Chaos erupted among the Xiongnu. The Qi people fared no better. Meng Xizhao urgently roused everyone, and upon hearing the news, all wore the same dumbfounded expressions.
“What… what?! Say it again—what happened to the Xiongnu Chanyu?!”
The princess now wept uncontrollably. This was no act; she had relied solely on sheer will to reach the Qi inn, and now, surrounded by Qi people, that courage dissipated. She cried as if she had lost both her parents.
The Minister of Rites felt as if he wanted to hang himself.
“Your Highness, please stop crying for now. Can you explain what happened?”
The princess, already wailing, cried even louder at his question. She had a naturally loud voice, and now her sobs were deafening.
“How would I know!” she shouted. “I… I woke up and went to get a drink of water. I turned around and touched the Chanyu’s arm—cold! I checked his neck, and… he had no pulse!”
Lu Fengqiu asked, stunned, “When did this happen?”
“Just now… barely a minute ago,” the princess replied, wiping her tears.
Zang He said, “Sounds like the Chanyu died of a sudden illness.”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “Yes… he was old, drank heavily last night, exposed to the cold, and got excited in the night… alas, life is unpredictable.”
Zang He added, “Dying in his sleep… perhaps fortune within misfortune.”
Ding Chun kept his face serious, while Lu Fengqiu stared blankly at them before suddenly erupting:
“Is this really the time to reflect on fortune? The Chanyu is dead! If the Xiongnu find out, will they spare us?!”
Meng Xizhao and Zang He both turned to him with ambiguous expressions.
Lu Fengqiu shivered under their gaze.
Meng Xizhao said calmly, “What does this have to do with us? The Chanyu was old, frail, previously injured—living day by day was all he could manage.”
Zang He added, “The princess, startled on her wedding night by the death of her husband, sought our aid. From one perspective, we are as much victims of misfortune as the Xiongnu. Isn’t that right, Lord Lu?”
Lu Fengqiu swallowed, voice trembling. “Y-Your Highness…”
The Crown Prince lifted his gaze. “Lord Lu, escort the princess to my room to rest.”
Looking around, Lu Fengqiu noticed everyone else present remained expressionless. Though Qi had many schemers, that did not mean they were incapable. Rising through a chaotic court to a prominent position already proved their abilities.
Just like Zang He, Meng Xizhao hadn’t shared his plan with him, but the moment Zang He realized what was happening, he immediately understood what to do. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that now, at this moment of life and death, the Xiongnu had no idea how to react—and however the Chanyu had died, it must, absolutely, without fail, appear as if he had died of natural causes!
Lu Fengqiu didn’t have the psychological fortitude for this; it was wiser for him to step aside for the moment. If the Xiongnu saw the slightest hint of guilt on his face, they might start to suspect even if they initially did not.
He seemed to understand what was going on and quickly lowered his head, approaching the Chu Princess. “Your Highness, please let me escort you upstairs,” he said quietly.
The Chu Princess, still crying, followed him.
Once their sobs faded, the first floor fell into a deathly silence.
No one spoke. The Crown Prince, slightly lifting his gaze, walked over to where the Chu Princess had been sitting and took a seat. Then he issued orders one by one:
“General Ding, guard the gates of the inn carefully.”
Ding Chun, serious, saluted. “I will obey, my lord. Not a single Xiongnu shall step inside the Qi inn!”
The Crown Prince nodded and turned to Zang He: “Lord Zang, gather everyone else in one place. No one leaves. If things go awry, retreat immediately—do not linger.”
Zang He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and simply said, “Yes, Your Highness.”
The Crown Prince then looked at Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao didn’t wait for him to finish, replying directly, “I will stay with General Ding.”
The Crown Prince pursed his lips, understanding that Meng Xizhao had been planning for this moment. If he weren’t allowed to move, any sudden change would be uncontrollable. He nodded and then turned to Zhan Buxiu. “Commander Zhan, protect Meng Xizhao.”
Zhan Buxiu glanced at Cui Ye, hesitated, and saluted. “Yes, my lord.”
Everyone sprang into position. The Crown Prince sat firmly in the first-floor hall, Ding Chun deployed his personal guards outside, and Meng Xizhao stood at the door, eyes lowered, calm but resolute. Zhan Buxiu stood beside him, gripping his weapon tightly. The formation was ready.
