Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

The next morning.

The snowstorm has stopped. The western mountains are covered in a thick layer of snow, dazzlingly white.

Inside the tree hollow, Zhao Qiyan leaned against the tree trunk, half of her body completely numb. The blood flowing from the wound on her left shoulder had turned thick and black, emitting a putrid stench.

The poison has entered the five internal organs.

He barely had the strength to lift his eyelids.

Nian'an woke up in my arms. She was hungry and started to whine.

With difficulty, Zhao Qiyan used her only remaining right hand to pull the broken earthenware pot from her waist pouch. The pot had been broken in half when it rolled away the night before.

He grabbed a handful of clean snow and stuffed it into his mouth. The icy snow water stung his throat, bringing him a moment of clarity.

He poured the blood into the chipped bowl, mixed it with snow water, and placed it on his chest to melt it.

"Drink up." Zhao Qiyan held the broken bowl, her hands trembling like leaves in the wind.

Water flowed down the rim of the bowl into Nian'an's mouth. She swallowed it in large gulps.

After finishing the last sip, Nian'an smacked her lips in satisfaction. She reached out her chubby little hand and touched Zhao Qiyan's bluish cheek.

"Giggle..."

She chuckled. Crisp, clean, without a trace of impurity.

Zhao Qiyan looked at her. His disheveled appearance was reflected in those dark, grape-like eyes.

He suddenly felt that his life had been worthwhile.

"Xiao Nian'an," Zhao Qiyan's voice was as soft as a breeze, "I might... not be able to take you out. Your father is a bastard, but he... will definitely come looking for you."

He closed his eyes, and his head drooped limply.

His right hand was still firmly in the position of protecting the fox fur.

At the same time, by the stream in Xishan.

The Zhenbei Army's search party has already turned the entire mountain upside down.

Pei An stood on the edge of a steep cliff. Below the cliff was a rushing icy river.

He spotted a dazzling silvery-white patch in the brambles at the edge of the cliff.

Pei An walked over and carefully tore the piece off.

It was a fragment of a fox fur coat.

The finest silver fox pelt showed signs of being torn by a sharp weapon along its edges. Most fatally, a large patch of dark red blood stained the white fur.

Pei An's hand trembled slightly.

He carried the fragments and ran frantically back to the makeshift camp halfway up the mountain.

"Master!" Pei An knelt on one knee in front of Pei Zhihui, holding the blood-stained fox fur fragment above his head with both hands.

Pei Zhihui stood in the eye of the storm.

He slowly lowered his head, his gaze falling on the fragment.

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

That was Tingzhuxuan's silver fox fur coat. He wrapped it around Nian'an himself.

The bloodstains stung his eyes.

"Cough cough cough..."

Pei Zhihui suddenly started coughing violently. He bent over, covered his mouth with one hand, and coughed so hard it felt like his lungs were being torn apart.

Blood seeped from between his fingers and dripped onto the pristine white snow, a shocking sight.

"Master!" Pei An was shocked and tried to step forward to help him up.

"Get out of here!"

Pei Zhihui suddenly sat up straight. He shoved Pei An aside and gripped the blood-stained shard tightly.

At this moment, the string of reason snapped completely.

He thought Nian'an was dead, killed by the swords of the Broken Crossbow Battalion, dead in this icy and snowy place.

Pei Zhihui drew the long sword from his waist.

The blade pointed directly at the endless dense forest of the Western Hills.

"Light a cigarette." Pei Zhihui's voice was completely flat, yet it carried a chilling stillness.

Pei An was stunned: "Master, there are still... in these mountains..."

"I said, burn pine wood, use smoke!" Pei Zhihui turned his head sharply, his peach blossom eyes filled with blood-red killing intent. "Burn the mountain! Turn this West Mountain upside down! I want Prince Shou's men, not even ashes left!"

The hollow tree where Zhao Qiyan and Nian'an were hidden was in the direction from which the pine smoke spread.

The smoke trail advanced extremely quickly. Thick smoke, mixed with the acrid smell of burning pine resin, poured in forcefully through the cracks in the tree hole.

Inside the cramped tree hollow, the temperature rose steadily. Zhao Qiyan coughed violently, her saliva streaked with dark red blood.

He struggled to open his eyelids, but all he could see were double images. The left side of his body was completely numb, the poisonous blood had invaded his heart, and his limbs and bones exuded the withering emaciatedness of a dying man.

He can't die here, at least not with this baby in his arms, who will be charred to death along with him.

Zhao Qiyan bit his index finger. The sharp pain in his finger forcibly tore through his chaotic mind, bringing him a moment of clarity. He tore open his tattered robe, ripped off a piece of the still relatively clean hem of his inner garment, and laid it on the rough bark of the tree.

His fingers trembled, and beads of blood seeped onto the white cloth. The handwriting was crooked and illegible, revealing the desperate and helpless state of his situation.

