sovbooks Chapter 343 The wedding procession of the Li Yang Dynasty has arrived.
Chapter 343 The wedding procession of the Li Yang Dynasty has arrived.
Meng Fang stood up and did not sit down.
His hands hung at his sides, his fingers slightly curled, and his palms were sweaty.
He recalled the hints that had been sent from the North through various channels in recent days.
Sometimes it's a letter, sometimes it's a sentence, sometimes it's just a glance.
Those hints were so subtle that even if they were discovered, they couldn't be used as evidence.
But he knew what they meant.
He pretended not to understand, responding with an ambiguous attitude, neither agreeing nor refusing, keeping all the hints out.
But today, Xu Longxiang came in person.
He could no longer pretend he didn't understand.
He has to answer.
The safest way to answer must be used.
Meng Fang shook his head, the movement slow and forceful, like shaking a bell that was too heavy.
"No."
He said his voice was a few decibels deeper than before.
"Since ancient times, there has been a distinction between ruler and subject. I am but a minor general and dare not presume to discuss such matters concerning His Majesty."
He paused, then bowed deeply.
"Please forgive me, Your Highness."
He adopted a very humble posture, so humble that he was practically invisible.
But his back was very straight, like a sword stuck in the mud. You could see the hilt, you could grasp the hilt, but you couldn't pull it out.
Xu Longxiang stared at his posture for a long time.
So long that the sunlight outside the curtains shifted an inch further, so long that the tea on the table went completely cold.
"General Meng," he finally spoke, his voice still soft and tinged with a smile, "you've misunderstood. That's not what I meant."
Meng Fang raised his head and looked at him.
Xu Longxiang leaned back in his chair, his posture languid, like a leopard lying in the grass, its eyes half-open and half-closed, looking lazy, but if you move even slightly, its claws will extend.
"I just wanted to say—" He paused, and the smile in his deep brown eyes gradually faded, like the tide receding to reveal the dark, hard rocks beneath.
"We are all people of this world. We should think about the world. What do you think?"
The world.
He was referring to the world.
It is not the Qin Dynasty, not the northern border, not anyone's kingdom.
It is the world.
It is every person, every river, and every mountain on this land.
They are those who are still displaced by war, those who are still barely surviving under oppressive rule, and those who are waiting for someone to come and save them.
Meng Fang's brows furrowed slowly, forming a deep "川" (river) shape between them.
His lips parted slightly, then closed, then parted again, then closed again.
The words rolled around in his throat countless times before finally being squeezed out, as light as a leaf about to fall.
"What does Your Highness mean by this?" he asked, his voice very soft, as if he were asking a question he already knew the answer to.
"Please forgive me—I don't understand."
Xu Longxiang stared at him for a long time.
Then he laughed.
"No rush."
He said, standing up, his moon-white python robe draped from his shoulders, the hem trailing on the ground, stirring up a faint breeze.
"General, take your time to think it over. I'll take my leave now."
He stepped forward and walked towards the door.
After taking two steps, he suddenly stopped without looking back.
"By the way," his voice drifted from ahead, very soft and faint, as if seen through a thin veil, barely audible, "the wedding is tomorrow, and the general will be on duty."
Meng Fang stood there, motionless.
He looked at the dark figure from behind, at the broad shoulders, the upright spine, and the steady steps.
His hands hung at his sides, his fingers slightly curled, his palms were sweaty, and his fingertips were icy cold.
Xu Longxiang walked to the door, lifted the curtain, and sunlight poured in, gilding his figure with a pale golden halo.
He stepped across the threshold and disappeared into the white light outside the curtain.
The curtain slowly closed behind him, blocking out the light, the shadows, and the figure he hadn't yet fully discerned.
Meng Fang stood there, gazing at the curtain that was still swaying slightly, then slowly sat down in the chair he hadn't sat in earlier.
The chair is made of rosewood; it's very hard and cool, and sitting on it feels like sitting on a block of ice.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Every word Xu Longxiang said echoed repeatedly in his mind.
He remembered those two words—the world.
What a big word.
It's so big that it can hold everyone, so big that it can make people forget who they are, where they are, and what they are supposed to do.
It was so compelling that he almost believed it.
Meng Fang didn't know what he should think, or what he was thinking. His mind was blank, with only two words echoing repeatedly—"on duty."
