His Royal Bloodline

As dawn broke, Pan Yueyang ordered a large number of soldiers to search at the foot of the cliff for Guan Canghai and Yan’er. Severely wounded, he stood alone at the edge, clutching his chest. No one knew what thoughts weighed on him.

“General.”

“How is it?” Pan Yueyang’s voice was weary.

“They searched all day and found no clues.”

“Keep searching south. Alive or dead, I want to see them. And find Mubai quickly.” Pan Yueyang waved his hand, urgency in his gesture.

“Yes, sir.”

Inside the cave—

“Mm…” Yan’er finally awoke. The campfire beside her was still burning, evidence that Guan Canghai had tended it through the night without sleep.

“You’re awake?” Guan Canghai set aside the stick in his hand.

Yan’er turned away, her body still carrying the scent of Guan Canghai, which made her nauseous.

“I expect Pan Yueyang will bring men to search the cliff today. If you don’t want him to find you… you’d better dress quickly.” Guan Canghai’s gaze lingered over the parts of Yan’er’s body exposed outside her garments.

Stiffly, Yan’er grabbed the red wedding dress nearby. The color unsettled her, hands trembling as she recalled the first time she wore it—her bridal sedan was hijacked; the second time, she was humiliated by the beast before her. Now, she wondered how she could still bear to live.

“Dwelling on it brings no good,” Guan Canghai observed her thoughts.

“Living brings me even greater shame,” Yan’er said, lowering her head as she dressed. Guan Canghai’s purple robe was still beneath her.

“If you become someone of power, no matter how unspeakable your past, none would dare utter a word.” Guan Canghai’s words offered a twisted lesson.

“Someone of power?” Yan’er looked at him coldly.

“Oulan can toy with you at her whim because her status is higher. The old Emperor can marry you off to a eunuch because he holds the power of life and death over his subjects.” Guan Canghai, too, had suffered as Yan’er had.

“Yes, they can kill me or make me wish I were dead for any reason they choose.” Yan’er seemed to realize something. “And you?”

Guan Canghai understood her meaning. “Mu Qianxue and I share the same father, as do many in the royal family—a single father, different mothers.”

“Why?”

“For power, for vanity.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” Yan’er pressed.

“The royal bloodline is the same. If there’s any difference, perhaps Mu Qianxue and I are closer than most siblings.”

“How so?” Yan’er grew more curious, temporarily forgetting her humiliation.

“My mother and hers were sisters,” Guan Canghai raised his eyebrows.

“Sisters?” Yan’er thought for a moment, then smiled.

“You understand?”

“Perhaps,” Yan’er replied, guessing.

“Then let me explain. Born of the same root, they entered the palace together, both favored by the Emperor. Their status was unmatched. United in heart, they eliminated rivals, until only the two remained, and inevitably, they turned against each other.” Guan Canghai added more wood to the fire, amused by Yan’er’s curiosity.

“And so, two sisters became enemies, and you and Mu Qianxue became enemies as well, right?” Yan’er shook her head, believing the grudges of one generation should not dictate the fate of the next.

“More or less. My mother gave birth to me, but hers bore a princess—Mu Qianxue. During childbirth, she was unconscious for three days and nights. Out of pity, my mother hesitated to strike, and ultimately suffered misfortune herself.” Guan Canghai sighed.

“And you seek revenge for your mother?” Yan’er felt the story was too complex.

“It’s not that simple.” Guan Canghai coughed, feeling the chill, and shifted closer to the fire.

Yan’er watched his movements, waiting for him to continue.

“I never met my mother…” Guan Canghai looked at Yan’er with sincerity.

Yan’er was surprised. “How did that come about?”

“I was saved by a palace maid who was not favored. She took me out of the palace, and we lived in obscurity, enduring hardship. She told me all this when I was ten. Otherwise, I would have believed I was just an ordinary person.” Guan Canghai touched his back, where last night’s stone had scraped him. The wound was beginning to scab.

“What’s wrong with your back?” Yan’er stood and moved behind him, shocked by the bloody mess.

“Last night, I shielded you from falling injuries,” Guan Canghai pulled Yan’er back, letting her sit again on his robe.

“Oh.” Yan’er shrugged off his hand coldly. “Continue.”

“That year, we met a reclusive master who wanted to take me away. The maid agreed, since our lives were barely sustainable. Before I left, she revealed my origins.” Guan Canghai lowered his head in contemplation.

“I suppose that master was an evil one?” Yan’er recalled her first impression of Guan Canghai—charmingly wicked. Someone so sinister must be shaped by his environment.

“Whatever he was, he taught me how to survive—that’s what matters.” Guan Canghai thought of the hardships endured learning forbidden martial arts.

“That’s true. Once, I didn’t believe it, but now, after all I’ve experienced, I do. Living gives hope; it allows us to make those who have wronged us suffer.” Yan’er gazed determinedly toward the cave entrance.

