65. The Bright Moon Over Cuolan Snow Mountain

In the grand tent of Liaodong, the war drums thundered, and triumphant songs soared to the horizon. Having captured three key strongholds in succession, the army of Great Yi was at the height of its morale. Tonight, at the victory banquet, the entire encampment was ablaze with light, bright as day.

Unlike the raucous celebration in camp, Nangong Mingchen stood alone atop the city wall of Yu Prefecture for quite some time, gazing up at the moon, facing southwest—the direction of the capital, Guangling.

When the wine was finished and the dancers retired, the revelers noticed Nangong Mingchen was absent. Chen Kun pointed to the city tower.

Fu Lancheng strolled up the tower and saw him standing solitary in the wind beneath the night sky. With a smile, he recited, “On such a starry night, for whom do you brave the wind and dew till midnight?” Nangong Mingchen merely offered a faint smile and bowed in greeting.

The more Fu Lancheng observed this illegitimate son of the Nangong family, the more inscrutable he seemed. Like his own mother, the Empress Dowager, he disliked Noble Consort Nangong and, by extension, the Nangong clan.

Yet his own aunt, Princess Roujia, had married Nangong Cheng and borne him several children. This forced him to reconsider his opinion of the Nangong family.

In the past, Fu Lancheng could not understand why the Emperor always used marriage alliances to ease family tensions. But later, when he held Princess Roujia’s child in his arms, he seemed, for a fleeting moment, to understand.

Who among mortals could resist the pull of blood ties?

But clearly, Nangong Mingchen was the least like a member of the Nangong clan, and Fu Lancheng, in his heart, did not care for him.

“Your Highness.” Nangong Mingchen bowed.

“Does the little Marquis enjoy moon-gazing?” Fu Lancheng’s lips curled.

Having his quiet moonlit reverie interrupted, Nangong Mingchen felt irked, but did not dare show temper to the Crown Prince. He could only smile politely. “Does Your Highness delight in disturbing another’s moon-gazing?”

The words were insolent, even disrespectful, but Fu Lancheng only laughed and looked up at the sky. “Tonight is indeed a full moon—not bad.”

Nangong Mingchen looked up as well—it was, indeed, a full moon.

Fu Lancheng mused, “The moon above the city tower of Yu Prefecture is no different than the one above Starlight Terrace in Guangling.”

Nangong Mingchen’s bearing was elegant as he replied, “Your Highness is correct. Though this place is a thousand miles, separated by mountains and seas from Starlight Terrace, only the moon remains constant, eternally unchanged.”

Fu Lancheng’s gaze was distant and he sighed softly. “Men of today see not the moon of old, yet the present moon once shone on those long gone. All things change—these city walls, the empire’s borders, the fate of rulers. Only this bright moon endures, waxing and waning, unchanged for millennia.”

A discussion of life’s meaning, perhaps?

With a smile tinged with irony, Nangong Mingchen remarked, “Indeed, before this eternal moon, we are but a speck in the vast ocean.”

“I hear that when the Marquis was young, he traveled the land and saw its rivers and mountains.” So, not a discussion of life, but of backgrounds.

The more wary Nangong Mingchen grew, the more amiable his smile became.

“Yes, I was born of humble origins. In my youth, I roamed widely to make a living.”

Fu Lancheng sneered, took a few steps, and lowered his head in self-pity. “I was born in the royal court, raised within the palace, confined to deep gardens. I once dreamed of riding north to hunt eagles, galloping across the plains—but it was but a vain hope.”

Nangong Mingchen’s eyes were calm. “Your Highness is heir to the throne; to travel in disguise would harm the dignity of the state.”

“You too utter such nonsense?” Fu Lancheng mocked.

“It is the truth, Your Highness.” Some are born to nobility. “Besides, the days of wandering and begging for survival are not as romantic as books claim. If I could choose, I would not have chosen this path.”

At these words, Fu Lancheng’s expression faltered for a moment.

He had already investigated Nangong Mingchen’s background. Born to Nangong An while serving elsewhere, his birth mother unknown. When Nangong An returned to Guangling, it was said the mother had died early, leaving Nangong Mingchen to roam the world.

How much had that small child been forced to learn—begging, pleading, reading the faces of others? Only Nangong Mingchen himself would know.

By the time he returned to the Nangong family and claimed his lineage, he was a refined and learned young man. From that day on, no one mentioned his past.

Yet Fu Lancheng could never forget that night raid, when this impeccably dressed nobleman killed with such practiced ease. It was chilling.

Nangong Mingchen, knowing what Fu Lancheng was thinking, smiled. “Your Highness, there is something I would say, if I may.”

Fu Lancheng frowned, suspecting nothing good, but nodded. “Speak.”

With sincere gravity, Nangong Mingchen said, “Instead of gazing longingly at distant rivers and mountains, cherish those before your eyes.”

His voice was calm, but in the years to come, this phrase would strike Fu Lancheng like a blow to the head.

As Fu Lancheng lingered atop the tower, Nangong Mingchen descended the city wall, each wearing a different expression—one dazed, the other solemn.

Nangong Mingchen’s thoughts drifted to the past. He had never met his father; his mother died when he was six, leaving him to beg on the streets. One day, a passing Taoist took pity on him and brought him back to the temple.

