Chapter 117: Lin Ye was silent for a long time, feeling…

Chapter 117: Lin Ye remained silent for a long while, feeling...

Lin Ye remained silent for a long while, felt a cold dread settle over him.

Snow whirled in great curtains from the heavens, vast and endless. It blanketed Yu Long, transforming her into a statue of pure jade—ethereal and untouchable, unlike any mortal.

Xue Li always said she couldn't understand her master. But who truly could? At this moment, Lin Ye found himself unable to read Yu Long either. He scrutinized her, unable to discern her true feelings toward Xue Li or the nature of her relationship with the Wind Master.

Yu Long spoke slowly, "Tonight, I have come to discuss a matter with you. Whether it succeeds or not, I will leave Fengxiang immediately and return to Luoyang. You need not worry about me meeting Xue Li, clouding her thoughts or bending her will.

"I have already cast her down from the mountain, cast her out from my tutelage.

"For the rest of my life, I have no desire to lay eyes on her again."

Perhaps because Lin Ye had been silent too long, Yu Long shifted her gaze from the boundless snowscape to his face. "If you wish for me and Xue Li never to meet again, then agree to my terms—take her away, withdraw from the martial world. You will no longer be the General of the Shining Night, and she will no longer be the Snow Girl. I guarantee that the machinations of 'Qin Yueye' will have nothing to do with you two."

Yu Long's voice was calm. "You've spent much time investigating me—you should know what kind of person I am. I regard betrayal as hatred, and promises as sacred rebirth. If you feign compliance or refuse outright, even if it takes ten, twenty, thirty years... I will make sure you and Xue Li pay the price."

She continued, "I know of the General of the Shining Night’s renown, and I respect that the world has produced such a remarkable young warrior. But what of Xue Li? Is she willing to raise her blade against me? Bearing the Heartless Art, nourished by the blood of the young lord, only just beginning to understand love—like an infant learning to walk—could she withstand my vengeance?"

Her tone was detached, as if speaking of matters entirely unrelated to herself.

Lin Ye remained silent throughout, only responding long after her words had faded. "I cannot agree, Tower Master."

Yu Long looked at him.

Lin Ye smiled faintly, lifting his gaze to the sky, murmuring softly, "I am the Junior General Lin Ye. I am a general—I can die, but my death must be meaningful."

He then continued slowly, "And as for our A Xue..."

Snow mist blurred the young man’s eyes, his voice carrying a quiet, aching tremor. "She is meant to become number one under heaven. How could an A Xue who retreats from the martial world ever claim that title?

"My A Xue, in this life, must march forward unyielding. She will press on, unbroken by adversity, undaunted by all things. She will walk until the night ends and dawn breaks, until sunlight pierces the night, until she stands at the zenith of the martial world."

In hindsight, Lin Ye had already grasped many truths and made many choices by this point.

Yet at this moment, Yu Long only sensed that his words carried deeper meaning.

She waited for him to continue, but instead, he changed the subject. When he turned his face back to her, the young man had regained his characteristic roguish grin. His voice held a probing curiosity. "Tower Master, do you admit to orchestrating the massacre of the Yang family?"

Yu Long replied coolly, "What's there to deny?"

Lin Ye pressed, "Then do you also admit to Fengxiang's massacre?"

Yu Long fell silent.

Lin Ye continued, "The massacre of Fengxiang nineteen years ago—it wasn’t actually your doing, was it?"

He noticed the snowflakes dusting Yu Long's lashes quiver slightly.

Lin Ye thought to himself, Yu Long and Xue Li were so alike. Xue Li was calm as still water most days, and when emotions stirred within her, the most visible reaction was in her eyes. Yu Long was the same… Of course. The child she'd raised herself—how could she not resemble her?

At this realization, Lin Ye accepted it with a bitter resignation: Xue Li did not take after her "aunt." She had always taken after Yu Long.

Lin Ye spoke slowly, "Whether it’s the disjointed testimony from my aunt, the investigations by Kong Laoliu and others into the events of Fengxiang nineteen years ago, or even the fragments Chun Jun revealed tonight after infiltrating the Marriage Alliance Mission—all of them speak only of the massacre of the Yang family.

"None mention Fengxiang's massacre. Yet from what I know, nineteen years ago, the entire city of Fengxiang was put to the sword. Those who connect the Yang family massacre with Fengxiang's destruction lay both atrocities at your feet, Tower Master.

