PTM 86
Chapter 86: Heart Had Nothing to Do with Love
The first step was to seek cooperation.
Daiyu secretly sent a special envoy from afar. The envoy wore exquisite gold-rimmed glasses and a perfectly tailored gray suit. He was very polite, but the eyes behind the lenses revealed the sharpness and calculation unique to politicians.
Inside the dilapidated church in Yaochi, he sat with his legs crossed on a chipped wooden chair. He listened to my conditions with the ease of attending a poetry salon, and then gave me a meaningful smile.
“Mr. Messiah, it’s a pleasure to work with you.”
Long before that tragic downpour, a seed of doubt had taken root in my heart.
Chu Shengcheng jumped from the governor’s mansion with the little prince in his arms. The husband and nominal son of the princess of Daiyu Kingdom died tragically in the enemy camp. Apart from issuing a flimsy “strong condemnation” statement in the international community, the Daiyu army did not even cross the border.
This unusual restraint, for a powerful nation, was almost like an attempt to conceal some unspeakable guilt.
Even more suspicious was Jin Ke.
After Yu Xuan went mad, he took over power in Wo Province too quickly, and not long after taking office, Wo Province’s military strength increased several levels. That level of standard heavy firepower was something that a few black market merchants could not possibly assemble.
There was no such thing as unearned forbearance or unearned gifts in the world.
When these two extremely unusual events were put together, the hidden network of interest exchanges behind the scenes became clear.
“It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” I stood up and extended my right hand to the other person.
The envoy glanced at my hand and smiled before slowly standing up, and reaching out to shake my hand.
In fact, Daiyu had been waiting for this day for a long time.
Jin Ke was indeed a pawn they’d been supporting, but that pawn was spiraling out of control. The deaths of Chu Shengcheng and his son had enraged the entire international community, putting Daiyu in an extremely passive diplomatic position; Jin Ke’s public executions, massacring not only Penglai nobles but also showing no mercy to commoners, had made him look like a mad dog. Sooner or later, this kind of person would drag his masters down with him.
If that was the case, why not find a “principled agent” who had a stronger bottom line and was more internationally welcomed?
This was tantamount to asking a tiger for its skin, but I couldn’t care about that anymore.
The second step was to win them over.
From the underlying logic of power, Jin Ke’s foundation was like a mudslide during the continuous rainy season in Wo Province, seemingly powerful but actually collapsing at the slightest touch.
Yu Xuan’s madness came too suddenly, and Jin Ke’s rise to power was more a matter of necessity than popular will. He held men and weapons in his hands, but this did not mean that all the resistance forces in Wo Province truly submitted to him. In the eyes of his old subordinates who had followed Yu Xuan through thick and thin for many years, Yu Xuan, whose surname was “Yu,” was a legitimate descendant of the royal family of Wo Province. Jin Ke, at best, was simply a dog of the Yu family, an ambitious man who seized power while his master was seriously ill.
To win over this group, simply using force was the worst approach; winning their hearts and minds was the best strategy.
Using the sacred filter of “Messiah” and my past status with Yu Xuan, I extended a new olive branch to them.
At the same time, Ye Shuer precisely delivered to those people the top-secret agreement in which Jin Ke secretly conspired with Dai Yu to sell the mining rights of Wo Province for the next twenty years in exchange for arms.
The Wo people uprising was fought for survival and freedom, not to serve as cannon fodder for the Daiyu people to restrain Penglai, nor to exchange for Jin Ke’s crown as king.
Betrayal of faith, contempt for bloodline, and the promise of a far more lucrative postwar distribution of benefits than Jin Ke’s, made defection a logical next step.
The operation concluded on an ordinary, late night. The heavy snowfall in Wo Province perfectly concealed the grim atmosphere. There was no large-scale mutiny, no booming artillery fire, only a few muffled gunshots emanating from deep within the governor’s mansion.
As dawn broke, the man who had been confidently plotting how to strike the government forces during the day was pinned to the cold marble floor by his supposedly most trusted bodyguard and became a prisoner.
