Shen Wei never wanted to be an Emperor, but on the anniversary of the peace deal he discovers that Kunlun might be alive.
Part 1 of the The Leaves Of Autumn Are Memories series
For a moment there is no sound, no world beyond Zhao Yunlan.
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He wants to act, to step forward and simply end the Disembodied for daring to touch Kunlun and wants to obliterate it for hurting him, but the Disembodied unfortunately, while enraged was not an idiot.
An injured tiger is no less dangerous and Kunlun was far more cunning than most people ever could be, his reputation singing through the Realms, there in whispered conversation at every gathering for years after the war ended, applauded by Dixing under Shen Wei's watchful eye and cursed liberally in Southern Haixing.
Kunlun was the face of peace and the name that spoke of bravery and war.
Tong would have to be a fool not to remember that the man he condemned so cruelly was a legend in his own right.
And to have fooled someone as suspicious - and one could say equally as cunning - like Zhao Xin Ci...that took patience and restraint. This plan to stop them from finding Kunlun, had been carefully tended, as his identities must have been. Minister Gao was highly respected and even if this possession was new, this Tong must have been possessing someone else highly influential.
Someone who triggered Empress Qingling, the mother of Emperor An Bai, the 'vision' Li Qian had told him about. The person who organized Cong Bo and subsequently Zhao Xin Ci..someone who had remained hidden to Zhang Shi. Someone who had schemed and survived even after the war, the defeat of Southern Haixing and the beginning of the fragile armistice.
Tong was a boy whose life was stolen, freedom snatched from his hands by cruel means, wielded like a tool by an Immortal. Madness had taken him as clearly as it had Yan, but despite everything, he was not an idiot and so quickly pulled the blade free from Kunlun's side, in a move that had Shen Wei's entire being cringing in silent grief.
"Biaodi!" Jie Ming screams and Shen Wei hears the fear tangled in the word.
Kunlun is surrounded by fire and the blade, the blade that should have been slick with red blood slides free from his body, almost clean. Shen Wei blinks and something like dread settles in his heart.
Staring up at his son, Zhao Xin Ci sees not the feared warrior, the king of the North who waged his own war and forged peace with his own blood. He sees his child, five years old playing with a wooden figure in the garden, sunlight gleaming off his hair. He sees serious foxfire eyes listening to his stories and hears him laugh, childish and happy. He sees his terror when Shen Xi fell, his mother's blood staining one cheek.
He could reach out and touch his cheek now, so real, so alive...his son...the baby in his arms holding his finger.
But those eyes, the eyes that haunt him only blink. A generous mouth inherited from his Haixing grandfather twists as the sword pierces his body, the only sign of his pain. Then those eyes move passed him, mouthing words Zhao Xin Ci cannot understand.