"A person of your standing needn't explain themselves—and you never have. But I suspect... while you may have orchestrated the Yang family massacre, you may not have been responsible for Fengxiang's slaughter."

"The grievances suffered by Master Yulong stem from relentless betrayals—betrayals by the people and the nation that left her heart deadened. Yet back then, when she returned from the Huoqiu Kingdom to Northern Zhou and arrived in Fengxiang, she slaughtered Prefect Yang’s entire household solely for revenge—to kill the high-ranking official serving the emperor and to save the city’s people, preventing Fengxiang from falling deeper into damnation.

“How could someone with even a shred of mercy commit such a massacre?”

Yulong said quietly, “Wrong. I feel no mercy for them.”

Lin Ye said, “That’s because you see yourself as a sinner. But I believe the same woman who rescued A Xue from the Yangs would never slaughter an entire city.”

Lin Ye insisted, “If you spared even a baby, how could you kill innocent citizens?”

Yulong froze.

She gazed at this young nobleman with his translucent eyes.

For a moment, through Lin Ye, she saw Song Lang from nineteen years ago—

Back then, Song Lang, full of ambition, had come to Fengxiang as an official. That green scholar’s eyes had been just as bright, brimming with hope for the future.

Song Lang had first been terrified by the blood covering her, then badgered her relentlessly, trying to understand what had happened. His kindness saved his own life—and the infant in Yulong’s arms.

Yet years later, to protect Yulong, Song Lang had ultimately become her mirror.

And Lin Ye…

Yulong wondered, why did Lin Ye’s gaze stay so clear?

General Zhaoye of Southern Zhou had survived betrayals and war’s grind, witnessed endless schemes and deaths—so why did his eyes still hold starlight, still brim with hope?

Emperor Guangyi of Southern Zhou was less capable than Emperor Xuanming of Northern Zhou, yet no less cunning. How had such a ruler never dimmed General Zhaoye’s hope?

As Yulong lost herself in thought, Lin Ye scratched his nose, awkward, and muttered, “Was I wrong? That can’t be—I’ve always been clever.”

Even Yulong’s icy heart felt a flicker of amusement.

She began to understand why Xue Li, stripped of emotion by the Heartless Art, had been lured back to the mortal realm by this young man, willingly descending into its chaos.

Yulong said, “Still clever, aren’t you?”

Lin Ye blinked.

Yulong lowered her gaze. “You’re right. As you guessed, Fengxiang’s massacre was not my doing—it was… Emperor Xuanming’s.”

--

Meanwhile, the Southern Zhou envoy’s procession to Jianye battled the blizzard, forced to rest at a midway station.

Song Lang, a condemned prisoner, was under strict guard, locked in a dark room, fed only scraps.

On this snowy night, Song Lang’s thoughts drifted between past and present.

He raved about the cold, demanding more charcoal. When ignored, he muttered deliriously before biting his tongue to end his life.

--

Back then, after Yulong slaughtered the Yang family, she’d wrenched the newborn infant from her sister’s arms. She named the child “Xue Li” and traveled with Song Lang. At the time, though she had received a letter of cooperation from the White King of Huoqiu, she had never responded, unsure of her next move.

Song Lang tried to sway her, doing everything to make her forgive what had happened in Fengxiang.

But before he could succeed, news arrived of Fengxiang’s massacre.

Only then did Song Lang realize: with the Yang family gone, Emperor Xuanming sought not only to erase any traces from their massacre but also to whip Northern Zhou into fury by slaughtering the city, rallying the nation’s forces to invade Southern Zhou.

Southern Zhou’s Chuan-Shu forces fought bitterly, fearless in death. Marshal Lin’s family lost countless lives just to hold the front at Dasanguan. His son and daughter-in-law sustained lasting injuries in those wars, dying young years later, leaving only the child Lin Zhaoye to bury the old marshal.

The land lay broken, Fengxiang emptied, grievances buried in dust. Among the living, Song Lang drowned in guilt.

Had he stayed in Fengxiang instead of leaving with Yulong, had he managed the aftermath of the Yang massacre, had he mediated between Fengxiang and Emperor Xuanming—would the city have been spared?

Every night, Song Lang dreamed of vengeful spirits, of Fengxiang’s women, children, and elderly. In his dreams, they wept blood and demanded: *You were our magistrate—* why did you abandon us for a murderess? You were supposed to protect us—why didn’t you save us?