There, he met Miss Xu, the third daughter of the Xu family—her given name was Qian, later known as Xu Guiyi.

She was a frail, pale little girl. The old Taoist said she was born to wealth but sickly, looking even more wretched than him, an orphan.

“What’s your name?” Six-year-old Nangong Mingchen, dressed in a tattered robe, asked softly.

“My name is Qianqian. What’s yours?” The girl’s voice was as faint as a mosquito’s, and he only heard clearly the second time.

“My mother’s surname was Yao, so mine is Yao too. I’m Yao Mingchen. And your surname?”

“Mine... is Xu.”

From that day on, they became each other’s only friend.

The only one.

Later, he learned that Qianqian was her childhood name; her true name was Xu Guiyi, the third daughter of the Xu family of Luan Prefecture, born to great status.

He, in the end, gave up his mother’s surname, acknowledged his ancestry, and became Nangong.

After capturing Pingzhou, their next target was Yun’er City, already far to the north—almost at the extreme edge of Liaodong, a land of perpetual snow.

The army was stationed in Yu Prefecture, with three vanguard units sent ahead to scout the way. Fu Lancheng himself led expeditions by day and pored over the topographic maps of Yun’er City by night, but still felt this battle would not be straightforward.

Indeed, their concerns were justified. In the first clash with the defenders of Yun’er, they suffered defeat—a heavy blow after three consecutive victories.

Chen Kun reported urgently, “Last night, the enemy’s war horns sounded until dawn. This morning, scouts report that two hundred thousand Dayue troops are poised behind Mount Cuolan, ready to strike.”

Guan Yulong cursed, “I hear the Cuolan Snow Mountain is revered by the Dongyue people as a sacred peak. They have worshipped the mountain goddess for generations. Luring our army here, with the snow mountain as cover, puts us at a disadvantage both in attack and defense, giving them the perfect chance to counterattack.”

Fu Lancheng snapped, “Mountain goddesses—superstitious nonsense!” He had always despised such talk.

Seeing the Crown Prince angered, Nangong Mingchen only smiled. “General Guan, let us not be anxious. To take Yun’er City, we must cross Cuolan Snow Mountain. It’s not that they lured us here, but that we’re here by imperial command.” In other words, the Emperor himself had sent them, expecting Dayue’s counteroffensive.

Qu Zhe interjected sternly, “Marquis, mind your words!”

Fu Lancheng shot Nangong Mingchen a glare but did not reprimand him. The Marquis remained unbothered, studying the deployment map.

That night, Dayue’s forces converged along the front. At the first blare of the horn, their crack troops surged down the steep mountain like an arrow, piercing the Great Yi camp.

Though Dayue was vast and sparsely populated, its people were fierce and martial. Having lost three cities, the soldiers’ anger had been smoldering, and now, with the chance for vengeance, they would not let it slip.

For half a month, skirmishes erupted almost daily—no fewer than ten large and small battles, with little advantage gained. In the final clash, Great Yi suffered around five thousand casualties—their heaviest losses yet.

As the war reached a stalemate and casualties mounted, the military physicians’ tally showed their medical supplies were running low.

Fu Lancheng, meeting with General Qu Zhe, noticed more white hair on the old general’s head.

Even the ethereal little Marquis Nangong no longer carried an air of untroubled elegance. His brows had been tightly knit for days.

In the camp, soldiers whispered that the old Prince guarding Lookout City, upon hearing of the heavy casualties, wanted to come to the front himself—only to be stopped by an edict from Fu Lancheng.

When the edict was issued, Qu Zhe and Nangong Mingchen were both present. The Crown Prince’s already grim face turned stormy, and with a thunderous shout and fiery eyes, he seemed ready to behead any dissenters. Terrified, the Prince’s two sons knelt and pleaded for mercy, explaining their father’s intentions were only out of loyalty. Only then did Fu Lancheng’s wrath subside.

All was chaos and confusion.

Five days later, Fu Lancheng received the emperor’s latest orders: reinforcements of fifty thousand were on their way, led by Marquis Changping, Song Gu, heading toward Yu Prefecture.

Over a single city—Yun’er—the emperor was determined not to rest until victory was won. Fu Lancheng ordered the army to rest and await the arrival of Changping Marquis and his troops.

“I have been back in Guangling for several years, and now, for the first time, I am to meet the Imperial Uncle—on the battlefield of Cuolan Snow Mountain. How amusing!” If there was one in the camp unafraid of the Crown Prince’s authority, it was Nangong Mingchen.

Beside him, Guan Yulong, ever the kindly soul, tugged at his robe and whispered, “Little Marquis, for heaven’s sake, look at the Crown Prince’s face! We’re all on edge and you still have the mind to joke? Please, just hold your tongue!”

Fu Lancheng, discussing which deputy general should receive Marquis Changping, heard their words and decided instantly. “Then the task of welcoming Marquis Changping falls to Marquis Gongmin and General Guan. Any objections?”

General Guan wanted to curse, but kept his tone deferential. “I am willing to go.”

Nangong Mingchen, unhurried, bowed. “I accept the order, Your Highness.”