⚠ Content Warning

This chapter contains descriptions of animal slaughter, including scenes of a pig and a chicken being killed. Readers who may find such content distressing are advised to proceed with caution.

Zhao Huanxi returned to Yifang Garden with a gloomy expression and noticed smoke rising from the chimney of the small kitchen.

He frowned and made his way to the kitchen, where the cook and maids were busy. When one of them turned around and saw him standing at the doorway, she hurried over to bow and said, “San Yé, why have you come here? The smoke here is heavy, it might irritate you.”

Zhao Huanxi’s eyes fell on a large rooster lying on the ground with its legs bound. He asked, “Are we having chicken tonight?”

The cook replied, “Taitai sent fresh fish over to make soup, and San Nainai said to save the chicken for tomorrow’s lunch.”

Zhao Huanxi hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the kitchen and said, “Let’s cook it tonight. I’ll do the killing.”

The cook stammered, “Alright… Ah?”

Zhao Huanxi circled around the chicken once and asked the cook, “How do I kill it? Step on it?”

The cook snapped out of her daze, still somewhat baffled, and said, “No, the throat needs to be slit with a knife to let the blood drain. San Yé, you are a nobleman, how could you do such a filthy task? Let one of the maids handle it. Be careful, or the chicken’s blood might stain your robe.”

Zhao Huanxi grabbed a kitchen knife from the cutting board and said, “Just tell me how to do it.”

Seeing his determination, the cook had no choice but to pick up the chicken. One of the maids brought over a wooden basin, and the cook plucked a patch of feathers from the chicken’s neck, exposing the skin. She then pointed to the spot and said, “San Yé, just make a cut here.”

Zhao Huanxi looked at the chicken’s neck, then at its dark, beady eyes and its constantly struggling, clawing legs. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The cook and the maids stared at him expectantly.

Zhao Huanxi, like a duck being driven into a perch, slowly brought the kitchen knife to the chicken’s neck. He tried to clear his mind before his hand started trembling, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow. With a single stroke, he made the cut.

When the chicken’s blood sprayed out from the wound, his hand went numb, and the knife clattered into the wooden basin that was waiting to collect the blood.

In the puzzled gaze of the cook and the maids, he fled the kitchen as if escaping.

At dinner, a plate of tender and smooth three-yellow chicken was served, but he didn’t touch a single piece of meat.

After the meal, he told Xu Nian’an that he was going to practice martial arts. He left Yifang Garden and headed straight to the second gate to meet Zhiyi and Zhi’er.

“Tomorrow morning, you two go out and buy me a live pig. Bring it in through the back gate and place it by the pond in the small garden, and wait for me,” Zhao Huanxi said, handing the silver to Zhiyi.

“San Yé, what do you need a live pig for?” Zhiyi asked.

Zhao Huanxi replied briefly, “To kill.”

Zhiyi and Zhi’er exchanged silent glances.

After dinner, Guogong Yé ordered for Zhao Huanxu to be summoned to Dunyi Hall.

“Zufu.” Zhao Huanxu greeted Guogong Yé with a bow, then turned his gaze to Guogong Yé, who stood beside a long table with a sword rack.

Behind the sword rack on the table, there was a sword box that had been left untouched for years. Now, Guogong Yé picked it up, turned, and handed it to Zhao Huanxu.

Zhao Huanxu, feeling an inexplicable unease, extended his hands to take the sword box.

“This is your father’s sword. From now on, you are to keep it safe,” Guogong Yé said.

Upon hearing that it was his father’s knife, Zhao Huanxu cradled the box with one hand and opened the lid with the other. The sight made his heart tighten.

It was a broken blade, its edge full of chips. Just looking at it, one could imagine the kind of torment it had endured before breaking.

Zhao Huanxu’s eyelashes trembled as he stared at the knife, speechless.

“After your father died, your Zumu asked me to pass the title on to you, but I refused. Do you know why?” Guogong Yé sat down behind his writing desk.

Zhao Huanxu lifted his moist eyes, gazing at Guogong Yé, and shook his head.

“Because your father’s lifelong wish was not to inherit my title, but to replace me in defending Liaodong when I could no longer fight,” Guogong Yé said, his voice heavy with emotion. He couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart, recalling the image of his young son, full of youthful vigor and exceptional ambition.

