Transmigrated into the Villain's Cannon Fodder Ex-Wife (Transmigrated into a Book) - Chapter 23

Jiang Wanxue felt a shiver crawl up her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She glanced back at the plum tree once more. Though there was clearly nothing there, the sight unnerved her so deeply she couldn’t bring herself to look again.

Her voice turned sharp, snapping at Han Junye. 

“Who taught you to say such things? Was it that wretched Tan Yun?”

Han Junye’s round, cherubic face showed a mix of confusion and blankness as he replied, “Father said, ‘Mother’s music is so beautiful.’”

The color drained entirely from Jiang Wanxue’s face. Once, years ago, she and Han Zichen would sit beneath the very plum tree every winter. She would play the zither, and he would accompany her with his flute.

Her gaze flicked nervously back to the plum tree. The blossoms bloomed brightly against the chill of the winter air, undeterred by the cold. Yet there was nothing there. Nothing visible. Panic seized her, and without another word, she turned and fled the courtyard, as though escaping a nightmare.

Han Junye watched his mother’s retreating figure, his dark, grape-like eyes glinting with an unfathomable light.

Something under his robe wriggled, puffing out the fabric slightly. A soft chirp followed. Han Junye reached into his lapel and gently pulled out a tiny chick. From a small pouch tied to his waist, he poured a few grains into his palm.

The chick eagerly pecked at the grains, its tiny beak clicking softly. Han Junye stroked its downy feathers with delicate care, his expression somber. 

“Grow up faster.”

At the northern city gate, Yan Mingge had just watched Lin Chu’s carriage disappear into the distance. He was preparing to regroup with Yuan San and the others when he unexpectedly encountered them.

“Brother Yan!” Yuan San and his men called out, their voices carrying across the snow-laden air.

A sharp crack of the whip sent their warhorses galloping forward, snow and ice scattering in their wake.

“What did Vice General Ma say?” Yan Mingge asked as Yuan San and the others closed the distance.

Wang Hu, impulsive as ever, couldn’t contain his temper. 

“That old fool Ma Xintang! Hiding in the vanguard like a turtle in its shell! I told him the barbarians are just thirty miles away, and he had the nerve to say I was drunk on yellow millet wine!” He spat on the ground, his anger palpable.

Yan Mingge didn’t respond. His icy gaze shifted to Tang Jiu.

Tang Jiu, coarse and sharp-featured, always had a blade of grass between his teeth, giving him a roguish air that clashed with his soldierly demeanor. Meeting Yan Mingge’s gaze, he sighed. “Vice General Liu’s not worth mentioning. Climbed up by bootlicking—what skills could he possibly have?”

Yan Mingge finally turned to Yuan San, whose silent headshake spoke volumes.

A deeper frost settled on Yan Mingge’s face. With a sharp tug on his reins, he spurred his horse forward. 

“Rally the men. We’re heading to Vice General Wang’s residence.”

Yan Mingge had sent Shi Liu beyond the pass to investigate and confirmed that the barbarians were mobilizing on a massive scale. Even if Vice General Wang’s scouts were incompetent, they should have detected the enemy so close.

The group arrived at Vice General Wang’s residence and burst through the gates, only to find the place almost deserted. Aside from a few elderly servants, the house was empty. Everything of value had been cleared out.

Yan Mingge drew his sword and pressed it against an old servant’s trembling throat. 

“Where is Wang Meng?”

The old man shook like a leaf. “The… the general… said yesterday he was taking the madam back to Yao City to visit her family. He… he said he’d return in a few days…”

It was clear Wang Meng had deserted his post.

“That cowardly bastard!” Wang Hu roared, smashing his fist into a stone vat in the courtyard. The vat cracked under the force, shards scattering onto the snow.

The remaining servants cried out in terror, their legs shaking uncontrollably.

Yan Mingge’s expression remained icy as he sheathed his sword and strode out. 

“To the General’s Residence!”

The group whipped their horses into a gallop, reaching the General’s Residence in record time. Guards at the gate immediately stepped forward to block their path.

“Who dares trespass at the General’s Residence?”

“Centurion Yan Mingge has urgent business to discuss with the General!” Yuan San declared.

The guards exchanged uncertain glances before one stepped forward. 

“Centurion Yan, please wait while I report to the General.”

The wait dragged on, stretching into half an hour.

Yuan San, his restlessness mounting, urged his horse closer to Yan Mingge. 

“Brother, it’s been half an hour, and still no one has come out. Are they just leaving us hanging?”

