Chapter 70: C70. Brothers in Arms: Li & Xian Retake The Throne

Chapter 70

On the Mid-Autumn Festival night, under a sky suffocated by thick, merciless clouds that snuffed out the moonlight, the Marquis of Huai'an's funeral rites played out in the capital. Meanwhile, far to the southwest, King Li and Li Xian, after two long months away from Beijing, had barely set foot in Guizhou. Liping Mansion—their so-called vassal stronghold—was still a grueling ten days’ march away.

Their entourage was a carefully curated spectacle of palace maids, eunuchs, and precisely three hundred personal soldiers—a gift from Emperor Qianxing, who ruled the strings behind the scenes. That number wasn’t random; every feudal king was granted exactly three hundred soldiers. No more. And woe to the reckless fool who dared to raise more in secret—consequences under the emperor’s cold eye were absolute and brutal.

Yet, King Li didn’t even trust the soldiers he had. He hadn’t reached his own vassal territory, and every step farther south only deepened his wariness. Observing them along the way had laid bare a cruel truth: most of the three hundred men were a sorry assembly of low-ranking recruits, scraped up from the dregs of capital barracks. Among them, perhaps a hundred competent fighters, but those were a gift laced with venom—they were there to watch him, not protect him. Emperor Qianxing’s spies wore their loyalty like armor, sneering at their nominal king.

King Li and Li Xian were skilled in their own right, their martial abilities honed and undeniable. But two months of separation from the capital—illness gnawing at them both—had reduced even their strongest defenses. A physician, arranged by Li Yong, had initially cared for them, but that fragile lifeline was brutally severed. Wei Gang, commander of those gifted soldiers, had killed the doctor on fabricated charges. The excuse was false; the message it carried was not.

King Li’s fury had burned deep and silent—an anger that festered as helplessness. Challenging those three hundred soldiers would be suicide. They answered to the emperor alone. He might be the king in title, but the emperor’s reach was absolute, his traps already laid.

Li Xian, for his part, saw himself as King Li’s shield. He protected his older cousin with a steady conscience, even if he couldn’t see the weight King Li bore—fear not just for his own life, but for Li Xian’s as well. Emperor Qianxing’s imperial physician had never been sent to heal. That man’s true orders had been clear: End the king’s life. And if not for a physician arranged by the Li family to intervene at the perfect moment, the emperor’s plot might have already succeeded.

That reprieve was short-lived. The doctor was dead, and when the next illness came, the emperor’s “special potion” would be waiting. One sip and that would be it. King Li had only one life. And if he died? Li Xian would pay the price for his innocence, and the emperor’s schemes would see them both buried under the weight of treachery.

The night was restless. Standing at the window of the dimly lit post house, King Li stared into the suffocating darkness, his thoughts a spiraling storm as savage as the clouds above. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford tonight.

Li Xian, after some rest, stirred and noticed his cousin still motionless by the window—silent and brooding like a man waiting for something that would never come. Quietly, he stepped toward him, his voice low and coaxing, “Your Highness, we have a journey ahead tomorrow. You should rest.”

King Li turned, his face illuminated faintly by the wavering light. He was only fourteen—a boy—and yet his expression bore the weight of a lifetime. His brows furrowed, and in the stillness of that moment, he softened just enough to let a forced smile curve his lips.

“It’s the Mid-Autumn Festival,” he murmured, nostalgia masking something darker. “Do you miss the Duke and the others?”

For a fleeting second, envy slipped through his voice. Li Xian still had people—a family he could long for when the nights grew cold and cruel. King Li had no one.

Li Xian hesitated. He was quiet for a beat longer than usual before answering, steady and sure, “Of course I think about them. But I’ve grown up. I have my own path to walk. They understand that. As long as I keep walking forward and don’t give them reason to worry, that’s enough.”

King Li studied him in the flickering glow of the lamplight, his silence deeper than any words could be. For all Li Xian’s calm assurances, King Li knew that path they walked was a razor’s edge—and beneath it was nothing but shadow and blood.

