Chapter 147

Rong was nothing more than a declining nomadic state on the frontier, its dietary habits untouched by Han cultural influence.

Its people lived a roaming life, making their homes in carts, and when caught in wind and snow, they dug pits in the ground and lined them with animal hides.

Such tribes, reliant on nature for sustenance, once struggled just to fill their bellies.

However, in recent years, their ferocious cavalry had carried out numerous raids, amassing wealth overnight and causing them to swell with newfound arrogance.

Yet, even though Bo had suffered setbacks in their conflicts with Rong, they had not lost too much ground.

How, then, could the King of Rong possibly entertain ambitions of wiping Bo off the map?

At the royal court of Bo, the empress and her ministers frowned as they discussed the sudden outbreak of war at the border.

Meanwhile, in the Bo palace, Feng Liwu, who was recuperating from an illness, received a less-than-pleasant piece of news.

A scout sent by Ji Binglin arrived, covered in dust from his long journey, and handed Feng Liwu a sealed letter.

The contents were brief and to the point:

“Unrest in the Three Counties. The Second Prince has colluded with noble families and seeks to seize power for himself. Your Majesty must return at once to quell the rebellion.”

The mere line of text made Feng Liwu furrow his brows deeply.

Feng Wu had inherited the Three Counties and had been granted the title of Prince of Dingbei by their late father.

He had spent years cultivating his own power, minting his own currency, and all but establishing an independent state.

If Feng Wu had kept a low profile, Feng Liwu had planned to tolerate his half-brother’s self-indulgence for a few years, allowing him to play the petty emperor of his backwater lands until the state had stabilized.

Then, he would have cut off this malignant growth at the root.

Unfortunately, his brother was never one to stay put.

Before their father passed, he had manipulated events to force him to write a final edict condemning the Crown Prince as unfilial and even accusing him of orchestrating the assassination attempt on their father.

The decree sought to depose the Crown Prince and instate the Second Prince instead.

And Emperor Duanqing had indeed written such an edict—three copies, in fact.

One was meant to be read aloud before the court upon his death, but Feng Liwu’s people intercepted it early on.

Another was secretly placed in the hands of a trusted elder statesman.

The last copy, of course, was meant for his beloved son, Feng Wu.

Rumors that Feng Liwu had orchestrated his father’s death had since spread through the court and noble families, gaining exaggerated details with each retelling.

When Feng Liwu learned of his father’s final scheme, he understood the old man’s intent. By then, it no longer mattered how many edicts had been left behind—his ascension to the throne was already an established fact.

But lies, when told often enough, can overshadow the truth. Emperor Duanqing had intended to haunt his eldest son from beyond the grave.

As time passed, the whispered rumors would grow more bizarre, and those hidden edicts would linger like the emperor’s restless spirit, ensuring his son never slept peacefully.

And so, with a twisted smile on his lips, Emperor Duanqing breathed his last, his final expression one of bitter satisfaction rather than peace.

Some watched the events unfold with glee, anticipating the day when the two remaining edicts surfaced to see how the new Emperor of Qi would justify himself.

Feng Wu, dragging his father’s lingering shadow behind him, stirred the political waters and took advantage of the chaos, secretly forging alliances with noble families and waiting for his moment to strike.

And it was an opportune time indeed.

Emperor Duanqing, in his efforts to torment his eldest son, had once taken away his beloved concubine, bringing endless sorrow upon the Crown Prince.

Then, after the emperor’s passing, rumors ran rampant throughout Qi.

Feng Liwu, newly enthroned, had been preoccupied—first pacifying Wei, then dealing with Anxi.

One matter followed another, leaving him no time to deal with Feng Wu.

Feng Wu, for his part, had dispatched numerous spies into Luo’an, closely monitoring Feng Liwu’s every move.

When Feng Liwu made his move against Anxi, news reached Feng Wu swiftly.

At first, he had not been concerned—after all, his brother’s ambitions in the outside world had little to do with him.

But the more he thought about it, the more he feared Feng Liwu’s growing stability.