It didn’t take long before the Xiongnu arrived. Hundreds of soldiers charged forward, led by the Left Worthy King, the Right Worthy King, the eldest prince, second prince, even the third prince. Captain Jin was among them—truly the full force.
Meng Xizhao and the others watched as the Xiongnu approached the inn. Just as they neared, Ding Chun shouted, “Halt! Anyone who steps into the Qi inn will be considered an enemy of Qi!”
The eldest prince sneered, “Your Qi Princess killed our Chanyu! And now you speak of trespass? Today, you will all die here to accompany him!”
Meng Xizhao’s brow furrowed. “Why do you say the Chanyu was killed by our princess?”
The eldest prince barked, “Do you need me to explain?! She fled to your inn after killing him, thinking she could save herself. Don’t dream!”
Meng Xizhao stepped forward, lips curling in a cold smile. “Our princess said she woke at the hour of Mao and found the Chanyu’s body cold. In panic, fearing you might think she was involved, she ran here. Your Highness, we grieve his passing—but to claim our princess killed him without proof is arbitrary. Evidence?”
He took another step, voice sharp: “No evidence, yet you want to slaughter us all. Don’t forget—the Crown Prince of Qi is present. Do you intend to make war on all of Qi?”
The eldest prince would have laughed aloud if the setting allowed. Yes—he wanted a war. He had longed to fight the Yuezhi, but now, taking Qi first seemed just. Even if he couldn’t conquer the entire country, he would seize part of it, to show the Qi what he was capable of!
Desire alone didn’t mean everyone agreed. The second prince, An Nuwei, suddenly spoke: “Father was fine last night. Whatever happened, only your princess knows. Hand her over, or we will attack!”
He believed his demand reasonable—much better than his brother’s threat to kill everyone. He felt confident in his performance, but Meng Xizhao would not yield.
“Never!” he declared. “You march in fully armed, threaten us, slander us. To hand over the princess is to gamble her life. Even married off, she remains our princess—she will not suffer such humiliation!”
The Xiongnu, seeing his refusal, grew even angrier.
The Right Worthy King, mounted on his horse, furrowed his brow tightly.
He hadn’t seen the Chanyu’s body yet. Upon hearing the discovery, he realized it hardly seemed like the Chu Princess had done it. In the palace, it was warm—someone wouldn’t instantly go cold. If the princess had acted, how could she have remained there, even until morning, before fleeing?
Unless… she had done it and then sat quietly with the Chanyu’s body all night.
The thought alone was unimaginable for a man, let alone a fragile Qi princess.
And the blanket on the floor? Likely dropped in panic as she checked the Chanyu.
The more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed—the Qi had told the truth. This incident probably had nothing to do with them.
After all, the Chanyu was very old, and a sudden emotional shock could easily trigger some physical problem…
Yet even though he thought this, he stayed silent, because the eldest prince was now determined to pin the blame on the Qi people. Meng Xizhao decided to watch the situation first and then act.
“Stop talking nonsense! Hand over your princess!”
“Hand her over!”
“Yes, give us the princess!”
The Xiongnu, enraged by the Chanyu’s death, screamed in unison. Ding Chun gripped his weapon tightly, staring down the crowd. He was more nervous than in an actual battle—because in a battle, there is a chance to win or lose. Today, however, if the Xiongnu struck, the Qi people faced only one possible outcome: total annihilation.
The shouting grew deafening, and the longer it continued, the more reason would vanish. Soon, even without a command, the Xiongnu would surge forward and slaughter anyone in their way. Meng Xizhao frowned, glanced at Zhan Buxiu, who immediately understood and tossed the second hand grenade he had been entrusted with onto a nearby open space.
Moments later, a loud bang erupted beside the crowd.
No Xiongnu were harmed, but they screamed in panic. Some turned and stumbled back, confused. Even the horses were frightened, braying loudly, barely held in check by their riders.
This time Meng Xizhao didn’t even bother shouting to cover their ears. The effect was undeniable—more than half of the Xiongnu were temporarily deafened.
Only then did Meng Xizhao step forward a few paces, his face stern as he addressed them: “Do not think the Qi people lack courage! If you advance any further, we will die fighting alongside you—but we will take you all with us!”
