Chapter 375: This King Has Waited for Five Years! (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 375: The King Waited Five Years! (Please vote for monthly ticket)

The tribes of barbarians revered their totems as divine beings. Among them, the Black Bear Clan worshipped an ancient bear spirit known as Bear True Face. According to old tales passed down through generations, Bear True Face stood ten li long and three li tall, and a single palm strike could shatter the earth, its power immense and terrifying.

Thus, Bear True Face was deemed worthy of the Celestial Artifact, receiving the Earth Spirit’s true essence, commanding the colossal forces of the land. The Black Bear Clan honored such a deity. Outside every dwelling in the village, a totem carved in the likeness of Bear True Face hung, its dark, glossy surface absorbing the moonlight, rendering it somber beneath the silver glow.

The scattered huts of the village formed a concentric ring, each layer closer to the center signifying higher status within the tribe. Birthright mattered not; only strength determined one’s place.

The barbarians spoke with fists, and he who wielded the greatest might claimed the finest abodes, the most succulent feasts, and the most formidable women.

In the heart of the village, within a towering stone structure, a massive, powerful black bear lay asleep—still over a zhang in height, like a small hill. Its heavy snoring filled the air as Meng Wen and Meng Wu stepped through the heavy wooden door, glancing past the beast, and followed a guard through the thick portal.

Meng Wen knew that sleeping bear to be the steed of the Left King, named Black Bear Woodgan. In the barbarian tongue, the name meant "noble." In the great battle five years prior beyond the Mong Water Pass, no soldier who fell beneath Black Bear Woodgan’s claws had escaped death—eight hundred, perhaps nine hundred, all perished. The beast alone could match a third-level martial artist, and when combined with the mightiest of the Black Bear Clan, Left King Woodhag, it proved devastating in charges. Whenever Woodhag rode into battle, the conflict ceased with sudden fury. It was said that the Duke of Mingyuan, Xiao Yuan, had been gravely wounded to this day by Woodhag’s hand.

Meng Wen suppressed his thoughts, following the guard down a long corridor and into a side chamber. The room was spacious, nearly three zhang high, with a porch towering two zhang. Sparse in decoration, the most striking feature was a vast bear-skin couch, its backrest crowned by a magnificent tiger’s head.

The Black Bear Clan regarded tigers as mortal enemies; hunters were judged by whether they had slain a tiger. Those who could dispatch a tiger alone earned the title of "Warrior" and were granted dwellings closer to the Left King’s quarters.

The guard who led them stood watchful, eyes narrowed, speechless. Meng Wen, familiar with the barbarians’ enmity toward the Wei, offered no reaction. But Meng Wu, as usual, pressed close, pinching his nose and peering into the stone chamber with a scoffing mutter. Yet he recalled his brother’s hushed instructions.

Soon, footsteps echoed from behind the couch. Meng Wen tensed, turning to see a towering figure emerge from the shadows. Seated upon the bear-skin throne sat a man as tall as the mountain itself—taller even than Meng Wen and Meng Wu. He wore barbarian armor of rough, thick hide, a tiger-skin sash around his waist, a coarse linen trouser, and sandals with two prominent toes jutting outward.

His appearance was untamed, yet Meng Wen dared not slight him. The man’s eyes narrowed, and he bowed slightly. "Your Excellency the Left King!" Meng Wen said, deliberately using the barbarian tongue—imperfect, but respectful in tone.

Woodhag’s face was chiseled, a scar bisecting his brow to his nose, lending him a fearsome visage. Though aged, he carried himself with unyielding authority. He regarded them both for a long moment, then spoke: "The dispatch."

Meng Wen produced the token he had once shown to Ashuitai, handing it to the guard to present. Woodhag examined it, turning it over in his palm before crushing it into powder with a single grip. His voice boomed: "The item."

Meng Wen withdrew a letter from his chest. "Your Excellency the Left King, the master of this dispatch has entrusted me to deliver this missive to you."

His words were courteous, but his heart raced. As a bandit of the Tea and Horse Road, and a notorious figure in the land of Wei, he could not simply ignore the letter’s contents. Yet the letter was written not in the language of Wei, but in the tongue of the barbarians. How could he decipher it?

He knew some barbarian phrases, but not these cryptic symbols that seemed like ghostly marks. Stumped, he resealed the letter.

Woodhag, without waiting for the guard to hand it over, waved his hand, and the letter vanished from Meng Wen’s grasp, landing in his own. Meng Wen blinked in surprise but dared not move.

Though aged, Woodhag was a true third-level martial artist, mere steps from the legendary masters. He tore open the letter with delicate care, unfolding its contents. The fire in the hearth crackled, its flames flickering across his face as he read.