He steadied his emotions before continuing, “What your Zumu and your mother think, I don’t care. I won’t deny that, because of the failure of the First Branch, I did have some doubts for a time. I thought, if First Branch truly cannot stand, perhaps I should pass the title to you. But you must understand, the reason that thought crossed my mind is that you are more capable than First Branch’s descendants, and you can uphold the Zhao Family legacy, not because you have a father who sacrificed his life for the country. To use your father’s life in exchange for a title would be a disrespect and a defilement of his memory. I will never allow that. My only regret is not sending you to study at a distant academy, to shield you from the influence of your Zumu and your mother. In the end, you were still corrupted by their teachings.”

Zhao Huanxu knelt down, tears streaming down his face without a word.

The room fell silent for a moment before Guogong Yé spoke again. “I am going to war. This time, if I cannot avenge your father, then I will go to join him. You are a man, and you must know the path you need to walk from now on. As for the matters in the household that I have decided, your Da Bofu and Da Bomu—your Da Bomu has suffered for your Da Bofu’s shortcomings. Huanxi and Xu Shi’s marriage—Xu Shi has been wronged. Even your sister’s marriage to Lu Feng was unfair to Lu Feng. I am fully aware of all of this. But you… for seeking to marry the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Wuding Family, Jia Shi, I do not believe that she would be wronged by marrying you. You must not fail my last bit of trust and expectation in you. Know this, if I am no longer here, and you make another mistake, there will be no one to protect you.”

Zhao Huanxu lay prostrate on the floor, sobbing, his voice choked with emotion, “Zufu, Sun’er was wrong. Sun’er really was wrong.”

The next morning, Zhiyi and Zhi’er, following instructions, bought a live pig and carried it, huffing and puffing, to the pond in the small garden through the rear gate of the residence. They pinned the pig down and waited for Zhao Huanxi.

Before long, Zhao Huanxi arrived, hiding a kitchen knife he had sneaked out of the small kitchen.

When Zhiyi saw him with the knife, he said, “San Yé, are you really planning to butcher the pig? But that’s not even a proper butcher’s knife!”

Zhao Huanxi replied, “Where am I supposed to find a butcher’s knife? A kitchen knife will do the job just fine. Hold it down, quick!”

Zhiyi and Zhi’er each grabbed hold of the pig, one restraining its head and the other its tail, firmly pinning the struggling pig to the ground as they waited for Zhao Huanxi to make his move.

The pig was plump and had a thick neck, entirely incomparable to the chicken from the day before.

Zhao Huanxi gripped the kitchen knife and circled the pig repeatedly, unsure where to start.

Zhiyi and Zhi’er, their arms already sore from holding the pig down, still saw no action from him. Zhiyi said, “San Yé, if you are really interested in butchering pigs, why not Xiaoren go fetch a butcher to teach you?”

Feeling a bit insulted, Zhao Huanxi retorted, “Who’s interested in butchering pigs? I’m practicing to kill people!”

Zhiyi and Zhi’er exchanged startled glances.

Ignoring their reactions, Zhao Huanxi stopped circling, positioned the knife against the pig’s neck, and traced it twice. Thoughts of his grandfather, who, despite his age and white hair, still marched to the battlefield, filled his mind. Gritting his teeth, he brought the knife down in one swift chop.

Blood spurted out, splattering across Zhao Huanxi and Zhiyi’s faces.

The pig, wounded, let out a piercing scream and struggled violently. Startled by the spray of blood, Zhiyi’s grip slackened, allowing the pig to break free and bolt away at full speed.

With a gash on its neck, wouldn’t the running pig leave a trail of blood splattered everywhere?

Overwhelmed by the thick stench of blood and the sight of the gore, Zhao Huanxi felt his stomach churn violently. He staggered to a nearby lakeside rock, retching uncontrollably. After recovering slightly, he pointed at the fleeing pig and shouted, “Quick, quick! Catch it! Don’t let it scare anyone!”

Zhao Huanxi instructed Zhiyi and Zhi’er to carry the blood-drenched pig to the main kitchen to add meat to the servants’ lunch. Meanwhile, he washed his face and the kitchen knife by the lake, then silently sat down on a stone by the water.

Zufu was right, he wasn’t fit for the battlefield, at least not now.

If he struggled so much to kill a pig, how could he take a life on the battlefield? A pig wouldn’t fight back, but a person would resist with all their strength.

What should he do? Was he really going to just watch as Zufu went to Liaodong alone? What if… what if he didn’t come back?

