” was merely a matter of time; when that day came, he would only need to slay Shi Shu and the remaining transmigrators to return to the modern world in absolute triumph.

What choice would Xie Wuchi make?

And what about himself? Back then, Shi Shu’s only choice had been to go home.

Xie Wuchi was so perceptive; the moment he learned of the system, everything Shi Shu had done in the past would be laid bare like black ink on stark white paper, impossible to conceal.

While Shi Shu was lost in thought, Xin Bin’s voice sounded outside the door.

“My Lord, a dispatch from the imperial palace has arrived.”

Shi Shu looked up. Xie Wuchi rose from the bed, resuming his austere, commanding presence. With contemplative dark eyes, he took the letter and cracked the wax seal.

Shi Shu watched his face closely. Xie Wuchi never betrayed joy or anger easily, his expression barely shifting; yet, staring down at the parchment, he let out a cold sneer.

Shi Shu sensed danger: “What happened?”

“When the cunning hare is killed, the hound is boiled. Now that Yunzhou is secured, the Son of Heaven has decided it is time for checks and balances. No matter how much he trusts me, he cannot sit by and watch the Xie Army grow unchecked on the frontier. He has ordered a replacement of the army supervisor.”

Understanding dawned on Shi Shu at once: “The Emperor has grown suspicious of you?”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later, but the correspondence received not long ago was still full of staunch support, permitting me to fortify the border. For his stance to pivot this abruptly, someone must have fanned the flames.”

Crises were mounting, far more severe than before. Keeping a cool head, Xie Wuchi said, “Come. We handle things one at a time.”

Shi Shu watched Xie Wuchi depart alongside Yuan Guan and Daoist Han Tian. King Zhouchi was currently fasting at the Nativity Temple for the festival; using that pretext, they could plant whispered seeds in his ear to probe state secrets.

For safety’s sake, it was inconvenient for Shi Shu to accompany Xie Wuchi, preventing both of them from being captured together.

Watching them leave, Shi Shu hesitated for a moment, then pulled a cloth over his face and headed downstairs to wander the market, inspecting various treasures.

Shi Shu hadn’t forgotten the mission of this journey, observing and eavesdropping along the way: many tribes had joined the military campaign solely to claim more land for their livestock, only to suffer devastating losses, their sons slain to the last man.

Back in Yunzhou, the children of Dajing’s mothers and fathers had died just the same.

Walking along the stalls, he still couldn’t decide on a gift. Xin Bin followed behind him: “Second Young Master, what are you looking for?”

Shi Shu: “Looking for a birthday gift.”

Coming across a fine blade, he glanced at it: “Not good.” Then gemstones, ivory, tiger teeth, or a pagoda cast in solid gold—none seemed right. Peace amulets were no good, nor were fortune slips: “No, no, none of these are right. What kind of thing would Xie Wuchi actually like?”

Pacing back and forth, he unexpectedly reached a woven canopy where a shaman elder was seated, recounting stories like a bard.

Shi Shu paused his stride, listening from the sidelines.

“‘The Golden Blood’ has been diluted. Today, though the Min of Bufuzhou and Yong’an still bear deep-set features and retain the untamed spirit of the wind, their fiery blood has long since dissolved beneath Dajing’s melodic ballads and tender culture.”

“They brought books and writing, seeds, refined culinary arts, and lavish robes and ornaments, allowing people to live with greater comfort…”

Amid the listening crowd, Shi Shu suddenly spotted a familiar figure.

“Hahahaha! Ridiculous!” Yinkun sat among the onlookers, riding crop in hand, guzzling fermented milk wine with harsh laughter, his vicious gaze locked onto the elder.

“Take this one, for instance,” the elder murmured. “Even his facial features no longer resemble our kind.”

Yinkun sneered: “Oh? And what if my face doesn’t match? Some men bear the face of a Min, yet their hearts were domesticated into sheep long ago.”

The elder smiled: “It seems that having different peoples dwell together and letting time erode hatred has had no effect on you.”

“Hmph? Erode? My imperial mother happened to live during the years when hatred for the Jing ran deepest; she was tormented to death by the other noble consorts. And yet, I found her far too cowardly—utterly incapable of fighting back, covered in bruises, constantly drilling into me: ‘Listen to your father,’ ‘Perform well before your father so he won’t harm you and will trust you, securing your future,’ ‘You are no lesser than any of your brothers.’ I believed her words. On her deathbed she wanted to embrace me, but I shoved her away, telling her I was right: she carried filthy blood in her veins. Why? Was it right to hate them back then, but wrong to hate them now?” Yinkun stood up, brandishing his wine flask. “Born at the wrong damn time.”

