Heir of the Sacred Dragon Sword

5. Two Fugitive Corpses

Li Min’s shout startled Xiu Zhangjian. The boy immediately sprang to his feet, whirling around. His aged brown eyes caught sight of a man with hair entirely turned white.

“Uncle Feng!” Without hesitation, Zhangjian rushed forward and threw his arms around the middle-aged man who stood frozen in place.

This was Feng Yin, leader of the White Tiger Sect and the closest companion of Xiu Jian. Every morning since the bloody night at Boushan, Feng Yin had returned to the village to mourn his fallen brother-in-arms. Never had he imagined he would see Xiu Jian’s son and beloved disciple alive before him.

Feng Yin dropped to his knees so he could hold Zhangjian at eye level. He embraced the small body tightly, as though he would never let go again.

“Y-you’re alive…” he whispered, his trembling hand stroking Zhangjian’s hair.

Seeing this, Li Min released a heavy breath, his shoulders sinking slightly. He stepped closer and bowed deeply.

“I pay my respects, Master Feng.”

“Li Min… how did you survive?” Feng Yin’s voice wavered with disbelief. For a moment, he thought his eyes deceived him, conjuring phantoms born from his grief.

“At that time, we—”

Before Li Min could finish, Feng Yin’s gaze turned cold.

“You must come with me at once!” he ordered sharply. He glanced around with suspicion, then lifted Zhangjian into his arms and set off without another word. Li Min followed silently.

Before long, Feng Yin halted before towering walls surrounding a vast compound. By the gate stood a large plaque that read: 'Headquarters of the White Tiger Sect.'

Indeed, Feng Yin had brought them to his own sect. Yet when the heavy gates creaked open, Li Min’s eyes widened at the sight within.

Zhangjian clenched his eyelids shut. Countless corpses littered the ground in grotesque stillness. At his tender age, his weary brown eyes had already witnessed horrors no child should ever endure.

Feng Yin quickly pressed Zhangjian’s face into his shoulder as they passed through the carnage.

“Keep your eyes shut until I set you down,” he whispered.

Inside a chamber, with Li Min following close behind, Feng Yin finally seated Zhangjian on a chair.

“The Gongliao Alliance has struck at every righteous sect that shared ties with yours,” Feng Yin said gravely, glancing between the two survivors. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice,

“They are searching for the thief who stole Xiu Jian’s head.”

Li Min swallowed hard, turning to Zhangjian, who returned his gaze. He had known that taking his master’s head would anger the Alliance, but never had he expected their fury to spread so far, to the point of slaughtering other righteous sects.

“They have given us until nightfall. If the culprits—said to be a boy and a young man—are not found, they will return. Without mercy.”

“M-Master Feng, in truth, the one who stole the head was—”

“You.” Feng Yin cut him off with a faint exhale.

“It was only right that you did so. Now, we must see this through.”

***

A broad-shouldered man exuded an imposing aura from his throne. His jaw tightened as his piercing eyes locked upon the entrance. The silence of those present was heavy, their faces pale with dread.

“They have arrived, Your Majesty,” reported a eunuch, trembling. The man upon the throne, his head crowned with gold, made no reply. He only tapped his nails against the armrest in a steady rhythm.

Moments later, a man with snow-white hair entered, leading a young boy by the hand. Behind him came two men bearing scars etched across their faces.

“Feng Yin bows before Emperor Huang,” he declared.

“Rise! Show me their corpses!” Huang Fu commanded, his tone clipped and merciless. Ever since hearing reports that the two fugitives had been caught and killed, he refused to believe until he saw them himself.

Feng Yin gestured to his men. At once, they carried in what the Emperor demanded. Two male corpses were laid before the throne.

“They are the son and disciple of Master Xiu Jian, the culprits behind the theft Your Majesty seeks. I found them hiding in Boushan,” Feng Yin explained, his words causing Zhangjian to raise his head sharply, eyes wide.

The hall buzzed with whispers as members of the Gongliao Alliance exchanged hushed words. Seizing the moment, Feng Yin met Zhangjian’s gaze. His voice dropped low, audible only to the boy.

“Look at their faces. Remember them well, especially the man wearing the crown. He is the one who killed your father.”

'That man… Father’s killer…' Zhangjian’s fists clenched, nails biting into flesh. The light in his eyes hardened into a murderous gleam. In the depths of his heart, he swore:

'One day… I will hang his head upon the gates of the capital.'