"I am Zhao Qiyan. This woman is Pei Nian'an. If you save her, the Zhao family will surely reward you handsomely."

After writing those few words, he had exhausted all his strength. Interestingly, even in this state, he subconsciously still believed that Pei Zhihui was a monster who would devour people without spitting out the bones.

He didn't believe that Pei Zhihui would risk everything for a daughter, and that he could only gamble with the Zhao family's century-old wealth and resources to survive.

He folded the blood-written letter and tucked it deep into Nian'an's swaddling clothes. Then he tore off his belt and, along with the tattered fox fur coat, bound Nian'an tightly to his chest. He tied a knot that seemed impossible to untie. The pulling aggravated the piercing wound in his left shoulder, and black blood gushed out, but he didn't utter a sound.

He drew the knife. The blade was chipped and stained with dark red blood from the previous night.

Emerging from the cave.

Outside was a scene of utter desolation, with the crackling of withered trees echoing everywhere. The snow melted under the intense heat, mixing with the soil to form a thick, sticky slurry.

He dragged his battered body, stumbling along the path where the fire was less intense downwind. After taking only a dozen steps, he heard a rustling sound coming from the bushes ahead.

Five people. Dressed in black, masked, with broken crossbow totems tattooed on the back of their hands.

The second batch of assassins sent by Prince Shou.

The lead assassin, with sharp eyes, peered through the smoke and precisely locked onto the unusually bulging cloth bag on Zhao Qiyan's chest. Without a word, five poisoned soft swords were drawn and they flanked her in a fan shape.

It is worth noting that the assassins kept by Prince Shou were truly like hyenas that smelled blood. They had no emotions and only recognized their targets.

Zhao Qiyan stopped. He tried to raise his right hand, but the short, rolled-up knife weighed more than a thousand pounds, and he couldn't lift it no matter what he did. He was too tired; his strength was exhausted to the limit, and the poison had drained the last bit of his life force.

There's no way to escape, and you can't win either.

He turned around, his broad back meeting the approaching blade. His knees buckled, and he knelt in the mud, hunching forward to completely shield Nian'an beneath him.

Close your eyes and prepare for the impending barrage of blades.

A sudden whooshing sound arose.

A sharp whistling sound tore through the crackling of the burning flames. A steel crossbow bolt pierced through the thick smoke, flying from behind and piercing the head of the lead assassin without resistance. Red and white matter splattered onto the scorched snow, and the assassin fell straight down without even a scream.

The sound of horses' hooves echoed.

A black horse broke through the fire line, its hooves flying, kicking up clouds of mud and snow. The man on horseback was dressed in black robes with dark hair, his cloak billowing in the wind like clouds. He held the reins with one hand, and gripped a long sword in the other.

The blade was drawn, kicking up a cloud of snow.

Pei Zhihui, like a demon descending to earth, charged into the ranks of the assassins on horseback. His longsword flashed, devoid of any fancy moves, only pure carnage. Two assassins were cut in half at the waist, their entrails mingling with blood, splattering across the ground.

Seeing this, the remaining two assassins turned their swords and thrust at the horse's back. Pei Zhihui abandoned his horse, leaping into the air, and kicked one of them hard in the chest with his boot. The sound of bones cracking was crisp and pleasant. He landed with the force of the impact, his longsword twirling in his hand, and with a backhand slash, he severed the throat of the last assassin.

The whole process took only a few breaths.

In the firelight, Pei Zhihui stood amidst the pile of corpses, panting heavily. The hem of his black cloak was stained with mud, and a few drops of hot blood splattered on his deathly pale face. His eyes were bloodshot and terrifying, like those of a wild beast on the verge of losing control.

The surrounding bushes were gradually cleared away. Pei An led a large number of Zhenbei Army cavalry into the area, quickly taking control of the outer perimeter and extinguishing the remaining fire.

Hearing the noise, Zhao Qiyan turned her head with difficulty.

A pair of black boots came into view. Covered in mud and snow, they stopped three feet in front of him.

Above him was Pei Zhihui's sinister face. The blood-dripping longsword lay carelessly tossed aside, its blade embedded in the earth. Pei Zhihui didn't look at him; his gaze was fixed on the bulge in the cloth bag on his chest.

The arch-enemy arrives as a savior in the most desperate moment. This deadly game of power struggles comes to an end in an extremely absurd way.

Pei An led his men back ten steps silently, turned his back, and left the clearing covered in blood and mud to the two of them.

Exhausted, Zhao Qiyan rolled over and lay on his back on the ground. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving, his fingers trembling as he tried to untie the knot in his chest. The cloth strip was soaked in blood and frozen stiff. He couldn't untie it.

He simply used his teeth to bite it.

The rough fabric chafed his lips, and the taste of rust filled his mouth. As the straps came undone, the tattered fox fur coat finally opened.

A small face peeked out from under the fox fur coat.

