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墨書 Inktalez
Song Feiwan had not yet reacted when Rong Anning dashed out. She quickly followed, and it wasn't until they had walked half a street that Rong Anning finally stopped.
"What’s wrong?" Song Feiwan asked, unable to discern anything special ahead.
After a long pause, Rong Anning withdrew her gaze and said with a hint of disappointment, "It’s nothing. I just saw someone in the tavern who looked a lot like my cousin, Prince Chen. But in the blink of an eye, he disappeared."
"I see."
Even if the figure resembled him, it couldn’t possibly be Xiao Yu since he was dead. Song Feiwan assumed Rong Anning understood this as well, so she didn’t say more.
She tried to shift Rong Anning's focus and gently suggested, "We’re quite close to the street where the lantern festival is held. Shall we go there now?"
Lanterns hung on both sides of the street, and under the glow of the lights and moonlight, Rong Anning quietly observed Song Feiwan's expression. Beneath her calm demeanor lay many unspoken emotions. Her clear, dark eyes grew increasingly complex.
In the stories, her relationship with Prince Chen was portrayed as intense; she must be putting on a brave front now. Sighing inwardly, Rong Anning felt that Song Feiwan had it harder than herself.
With this thought in mind, her attitude towards Song Feiwan softened considerably.
"Alright."
As they walked, she vented her frustration to Song Feiwan, saying angrily, "Those people just now really don’t know what they’re talking about. What’s so great about the Southern King? He’s not even worthy to carry my cousin’s shoes. If I hadn’t left the tavern already, I would have confronted them properly."
Having just arrived in this realm, Song Feiwan had limited understanding of the political situation between the two nations. This Southern King was someone she had never heard of before.
However, having read the original story, she knew that during Xiao Yu's lifetime, he had decimated several major tribes of Beirong and even beheaded their chieftain.
Beirong was vast and sparsely populated; such a significant defeat should have left them unable to recover for many years. If what those patrons at the tavern said was true—that in just two or three years the Southern King managed to unite scattered tribes into a formidable force that even Da Zhou feared—then he truly was a remarkable figure whose strength could not be underestimated.
If Xiao Yu were still alive, it was likely that they would have become fierce rivals who would never meet face to face.
But he is dead. If this Southern King harbors ambitions to attack the Great Zhou, which general could possibly stand against him?
Song Feiwan glanced at the increasing number of pedestrians beside them. Among them were young men and women, and a cheerful family of three.
Once the flames of war ignite, all peace and tranquility would be reduced to ashes.
The heavy expression on her face caught Rong Anning's attention, becoming evidence of her nostalgia and sorrow for Xiao Yu.
Rong Anning sighed inwardly: You also think those people are wrong, don't you? The Crown Prince Chen is indeed the only great hero of our time.
Song Feiwan understood that she had misunderstood but did not deny it. She nodded and asked, "What is the background of this Southern King?"
Rong Anning shook her head. "I’m not sure either. According to my father and brothers, he only began to emerge in the grasslands over the past two years. However, he has been elusive; even the spies in court haven’t sent back a decent portrait."
As a little fan of Xiao Yu, her words inevitably carried a hint of disdain for the Southern King.
Yet Song Feiwan felt that this person had risen to fame while keeping his appearance and whereabouts tightly concealed. To say he was both brave and wise without seeking glory was commendable.
If this continues, he will surely become a significant threat to the Great Zhou.
She was just a woman with limited martial skills and no understanding of military strategies or formations.
She could only hope that the Great Zhou and Beirong would not go to war; even if they did, the victor must be the Great Zhou.
Unknowingly, they had walked past the lantern festival entrance.
She looked at the brightly lit street filled with bustling pedestrians, listening to the continuous calls of vendors, when suddenly a chilling thought struck her:
No one knows what the Southern King looks like. If he were to change his name and appearance and come to the capital, no one would recognize him!
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