After a long while, Woodhag set the letter aside, nodded to the guard, and said, "Escort these honored guests to rest."

The guard knelt and led Meng Wen and Meng Wu from the chamber. Though puzzled and ignorant of the letter’s contents, they had no choice but to stay within the Black Bear Clan for the time being.

Meng Wen felt a twinge of regret for this deal. "Damn it," he muttered, "I’ve gone and trusted the words of those grand families. What a fool I’ve been."

He dared not voice his true thoughts.

When the stone chamber fell quiet, Muhaoge picked up the letter again and gazed at it for a long time, and a faint smile crept onto his weathered, rugged face.

Yet beneath the scar that cut across his cheek, the smile was grotesque.

"My king… I waited five years!"

"Ha… ha…"

His laughter rose, trembling the air around him.

Amid the crackling of the campfire, a figure stepped out from behind his chair.

It was the barbarian general Xing Junxuan, who had once brought back the warrior Asutai from his journey to Shu, and the disciple of the barbarian master Bekala.

He slammed a fist to his chest and asked in the barbarian tongue, "My lord, what’s got you so merry?"

Muhaoge tossed the letter to him, his lips curling into a grin. "Do you recall the Wei man who came to the Black Bear Clan six years ago?"

"Was it him?"

Xing Junxuan inclined his head, his expression solemn, and read the letter’s contents, his brow furrowing slightly.

"My lord, that Wei man was cunning—we cannot trust him entirely."

"Just as he failed to keep his promise last time we attacked the Mengshui Pass. This time…"

"This time is different."

Muhaoge rose from his chair, leaning on its back, and paced around the fire, rubbing his hands together. "He claimed that the last time we attacked the Mengshui Pass, we failed because the Wei forces unleashed their finest warriors from the land of Wei."

"If it hadn’t been for their sudden ambush, which ruined our chance for a decisive victory, our Black Bear Clan’s totem would have been raised atop the Mengshui Pass."

"But…"

Before Xing Junxuan could speak, Muhaoge raised his hand and interrupted. "This time, the circumstances are different."

"Now, our barbarian clans are in chaos. The princes have taken up arms over the throne."

"Without outside aid, the Black Bear Clan would be dragged into it, and the entire barbarian world would plunge into a mire."

"He promised my king that he would persuade the Wei emperor to send troops south, deep into our territory."

"When that happens…" Muhaoge’s fist clenched violently, his smile widening into something monstrous. "Whoever drives back the Wei forces and retakes the Mengshui Pass, even all the way to Shu, shall be the new king of our barbarian clan!"

Xing Junxuan opened his mouth but couldn’t match Muhaoge’s fervor.

He touched his forehead, feigning thought. "But how do we make the Wei man bring them down south?"

"For over two hundred years, aside from the great war in Shu, the Wei forces have held the Mengshui Pass and never ventured forth."

"Does that ruler of Wei truly dare to attack our clan?"

Muhaoge sank back into his chair, patting the backrest with a low hum.

"Most of the Wei people have forgotten our clan’s strength and ferocity."

"Their ruler, too."

"He’s lived in the north, knowing only the cavalry of the northern wilderness, but ignorant of our bear warriors and wolf-riders."

"Compared to us, those Wei folk are truly foolish and arrogant!"

Though Xing Junxuan agreed, he still couldn’t fathom why the Wei would dare to move south.

Before he could ask, Muhaoge continued, "However, this time their ruler has chosen to send forces either north or south."

"He said he intends to campaign north and wants us to assist him, so he can change his mind."

"Assist them?"

Xing Junxuan looked at the letter, then pointed to a small wooden house outside the chamber. "So they’re relying on them?"

"On Count Yuan and his wife?"

Muhaoge nodded, his gaze drifting northward. "Shu’s strength has waned considerably since then."

"Xiao Yuan, though alive, the one commanding the forces there is his granddaughter—Xiao Fengchun and Fu Wanhong’s daughter, Xiao Jinghong."

"Do you still recall Captain Zhong of the Erlin Military, Zhong Xinfu?"

"I remember—heard he died by accident in Wei hands."

"Indeed. The man who killed him is now the commander of the Wei forces—Xiao Jinghong."

Xing Junxuan’s eyes widened. "Ah… that explains why Erlin had wanted to cover up that incident."

"But, my lord, what are your plans?"

Muhaoge lifted his head slightly. "Not my doing—the man intends to make Xiao Jinghong the one."

"Him? You mean…"

"When she learns her parents are alive, she’ll surely not abandon the rescue."

"If, at that moment, she also learns the emperor intends to launch an expedition, she’ll do everything in her power to push the Wei southward."

