Chapter 46: This Prince Thinks He Can Still Try to Save Himself

Chapter 46: This Prince Thinks He Can Still Save Himself

The crimson red priest mask was strangely eerie, seemingly carved from solid wood, and looked quite heavy.

The hand that emerged from the black robe was pale and smooth, with slender, long fingers and immaculately trimmed nails.

That alone wasn't the remarkable part—what stood out was that each oval nail was carefully coated with nail oil. It was only now, being this close, that Ruan Ciyu could see it.

Was the National Preceptor's job really that cushy? Or did the priests demand such high standards from their attendants, requiring those who served them to be this meticulous?

No, no, no—Ruan Ciyu forced himself to stop his mind from wandering.

This was clearly a woman's hand.

The National Preceptor removed the mask, then used the other hand to pull back the hood, smiling at Ruan Ciyu warmly.

"A Yu, we meet again."

Even though he was prepared, Ruan Ciyu couldn't help widening his eyes.

Looking closely, the young woman's disguise was actually pretty sloppy—under the cloak, her hair was still braided to one side with a pale yellow ribbon, and she wore a layered, cute cloth dress—not expensive, but comfortable.

It was just that the black robe was so bulky it completely hid her outfit.

Ruan Ciyu was naturally calm. After a brief pause, he stepped back two paces and greeted her calmly:

"Miss Lan."

"Hey."

Miss Lan gave a charming smile. "I thought you might not recognize me."

"Haha, how could I not?" Ruan Ciyu was a bit confused by the situation, but he stayed calm and said evenly: "It's only been a few days, and Miss Lan has grown a lot taller. Clearly, youth is a wonderful thing."

"Oh," Miss Lan gave a gentle blink. "Is that so?"

She raised the hem of her black robe in front of Ruan Ciyu, revealing the seven-inch platform clogs she was wearing.

"But I haven't grown taller, and I'm not young anymore."

"Heh," Ruan Ciyu laughed dryly. "How could that be possible?"

Worried that some nosy passerby might come by, Miss Lan put her hood and mask back on properly and turned and walked toward the temple interior first.

"Today is important to you, so I might as well tell you."

Miss Lan spoke softly and slowly: "Age is just a number to me. I've long lost count—roughly a hundred thirty to forty years old, I'd say."

"Ha."

Ruan Ciyu wasn't particularly surprised, only remarking: "You certainly have a knack for leisure."

Lan: "You don't believe me?"

Ruan Ciyu: "No, I do. I just mean you really have a taste for leisure, disguising yourself as an ordinary young woman to hang out with commoners like us."

"You think you're a commoner?"

Ruan Ciyu was silent for a moment. "Born to wealth and honor, yet controlled by others my whole life—in that sense, I can't compare to ordinary people."

Lan: "Then have you ever thought about breaking free from those chains?"

Ruan Ciyu: "You're not the first to ask me that."

As they spoke, the two had already reached the temple hall. They'd been here once before, back when the National Preceptor was still the National Preceptor, and Lan was still Lan.

Just as months ago, the deity statue still stood tall in the main hall, looking compassionate. No matter what angle you stood from, you could feel the deity's gaze on you.

The Shaman Temple sat atop Mount Guo, with imperial guards posted around its perimeter. After Wu Mang had brought Ruan Ciyu up the mountain, he had guards posted along every path leading down.

"The only way out of here now would be if I could fly."

Ruan Ciyu tapped his chin, his tone both mocking and probing: "Miss Lan—or should I say, National Preceptor—would you let me fly away obediently?"

"So it seems you've been thinking about that?"

Ruan Ciyu's heart tightened. He clutched his sleeve and turned around, only to see the Emperor emerging from behind the deity statue, dressed not in dragon robes but in the same pure white ceremonial garments.

Ruan Ciyu glanced at him and immediately turned away, unable to bear looking, genuinely worrying about whether he himself would dress so... substantially when he grew old.

If Lan Suzhou were truly destined to spend a lifetime with someone who looked like that, he might as well die today.