King Li's gaze lingered on Li Sanlang, taking in the slender figure that moved with a quiet but unmistakable confidence, a fire in his eyes that rivaled even his elder brother Li Yao’s. There was pride there, raw and untamed—a defiance King Li couldn’t help but admire. To have such a sharp, talented soul at his side for this dangerous journey was more fortune than he dared hope for.

A shame, though…

As the night bled deep and black, King Li sank into the hard embrace of his makeshift bed. Li Xian, his presence as steady as ever, retired to his own corner. Outside, the world stilled. The darkness pressed like water, silent and consuming, while King Li’s sharp, restless eyes stared into nothing. Then the rain fell—relentless, unfeeling—and by the time it passed, sickness wrapped its cold fingers around him once more.

The imperial doctor arrived, expression carved from stone, carrying a steaming decoction that reeked of something bitter and final. Behind him stood Wei Gang, commander of the prince’s personal guard, his blade sharp, his stare sharper. Tigers. Wolves. These men stationed themselves at King Li’s bedside with predatory patience, their loyalty to Wei Gang evident in their stony silence.

King Li’s lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile. His illness was a weakness, yes, but he was far from powerless.

"Your Highness, the medicine is warm," the imperial doctor murmured, bowing low, voice trembling beneath the weight of unspoken betrayal. He hid his eyes, but the guilt bled through. The orders were clear. The consequences grimmer still. Eunuch Wan’s threats were too precise, too visceral to ignore.

King Li extended a hand, fingers steady as steel, as he accepted the bowl. He didn’t look at the doctor. He looked at Li Xian. The younger man stood there in his green robe, calm as morning mist, and in that fleeting moment—King Li knew.

The bowl tilted, the hot edge of it nearing King Li’s mouth, and Wei Gang’s hawkish gaze narrowed, breath caught like a spring trap about to snap.

Then it happened.

From outside, chaos surged—a young eunuch, small but loud, broke through the door with a shout sharp enough to cleave the tension in the room. "The medicine is poisoned! Stop! His Highness must not drink it!"

Wei Gang turned instinctively, just a split second, his attention drawn to the commotion.

It was all Li Xian needed.

His hand shot forward with a dagger, its gleaming blade no longer than a man’s palm but honed to lethal perfection. The steel found its mark with surgical precision—sinking into the soft, unguarded side of Wei Gang’s torso. His face contorted in stunned disbelief as fire ripped through his body, pain blooming and spreading. The commander’s hand reached for the saber at his waist, his fingers trembling, desperate to fight back.

But King Li was faster.

With a predator’s grace, King Li sprang from the bed, a blade already in his hand—a weapon he wielded not with desperation but with cold, exacting certainty. The dagger’s point pierced Wei Gang’s heart in a single merciless strike.

It took less than two heartbeats.

Wei Gang, once the pillar of strength among the soldiers, crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut—lifeless, undone.

The two guards at the door, men hardened by battles but now leaderless, froze. Their eyes darted between Wei Gang’s unmoving body and the princes standing before them, blades still slick and red. Loyalty, once so solid, now wavered, unsure.

Li Xian didn’t waste the moment.

The imperial doctor barely had time to flinch before Li Xian seized him, pinning him in place with a strength born of purpose. King Li joined him, forcing the bowl—still warm, still fatal—against the doctor’s trembling lips.

The physician thrashed, gagged, coughed—desperately trying to fight the fate he had intended for another. But it was pointless. They held him fast, unrelenting. The poison slid down his throat, burning its way into his gut. His struggle turned frantic—sputtering and choking, foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth as the venom claimed him from the inside out. His body went rigid, then slack. Death took him quickly.

King Li and Li Xian let the corpse drop like dead weight, their hands streaked with blood and victory. They stood in the stillness that followed—sharp-eyed and steady-breathed—watching as the final remnants of betrayal faded into nothing.