The elder said, “When a great river flows eastward, not even the grandest boulder can stem the current. It sweeps aside countless obstructions along its path. Have you not heard? Heaven and Earth are impartial; they treat all things as straw dogs. Flowing with the river is obeying the mandate of heaven.”

“Get lost, get lost, get lost!” Yinkun smashed his drinking cup to pieces against the flagstones—crash!—and stumbled away in a drunken stupor. “If going against the current breaks me, then let it break me!”

Visibly intoxicated, Yinkun shoved past the crowd, storming away in erratic strides.

Seeing him go, Shi Shu lingered before the elder’s tent a moment longer.

The elder began recounting other tales—how hatred was dissolved within love.

Sounding like a prophet, yet also like a warning. His allegiances were impossible to decipher.

Tossing a dagger lightly in his hand, Shi Shu said, “Let’s go.”

Shi Shu bought some unfamiliar pastries and biscuits. By evening, feeling drowsy, he leaned against the headboard and fell into a light sleep.

The door creaked open. Shi Shu snapped his eyes wide; the sky had turned pitch-black, dim light filtering through the window lattice.

Straightening his back, he saw a figure in simple scholar’s robes leaning against the doorframe, his features half-veiled in shadow, speaking with Daoist Han Tian: “That expanse of grassland west of Dongping Ridge—does it belong to King Zhouchi?”

Han Tian said, “Yes, that pasture is the most fertile; the livestock grazing there grow the stoutest.”

Leaning against the door, night veiled Xie Wuchi’s eyes: “Take some men tonight disguised as King Wushan’s cavalry, and go set it ablaze.”

The two exchanged a few more words before the stairs creaked beneath retreating footsteps.

Shi Shu hopped off the bed: “You’re back?”

Approaching, Xie Wuchi shed his outer robes: “The business for today is concluded. And you? Xin Bin mentioned you wandered the bazaar this afternoon.”

Shi Shu: “Just browsing, pretty normal—when is it my turn to make an appearance?”

Xie Wuchi: “When King Zhouchi agrees to submit, that is when you will step forward.”

Shi Shu: “I see. So right now you are helping Yuan Guan by running negotiations back and forth?”

“Naturally. To ensure greater certainty.”

Having been apart since morning, Shi Shu didn’t know what to say, so he produced the pastries: “I bought these, try some.”

Xie Wuchi asked, “Heading back?”

Shi Shu paused: “What?”

“Back to the courtyard. Or perhaps a better phrase: our temporary home,” Xie Wuchi said.

Shi Shu blinked in surprise, then scrambled upright: “Let’s go. Can’t abandon our humble shack.”

Carrying a bundle of snacks and a few polished gemstones he had purchased, Shi Shu walked back into the mountains with Xie Wuchi. It was a peculiar sensation.

His boots tapped against the stone slabs. The town was ablaze with festive clamor, colorful ribbons draped everywhere for the Nativity. Walking through the streets, Shi Shu recalled the conversation between Xie Wuchi and Han Tian: sowing discord, spreading rumors through the city. This settlement was currently bathed in holiday reverie and the sorrow of defeat, the commoners utterly blind to the lethal undercurrents churning beneath.

And Xie Wuchi was once again pulling the strings of the political realm.

Shi Shu seemed to see the vibrant blooms beneath the sacred altar, smoke curling as the elite admired exotic plants, King Zhouchi guiding the guests while Xie Wuchi, disguised as an attendant scholar, swayed human intent from one extreme to the other with mere whispers of calculated profit.

Beneath the liquid night, Shi Shu and Xie Wuchi walked back to the courtyard, the murmur of the stream accompanying their steps.

Passing a grove of bamboo, fireworks burst from a nearby yard celebrating the festival.

Boom, boom, boom! Several blooming bursts soared into the deep blue sky, illuminating their faces in vibrant hues.

Shi Shu and Xie Wuchi stood amidst the bamboo, drenched in cool moonlight.

The pastries Shi Shu had bought were exclusive to the Deity’s Nativity, reportedly made by mincing indigenous leaves and boiling them with the extracted juice—carrying a faint grassy tang, but effective at warding off insects.

Having watched the fireworks, Shi Shu turned around: “Xie Wuchi.”

“What is it?”

Shi Shu asked, “Your real name is Xie Xun.”

Xie Wuchi: “I did not tell you back then. However, I have always lacked attachment to that name.”