The third step was resurrection.
As the sun fully rose, I crossed the border alone, and stepped onto the frozen soil of Wo Province from the snow-covered plains.
Ahead lay a dense rebel defensive line.
“Halt! Who goes there?!”
“Hands up! Take off your hood!”
The dark muzzle of a gun instantly locked onto me, this suspicious-looking uninvited guest draped in a gray robe. The rebels’ shouts sounded particularly tense in the wind and snow, and I had no doubt that if I made the slightest move, they would riddle me with bullets.
I stopped, and under the watchful eyes of dozens, even hundreds, of people filled with hostility and vigilance, I slowly raised my hand and pulled off the scarf that had been covering most of my face. Then, facing the cold wind, I pulled back the gray hood that had hidden from me the world for four years.
The wind and snow seemed to stand still at that moment.
The ruthless rebel soldiers in the front row seemed to have been struck by a bolt of lightning; their fierce gazes instantly vanished, replaced by disbelief as if they had seen a ghost in broad daylight.
“Clang” Someone’s hand trembled so badly that they lost all strength, and the heavy rifle crashed onto the icy snow. The sound was like a switch, it immediately brought everyone back to their senses.
“Mr. Jiang…?”
“That’s the saint…that’s the face of the saint…”
“No…this is impossible…”
Amidst the noise, I calmly looked at them and said, “It’s me.”
I looked at them, at these young faces that had grown up amidst the flames of war. Some of them might have been just children four years ago. They grew up listening to the story of “Jiang Man,” taking a dead man as their faith.
And now, the dead man stood before them, alive, breathing.
“I see charlatans using my name to lead the people of Wo down a path of no return; I see your blood not bringing freedom, but instead becoming stepping stones for others to enjoy wealth and glory.” My voice pierced through the howling wind, “Jin Ke harmed innocent children, twisted my will, and executed a man who protected the people of Wo and Penglai during the war on trumped-up charges. He is not a hero of the people of Wo, but a disgrace to them.”
No one spoke.
I stepped forward into the wind and snow. As I approached, the rebel troops, separated by barbed wire, involuntarily retreated in unison, their eyes filled with shock and awe at my “resurrection.”
“Death failed to take my soul, for my unfinished business still lies on this land filled with wailing. I was reborn amidst war and smoke, and returned from the flames of hell, to end this absurd farce that has been exploited by ambitious men.”
“It really is you…” The young rebel leader’s lips trembled, and his eyes gradually reddened.
Then, he knelt down on one knee.
With him leading the way, the other soldiers also knelt down, their rifle butts striking the frozen mud with a series of muffled thuds.
I looked down at them from my high position, my voice cold and my eyes full of pity: “The dignity that Jin Ke couldn’t give you, I will; the war that he couldn’t win, I will fight.”
I paused for a moment, looked at the Wo soldiers who had completely surrendered and were even beginning to cry softly, and gave my first order.
“Now, stand up. People of the Kingdom of Wo, I will lead you to reclaim a future that truly belongs to us!”
News of my resurrection spread like wildfire from the border into the heart of Wo Province. In less than three days, the entire Wo Province knew.
They knew Jiang Man was not dead. They knew I had returned.
Jin Ke was dragged out of the cell with his hands tied and brought before me.
He stared at me in disbelief, repeating only one sentence: “You’re supposed to be dead…You’re supposed to be dead…”
“I have died.” I walked up to him, my thumb twirling the sharp blade of the dagger in my hand, and looked down at him. “But you brought me back to life.”
With that, I grabbed his hair, forced him to tilt his head back, and slashed the dagger, making a horrifying, yet not fatal, cut on his thick neck.
Warm blood gushed from the gash in his neck. It splattered onto the furniture, carpet, and even the wallpaper. Jin Ke fell to the ground, his eyes wide open in terror.
Without saying a word, I crouched down, and like a patient butcher, slowly severed his ears, nose, fingers…
With each swing of the dagger, he would convulse, making a muffled “gurgling,” staring at me with hatred.
