But now, the faces of Blind Bei, Mo Wan, Siniang—their faces, one after another—began to materialize in Zheng Fan’s mind. Zheng Fan suddenly wanted to ask himself a question: compared to the seven people under his command and n like Lord Jingnan, was he truly considered a demon king?
Screams of agony, cries of wailing, and the sounds of weapons piercing flesh echoed nonstop from all directions.
Zheng Fan hadn’t killed anyone. He hadn’t touched his saber, nor was he frightened by the scene before him. Instead, everything unfolding before his eyes suddenly struck him as sowhat comical and absurd.
The slaughter continued all around. In this scene, no one paid any mind to what Zheng Fan was doing. Or rather, even if any of the armored soldiers saw Zheng Fan doing nothing, they wouldn’t suspect a thing.
This was because the orders they had previously received, and the people they were now slaughtering, were already enough to make them lose their composure. What compelled them to continue raising their butcher knives was an instinct Lord Jingnan had implanted in the hearts of the Jingnan Army soldiers over more than a decade.
With the precedent of the Earl of North Border’s household in the north serving as a warning, successive Yan Emperors had always been wary of the Lord Jingnan position. Not only did the person in this position have to be a trusted confidant, but for insurance, they would also be reassigned when deed necessary. Checks and balances were fundantal to imperial statecraft. They feared cultivating another power in the south akin to the Earl of North Border’s household.
However, less than three months after ascending the throne, the current Yan Emperor appointed his young maternal uncle, Tian Wujing, as Lord Jingnan. The entire Jingnan Army, from top to bottom, was effectively handed over to him alone.
Training, rewards, punishnts, and even the selection of generals within the Jingnan Army’s ranks were all decided by Lord Jingnan’s sole word; the Yan Emperor never uttered a word of dissent.
Moreover, the head of the Spy Bureau in Yinlang County beca Lord Jingnan’s woman. This ant that not only was the Jingnan Army in Yinlang County in Lord Jingnan’s hands, but so was Yinlang County’s entire espionage system.
A period of over ten years was sufficient for Lord Jingnan to deeply perate this army with his influence. Concurrently, mid-ranking officers were largely those he had personally promoted.
To put it bluntly, never mind slaughtering the entire Tian Clan; if Lord Jingnan gave the order to attack the Imperial Palace, they would carry it out imdiately.
The Jingnan Army, top to bottom, did not follow imperial edicts; they recognized only Lord Jingnan’s military commands!
Zheng Fan sat down on an overturned chair. His saber lay at his feet, and his left hand was massaging his forehead.
At this mont, he wished Siniang or Blind Bei were by his side. He wanted to talk to them.
The stone on his chest began to grow slightly warm. Zheng Fan lowered his head and suddenly noticed wisps of blood mist converging from all directions, gathering towards the stone on his chest.
It was Mo Wan, absorbing the fresh blood qi here.
This was happening very covertly; no one would notice. Besides, with the shouts of killing erupting all around, it was even less likely that anyone would observe this.
Zheng Fan chuckled drily but didn’t stop Mo Wan.
He held no particular feelings for the Tian Clan, so naturally, he wouldn’t feel any indignation on their behalf.
Perhaps, in the past, I tried too hard to keep myself completely detached.
Whether it was assassination or counter-assassination, scheming against others or being sched against, or even leading troops to campaign in Qian State, Zheng Fan felt he had mostly approached things with the ntality of playing a ga.
The events at Chahe Village were not his doing; he wouldn’t commit such acts. The slaughter of commoners, won, and children was outside the scope of his "ga."
If only reality could be like a ga, allowing one to just play without any psychological burden. How wonderful that would be?
Suddenly, Zheng Fan’s gaze was captured by a piece of candied fruit lying under his boot.
This piece of candied fruit looked sowhat familiar. Moreover, it was now stained crimson with fresh blood.
Zheng Fan took a deep breath, then tilted his head back and breathed rapidly several tis.
A feeling of wanting to curse but not knowing whom to direct it at welled up in his chest. Just monts ago, he had been on the verge of indulging in a little sentintality, but now, it was as if a basin of ice-cold water had been poured over him, shattering everything he was just thinking.
Reality, after all, is not a ga.
Zheng Fan reached out and picked up the piece of candied fruit.
He didn’t want to search, nor did he dare to. He didn’t even dare to look around much anymore. He hoped not to see the figure of that little girl—the one called the ’short-tempered girl’—here.
At this mont, Zheng Fan, who had been an original comic artist in his past life, suddenly understood a truth. Fictional comic stories, comic plots—no matter how bizarre, no matter how ticulously designed—always contain the creator’s internal logic. But reality... reality often has no logic.
Zheng Fan no longer wanted to remain here listening to the screams. Because of that piece of candied fruit, he also didn’t want to look at the scene behind him anymore. Picking up his saber, he rose and walked to the stream’s edge. He intended to scoop so water to wash his face and clear his head. But when he looked down, he saw that the blood of the Tian Clan mbers had already dyed red this stream, which was originally ant to symbolize the refined elegance of ’floating wine cups on a winding watercourse’.
"Heh..." Zheng Fan straightened up and began to walk away.
"Tian Wujing! Tian Wujing, you animal! You animal!!!"
Outside, a woman’s shrill scream suddenly sounded, filled with anger and heart-wrenching pain.
Just then, Zheng Fan saw a squad of armored soldiers, their bodies layered with filth and blood, rush past him.
Zheng Fan, saber in hand, imdiately rushed over.
The woman wore a purple dress, her hair bun undone; she had clearly been sleeping. But now, her hair disheveled, she knelt on the opposite bank of the stream outside the Elegant Garden. Beside her was a group of terrified eunuchs and palace maids.
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