Ruan Songtang was nowhere to be seen. Following behind the Emperor was his fifth son, Prince Huai, Ruan Ji.

Ever since Ruan Songtang had been deposed as Crown Prince, all the duties that once belonged to the Crown Prince had been delegated to this Ruan Ji.

Ruan Ji carried himself with proper bearing, appearing to be a man of integrity, dressed in the formal attire of an imperial prince. He had evidently been brought by the Emperor to serve as witness to the life-exchange ceremony.

The Emperor paid no mind to Ruan Ciyu's silence, patting the "National Preceptor" on the arm and saying to Lan: "Go wait in the ritual chamber first."

Lan paused in place for a moment. Ruan Ciyu suspected she was looking at him, but with the mask in the way, it merely seemed like she was moving slowly.

Ruan Ciyu was the first to look away, and Lan no longer hesitated, disappearing behind the deity statue.

The Emperor: "Come, offer one last incense to the deity. From today onward, things will be set right. You and I have both been waiting far too long for this day."

"Your Majesty jests."

Ruan Ciyu let out a soft laugh, knelt on the cushion, and bowed to the deity statue with elegant, meticulous grace, then took the incense from Ruan Ji's hands.

The Emperor observed and couldn't help but ask: "You're putting quite a bit of devotion into these bows today."

Ruan Ciyu did not respond. He closed his eyes in silence for a moment, then placed the incense into the burner before the deity statue.

He turned back around, his flowing white robes stained with dirt, making their wearer appear all the more ethereal.

"Your Majesty, lead the way. Isn't there still a great matter at hand?" Ruan Ciyu kept his eyes lowered, appearing submissive, yet his expression was distant.

"Rituals honoring the gods concern the welfare of Dazhao. This Prince has always taken them very seriously."

"Haha." All the Emperor wanted was Ruan Ciyu's submissive attitude, and he was quite satisfied with it now, so he didn't mind making small talk: "The welfare of Dazhao... do you truly care that much? I know you've thought about simply dying and letting Dazhao crumble."

Ruan Ciyu's body stiffened, as if struck by a needle. It took him a long moment to find his voice.

Ruan Ciyu: "Your subject brother's life is too thin to bear the weight of a nation that rests on Your Majesty's shoulders."

The Emperor supported him, guiding him around the deity statue, across the threshold, and slowly toward the ritual chamber behind the main hall.

"There's no helping it. I am the Emperor. Even if it means sacrificing my own blood brother for the sake of Dazhao, I can only do it."

Even Ruan Ciyu, with all his emotional intelligence, wouldn't know what to say next—he just wanted to hurry to the ritual chamber and get what needed to be done over with.

But the Emperor was still reveling in his own speech.

He took Ruan Ciyu's hand, placed it in his own calloused hand, and rubbed it over and over with his rough fingers, like a real doting father.

And he was indeed playing the part of a father, even though he wasn't Ruan Ciyu's father.

"Aci, from this day forward, I'll take that burden off your shoulders."

The Emperor shoved open the door to the ritual chamber. Inside, there was not a sliver of daylight—only the flicker of candle flames, with Lan standing to one side, holding a candle.

The candlelight made the Emperor's eyes shine with vigor.

"A nation's fortune and a long life... that's a fate for an emperor, not for you."

The Emperor shoved Ruan Ciyu forward, and Ruan Ciyu stepped on his own hem, slipped, and stumbled toward the center of the room.

He closed his eyes and instinctively put out his hands to catch himself. Pain shot through his palms and elbows instantly. The force of his fall was too much for his arms to absorb.

The moment his knees hit the ground, Ruan Ciyu felt his brain rattle in his skull, and cold sweat broke out instantly.

He was dizzy in the darkness for a while, the whole room seemed to spin around him. Ruan Ciyu pried his eyes open and realized he wasn't on a wooden floor but on an uneven metal disc, with dozens of talismanic inscriptions carved outward from the center.