I relished this hatred. Gradually, his face turned from blue to snow-white, and as the last drop of blood trickled out weakly, I plunged the dagger into his eye socket. His body convulsed twice and crashed into the blood-soaked carpet.
I stood up, expressionlessly crushed the bright red eyeball with the sole of my shoe, stepped onto the wet carpet, and opened the door to go outside.
Ye Shuer was waiting in the corridor outside.
“Ge…” He glanced at the room, then quickly looked away.
I handed him the blood-stained dagger. He hesitated, but finally took it with trembling hands.
Jin Ke’s mangled body hung on the guillotine he had built himself, exposed to the wind and sun, and despised by the people.
After arriving in Wo Province, I discovered that Yu Xuan had disappeared, and no one knew his whereabouts. I didn’t have time to worry about him, because there were more important things waiting for me.
I tried to find Zong Yanlei’s remains, but Jin Ke’s confidants said that they sent the head back to Penglai, while the body was left in the wilderness. Now, that body that I once cherished so much had probably been devoured by hungry wild beasts in winter, and not even a single bone could be found.
Upon hearing this news, I fell ill again. In excruciating pain, as if my stomach was about to burst, I vomited blood and lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I had an IV drip in my hand. Dr. Li was sitting by the bed. He looked at me with a serious expression.
He survived the enemy attack in the valley, but suffered a severe leg injury and could now only walk with a cane.
“I told you, I don’t need treatment.” I pulled the needle out right in front of him. “You should go help those who can still be saved.”
“Who made Lao Si and me owe Zong Yanlei?” Dr. Li didn’t stop me, but said calmly, “Back then, he took us in, avenged us, and cleared our names. We will always owe him. Before he was arrested, he told Lao Si and me to come to you and take your orders. These were his last words, and we can’t disobey them.”
Upon hearing Zong Yanlei’s name, my heart skipped a beat, and the stomach pain that had subsided began to return.
I frowned and immediately ordered him to leave: “Since he had ordered you to obey me, then don’t disobey my orders. Get out. Don’t come to me again unless I call you.”
Dr. Li gave me a complicated look, sighed and stood up. He didn’t say another word of advice, and limped out the door with his cane.
The following year, I turned my gun around and headed north.
The Penglai government forces were exhausted and demoralized after years of attrition, while I now possessed all the military power left by Jin Ke, the continuous supply of weapons and ammunition from Daiyu, and all the madness that a “resurrected saint” could mobilize.
Zengcheng surrendered without a fight. Wei Lian personally opened the city gates to welcome us, and publicly announced that this was a decree sent by the Sun God in a dream.
The local authorities in Langfeng took the initiative to surrender overnight when they saw the wind blowing, and sent envoys along with a generous amount of military supplies enough to arm an entire legion as a pledge of allegiance.
Fantong resisted for thirty-nine days. On the fortieth day, the city ran out of ammunition and food, order collapsed, and the defending troops surrendered.
The battle at Xuanpu lasted the longest, taking three months. But even the strongest defenses were eventually breached by my relentless sacrifice of lives, leaving a bloody gaping hole.
I didn’t stay in any city for long; I had only one goal, Baiyujing.
My health rapidly deteriorated; food became increasingly difficult to digest, and I was barely hanging on by large doses of painkillers and intravenous nutrition. But I wouldn’t allow myself to fall before killing Chu Huan with my own hands.
After conquering a city, I would order an investigation into all officials and nobles who had participated in the suppression and persecution of the Wo people, and to bring them to trial and conviction.
Initially, the order was precise. There were lists, evidence, and trial procedures. Ye Shuer was responsible for compiling the lists, and every accusation was verified.
But as the list grew longer, the boundaries expanded from “those directly involved in the repression” to “those indirectly providing funding,” from “those who tortured and killed the people” to “those who remained silent during the massacre of the people”… and each expansion was accompanied by seemingly reasonable justifications. Every day, hundreds of people were dragged into the streets and executed, their blood staining the sewers of every city.