Shi Shu: “I already knew.”

A pace or two away, Xie Wuchi stood in the bamboo grove, his dark eyes steady as stone, watching him unblinkingly.

“I told you before that I wanted to share a secret with you. Thinking it over, it’s better to tell you sooner rather than later.”

Shi Shu felt a chill run down his back with every word he uttered, his calves growing weak: “You probably don’t know this, but during the time I was away from you, I awakened a system. Haven’t you always wondered why so many modern people transmigrated here? You, me, Zihan… and other transmigrators.”

Xie Wuchi looked at him. Fresh from his disguise at the Nativity Temple, a string of prayer beads rested around his wrist, his demeanor calm and detached: “Oh? There really is a system.”

Shi Shu: “Yes. The condition to unlock it was to kill another transmigrator.”

Xie Wuchi: “You killed a transmigrator?”

“While traveling the realm with Du Zihan, we stumbled upon a modern person mauled by a tiger. He begged me to give him medicine, but what I fed him was arsenic.”

Xie Wuchi studied Shi Shu: “You look exceedingly tense.”

Shi Shu: “Yes. Because the system stated the method to return to the modern world.”

Xie Wuchi gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment. The guards trailed some distance away, none approaching.

Unreadable thoughts flickered in Xie Wuchi’s eyes. He walked back and took Shi Shu’s hand: “Going home—does it involve me?”

Shi Shu nodded, struggling to find words.

Xie Wuchi gazed at the distant fireworks, the flickering lights reflecting in his dark pupils: “The festivities of these ten days rival the Red String Festival in Shaoxing. We could have strolled through the night markets. They say there are ghost markets, lantern markets, and food streets selling roast meats, streets crowded with deity processions—extraordinary spectacles, every bit as lively as drinking on the boats by the Laoshui River back then.”

Shi Shu was bewildered, not understanding why Xie Wuchi was suddenly reminiscing.

Xie Wuchi said, “When we floated river lanterns, you made a wish: you only wanted to go home. I made the exact same wish for you, hoping you could return home. Back then, I thought you were entirely a child.”

Shi Shu looked at him with brown eyes, breathing softly.

Xie Wuchi: “Speak. What is the condition? I assumed that upon returning, you deliberately sought me out, slept with me, caressed me, and agreed to be with me without second thought so that I would consider your feelings, using gentler means to achieve the ultimate goal of taking the throne. Turns out, you simply wanted to go home.”

Xie Wuchi’s tone carried no overt weight.

A knot tightened in Shi Shu’s throat; words refused to spill.

Xie Wuchi: “What is it? Does one have to become emperor to go home? So, you intended to rely on me to climb to that summit?”

Shi Shu’s voice caught, raspy and choked. Xie Wuchi was terrifyingly brilliant; perhaps without any prompting, he would deduce the condition on his own.

Yet Shi Shu wanted to speak it with his own lips. Dripping with cold sweat, he whispered: “…It is to become emperor, and slaughter every other transmigrator.”

The words dropped.

A profound stillness fell over the bamboo grove, broken only by the faint drip of water.

Shi Shu’s heart thrashed against his ribs, his throat seized by suffocation.

Xie Wuchi heard every syllable clearly, repeating word by deliberate word: “Become emperor, and slaughter every other transmigrator. Including me.”

Listening, Shi Shu felt his heart being sliced apart: “I…”

Xie Wuchi seemed to draw a faint breath. He turned, his boots stepping over the stone flags as he walked forward beneath the moonlight.

The moon illuminated his retreating figure, draped in sea-green robes, just like after their very first encounter at Zhou Family Village when Xie Wuchi had walked alone through the wilderness. Yet this time, his stride carried an uncharacteristic, hurried edge.

Stumbling, Shi Shu rushed after him: “Xie Wuchi…”

“I…”

His dearest friend, his most cherished lover since arriving in this world.

Then, just as Shi Shu reached out his hand, his wrist was violently seized. Xie Wuchi said, “I was wondering if I had been far too gentle with you.”

Shi Shu’s spine went completely numb. He knew Xie Wuchi would be furious, but up to this moment, he had never seen Xie Wuchi truly lose his temper with him.

“I treated you well,” Xie Wuchi said. “So in your eyes, I only possessed the value of being bled dry of everything, and then discarded to die.”

Shi Shu froze where he stood, his mind detonating as though struck by lightning.

A hand clamped around Shi Shu’s throat with brutal, crushing force—rough, calloused pads digging into the pale, defenseless flesh.

“How are you any different from them?”