His palms and elbows were on fire. He flipped his hands over and saw that the rough metal had scraped the skin off his palms. The skin had peeled back, leaving bloody flesh underneath.

Ruan Ciyu squeezed his eyes shut.

He should have kept his deerskin gloves on.

Needless to say, his knees and elbows were just as bad.

The National Preceptor followed the Emperor step by step, holding the peacock candelabra, until they stopped just outside the metal disc. In the grim flickering light, the masked figure looked especially sinister.

Ruan Ciyu gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and pushed himself up despite the pain.

One fall and he'd nearly fallen apart.

"Your Majesty, why use force? It's not like I wouldn't cooperate."

Ruan Ciyu clutched his chest, panting. Once he'd caught his breath, he shifted his weight to his knees and slowly, shakily, got to his feet.

The Emperor paid him no mind, took the candelabra from the National Preceptor, and with his other hand, drew his golden peach sword from the pure gold scabbard on the altar.

He walked toward Ruan Ciyu, step by step, the sword's tip scraping across the metal disc with a harsh, screeching sound.

Then the Emperor stopped at Ruan Ciyu's side.

Almost at the same time, eleven Guoshan disciples emerged from the shadows, each taking a position.

Prince Huai shut the chamber door from the inside and stopped directly across from the door, naturally blending in with the Guoshan disciples as the twelfth man in some formation of theirs.

Ruan Ciyu looked around, confused. "So coordinated—did you all rehearse this beforehand?"

"I find you more lively than before," the Emperor said, watching him with amusement. "Is that the influence of that boy Lan Suzhou? I never thought a decrepit invalid like you, rotting away for years, could be stirred to life by him."

"Don't mention him," Ruan Ciyu cut in sharply. "Anyone at a moment of life and death would want to say what needs to be said."

Before, he had been too lazy to speak; now, he couldn't hold it back.

The Emperor raised an eyebrow slightly. "In all the heavens and earth, you are the only one I permit to speak to me this way."

He lifted the golden peach sword, and Ruan Ciyu squinted against the blade's wind, but the Emperor only tapped his face with the flat of the sword.

The Emperor: "So, have you finished what you wanted to say?"

"If there's more, I can listen right here, slowly."

Ruan Ciyu frowned, glancing at the sword's gleam beside his face, and a stubborn defiance rose in him.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Very well," the Emperor's expression turned cold and stern in an instant, the last trace of so-called "warmth" gone. "Then let's begin the real business."

He raised his hand, and the peacock candelabra, imbued with inner force, came crashing down toward Ruan Ciyu's shoulder.

Ruan Ciyu let out a muffled groan, his vision going black. He had barely stood up when he collapsed back to the ground like a pile of mud, coughing up a mouthful of blood as his eyes squeezed shut from the shock.

His palms hit the rough metal surface again, the pain no less than torture.

The corners of Ruan Ciyu's eyes flushed red, and tears of pain mixed with cold sweat rolled down his cheeks.

The Emperor's broad silhouette stood in the darkness, his low voice echoing through the dim chamber.

"National Preceptor, begin the ritual. You shall preside."

The National Preceptor's voice, muffled by the mask, was neither fully real nor false, neither male nor female, and spoke eerily from the shadows:

"Prince Cheng'an, Ruan Ciyu, bears the weight of the nation's fortune, yet his mortal flesh cannot withstand the burden; fate rests upon him, but his strength fails.

Fortunately, there is a true dragon emperor, who in his supreme position, is willing to take on the heavenly duty that this body bears."

Ruan Ciyu wiped the blood from the corner of his lips with his middle finger, forcing himself to turn over and face the Emperor directly.

The National Preceptor: "Your Majesty, you may proceed with the ritual."

"Hm." The Emperor let out a single syllable from deep in his throat, the tip of the golden peach sword pointing straight at Ruan Ciyu's heart.

"Normally, I should have had you build up your strength," the Emperor said calmly, his tone like that of arranging troops or calculating a tax increase.