Ye Shuer began to object: “Ge, this man is just an ordinary businessman. He was forced to provide supplies to the government army…”
“Forced?” I looked up from the mountain of battle reports. “Since the public trial began, has anyone on the list said they weren’t forced?”
He stopped talking.
Baiyujing was very close at hand.
Zhong Xiaoshan withdrew all his remaining elite troops to the capital’s defense line, constructing three lines of fortifications around Baiyujing. He knew this was the final battle, with no way to retreat, and ferociously fought.
My troops spent two whole weeks battling on the first line of defense. Heavy artillery bombarded the area day and night, leaving the ground barren and the soil charred black, mixed with shrapnel and bone fragments.
The casualty reports were increasing every day. Ye Shuer put the list on my desk. At first, I would flip through it, but later I just flipped it over and stopped looking at those cold numbers.
After a month of fighting, Chu Luo sent an envoy.
The envoy was a young civil official, dressed in a rather disheveled formal suit, his face etched with fatigue.
He presented handwritten letter from Chu Luo, the gist of which was that they were willing to negotiate, recognize the independence of the Wo Province, and release all Wo political prisoners, on the condition that the fighting cease and the people of the capital be spared.
After I finished reading it, I folded the letter and placed it on the table.
“Go back and tell Chu Luo,” I said, “to have Chu Huan come himself, kneel at the city gate, and atone with his death. That’s the only condition.”
The messenger’s face turned pale.
“The blood debt of hundreds of thousands of Wo people must be repaid by someone.” I looked at him, my tone calm and indifferent. “As long as the King of Penglai lives, the war will not stop.”
After the envoy left, Ye Shuer silently stood at the entrance for a long time.
“Ge,” he finally spoke.
“Um.”
“Chu Luo’s conditions… are already generous.”
I looked up at him and whispered, “Not enough.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
The next day, Chu Luo’s reply arrived. It was very short, only six words.
[I regret that I cannot comply.]
I handed the letter to my adjutant and ordered, “Prepare for the general offensive.”
The final offensive officially began at dawn.
Zhong Xiaoshan’s second line of defense held out for three days under concentrated fire, while the third line only lasted a day and a half. But it wasn’t breached by me; it collapsed from within—the Wo people, who were strictly controlled and forced into labor in Baiyujing at the very beginning of the war, revolted.
The defending troops were suddenly attacked from both sides, and their command system was thrown into chaos. Zhong Xiaoshan was captured in the chaos, and the defensive line collapsed completely in an instant.
When I stepped through the city gates, all I could see was a field strewn with corpses. Raging fires illuminated half the sky, and the air was filled with desperate cries and sporadic gunshots. In the streets, the bodies of Penglai and Wo people lay scattered in pools of blood, some charred beyond recognition.
I did not stop. I stepped over the ashes and blood, and continued towards the palace.
The palace gates were wide open, and the once-imposing royal guards had long since scattered and fled. I led my men in. We passed through one empty, magnificent palace after another, until we reached the very heart of the power center.
Inside the spacious hall, only the old emperor and Chu Luo remained.
“Long time no see.” Chu Luo gave me a graceful nod.
I stood three meters away from her and nodded back: “Long time no see.”
According to the leaders of the rioting Wo people, it was Chu Luo who ordered their release from the camps at the last minute. She could have easily escaped with her confidants in the chaos, but she chose to stay until the very end.
Torn between loyalty to the empire and filial piety, she couldn’t choose either, yet ultimately chose both. She released the Wo people in exchange for a faster end to the war, and fulfilled her filial duty to her father by staying behind to be buried with him.
I had no ill will toward this princess. So I simply ordered her to be taken away and to be kept under close guard.
After dealing with Chu Luo, I turned my head and looked at the person on the throne.
“I remember you.” The old emperor sat on his throne in the center of the hall, wearing the heavy robe he only wore on major celebrations. His voice reeked of decay. “You look more like a dying man than I do. Hahaha, I never thought I would fall into the hands of a mere commoner like you.”