Li Xian had already seized Wei Gang's saber, his grip firm and commanding as his cold, piercing stare locked onto the two soldiers lingering uneasily at the door. His voice cut through the tension like a blade—smooth, low, and dangerous. “Wei Gang and Physician Song conspired to poison the prince. Were you two in on it?”

Li Xian's tone carried the weight of authority, a sharp echo of King Li’s princely blood. His question wasn’t a request for answers; it was a provocation. The soldiers exchanged quick, uneasy glances, their confidence splintering under that stare. They weren’t guilty—well, not outright. But they weren’t clean either. They’d seen Wei Gang’s influence spread like rot through the palace. They’d turned their backs when he whispered orders to end King Li’s life. After all, what were soldiers to do when their superiors flexed their power?

“W-We wouldn’t dare, Your Highness!” they stammered in unison, their voices cracking with the weight of fear. Their leader was dead. In the face of King Li’s unshakable presence, surrendering—if only for now—was their only option. Tomorrow, fresh orders might come from the capital. Today, survival was enough.

The rest of the soldiers—standing in muted lines, nerves fraying—shared that same unspoken thought. They hadn’t been directly ordered to harm King Li, so they clung to their thin sliver of deniability. Let someone else fall under the prince’s vengeful gaze. It wouldn’t be them.

Because that’s how these games worked. A betrayal as bold as this could swallow whole families, bring proud clans to ruin. And yet someone always dared to take the risk. When the blade turned your way, you stepped aside, pretending you hadn’t seen a thing.

*

Ten days later, King Li arrived at his vassal palace—a rugged stone fortress perched like a brooding giant atop local hills. The place had belonged to some barbarian chief before it was confiscated, a relic of another era. It was no imperial palace, all glittering opulence and golden trappings. This was primal, coarse—a kingdom carved from rock and rough hands.

Li Xian’s eyes burned with unrestrained enthusiasm as he surveyed the towering stone walls, his voice alive with sharp excitement. “Your Highness, though this fortress is rough and unpolished, it’s strong. A warrior’s refuge. It’s defensible, almost impenetrable—better than most vassal palaces by far.”

King Li shot him a measured smile, smooth and self-assured. There was steel behind his amusement. “Impenetrable? For what? I’m a vassal prince. Who would dare gather an army against me?” His tone dripped with the kind of arrogance that only bloodlines and power could breed. He looked at the stone walls as though they were a joke—as though this unyielding fortress was beneath his stature.

But Li Xian… Li Xian was glowing. His demeanor softened with a rare boyish glee—like a general’s son given his first command, eager to sharpen his sword against stone. He couldn’t hide it, the way his smile tugged wide, unashamed and unrestrained.

King Li, who had initially viewed the fortress with disdain, felt a flicker of warmth at Li Xian’s energy. The tension in his jaw eased. For the first time since arriving, his discontent faltered. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped but softened. “Let’s go in and see what this place has to offer.”

It might be coarse. It might be primitive. But it was his.

This fortress—this Shizhai—was the first threshold of his new life, the first place he could claim as his own after the gilded traps of the imperial palace. It was ugly, ancient, and lacked grace, but it could be made better.

For now, the capital was silent. Orders had yet to arrive, and the soldiers—reluctant, cautious—held still, waiting. In this brief calm, King Li and Li Xian had time—time to scour the local villages, time to strip the land for loyalty and build a force of their own.

Stone by stone, man by man.

*

The carriage rolled smoothly, its wheels whispering over the road as the post envoy rushed to get King Li's Zhezi back to his fiefdom. A month—just a month was all it took. Fast. Swift. Efficient.

By the end of September, Emperor Qianxing finally got his hands on the letter his half-brother had written. A simple thing, but it carried weight. King Li had laid out three key points for him.

First, he was practically oozing with gratitude. He praised the beauty of the fiefdom Emperor Qianxing had gifted him, going on about how generous his brother was, assuring him not to worry about a thing.