The Right Worthy King’s ears rang from the explosion, but he could still hear Meng Xizhao clearly. Alarmed, he realized this would not do—the eldest prince must not die! He urged his horse forward a few steps. “Eldest prince, I think this situation is a little suspicious… perhaps—”
The eldest prince snapped back: “Step aside!”
The Right Worthy King could only stare, furious. The Qi people were outrageously arrogant!
The eldest prince leapt from his horse, intent on slaughtering all the Qi soldiers. At that moment, a group of guards emerged from the inn, each holding one of the hand grenades used by Zhan Buxiu.
The eldest prince froze for a moment at the sight, but the Xiongnu behind him began to show fear.
Meng Xizhao glanced with his peripheral vision at the figure still seated calmly in the inn hall, then allowed himself a faint, emotionless smile. “The Chanyu has passed. You haven’t examined the body or found any evidence, yet you come demanding our princess. Eldest prince, are you here to avenge the Chanyu, or to stir trouble and vent your old grudges against us?”
The eldest prince’s eyes narrowed, a cold smile spreading. “My father is dead. Do you think I care about victories or defeats now?”
Meng Xizhao considered him. Clever, he didn’t fall for it.
After a pause, he continued: “Brave warriors of the Xiongnu, if this truly involves our princess, we would not shield her. The Qi Emperor would give you an account. But if it has nothing to do with her, what you are doing is misplaced anger—or something else entirely. We sent our princess all this way, yet within a day she became a widow. Do you think this benefits Qi? If we sought conflict with the Xiongnu, why would we have married her off in the first place?”
Few Xiongnu present were fluent in Qi, so Meng Xizhao’s words were mainly for the noblemen. The Right Worthy King glanced at the grenade in the Qi man’s hand, then at his own dwindling soldiers, already nearing exhaustion. The moment to seize them had passed—it was impossible now.
Resigned, the Right Worthy King dismounted. “Fine. We will investigate this matter. But last night, only your princess was with the Chanyu. She must come with us. Don’t worry—we will not harm her. We only wish to ask her some questions.”
Meng Xizhao replied: “Very well. Ask her here, in front of everyone.”
The Right Worthy King growled: “…Don’t push your luck!”
Meng Xizhao stared back, more domineering than him. “Where have I pushed too far?! You brought soldiers to threaten us first! By Qi custom, once a princess’s husband dies, she returns home. She is still our princess!”
Veins bulging, the Right Worthy King blurted: “She is now a consort of the Xiongnu! By Xiongnu custom, even if the Chanyu dies, she must marry the next Chanyu!”
Meng Xizhao’s lips twitched as if to smile, but he restrained himself.
He shouted back: “Then appoint your next Chanyu, and only then speak!”
Silence fell instantly.
The eldest prince instinctively looked at the second prince; sparks seemed to fly between their eyes. Meanwhile, the third prince, who also had a chance at succession, looked disinterestedly at the large crater from the explosion.
The third prince had physical and mental quirks—what modern medicine might call mild to moderate autism—but there was no such term then. To onlookers, he appeared simply foolish.
Earlier, their anger drove them to charge the Qi inn. Now Meng Xizhao had forced them to face a more serious matter: the Chanyu was dead, and a new Chanyu must be born.
The conflict shifted completely. At this moment, the Qi people seemed less important. Seeing this, the Left Worthy King ordered his men in a deep voice: “Surround the Qi inn. Do not let anyone escape. Tu Zhe, summon all the royal court ministers—let them witness why the Chanyu has died.”
Captain Jin Tu Zhe glanced at Meng Xizhao, gave a nod, and rode off.
Seeing this, the others felt there was no other choice. The Right Worthy King attempted to persuade the eldest prince again; this time, the prince actually listened, casting only one resentful glance at the doors of the Qi inn before following the Right Worthy King. The second prince, however, squinted at their retreating backs, then turned in another direction—probably to rally more men.
Some of the remaining Xiongnu soldiers stayed behind, surrounding the inn so tightly that no one could slip through. Inside, the other men were herded back under strict supervision. Only when the gates finally closed did Ding Chun let out a slow breath of relief. This round, at least, had passed.