I couldn’t bother to say anything more to him, and raised my hand.
The Wo soldiers beside me walked forward and dragged him off the chair that symbolized supreme power.
He was dragged like a dead dog to the square outside the palace. I had him stripped naked and his hands tied behind his back to a thick white jade pillar in front of the palace gate.
The scars on his neck were clearly visible. Above the scars was an aged head, while below the scars was a young and vigorous body covered in lividity.
It reminded me of those grotesque fish, pieced together by human imagination, during the final race of GTC back then.
The biting winter wind mercilessly swept across the old emperor’s bare skin, causing him to tremble, yet he clenched his teeth and did not utter a single plea for mercy.
“Execute him,” I whispered the order.
As soon as I finished speaking, a heavy whip lashed down on the old emperor. He cried out in pain, his muscles twitching.
The execution whip was specially made with barbs embedded in them. Each lash would tear open a bloody gash in the skin. If two lashes were struck together, they could even bring out white bone fragments.
“You think it will be over…”After enduring the thirtieth-odd lashes, a mocking smile suddenly appeared on his lips as he said laboriously, “after I die?”
Before he could say anything more, the executioner lashed his face. The whip tore his lips to shreds and sent his teeth, mixed with blood, flying to the ground.
After the fiftieth lash, the old emperor fell completely silent. His aged head drooped limply onto his young chest, and thick blood flowed down the white stone pillar, pooling into a glaring red stream on the thick snow in the square.
The glorious reign of the Chu Dynasty of Penglai, spanning over three hundred years, came to an end on this day.
The old emperor’s blood had not yet dried when Wuxi Li, leading a group of nobles remaining in Baiyujing, came before me in a grand procession.
The Wuxi Li I remembered was always elegant and dignified, with an unyielding and aloof presence. But the woman standing before me had dull hair and a haggard, withered face. Yet, her spine remained ramrod straight.
She spoke first, her voice surprisingly calm: “Mr. Jiang Man, on behalf of the remaining noble families in the city, I… surrender to you.”
She said word “surrender,” as if she had swallowed two pieces of burning charcoal. The nobles behind her bowed their heads, some trembling in the cold wind, others ashen-faced. These people were once the most honored and illustrious in Penglai, but now they were like stray dogs, trembling and waiting for a commoner to decide their fate.
“Where is Yinzhuo?” I asked.
Wuxi Li hesitated for a moment before replying, “On the eve of the final assault, Han Zhe left with the children.”
I paused for a moment, then said “Oh”.
“There’s no need to run away. He’s my child, how could I hurt him?” I forced a stiff smile at her.
Wuxi Li looked at me, returned a smile, and her eyes revealed a hint of pity and sarcasm: “Look at your hands, Jiang Man, look at how much Penglai people’s blood is stained on them. How could I dare to take such a risk and leave the child with you?”
I suppressed my awkward smile and looked down at my hands.
Even though my palms were clean and spotless, I could faintly smell a strong, indelible stench of blood.
I am a blood-stained monster, even she could tell.
I clenched my fists, and abruptly changed the subject: “Where is Zong Yanlei’s grave?”
Upon hearing this name, a barely perceptible ripple finally appeared in Wuxi Li’s usually calm and serene blue eyes.
“The Angcot Cemetery in the northern suburbs of Baiyujing.” She paused, her voice slightly hoarse, yet carrying a rare warmth. “That’s the location I personally chose for him. Facing east, he can see the sunrise earliest every morning.”
“Thank you.” I raised my hand, signaling for them to be temporarily detained and dealt with later.
That night, I did not attend the victory celebration banquet, but sat alone on the long marble steps in front of the palace.
The moonlight was beautiful, but also very cold. Its gentle glow shone on the unmelted snow and dried bloodstains in the square, illuminating the surroundings so brightly that there was nowhere to hide.
Ye Shuer walked out of the main hall behind me and sat down beside me, about half a body length away. We sat side by side, looking at the burned capital, and remained silent for a long time.