Second, the man had lost more than 20 soldiers to illness on his journey to Guizhou. Classic King Li. Now, he was begging his brother for advice on how to replace them.

And third, the real kicker. He claimed that Wei Gang, that slippery bastard, had his eyes set on King Li’s wealth. Worse yet, he allegedly conspired with the imperial physician to poison him, leaving King Li gravely ill. The audacity! King Li was demanding his younger brother dig into it and find out what really happened.

It looked innocent enough on the surface. A message wrapped in the politeness and decorum expected from a vassal king. But to Emperor Qianxing’s sharp eye, there was a layer underneath. A sly, venomous mockery threaded through King Li’s words. It wasn’t just a letter—it was a challenge.

“Furious!” Emperor Qianxing hissed, throwing the letter down, his anger crackling in the air like lightning.

Eunuch Wan, kneeling nearby, flinched when the emperor's rage flared. He was kicked to the floor, sprawled out, no room for answers. “How could you have failed me?” the emperor demanded, his voice cold and seething. “What the hell happened?”

Eunuch Wan was careful, holding his tongue, picking up the letter with trembling hands, trying to make sense of it. “It shouldn’t be like this,” he murmured. “A secret report from Wei Gang came earlier this month, informing me that the doctor the Li family arranged for King Li had been killed. With the doctor gone, King Li had no choice but to rely on our palace physician’s medicine…”

Emperor Qianxing cut him off, voice sharp as a blade. “Don’t make excuses. Of course, he refused to submit. So what did he do? He killed Wei Gang first.”

Eunuch Wan’s brow furrowed, his mind racing. “But Wei Gang isn’t some amateur. He’s got skills. No one’s as good as him, except maybe Li Yao. But Li Xian, even though he’s the heir, he’s too young. He doesn’t have the strength to fight someone like Wei Gang. And Wei Gang commands nearly a hundred elite soldiers. I’ve kept everything secret, but after his death, we’ll need to dig deeper.”

The emperor was seething, his eyes flashing. “Then do it. He’s missing over 20 soldiers—replace them. But more importantly, find out exactly how Wei Gang died. And once you have your answers, get rid of King Li.”

Eunuch Wan nodded, his mind already moving toward action.

Emperor Qianxing, still fuming, found some other eunuchs and maids to lash out at, taking his frustration out on them until he grew bored. Finally, he slumped into his chair, staring out the window, eyes dark and full of dangerous thoughts, the tension in the air thick with the promise of what was to come.

Almost everyone around King Li was handpicked by him, except for Li Xian. And honestly, he wanted King Li to fail. If Li Yong hadn't sent a doctor for Li Xian, King Li would've been finished, done in by poison!

Li Xian came from a prestigious family, sure, but there was no guarantee that Li Yong wasn’t secretly positioning his son to shield King Li. That thought alone could make anyone nervous.

When Eunuch Wan returned, Emperor Qianxing shot him a sideways glance and asked, “Is Li Yong's shoulder injury fully healed?”

Eunuch Wan replied, “The wound healed a long time ago. He said he couldn’t use his strength. But honestly, I think he realized you weren’t planning to use him, so he found a way out.”

Emperor Qianxing smirked. “Clever. Pretends to fear me, while he’s secretly working behind the scenes with King Li.”

Eunuch Wan kept quiet, knowing better than to argue.

The Emperor drummed his fingers on the table and then suddenly thought of Li Yao. “Li Yao should’ve arrived in Fuzhou last month. Where’s the report?”

The eunuch hesitated, but before he could answer, word came in the very next day. Li Yao had led the troops to subdue bandits, but the bandits knew the mountains too well, and the imperial forces couldn’t catch them. Exhausted and unsuccessful.

Emperor Qianxing couldn't help but laugh, mocking both Li Yong and his son in front of everyone. “Like father, like son, right?”

———TN:

This annoying little boy emperor is really getting under my skin. His childish antics are driving me crazy, and I’m losing patience with his every move.

"Well, look at that—another batch of those retranslated chapters finally dropped. About time, huh?"