If his brother continued to expand Qi’s power, it was only a matter of time before he turned his attention to the Three Counties.

Then, an earth-shattering secret arrived—Feng Liwu had secretly left Qi’s capital and traveled to Anxi.

Feng Wu could not fathom why his ever-calculating brother had suddenly thrown caution to the wind, abandoning his state for the sake of a woman who had rejected him.

To secretly leave Qi and run off to that barren land—was he mad?

Yet, this was the golden opportunity Feng Wu had been waiting for.

He acted swiftly, dispatching assassins to Anxi in hopes of eliminating Feng Liwu.

At the same time, he reached out to other states, accusing his brother of orchestrating their father’s assassination.

He declared his intent to purge the usurper, establish the Three Counties as independent, and avenge their father.

With his forces alone, he was too weak, so he appealed to the other rulers to join him in overthrowing the tyrant.

The neighboring states, already wary of Qi’s growing power—especially after Feng Liwu’s conquest of Wei—were more than willing to listen.

An alliance was quickly formed.

Ji Binglin had initially tried to dissuade Feng Liwu from traveling to Anxi.

Yet, while he was a brilliant statesman, he lacked the persuasive eloquence of Minister Jiang, who might have been able to change the emperor’s mind.

Failing to convince his lord, Ji Binglin had spent his days anxiously monitoring the situation, gathering intelligence on Feng Wu’s movements and the rising alliance against Qi.

When he confirmed that Feng Wu was actively seeking foreign support and behaving more and more like an independent ruler, Ji Binglin wasted no time.

He sent a confidential letter to Feng Liwu detailing the crisis.

However, he also wrote a second letter—this one to Empress Yaren of Bo.

As the tides of political turmoil shifted rapidly, Ji Binglin feared that if the new emperor remained entangled in matters of the heart, the consequences would be dire.

He could only hope that his old colleague, the empress, still held some genuine affection for Feng Liwu and would persuade him to leave Bo and return to Luo’an to quell the rebellion.

When Jiang Xiurun returned from court, she found Ji Binglin’s letter waiting for her.

Earlier, some officials had suggested that Bo should seek aid from the Emperor of Qi, as his intervention would easily drive back the Rong invaders.

Yet, after reading Ji Binglin’s letter, Jiang Xiurun fell silent for a long time.

One thing was clear—Bo must not inform Feng Liwu of Rong’s impending attack.

Not because she was the self-sacrificing type who feared burdening him.

But because she knew Feng Liwu well—if he learned of this, he would hesitate for a moment before ultimately choosing to safeguard Qi’s stability over indulging in a mere dalliance in her tiny state.

If that was the case, why force him into such a dilemma?

She wasn’t sure if she was simply seeing things too clearly or if she just didn’t want to witness Feng Liwu’s inevitable choice.

Either way, she decided—Bo’s crisis was hers to handle.

What did it have to do with the Emperor of Qi?

This way, at least, they could leave each other with a purer, untainted sentiment.

After all, in their past life, she had been personally labeled a “calamitous temptress” by Feng Liwu himself.

Perhaps the former Crown Prince had been sharp enough to see her true nature from the start, wisely keeping his distance.

Yet, in this life, the new emperor seemed blinded by sentiment, lingering in her palace as if waiting for his state’s downfall.

She had no intention of taking the blame for that.

So he spoke, “At most three months, I will bring you back to Luo’an in a grand ceremony. How could our son be merely the prince of this tiny land? The vast empire I have conquered will be his to inherit…”

As he spoke, he took Baoli back into his arms, lifting him high into the air, making the little child burst into a fit of giggles.

Jiang Xiurun did not reply, nor did she waver at Feng Liwu’s promises.

Instead, her gaze shifted toward the distant mountains beyond the window.

Bo was indeed too small, a state that could be toppled in an instant—just like in her past life, where every day was fraught with uncertainty, every step taken as if walking on thin ice…

But now, she was the ruler of Bo, bearing the responsibility of her people’s survival and well-being.

How could she, like her father before her, surrender without resistance, sell out her people, and bow in submission just to save her own life?