He's on duty for the wedding tomorrow.
He commanded 30,000 Imperial Guards.
Whether the palace gates are opened or not is up to him.
He decides who goes in and who goes out.
He dared not think about what might have happened that day.
Meng Fang suddenly opened his eyes, which were bloodshot.
He cannot be allowed to get into trouble. The Meng family has been loyal for three generations. Starting from his grandfather's generation, they followed Emperor Taizu in conquering the world. By his generation, they have been standing in the court of the Great Qin for more than sixty years.
For over sixty years, across three generations, from a lowly captain to the commander of the Imperial Guard, every step was earned with their lives.
We can't let things end with him.
The footsteps suddenly started again.
Then the curtain was lifted again.
Xu Longxiang stood on the threshold, sunlight streaming in from behind him, obscuring his face in a soft shadow, making his expression unclear, except for the slight, ambiguous smile at the corner of his mouth.
His posture was casual, with one hand on the door frame and the other hanging at his side, like an ordinary visitor who had forgotten something and returned.
"Oh, right."
He said softly, with a casual chuckle, "I forgot. Your son's matter—it's still not resolved."
Meng Fang's pupils suddenly contracted.
His fingers clenched tightly, and the veins on the back of his hand bulged.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but it was as if an invisible hand was choking his throat, and he couldn't squeeze out a single word.
Only those eyes were fixed on the dark figure at the doorway, their pupils churning with turbulent emotions.
Looking at him like this, Xu Longxiang's smile deepened.
He didn't say anything more, but just nodded slightly, a very light and casual gesture, as if he were saying goodbye to an old friend.
Then he lowered his hand from the door frame, turned around, and his moon-white python robe flashed in the doorway before disappearing into the white light outside the curtain.
The curtain slowly closed behind him, and this time, it was not lifted again.
Meng Fang stood still, motionless.
His hands remained clenched in the same position as before, and Xu Longxiang's words echoed repeatedly in his mind.
That matter concerning your son hasn't been resolved yet.
He knew about that.
How could he not know?
That was the thing Meng Fang least wanted to talk about in his life, the scar beneath his official robes that he couldn't bear to see the light of day, and the nightmare that would send him shivering in the middle of the night.
His son, Meng Yi, got drunk at Zuixianlou a few months ago, got into an argument with someone, and accidentally killed that person's son.
That man was a wealthy merchant who had been doing business in the capital for many years. Although he didn't have deep roots, he still had some wealth.
The matter escalated to the Jingzhao Prefecture, and the Jingzhao Prefect, not daring to make a decision on his own, submitted the case file to the Ministry of Justice.
Out of consideration for him, the Ministry of Justice suppressed the case and sentenced him to "accidental death, with compensation to settle the matter."
The wealthy merchant was dissatisfied and took the matter to the Dali Temple.
The Chief Justice of the Court of Judicial Review, who was his classmate, suppressed the petition and did not present it.
The wealthy merchant, having exhausted all other options, knelt at the gates of the imperial city for three days, beating the Dengwen Drum (a form of petition).
The drums sounded for a whole day and night, but no one dared to accept his petition.
Later, the wealthy businessman disappeared. Some said he returned to his hometown, some said he went elsewhere to make a living, and some said he died.
No one brought it up again.
No one dared to mention it.
Meng Fang thought that the matter was over, that the page had been turned, and that the blood of the wealthy merchant's son had dried and would never splatter on him again.
But Xu Longxiang still remembers.
Meng Fang's legs suddenly felt weak.
He staggered a step and managed to steady himself by grabbing the edge of the table next to him.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, sliding down his temples and dripping onto the rosewood tabletop, spreading into a small dark stain.
Actually, this wealthy businessman's matter is neither a big deal nor a small one.
Given his status, it wouldn't be difficult for him to protect his son.
But this is all predicated on no one making a big fuss about it and exposing it.
Because the laws of the Qin Dynasty were harsh, the principle of "a life for a life" was an ironclad rule.
Moreover, in order to protect his son, he used many connections and methods, which is also a major taboo under the ironclad laws of the Qin Dynasty.
Either way, once discovered, it's a dead end.
If Xu Longxiang exposes this, given his status, his son will undoubtedly die.
"father."
A voice came from outside the hall, lazy and hoarse, as if just woken up.
Meng Fang's body stiffened abruptly.