“Speak your mind.” I looked ahead and spoke first.
“Ge, can we stop now?” He turned to look at me, his voice filled with weariness. “The battle is over.”
I did not answer.
“Jin Ke is dead, and the old emperor is dead too. Zong Yanlei… if he were watching you from heaven, he wouldn’t be happy.”
“How do you know he won’t be happy?” I asked, looking at him.
A hint of pity flashed in Ye Shuer’s eyes, the same expression I had just seen on Wuxi Li’s face earlier that day.
“Because you’re unhappy.” He tore through my pretense. “You killed so many people, avenged all your grudges, and rose to the highest position. But you’re not happy.”
I lowered my head and looked at my hands again.
Under the moonlight, my fingers were clean, without a trace of blood. But I knew that the lives I had taken with my own hands, the blood that flowed like a river, were forever etched into the lines of my palms.
Late at night, I left a letter for Ye Shuer and left the palace alone. I didn’t take any guards, didn’t disturb anyone, and only carried a fully loaded gun in my arms.
The streets were littered with charred building debris and uncollected corpses. The stench of rotting flesh and gunpowder wafted through the city. Occasionally, a few sporadic gunshots could be heard from the darkness in the distance, whether from bloodthirsty soldiers mopping up the last resistance or from looters fighting amongst themselves.
After leaving the devastated north gate, I walked slowly along the riverbank. The river was covered with a thick layer of ice in winter, and the cold moonlight poured onto the ice, reflecting a pale and desolate light.
The trees on both sides of the riverbank were bare, their twisted branches gently swayed in the night wind, like countless withered ghostly hands reaching out to the sky.
Angcot Cemetery was a famous cemetery for nobles and celebrities in Baiyujing. As a public space, anyone could freely enter and exit.
I passed through rows of imposing, cold tombstones and headed for the easternmost side. There, a solitary, not-so-large tombstone stood.
The tombstone was polished to an extremely smooth finish. There was no biographical record, no epitaph, only a name and two cold dates. There were no flowers or offerings in front of the tombstone, only a thick layer of fresh snow.
The bright moonlight quietly illuminated the name on the tombstone. I reached out my hand, and traced the strokes engraved in the stone.
He died before he was thirty years old.
“I’m older than you now,” I said with a smile.
Wuxi Li was right; this location faced east with no obstructions. If I came in the early morning, the first rays of sunlight would indeed illuminate this place. But I came in the dead of night, and there was only endless darkness.
I slumped down in front of the tombstone, leaning wearily against the cold, icy stone.
I remembered many things.
I remembered the colorful lollipop he handed to the Wo child in that dilapidated refugee camp; the brief greetings that Dr. Li would bring each time he came to take my pulse; I remembered how, over those long three years, we would look at each other from afar through the bustling crowd, and then, like the most familiar strangers, we would hurriedly look away.
[Jiang Man, if I die, will you die with me?]
“I’ll die with you.” I turned around and rubbed my head against the tombstone behind me, just like I did when he was alive. “You always think I’m lying to you. But I really didn’t lie this time. Young master, wait for me, cross the Lethe River slowly, don’t forget me so quickly… I want to go with you…”
My body was nearing its limit, and Ye Shuer had grown into a capable person who could stand on his own. It was time for me to leave.
A biting night wind swept across the empty cemetery, the withered branches rustled and wept like a grand funeral dirge. The world was silent; no one answered me.
Throughout the year, I kept thinking, trying hard, desperately trying to remember what I answered when he gave me the truth serum and asked me that last question.
Finally, after a night of nightmares that left me in tears, I remembered.
I slowly raised my hand and pressed the muzzle of the gun against my heart.
Jiang Man, do you even have a heart? Did you… ever love me?
My thumb landed on the trigger; it was heavy and cold. But what was this compared to the pain and despair my heart had endured over the years?
“Of course I have a heart. But heart had nothing to do with love. Even if this heart stops beating, my love for you… will never cease.”
“Bang–!”
***
Author’s Note
HEHEHE (Happy ending)
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