Zhao Huanxi buried his head in his hands, hating himself for not having trained in martial arts from a young age. If only he had started like Huanrong Tangxiong, he might now have the skills to join the battlefield and fight.

That’s right, Huanrong Tangxiong had already gone to Liaodong, hadn’t he? If Zufu couldn’t take him, surely he could take Huanrong Tangxiong instead? Couldn’t they protect each other?

With this thought in mind, Zhao Huanxi returned to Yifang Garden. While having breakfast with Xu Nian’an, he said, “Before Zufu departs for the campaign, I don’t plan to go back to Canglan Academy. Later, I’ll have Zhiyi deliver my leave request to the teacher.”

“That’s the right thing to do,” Xu Nian’an replied.

After all, this parting between grandfather and grandson might very well be their last in this lifetime. Cherishing the time they had together was only proper.

After finishing breakfast, Zhao Huanxi went to Dunyi Hall to find Guogong Yé. Upon arriving, he saw Guogong Yé dressed in his imposing armor, heading toward the small training ground.

“Zufu!” Zhao Huanxi ran over.

Guogong Yé saw him and smiled. “Perfect timing! Show me the sword techniques I taught you. Let me see if you’ve been practicing diligently since going to the academy.”

Zhao Huanxi replied, “I practice every morning and evening without a single day of slacking.”

When they reached the small training ground, Guogong Yé tossed him a sowrd and said, “No more talking, start practicing and let me see!”

Zhao Huanxi immediately began practicing with great focus.

Guogong Yé stood off to the side, watching the young boy in the field diligently practicing his sword techniques. For a moment, he seemed to see a figure from more than twenty years ago.

Back then, he would do the same thing: tie a headband to keep sweat from dripping into his eyes while practicing, then run up to him, face glowing, and ask, “Dad, how did I do just now?”

In truth, he had already done quite well, but he (Guogong Yé) believed that complacency leads to failure. Wanting to temper the boy’s spirit, he would put on a stern face and say, “What sort of flashy moves were those? Do you even have four ounces of strength in your arms? Practice again! If you can’t make the sword whistle through the air, don’t come asking me how you did!”

The boy would stubbornly lift his chin and declare, “Fine! Practice I shall! If I can’t make the sword whistle within a year, I’ll stop calling myself Zhao!”

Hearing those words, he had grown annoyed and raised his leg to kick the boy. But the boy, quick and agile, leapt back with a laugh and dashed off to continue practicing.

“Zufu, how did Sun’er do?”

Guogong Yé snapped out of his reverie to see Zhao Huanxi standing before him, drenched in sweat, his eyes shining brightly as he looked up at him.

He wasn’t Mingcheng. He would never set foot on a battlefield, so there was no need to harden his temperament.

“Your technique is flawless, but you’re lacking strength. Watch as Zufu shows you.”

Guogong Yé picked up the Tiger’s Mouth broadswoard that had been his companion for decades and strode to the center of the small training ground. With powerful, fluid motions, he began demonstrating, each strike and sweep exuding an overwhelming force, the wind roaring with every move.

"虎口大刀" (Hǔ kǒu dà dāo) literally translates to "tiger's mouth large sword.” It is most likely the name of his sword. The term "虎口" (tiger's mouth) can imply something extremely dangerous or fierce, also could be translated to jaw of death.

Zhao Huanxi stood to the side, watching as the same moves were performed by both himself and his grandfather. The feeling they gave off was completely different. It was as if, though both were rain, his own was a light drizzle, while his grandfather’s was a torrential downpour.

He watched his grandfather, clad in armor, wielding the massive broadsword with the power of a force that could sweep mountains and rivers, and wondered if he had fought like this on the battlefield.

If he ever faced an enemy general like his grandfather in battle, there was no doubt he would never be able to withstand a single blow.

After finishing a full set of movements, Guogong Yé was sweating, out of breath, but in high spirits. Leaning on his long broadsword, he asked Zhao Huanxi, “How did Zufu do?”

Zhao Huanxi, however, saw two trails of blood slowly dripping down from Guogong Yé’s nose, and he shouted in alarm, “Zufu!”

Only then did Guogong Yé feel a sudden dizziness. He pressed his hand to his helmet, his body swaying slightly. Just as Zhao Huanxi and Xiangzhong rushed toward him, shouting in panic, he collapsed backward, falling to the ground unconscious.