Chapter Seventy-Six: Reaching an Agreement

Congratulations, you have received a monthly ticket.

Seeing the situation, everyone tactfully stepped aside, creating a path. Kimura Xinghen and Kimura Xingye walked out of the hall shoulder to shoulder. The weather was particularly fine today—blue skies, white clouds, gentle sunlight. The two of them walked outside the hall and stood facing each other.

Kimura Xingye looked at Kimura Xinghen, who stood three feet away from him. This man was his elder brother, the one who grew up alongside him. Yet now, they were about to fight to the death. Kimura Xingye understood perfectly—his brother had proposed this duel because he wanted to seize the opportunity to kill him. He had always been frail, his martial skills far inferior to Kimura Xinghen’s, and he had never once beaten his brother in any contest. This time would be no different. Even so, he agreed because he wanted an ending—a resolution that belonged only to the two of them, untouched by anyone else. Even if he were to die by his brother’s blade today, at least it would be final.

Kimura Xinghen had been furious since earlier. Now, looking at Kimura Xingye, a cruel smile curled at his lips. He was determined to win.

Feng Qiuji glanced at Kimura Xingye’s calm expression, then at Kimura Xinghen’s confident demeanor. She felt lost, unsure who would win.

“Before the duel, I want to ask you a question.” After a few seconds of silence, Kimura Xingye broke the atmosphere.

“Speak.”

“Where have you imprisoned the prince of Ling Dynasty?”

“I’ll tell you when you beat me.” Kimura Xinghen drew his sword first and charged at Kimura Xingye.

After a few exchanges, even Feng Qiuji, who knew nothing of martial arts, could see that Kimura Xingye was clearly at a disadvantage. Kimura Xinghen’s every move was lethal, and Kimura Xingye barely dodged several fatal attacks. It was obvious Kimura Xinghen intended to kill him, and Feng Qiuji couldn't help but worry—would Kimura Xingye actually be finished off by Kimura Xinghen?

She felt she should bring reinforcements, but where could she find them? She knew no one. Even if she went to get Ling Zetian, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

In fact, Feng Qiuji and Ling Zetian shared a faint psychic connection. As she hoped Ling Zetian would hurry, he was already rushing toward the scene. The group had settled at Lu Wenwen’s residence, where Feng Qiuji clung to Lu Wenwen. Ling Zetian was rather displeased with this, but he said nothing, his thoughts still with Anuo. Although he believed nothing would happen to him, he felt what Feng Qiuji felt—only seeing him safe would bring peace to his heart.

Taking advantage of the mealtime, Ling Zetian decided to check out Fusang Palace, hoping at least to gather some information.

When he arrived, he found the palace in chaos—cries echoed everywhere, blood flowed like rivers. On closer look, the gate guards were slaughtering maids and eunuchs attempting to escape. He didn’t waste a moment, hurrying to find Anuo. Fusang Palace was a mess; if Anuo were accidentally harmed, what would he do? He had to find Anuo quickly.

When he reached the outside of the Purple Luan Hall, he saw two figures dueling with swords in the vast courtyard.

Feng Qiuji also saw Ling Zetian arrive, sword in hand. He wore a white robe, looking ethereal and elegant. Feng Qiuji was overjoyed, waving frantically at him, trying to catch his attention. Sadly, Ling Zetian didn’t notice her efforts at all; he merely glanced at the dueling figures and prepared to move on.

Feng Qiuji grew anxious, trying to block him, but as she was now little more than air, she could not hinder Ling Zetian in the slightest. No matter what she did, it was futile. For the first time, Feng Qiuji realized just how powerless she was—she could do nothing.

Still, her desperate attempts had some effect. Ling Zetian felt a gust of wind brush past his ear, prompting him to turn his head slightly. With that glance, he saw the two dueling figures nearby, recognizing them. He approached and saw it was Kimura Xinghen and Kimura Xingye, locked in fierce combat, with Kimura Xingye close to defeat.

History is full of royal brothers turning against each other—like the famous Emperor Taizong of Tang, Li Shimin—so this was hardly anything shocking. Ling Zetian sheathed his sword, crossed his arms, and stood aside to watch.

Feng Qiuji nearly collapsed in despair. She longed to tell Ling Zetian that Kimura Xingye was a good man and urge him to save him, but nothing she said would matter. Even if she tried to drag Ling Zetian over, she couldn’t move him.