"With your current physique, it may take a while for the blood to fill the runes on the altar. Aci, you'll have to endure the pain a bit longer."

The Emperor raised his arm, the golden peach sword held high.

"I won't use inner force. The sword will fall very, very lightly, so that your blood doesn't splash on me and go to waste."

Ruan Ciyu's pupils contracted to pinpoints.

His heart beat faster and harder than ever, slamming against his chest with a dull ache.

He clutched his chest tightly, buying himself two ragged breaths.

His mind was calmer than usual, and his vision had adjusted to the darkness—he could even make out Ruan Ji's position and the shape of the door behind him.

Ruan Ciyu's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His control over his limbs seemed to briefly return, for he could feel his muscles tensing.

This was not the reaction of a man about to die.

It should have felt like that calm on the muddy road, when an arrow nearly blew his head off.

Ruan Ciyu hadn't fully processed it, but the second the golden peach sword came down, a place he desperately wanted to reach flashed through his mind.

His body just moved on its own.

Ruan Ciyu locked his eyes on the door, rolled hard to the side, and ripped the white jade hairpin out of his crown.

The emperor didn't even take his struggle seriously; the golden sword just veered off course with zero effort.

Right as the sword tip was about to sink into his neck, Ruan Ciyu grabbed the hairpin and, on pure instinct, swung it in a desperate block.

His strength was nothing, but the weird angle did the trick, shoving the sword tip off by half an inch. Ruan Ciyu's hand went numb on the spot, the hairpin slipping out of his grip and getting knocked flying by the blade.

Grabbing the opening, Ruan Ciyu scrambled up and stumbled toward Ruan Ji.

Ruan Ji planted himself in the middle of the doorway, and Ruan Ciyu's heart sank halfway. All he could do was fumble for anything else on him that might come off, gritting his teeth as he charged at Ruan Ji.

"Uncle..."

Ruan Ciyu shook his head; his throat was all blood, and he couldn't get a single word out.

To his surprise, Ruan Ji shifted just a little, and Ruan Ciyu's charge slammed him straight into the door.

The ritual chamber door burst open from the impact, and sunlight came flooding in. The emperor's eyes went wide, and he roared in fury: "Useless!"

The golden peach sword in his hand, loaded with massive force, came hurtling at Ruan Ciyu.

Ruan Ciyu didn't have time to look back, had no clue about the danger behind him, just scrambling out on all fours.

A slender hand scooped up the jade hairpin from the ground, flicked her wrist with a flourish, and sent it flying at the sword.

A sharp clang of metal exploded behind Ruan Ciyu. He spun around to see his white jade hairpin shattered into three pieces, while the golden peach sword got knocked sideways, slamming into the tree trunk outside the hall with a deep hum.

The young woman had ditched the bulky ritual robe and climbing shoes, standing barehanded at the chamber entrance, staring straight at the emperor. Her yellow cloth skirt whipped around in the gale kicked up by their clashing inner force.

Lan: "Long time no see, little Daoist Ruan."

The emperor's eye twitched, his jaw locked tight, his molars grinding loud enough to hear.

"You again..." The emperor forced himself to calm down, his voice as cold as blood in the dead of winter.

"Lan Zhi..."

"Author's Note"

Lan Suzhou is backstage—should we bring him out?!

And Ruan Ji (Prince Huai)—are you good or bad? Prince Huai is the deposed crown prince, the one called back from his fief for the Mid-Autumn banquet, and he went into the palace with Lan Suzhou.

Hey readers, *Young General* has been climbing the charts for ages, and it's finally going on sale next Wednesday! Thanks so much for sticking with me, leaving comments, bullet comments, and fish food. *Young General* really can't survive without your support!! This is also my first paid (V-tier) work.

The first 25 chapters stay free, and I hope you'll all stick with the young general to the end—"scattering flowers" "scattering flowers."

Wednesday will bring 6,000 words! I'm quitting my job to stay home and stockpile drafts ((