Chapter Ten: The Grand Alliance Ceremony of the Five Kingdoms — At the End of the Road

The grand ceremony of the Five Nations Alliance, held once every thirty years, was fast approaching, and each country was preparing in earnest.

Following tradition, during the month-long festival, the princes of each nation would compete in the Six Arts: Ritual, Music, Archery, Horsemanship, Calligraphy, and Mathematics. The winner had the right to propose one condition to each of the other four nations on behalf of his homeland, but the conditions could not pertain to the throne or politics.

It had been agreed that this year's ceremony would take place in August, hosted by Baixi Nation, the strongest among them.

By May, the sixth prince of Nansheng Nation, Fu Chen, and the third prince of Dongling Nation, Wanqi Shu, had just returned from their travels in the northern deserts. Upon reaching the outskirts of Beixiao Nation, they encountered a man lying unconscious by the roadside, his hair disheveled, clothes tattered, and body covered in wounds.

Though both men were princes, they cared little for fame or fortune, delighting instead in landscapes and wonders, living freely and unconstrained. With a touch of the wanderer’s spirit about them, they would never ignore a life hanging by a thread.

Thus, they lifted the man and brought him to a nearby inn, summoning a renowned physician to tend to his injuries and caring for him attentively.

“Fu Chen, who do you think this man might have offended? Look at those scars—he’s quite a sight. We don’t even know if he’s good or evil,” Wanqi Shu remarked, casting a worried glance at the man lying on the bed.

“We’ll know when he wakes up. No need to guess blindly,” Fu Chen replied calmly.

“True enough.”

As they spoke, the man coughed lightly, prompting both to hurry to his bedside.

“Are you feeling any better?” Wanqi Shu inquired as the man opened his eyes.

The man, whose face bore a scar on the left cheek, sized up the two young gentlemen before him, noting their jade fans and elegant attire, marking them as sons of noble families. He forced himself to sit up, and with a hoarse voice, said, “Thank you, gentlemen, for saving my life.”

“It was nothing, hardly worth mentioning,” Wanqi Shu replied, folding his jade fan with a smile.

Fu Chen noticed the man’s cracked lips and poured him a cup of water. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

The man grabbed the water quickly, evidently parched, and drank it down in one gulp, disregarding his manners.

“There’s more water, drink slowly. Don’t choke,” Wanqi Shu cautioned.

“Forgive me for the lack of decorum,” the man replied, embarrassed after finishing the water.

“No matter. May we ask your name and age? How should we address you?” Wanqi Shu asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I am thirty-two, surname Zhao, given name Xu…”

“Oh, you’re older than us. We’ll call you Brother Zhao,” Wanqi Shu interrupted before the man could finish.

“You are my benefactors, such a title is too much…”

“Fate has brought us together, and age should be respected. Brother Zhao it is,” Fu Chen answered.

“Indeed. Brother Zhao, how did you come by these wounds? Would you share your story with us?” Wanqi Shu pressed, eager to learn the cause.

After all, the two princes had spent their travels enjoying scenic wonders and had grown bored of commonplace tales; stories of vengeance and intrigue were a welcome diversion.

The man then recounted his life in detail.

Zhao Xu hailed from a small village in Nansheng Nation. His parents were honest, hardworking farmers. Though not wealthy, the family lived happily together.

When he was seven, his father, lacking any swimming skill, insisted on fishing in the river against his family’s wishes and tragically drowned. His mother, overwhelmed by grief, soon followed him in death.

Left alone, Zhao Xu survived by begging. At first, the villagers helped him with food, but as time passed, they grew indifferent. The saying goes, emergencies are helped but the poor are ignored, and soon no one cared for him.

Children mocked him as the orphaned beggar, tormenting him for their amusement. He was often beaten, and adults passing by would only shake their heads and look away, never intervening.

Two years went by. He wore rags and suffered hunger. Once, an adult deceived him into venturing into the mountains, where he became lost.

He survived in the wilds, surrounded by beasts, fighting tigers for food and sleeping beside snakes. His life was darkness and blood, yet it made him all the more determined to live.

At sixteen, he finally escaped the murderous forest.

By chance, he later met a nobleman who treated him kindly and taught him martial arts. Zhao Xu vowed to serve this benefactor for life.

But in the sixty-third year of Zhaoyue, after solving a problem for his benefactor, the man turned on him, seeking to kill him to cover his tracks. Zhao Xu fled for his life, always outmatched and forced into hiding. The benefactor’s network was vast, leaving Zhao Xu with nowhere to run and barely surviving several close calls.

This time, he had just reached a grove on the outskirts of Beixiao Nation when he was ambushed by over a dozen men disguised as commoners, all highly skilled. Unable to match their strength, he fought desperately, escaping by a stroke of luck. Had it not been for Wanqi Shu and Fu Chen, he would surely have died by the roadside.

…

“Such was my fate—destitute and troubled all my life, truly I have no face left to show the world,” Zhao Xu sighed deeply.

After hearing his tale, Wanqi Shu slammed the table, indignation burning in his eyes. “How could your neighbors treat you so? And your master, to betray a loyal servant and drive you to death!”

“It’s just fate, I suppose.”

“Brother Zhao, your story is a harsh lesson in the fickleness of the world. What will you do now?” Fu Chen asked, sensing Zhao Xu might be hiding something.

“I have nowhere to go. I’ll take things one step at a time,” Zhao Xu replied, bowing his head in despair.

“Why not come with us to Baixi Nation? At least you’ll have some company,” Wanqi Shu offered, moved by his plight.

“This…” Zhao Xu hesitated, glancing at Fu Chen, who had yet to speak.

“Fu Chen, let’s bring Brother Zhao along. One more companion can’t hurt.”

“I may lack skills, but I have strength to spare and can serve you both,” Zhao Xu quickly added.

“Very well. Once Brother Zhao has rested for a couple of days, we’ll set out together,” Fu Chen agreed with a wave of his hand.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

As night approached, Fu Chen and Wanqi Shu asked the innkeeper to bring Zhao Xu some food and then went out for a stroll.

After they left, Zhao Xu rose, peered through the lattice window at the two princes walking and laughing in the street below, and a sly smile crept across his lips.

Fu Chen, clad in vibrant purple, was striking—his right eye adorned by a small black mole, drawing all eyes. Wanqi Shu was elegant, with sharp brows, a high nose, and snowy white robes. Walking side by side, they attracted much admiration.

“Fu Chen, you don’t seem to agree with bringing Brother Zhao along,” Wanqi Shu observed.

He paused, answering coolly, “Firstly, our identities are sensitive. Secondly, Brother Zhao gives me a chill I can’t shake.”

“You’re overthinking. I find Zhao upright and courageous.”

“It’s impossible to tell how much truth or falsehood lies in his words. The heart is unpredictable; it’s wise to be cautious.”

“All right, I understand.”

“Come on, let’s check out that tavern ahead.”

With that, they headed to the Red Banner Tavern.

As they reached the door, the cheerful waiter greeted them, “Welcome, gentlemen! We have the finest wine and dishes here.”

Inside, they found the tavern packed. After finding a table, Wanqi Shu said, “Waiter, bring me your strongest drink.”

“Right away, sir.”

After some time, the waiter brought over a jar of wine, still bearing traces of fresh earth, clearly just dug up.

As he set up the cups, he explained, “Gentlemen, you’re in for a treat. This wine was brewed by our proprietor himself and has been buried for years. It’s freshly unearthed.”