“Tianfeng has only one princess. That wretch never bore him a son, nor let any other woman approach him.” Guan Canghai thought bitterly of Mu Qianxue.

“But she’s your sister—why must you kill her?” Yan’er tried to plead for Mu Qianxue, her conscience less ruthless than his.

“Why did her mother not consider sisterhood? Do you know how my mother died?” Guan Canghai suddenly looked at Yan’er with agitation.

“How?”

“Better left unsaid. Women should know less of such things, or else… you’ll have nightmares.” Guan Canghai winked, reaching to touch Yan’er’s chin.

Yan’er shifted uncomfortably. “I never expected you to have such a history. Why don’t you go to the Emperor and tell him the truth?”

“Heh, woman, you think everything is so simple. Does everyone entering the palace claim to be his son and expect the Emperor to believe? Besides, the Emperor saw the corpse of a baby boy back then. To dig up a twenty-year-old secret—how easy is that? That wretch had long since eradicated all who knew the truth.” Guan Canghai stood, agitated, clenching his fists.

On the cliff—

“Yueyang!” Before Xueqing arrived, her voice was already heard.

Pan Yueyang turned, seeing Xueqing galloping toward him. She reined in her horse, which halted neatly before him, and dismounted gracefully.

“I heard early this morning. I’ve already sent a pigeon message to Mubai,” Xueqing observed Pan Yueyang’s pallor. “You’re injured internally?”

“Mubai won’t come,” Pan Yueyang sat on the ground in defeat.

“Yueyang, don’t worry. I wrote only four words in my letter. I believe Mubai will come.” Xueqing knelt gently at his side to comfort him.

Pan Yueyang was surprised. “What words?”

“Yan’er is in danger.” Xueqing stroked Pan Yueyang’s forehead, smoothing his disheveled hair.

Pan Yueyang lowered his head, silent. Indeed, even if he tried to deny it, Yan’er’s presence meant more to him than his decade-long bond with his fellow disciples. He felt awkward.

“By the way, how is Gu Yinhe?” Pan Yueyang asked.

“The same as ever. Don’t worry, he’ll recover. The poison has lasted so long, even with the antidote, it can’t be cured instantly.” Xueqing took Pan Yueyang’s hand; it had been so long since they had spoken thus.

“With you caring for him, I’m at ease.” Pan Yueyang turned again to the cliff. “This place is vast; searching will take two more days. Still no news of Yan’er and Guan Canghai—I wonder what Guan Canghai is really up to.”

“I feel he jumped with Yan’er on purpose,” Xueqing replied honestly, having investigated with the guards en route. After analyzing everything, she believed Guan Canghai, despite his martial skills, would not have leapt unless he wished to avoid further entanglement with Yueyang. Seeing Yueyang’s injuries, it became clear that Guan Canghai had not lost to him, but simply chose to escape with Yan’er, abandoning Mu Qianxue.

“Yueyang?” Xueqing looked at the man; overnight, he seemed so haggard, almost a stranger.

“Yes?” Pan Yueyang did not look at Xueqing, his eyes still fixed on the vast cliff.

“It’s cold outside. Why not return with me and rest properly?” Xueqing loosened her cloak and draped it over Pan Yueyang.

“No, I’ll stay here.” Pan Yueyang refused her concern.

“Yueyang, actually…” Xueqing hesitated.

“Speak frankly,” Pan Yueyang was in no mood and impatiently watched the cliff, his patience for Xueqing nearly exhausted.

“In Moon City, Guan Canghai had a peculiar fondness for Yan’er—did you notice?” Xueqing, being a woman, was more attentive than the men.

“Hiss~” Pan Yueyang thought back, recalling that indeed, as Xueqing said, from when Yan’er was taken to when she returned, she seemed unharmed. Yet Guan Canghai had poisoned Gu Yinhe mercilessly.

“Yueyang,” Xueqing saw Pan Yueyang’s furrowed brow and felt pain for him.

He asked Xueqing, unwilling to admit the possibility—

“Could it be that Guan Canghai has feelings for Yan’er?”

Below the cliff

“I reckon Pan Yueyang will find us in a day or two,” Guan Canghai said, idly adding wood to the fire.

“What you should worry about now is what we’ll eat to survive these days,” Yan’er rubbed her hungry stomach.

“All right, I’ll go out.” Guan Canghai was exasperated that a woman could think only of her stomach at such a moment.

“Hey, be careful!” Yan’er tossed Guan Canghai his purple robe. If something happened to him now, she wouldn’t last a day—she’d be torn apart by wild wolves.

“Ha, you finally care about me,” Guan Canghai laughed as he dressed. He’d been bare-chested all night; if not for his robust physique, he’d have fallen ill in the cold cave.

“I care only for survival!” Yan’er glared at him.

“Take care of yourself,” Guan Canghai said as he left the cave.

Yan’er smiled at his departing figure. “If only you were Yueyang.”