Yan Mingge’s sharp eyes narrowed, his gaze colder than the falling snow. An unreadable depth lingered in his expression.

The winter night fell quickly. Though the sky remained a hazy white, the shadows of twilight crept in, deepening the gloom.

Dismounting his horse, Yan Mingge spat out three chilling words. 

“Break it down.”

Wang Hu, long impatient, leaped off his horse with the raw enthusiasm of a beast unleashed from its cage. Towering over the average soldier, his massive frame and fierce, wild expression sent a wave of unease rippling through the guards stationed at the General’s gate.

“How dare you act so insolently before the General’s residence!” one guard shouted, stepping forward as the others formed a line, their sharp spears raised to bar Yan Mingge’s group.

Wang Hu’s response came in the form of a ferocious roar, his untamed bloodlust surging like a tempest. Before the guards could react, he seized a spear, snapping it in half as though it were a twig.

The guards froze, their faces pale with shock. Wang Hu grabbed the nearest one as if lifting a helpless chick and slammed him to the ground with bone-crushing force. The guard lay motionless, groaning faintly.

The commotion outside drew the attention of soldiers within the residence. The grand red gates creaked open, and armored troops poured out, their long spears gleaming under the fading light.

Yan Mingge cast a glance at the darkening sky, his expression hardening as shadows stretched across the courtyard.

The reinforcements surrounded the group swiftly, their formation tight and their expressions wary.

“The barbarian army is advancing!” Yan Mingge shouted, his voice cutting through the mounting tension. “I implore the General to take command at the city walls!”

The soldiers hesitated, exchanging uncertain looks. Qiang City had faced countless skirmishes over the years—war was an unwelcome yet familiar guest. But there had been no alarm from the city walls…

“You dare spread false military reports before the General’s residence?” A smirking voice broke the tension. The captain of Feng Yan’s guard emerged, his arrogance evident in every step. 

“Do you realize that fabricating military intelligence is punishable by death?”

Yan Mingge’s icy gaze locked onto the captain. His voice, low and cutting, carried a dangerous edge. 

“And do you realize that delaying critical intelligence is also a crime punishable by death?”

The captain faltered under Yan Mingge’s steely stare, but the moment of doubt was fleeting. A soldier approached, whispering something into his ear.

The captain’s expression shifted into one of mockery and disdain. 

“Centurion Yan,” he sneered, “if you don’t leave immediately, I’ll report your grave offense directly to the General!”

Yan Mingge’s muscles tensed, his face like chiseled stone. To those who knew him, it was a sign of barely-contained fury.

Without a word, he moved. His boot struck the wrist of a nearby soldier, sending his spear clattering to the ground. Yan Mingge kicked the spear into the air, caught it mid-spin, and hurled it with precision.

The spear pierced the captain’s chest, its shaft driving deep into his armor. The man’s eyes widened in shock as blood seeped through the cracks in the metal. He crumpled without another sound.

Chaos erupted as the soldiers recoiled in fear. The darkening sky seemed to swallow the courtyard, and the steady snowfall mingled with fresh blood staining the ground.

Yan Mingge’s gaze shifted briefly to the falling snow, his eyes distant, enigmatic. 

“It’s too late,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

No one understood what he meant, but there was no time to dwell on it. Yan Mingge strode forward, his sword drawn, and pressed the blade to a servant’s neck. 

“Take me to the reception hall.”

Terrified, the servant obeyed, leading Yan Mingge through dim corridors. From within, the sound of music and laughter echoed faintly, growing louder as they approached.

Yan Mingge kicked open the ornate doors, and the revelry died instantly. A gust of icy wind swept into the hall, silencing the musicians and chilling the air.

At the center of the room, a Hu dancer in a silk costume shivered, her performance abruptly interrupted. Seated above her, Feng Yan lounged on the General’s chair, his calculating eyes narrowing as they met Yan Mingge’s cold gaze.

“Centurion Yan,” Feng Yan drawled, his voice laced with disdain, “storming into my residence with a blade drawn… Are you plotting rebellion?”

Yan Mingge ignored him. His focus shifted to the guest of honor—a drunken Sixth Prince reclining amid a circle of beautiful women. The prince’s face was flushed from wine, and he seemed utterly detached from the tension filling the room.

The women scattered in fear as Yan Mingge advanced, his deadly aura suffocating the hall.

Feng Yan’s face darkened. He unsheathed his sword, leveling it at Yan Mingge. 

“Do you dare threaten the prince?”

Yan Mingge’s cold gaze revealed a flicker of ridicule. 

“Perhaps you should be thinking about how to explain the fall of Qiang City.”