He turned his head and looked towards the doorway.
The curtain was lifted, and a young man walked in.
He was in his early twenties and had delicate features, but his complexion was too pale, clearly indicating that he had been drained of his vitality by drinking and womanizing.
Sunken eye sockets, dark circles under the eyes, dry and cracked lips with a layer of white skin.
His steps were unsteady, and his body swayed slightly as he walked, like a tree whose roots were mostly rotten, which would fall over with a gust of wind.
His clothes were indeed luxurious, a royal blue brocade robe with a white jade belt around his waist and an open collar.
Her hair was tied up with a jade hairpin of excellent quality, but the hair strands were dry and yellow, without any luster, like autumn grass.
Meng Yi.
Meng Fang's son, the eldest son of the Imperial Guard Commander's Mansion, a notorious playboy in the capital.
Meng Yi, the one who killed someone at Zuixianlou three months ago.
He stood at the doorway, rubbing his eyes, yawning, and looking at Meng Fang with a bewildered expression.
"Father, what happened?"
His voice carried a hint of impatience, "What's all the noise about so early in the morning?"
Meng Fang looked at him, at his face, hollowed out by wine and women, and at his nonchalant and irresponsible demeanor.
The anger that had been building up inside him for so long suddenly flared up.
He stepped forward and kicked out.
The kick landed on Meng Yi's shin with a force that was neither too light nor too heavy, but it made Meng Yi stagger and almost fall.
"You have the nerve to ask!" Meng Fang's voice was hoarse, filled with barely suppressed anger. "Isn't this all your fault?!"
Meng Yi steadied himself, rubbing his sore calf, and looked at Meng Fang with a bewildered expression.
He had never seen his father look like this before.
In his memory, his father was always calm and composed, speaking slowly and deliberately, and doing things meticulously.
Like a stone polished by the river for many years, it is round, smooth, and without any sharp edges.
But at this moment, the father's face turned bright red, the veins on his forehead bulged, and his eyes widened, like an angry tiger.
"Father," Meng Yi's voice carried a hint of fear, "what exactly happened?"
Meng Fang looked at him, at his bewildered face.
That breath suddenly deflated.
Now that things have come to this, there's no point in saying or fighting anymore.
He turned around, walked back to the chair, and slowly sat down.
The chair creaked softly, like an old man's sigh.
He lowered his head, looking at his hands, the hands that had held swords and blades for half his life, but were now empty.
"My life—" he began, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible, "was ruined by you."
Meng Yi stood at the door, looking at his father's hunched back and his empty, slightly trembling hands.
His mouth opened and closed, then opened again and closed again.
He wanted to ask why, who it was, and what exactly happened.
But he didn't ask.
Because he suddenly remembered that incident, the young man he had beaten to death, the wealthy merchant who knelt at the gate of the imperial city and beat the Dengwen Drum, and the old grievances that his father had suppressed.
His face turned deathly pale in an instant, as white as paper, as white as the layer of lime on the wall that had been soaked in water.
"Father—" His voice trembled, from the first word to the last, "It's—it's that matter?"
Meng Fang did not answer.
He just sat there, head down, looking at his hands.
Outside the window, the sunlight grew brighter and brighter, making the curtains almost transparent.
The shadows under the eaves moved from one end to the other, and then from the other end to an even farther place.
The withered bamboo in the courtyard was still rustling, and the wind blew in through the cracks in the door, carrying the chill of early winter, and stirred Meng Yi's open coat.
He stood there, like a tree struck by lightning, charred, withered, and about to collapse.
At this moment, outside the imperial city, on the official road, a sea of red was slowly surging towards the city gate.
The wedding procession from Liyang has arrived.
The queue was very long, stretching as far as the eye could see.
At the very front were three hundred imperial guards, their silver armor and white horses fluttering in the wind.
The two characters "Liyang" on the flag gleamed golden in the sunlight, each stroke carrying the weight and dignity of three hundred years.
Behind the Imperial Guards was a ceremonial guard, with gongs, drums, horns, colorful flags, and canopies, row upon row, line upon line, neat and orderly, a magnificent sight.
The deafening sound of gongs and drums, and the resounding bugle calls, attracted people from all around the imperial city.
People crowded on both sides of the official road, standing on tiptoe, craning their necks, opening their mouths, and staring wide-eyed.