Nian'an's face was smeared with ash, black and grimy, like a little kitten that had rolled around in the stove pit. She didn't cry, nor was she frightened by the sounds of fighting just now. She opened her big, black grape-like eyes and curiously looked around.

When her gaze fell on Pei Zhihui's face, the little one grinned, her toothless mouth agape, and giggled. She stretched out her two chubby little hands, reaching for the blood-soaked god of war, wanting a hug.

Zhao Qiyan cursed inwardly. "You heartless brat! I risked my life protecting you all night, got pissed on, and even got stabbed, and you're all smiles when you see your own father."

Pei Zhihui knelt in the snow. His knees slammed into the mud with a dull thud.

He reached out his hands, hands that had once held sway in the imperial court, hands that had once written edicts to slay the dragon, but now they trembled violently. He carefully lifted Nian'an from Zhao Qiyan's arms, his movements stiff as if he were holding a fragile piece of porcelain.

Nian'an grabbed Pei Zhihui's collar and rubbed her head against his chest, finding a comfortable spot before quietly blowing a saliva bubble.

Seeing this, Zhao Qiyan coughed up a mouthful of black blood. The poison had already reached his heart, and his vision began to blur. With his last bit of strength, he raised his bluish right hand and gripped the hem of Pei Zhihui's cloak tightly.

The knuckles turned white from exertion, and the crevices under the nails were full of dirt.

"The child...I must return him to you whole." Zhao Qiyan's voice was broken, like a leaky bellows, each word accompanied by a gush of blood and foam. "Please...spare the entire Zhao family...give them a way to live."

This was his last trump card: to trade his life for the continuation of his family.

Pei Zhihui lowered his head, shifting his gaze from Nian An's face to the exhausted man at his feet.

He understood Zhao Qiyan. This once dashing young master from a prestigious family was proud to the core. He would never have asked for a favor if it weren't for his family's sake.

Critically speaking, in the game of power, human life is nothing but grass. As supporters of the old royal family, the Zhao family should have been among those to be purged. But at this moment, all the scheming, discord, and hatred seemed insignificant in the face of that sleeping baby.

"I never intended to harm the Zhao family."

Pei Zhihui spoke clearly, though his voice was hoarse. He didn't use a condescending tone, but rather, with an extremely equal attitude, he gave his arch-enemy his final dignity.

"You protected my daughter's life. The Zhao family's rule is hereditary and will last forever, sharing the fate of the nation. You can rest in peace on your journey."

In just two short sentences, all the information gaps and misunderstandings were cleared up. Pei Zhihui was not an unreasonable mad dog; he could distinguish right from wrong. This promise was worth more than a thousand pieces of gold.

Zhao Qiyan's grip on the cloak gradually loosened.

He understood. Pei Zhihui wouldn't break his promise, because this was Pei Zhihui's weakness. With this prophetic promise, the Zhao family was saved.

Zhao Qiyan smiled. Her mouth was covered in blood and foam, which, combined with her bluish face, made her look somewhat ferocious, yet also conveyed a sense of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

He turned his head away.

The gaze passed over the layers of charred tree trunks, over the continuous snow-capped peaks of the Western Hills, and looked towards the direction of the capital.

There lies the past he can never return to, the palace he once swore to serve to the death, and Shen Qiongju, whom he could never have.

He recalled the first time he met the manager of Qionghua Pavilion, who was so fast at calculating with an abacus, in a tavern in Liangzhou Prefecture, and the ruthless coldness with which she rejected him.

In this lifetime, we ultimately missed each other.

His vision blurred completely, his pupils dilated into a deathly gray. His mud-covered hand finally loosened its grip on Pei Zhihui's cloak, falling into the snowdrift and splashing up a few drops of muddy water.

Zhao Qiyan closed her eyes. Her breathing stopped.

The wind howled through the scorched forest.

Pei Zhihui held Nian'an in his arms, remaining motionless for a long time.

Nian'an seemed to sense something, her little hands clutching Pei Zhihui's collar, babbling softly. Her face pressed against Pei Zhihui's cold armor, trying to warm the trembling man with her own body heat.

This ruthless, murderous, and depraved minister, whose eyes were red-rimmed.

Warm liquid fell without warning, dripping onto Nian An's dirty face. One drop, two drops, then a line.

He buried his face in Nian'an's neck. There was no wailing, only suppressed sobs. The lingering fear, the ecstasy of regaining what he had lost, and the awe of the capriciousness of fate completely shattered his psychological defenses at that moment.

The surrounding Zhenbei soldiers all turned their backs. No one would laugh at the Regent's weakness. In this cannibalistic world, retaining a shred of humanity was more valuable than anything else.

a long time.

Pei Zhihui raised his head. He wiped away the tears and mud from Nian'an's face with his clean sleeve, then wrapped her back into his cloak and held her against his chest.

He stood up and glanced at Zhao Qiyan's corpse.

"A proper burial," Pei Zhihui ordered, his voice regaining its usual coldness.