But soon, his anxiety returned. Turning toward Meng Xizhao, he said worriedly, “Young Master Meng…”
Strangely, in a moment like this, Ding Chun did not look to the Crown Prince or himself for reassurance—his confidence rested entirely on Meng Xizhao, the man bold enough to challenge the Xiongnu.
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “Now, all we can do is wait.”
Ding Chun: “….”
He did not like this plan. It was obvious the Xiongnu’s priority was not examining the Chanyu’s body but securing succession. Soon, the balance of power would shift, and their survival would hinge on who became the next Chanyu.
If the new Chanyu happened to be the eldest prince, who despised all Qi people, they needn’t wonder about the truth—regardless of what really happened, he would claim it was a Qi conspiracy and slaughter them all, letting the old Chanyu rest in peace.
…
After saying this, Meng Xizhao suddenly moved toward the back and approached Cui Ye. Their eyes met briefly before they ascended the stairs together. The Princess of Chu stayed in Cui Ye’s room, so he went to Meng Xizhao’s room instead.
Meng Xizhao spoke quickly, requesting to borrow one of Cui Ye’s guards. Yu Fulan had already been sent out, leaving only two skilled men still beside Cui Ye. Meng Xizhao sent the one best at staying unseen. He waited, neither eating nor sleeping, listening for any movement outside. When he sensed someone approaching, he went out immediately.
Captain Jin needed no reason to move—chaos reigned among the Xiongnu, and as the commander, he could go wherever he pleased.
The two of them found an empty room. As soon as they entered, Meng Xizhao quickly addressed Captain Jin: “By tonight at the latest, your eldest prince will attempt a coup.”
Jin Tu Zhe narrowed his eyes. “And so what?”
Meng Xizhao shook his head in disbelief. “Even now, you still want to play that game of ‘seeing without saying’? Save it! Once he becomes Chanyu, we’re finished, and you’ll be stuck guarding the desert frontier!”
Jin Tu Zhe: “….”
Meng Xizhao pressed his forehead with one hand, agitated like an ant on a hot pan. “The Chanyu’s death has nothing to do with our princess! She came here terrified, and now she’s caught in this misfortune. I have nowhere to reason this out! I’m not joking—if your eldest prince dares harm our Crown Prince, no matter his status in Qi, the Qi Emperor will march against the Xiongnu. Even if all soldiers are sent, we’ll spill the last drop of blood to exterminate you all!”
He spoke with absolute certainty, but only he knew it was impossible.
The Heavenly Longevity Emperor would be angry, sure, because this meant the Xiongnu had completely disregarded his face. Once he received the news, he would act—but upon realizing the Xiongnu forces were formidable, he would begrudgingly show some outrage and then withdraw.
Captain Jin, having only ever seen the emperor in limited contexts, could not know this. He might even assume the old Chanyu’s temperament applied to the emperor, believing him to be a man who acted decisively and without hesitation.
Hearing Meng Xizhao, Jin Tu Zhe’s expression tensed. “The eldest prince will likely…”
He couldn’t finish the thought. He didn’t know the eldest prince well, and today, the prince’s ferocious and deliberate behavior was hardly a bluff. His mind swirled; Jin Tu Zhe shook his head and asked plainly, “So… what do you want me to do?”
Meng Xizhao answered directly: “Before the eldest prince acts, have the Left Worthy King strike first! His status in the Xiongnu is high, nearly equal to the Chanyu. Right now, only he can save us.”
Captain Jin, who had only recently started thinking politically, blinked in disbelief. “You want the Left Worthy King to kill a few princes and the Right Worthy King, seize control of the court, and proclaim himself Chanyu?!”
Meng Xizhao: “….”
I wasn’t thinking that far, but if you’ve spelled out the details, seems like you are.
He paused, then said, “It may already be too late.”
Jin Tu Zhe frowned. “What do you mean?”
Meng Xizhao: “This all happened suddenly. This isn’t even your Left Worthy King’s court; your forces are insufficient. Could you really kill so many high-ranking men at once? And if you did, wouldn’t the Xiongnu descend into further chaos? If someone seeks revenge for the dead, rallying an army in retaliation, we could all be caught in it.”
Jin Tu Zhe: “…Then what do you suggest?”
Meng Xizhao’s expression instantly showed, do I have to teach you everything?
Looking a bit disdainfully at Jin Tu Zhe, he lowered his voice. “Have you heard of a regent?”