Ling Zetian’s reasoning was simple: brothers fighting for the throne was their own affair, outsiders should not interfere. Once they finished, he would simply capture one and ask where Anuo was hidden, then retrieve Anuo and return home. That was all.

Kimura Xingye was barely holding on. Ling Zetian, seeing this, could not remain idle—he realized Kimura Xinghen was intent on killing his brother. Though he couldn’t quite understand the situation, he stepped in to stop their fight.

Breaking up a fight is a delicate skill; if handled poorly, both combatants might turn their attacks on the mediator. In martial arts novels, the peacemaker is usually a highly skilled, respected elder, for only such a person can manage the task.

But neither Kimura Xinghen nor Kimura Xingye posed any threat to Ling Zetian, so he easily blocked them both.

Both brothers were surprised, and once they recognized Ling Zetian, Kimura Xingye’s face turned pale—he hadn’t expected Ling Zetian to come personally. Now that the emperor of Ling Dynasty had arrived, there was nothing left to say; all he could do was resign himself to fate.

Ling Zetian frowned and asked, “Where have you imprisoned the prince?”

Kimura Xinghen laughed, “I never imagined Your Majesty would care so much for the young prince, to pursue him all the way to Fusang. Such familial love is truly moving. Are you not afraid we might detain you here in Fusang?”

“I came because I am certain I can return,” Ling Zetian replied, irritated by Kimura Xinghen’s smug smile. “Where is he?”

“And if I refuse to tell?” Kimura Xinghen narrowed his eyes, as if daring Ling Zetian to do his worst.

Ling Zetian pursed his lips and stepped forward, delivering a bone-dislocating move. With a series of cracking sounds, Kimura Xinghen’s bones were thrown out of alignment; he collapsed, unable to move. Ling Zetian then seized his sword and pressed it to his throat. “Will you speak now?”

Feng Qiuji watched from the side, dazzled by Ling Zetian’s suave, fluid movements and skillful technique. She was utterly entranced. From this moment on, Ling Zetian was her idol.

The aura and charm of her idol were indeed boundless, but Kimura Xinghen was not so easily subdued. He stubbornly turned his head away, refusing to look at Ling Zetian, conveying a readiness to die rather than yield.

A chill wind swept through, rendering the world silent. Ling Zetian took a deep breath, resolved to drive the blade into Kimura Xinghen’s neck. He wasn’t playing games—if Kimura Xinghen refused to speak, he would kill him and find someone else to ask.

Suddenly, a figure rushed over and knelt before Ling Zetian, clasping his hands respectfully. “Your Majesty, I beg you to spare him. I will bring out the young prince immediately.” This was Kimura Xinghen’s personal attendant. Seeing his master’s life in peril, he abandoned all orders and pleaded for mercy, for life was paramount—without it, nothing else mattered.

“I’ll give you five minutes. Bring him here within five minutes,” Ling Zetian said, glancing at the attendant and sheathing his sword. He found a place to rest and stretch—he hadn’t fought like this in ages, and after today’s skirmish, his joints felt off, perhaps even twisting his waist. He needed to limber up.

Kimura Xingye watched his elder brother lying twisted in agony and felt uneasy. He decided to approach Ling Zetian.

“Your Majesty, please spare my brother.”

Ling Zetian glanced at him, unfazed by being on Kimura Xinghen’s turf. “Prince Kimura Xinghen seems overly arrogant. I think he deserves a lesson.”

Since Ling Zetian said so, Kimura Xingye could only change the topic. “Your Majesty, could you forgive my brother’s mistakes, take the young prince back to Ling Dynasty, and treat it as if nothing happened?”

Ling Zetian considered—his finances were a bit tight lately, Ling Zexin was always asking for money, so he decided to take advantage. “Ling Dynasty’s economy looks promising. How about this: from now on, Fusang increases annual tribute by five hundred thousand taels, and an extra ten thousand bolts of silk. What do you say, Prince Kimura?”

“That… I beg Your Majesty to show mercy.” Kimura Xingye was troubled—his country was in such turmoil, he wondered where Ling Zetian saw economic prosperity.

“Then what do you propose?”

“Cut it by half.”

“Fine, deal.”

Feng Qiuji listened to their negotiation and felt as though she were in a marketplace. Were these really the emperor of Ling Dynasty and the prince of Fusang?

This novel is first published by Xiaoxiang Book House. Please do not reproduce!