The weight of his words struck Feng Yan visibly. His grip on his sword tightened, his mind racing.

At that moment, the sound of warning drums broke through the tense silence. The hall filled with shouts as soldiers outside relayed the alarm.

Feng Yan’s face drained of color. He bolted for the doors, only to see a black plume of signal smoke rising against the twilight. His legs buckled, and he clung to the doorframe for support.

“Signal smoke! The barbarians are attacking the city!” a panicked voice cried out.

Inside the hall, the Sixth Prince—no longer appearing drunk—rose to his feet, his sharp gaze fixated on the smoke. The wine-induced stupor was gone, replaced by grim authority.

“Send my orders! Gather the troops!” Feng Yan barked, but his command was cut short by a breathless soldier stumbling into the room.

“General! The city walls have fallen!”

Feng Yan swayed, his face ashen, before collapsing to the floor in a heap.

Chaos erupted, but amidst the turmoil, the Sixth Prince stood tall, his expression calm and commanding. His gaze locked on Yan Mingge, his voice sharp.

“What do you intend to do now?”

“Qiang City has fallen. It’s either death or escape,” Yan Mingge said flatly.

Outside the mansion, the screams of the dying grew louder, mingling with the glow of flames that illuminated the night sky. Snow continued to fall, its purity marred by the acrid stench of blood carried on the bitter wind.

“What are our chances of survival if we flee?” the prince asked, his voice calm and measured, an uncharacteristic composure in his tone.

Yan Mingge’s gaze didn’t waver. 

“As long as I am alive, I won’t let anything happen to Your Highness.”

The Sixth Prince studied him silently for a moment before giving a small nod. 

“Very well. This prince entrusts you with my life.”

The heavy thud of boots shattered the tense stillness as Wang Hu stormed into the room, his face streaked with blood. The sight of him was nothing short of terrifying—his imposing figure now more beast than man. His bloodshot eyes and crimson-stained armor made him look like a demon risen from the battlefield.

“Brother!” he growled, his voice raw. “The barbarians have breached the city! Should we fight our way out?”

Qiang City, once an unassailable stronghold, had stood firm ever since General Yan Shichang had driven the barbarians beyond the pass decades ago. The very idea of its fall was unthinkable.

“Twenty thousand barbarian soldiers,” Tang Jiu muttered grimly, the usual levity in his voice replaced with cold gravity. “Even if we had ten thousand men, we’d be crushed. The walls fell too quickly… Damn Wang Meng, that treacherous bastard!”

In the flickering light of the fires, Yan Mingge’s expression was unreadable, his sharp features etched in shadow. 

“Escort the Sixth Prince out of the city,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Nie Yun, Yuan San, and the others moved immediately, encircling the prince and guiding him out of the mansion. Yan Mingge stood motionless for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the chaos—the grand general’s residence in ruins, servants fleeing with terror etched across their faces.

A faint sneer played at his lips.

“Yan Heng!”

The voice, sharp and trembling, cut through the din.

Yan Mingge turned slightly, his cold gaze falling on Feng Yan, who stood amidst the wreckage. The once-proud general now looked like a man crushed under the weight of despair, his shoulders slumped, his eyes hollow.

“This… the fall of Qiang City…” Feng Yan’s voice cracked as he pointed a trembling finger at Yan Mingge. “It’s your revenge, isn’t it? Against the court?”

Yan Mingge said nothing. His silence was colder than the night, more piercing than the falling snow.

Feng Yan’s lips twisted into a bitter smile before he erupted into wild, hysterical laughter. 

“The Iron Cavalry of Xizhao! The Yan family’s banner on white copper war blades! Your father, Yan Shichang, spent his entire life defending this city, and now you’ve handed it to the barbarians!”

Yan Mingge paused at the threshold of the night, his profile illuminated by the orange glow of flames. His voice, low and steady, carried a chilling promise.

“The Yan family’s banner will fly over Qiang City again.”

Under the fiery sky, Yan Mingge’s breathtakingly handsome face revealed a haunting mixture of malevolence and elegance. The light danced across his sharp features, accentuating the shadow of vengeance etched into his very being.

He was no longer the bright, gallant young general of years past. The deaths of hundreds of Yan family members had long since extinguished that man, leaving only this relentless specter of revenge.

The Crown Prince’s case—a cruel act of imperial suspicion—had annihilated the loyal Yan family. A lifetime of service and sacrifice had been repaid with slaughter.

Qiang City’s fall was not a loss but a beginning.

This empire owed the Yan family a debt, and Yan Mingge intended to make it pay in full.