Chapter 10: Decisive Escape

Chapter 10: Decisive Escape

In the eleventh month of the twenty-sixth year of the Chonghui era, the Yellow Lotus cultists from Qingzhou broke through the encirclement of the Yuting army and arrived near the capital, numbering no fewer than two hundred thousand. Among them, several thousand were impervious to blades and spears. The Empress Dowager, gripped by fear, issued an edict of amnesty, promising a large number of official posts. The Yellow Lotus cult accepted and seized the opportunity to expand their influence; within a few months, their numbers swelled to half a million.

By the second month of the twenty-seventh year, the nations of Haixi, under the pretext of assisting Dahun in quelling internal chaos, landed their forces, and a great war was on the brink of eruption.

At the Left Historical Institute, a group of officials stared silently at the dispatch reports on the table, the heavy atmosphere suffocating. Even ordinary people could see that Dahun was in grave peril, let alone these historians who studied history daily.

“Internal strife and external threats,” shouted Chief Editor Shao Guilin, slapping the table abruptly. The room erupted with curses—some directed at the Yellow Lotus cult, others at the Haixi nations. Yet no one dared to curse the Empress Dowager, for to do so meant certain death.

The clamor only aggravated Shao Guilin’s irritation. “Everyone out!”

The crowd dispersed like pardoned prisoners, heading out. Just as Qin Yuan was about to leave, he was called back.

“Yuanda, stay. Tell me honestly, do you think the court can hold?”

Shao Guilin’s eyes were sincere.

Qin Yuan thought, “Hold? Not a chance.”

He replied diplomatically, “As long as the court is united, holding on shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’ve never heard a single honest word from you,” Shao Guilin growled.

Qin Yuan silently retorted in his mind: When have you ever spoken the truth?

Shao Guilin gave a bitter laugh. With troubles both internal and external, holding on was nearly impossible. The night before, a drunken eunuch had whispered that there was an imperial edict: prepare as many carriages and horses as possible. Clearly, the Empress Dowager intended to flee.

“Chief Editor, I’m off to the dining hall. If I’m late, the food will be cold,” Qin Yuan said, already having prepared the fastest horse—today, he planned to slip away.

“All you ever care about is eating. Get lost!” Shao Guilin snapped, his fleshy belly trembling with anger.

“Dismissed,” Qin Yuan bowed and left smoothly.

With the Left Historical Institute abandoned, everyone was left to their own fate.

Walking home on foot, Qin Yuan gathered all the silver notes he had long exchanged for Jiangnan bills. With money in hand, survival anywhere was assured. He led out the prepared horse, locked the door, and headed toward the city gate.

Along the way, many scrawny Yellow Lotus cultists gathered to perform their “blade- and spear-proof” feats, drawing cheers from unworldly commoners. Qin Yuan had already studied their trick thoroughly—it was merely hard qigong combined with drugs. Genuine fighters could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers, but in one-on-one combat, they would perish horribly.

At the South City Gate, the crowd was surprisingly large. Among them, Qin Yuan recognized familiar faces—the impeached official Chen Yushi who had urged the Empress Dowager and emperor to relocate the capital five days prior; the young marquis who had declared he would stand or fall with the city just two days ago; and Zhou Guozhang, who had been selling furniture on the streets to support the court.

Indeed, when disaster strikes, those who shout the loudest are often the first to flee. Had he not been in such a hurry to escape himself, Qin Yuan would have robbed them on the spot. At least half the wealth of Dahun was in their hands. Even carrying a fraction would sustain him for centuries.

Ten days later, three thousand seven hundred twenty-four miles away, in Minzhou—the city famed for its mountains, waters, and contested lands—Qin Yuan found himself in the Minzhou branch of the Beggars’ Sect.

He sought their help to deliver a letter from Lin Yidong to his wife, though he had no knowledge of her whereabouts. Enlisting local strongmen was the best choice.

“Brother Zhongda, rest assured. Within three days, I’ll find Lin Yidong’s wife for you,” the sect leader promised with a broad smile, clutching a silver note.

Qin Yuan used the alias Zhuge Yi, courtesy name Zhongda.

Three days later—actually two and a half—Qin Yuan stood before an unremarkable grave on the outskirts of the city. The tombstone, hidden among sparse grass, bore the inscription: “Chen Yiying’s Tomb.”

“You’re late. She passed away last year,” the sect leader sighed.

In the martial world, heroes were most revered. Lin Yidong, who had dared to storm the governor’s mansion, was a hero among heroes, yet met a tragic end, leaving behind a widow. How could this not stir sorrow and lament?

“She was only twenty-two,” Qin Yuan said quietly, stunned. He had come too late. Had he known, he would never have delayed.

“But after Lin Yidong’s death, Chen Yiying tried to take her own life. Lin’s parents begged her to live on, and she endured the pain, only to succumb eventually to grief,” the sect leader explained.

Qin Yuan said nothing, silently gazing.

The sect leader bowed quietly and left without a sound.

After a long moment, Qin Yuan took out Lin Yidong’s letter to his wife and read aloud:

“Yiying, my dearest, as if we were still together:

I now bid you eternal farewell with this letter. When I wrote it, I was still alive; by the time you read it, I have become a ghost in the netherworld. Tears and ink flowed together as I wrote...

Our son Yixin is already five years old, growing fast. Please care for him well, so he resembles me. As for the child in your womb, I suspect it is a daughter—she must look like you...

”

After finishing, Qin Yuan burned the letter before the grave.

Suddenly, a chilling wind rose. The sky dimmed unnaturally. A cold sensation ran down his neck, and goosebumps erupted. He spun around sharply, his gaze as piercing as if it could shoot divine light.

Ten meters away stood a woman from Jiangnan, as if stepped out from an ink painting. She held an oil-paper umbrella, tears streaming down her face. Her form flickered between reality and illusion, as if a breeze could blow her away.

A ghost!

Qin Yuan’s heart jumped. Though he possessed over two centuries of inner power and unparalleled invincible Vajra skills, how the hell was he supposed to deal with a ghost?

Suddenly, he was pulled into another world.

It was late autumn turning to early winter, at a writing desk beneath a plum tree. Two figures stood side by side, hand in hand. Moonlight filtered through the gnarled branches, casting sparse beams into a quaint and antique residence, illuminating a newlywed couple by the window.

“I was worried,” one said.

“Worried about what?”

“That our temperaments might differ.”

“And now?”

“Not worried anymore.”

“Me neither.”

The young man and woman smiled at each other.

This was Lin Juemin—Lin Yidong’s real name—and Chen Yiying.

Qin Yuan realized this and tried to escape this world, nearly succeeding before steadying himself. If he could leave, there would be no need to worry.

Time passed swiftly. Years later, the newlyweds became a family with two children—a son and another unborn.

One day, Lin Juemin jokingly said to Chen Yiying, “If it’s possible, I hope you die before me.”

Chen Yiying was angry—not out of fear of death but because his words were strange.

Lin Juemin quickly embraced her, smiling gently. “If I die first, your frail body won’t bear it. How could I bear to leave you alone? It’s better that you go before me.”

Looking into her husband’s handsome face, Chen Yiying’s expression softened. “Neither of us is allowed to die.”

Soon afterward, Lin Juemin’s life grew irregular, returning home drunk every day. Chen Yiying watched silently as it all unfolded.

(End of chapter)