Xing Junxuan understood, turning to glance at the unassuming wooden house, a smile spreading across his face. "Five years ago, you ordered Xiao Fengchun and Fu Wanhong spared, all for this very moment."

Muhaoge’s smile faded, his voice growing indifferent. "That, too, was part of the plan."

"Had it not been for him, I would have taken Xiao Fengchun’s head, to honor the spirits of our warriors."

"The Wei do have cunning."

"Six years ago, he foresaw our clan’s turmoil and predicted that if we didn’t choose a new king swiftly, the princes would rise in rebellion."

"At that time, our clan would have been plunged into endless wars, perhaps even split into factions. I could not bear to see that."

Muhaoge paused, then lowered his voice. "Before finding me, he had already met with Da Asutai."

"After much consideration, Da Asutai allowed him to come seek me."

Xing Junxuan blinked, his face bowing in respect. "As Da Asutai said, this matter must be handled with care."

"Then, my lord, is there anything you’d have me do?"

Muhaoge relaxed slightly, thinking, and said, "Take the belongings of Xiao Fengchun and Fu Wanhong, and give them to Xiao Jinghong."

"Remember, once they succeed…"

He traced a circle on his neck.

Xing Junxuan nodded solemnly. "I understand, my lord. I know how to proceed."

He turned and walked out of the chamber.

After stepping outside, he glanced back into the corner, his tone grave.

"Come out here."

No sooner had he spoken than Asutai emerged from the corner, smiling shyly. He glanced around the chamber, saw Muhaoge staring intently at him, and quickened his pace.

Yuan Jingxuan turned his head and bowed respectfully to Mu Hage, then led Asutai away from the stone-built palace.

Asutai followed closely behind him, matching his steps until they had walked far enough. Then, unable to hold back, he asked,

"Master, will our tribe be going to war against Wei again?"

"Why did Father say we must wait until the Wei people come down from the south to attack?"

Yuan Jingxuan glanced back at him with a sharp look. "Don’t ask questions you shouldn’t!"

"You haven’t yet earned the right to fight, even if you wish to. For now, your most important task is to polish your bodies."

"When you’ve hunted a fierce tiger, and when you’ve earned the right to discuss attacking the Wei state—then we’ll talk about it."

Asutai couldn’t argue, yet a lingering doubt remained in his heart.

He then pointed toward the hut where Fu Wenqing and Xiao Fengchun were located. "Is the person lying there the former Duke of Dingyuan?"

"Teacher Fu—is she the Duchess of Dingyuan?"

Yuan Jingxuan nodded slightly, scanning the area. "This matter is of great importance and must not be revealed in the slightest."

"It involves the King and Da Asa—we cannot afford the slightest carelessness."

Asutai hummed in understanding, though his expression showed no joy at learning the secret. Instead, there was a trace of unease.

Yuan Jingxuan noticed his strange demeanor and asked, "If you have something to say, just say it."

Asutai opened his mouth but hesitated, then said slowly, "Master, you once said our tribe scorns the use of cunning and deceit. If—if it were—"

He gestured toward the hut nearby. "Using the teacher as a tool—wouldn’t that betray those words?"

Yuan Jingxuan paused, his face flushing with embarrassment. He cleared his throat and muttered, "What Da Asa says, how could I not follow?"

Asutai didn’t hear him clearly. "What?"

Yuan Jingxuan’s eyes flickered with irritation. He slapped Asutai’s head with a sharp hand. "Go rest. Tomorrow at dawn, come with me to the mountainside!"

"Understood…"

The two figures gradually faded into the distance.

Behind them, in the small hut, a woman dressed in coarse cloth stood quietly by the window, gazing out at them under the moonlight.

This woman, though aged, retained a beauty that time could not dim. It was none other than Fu Wenqing, the former female general of Dingyuan’s army.

Yet her face was etched with worry.

"Is it time for them to come after all?"

Fu Wenqing covered her mouth and coughed, then turned back to look inside.

The modest hut was sparsely furnished—only a bed, a table, a chair, and a bookshelf. By the bedside, a small furnace hung a clay pot, from which fragrant smoke curled upward.

She glanced around, her gaze settling on the bed—where a pale-faced middle-aged man lay.

"Fengchun…"

The man was none other than Xiao Fengchun of the Xiao family. Yet his once-fine features had long since faded, his face gaunt and skeletal from illness.

Fu Wenqing sat silently at his side, gently taking his hand and wiping it with a cloth, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Whether what Asutai said is true, does my husband know I’m still alive with Fengchun?"

"And that masked man who came to rescue Asutai—who was he?"

"Is he friend or foe?"

By Fu Wenqing’s nature, one who dared to take the Xiao family’s younger son must be distrusted.

"May my family be safe and sound…"

(The chapter ends.)