Requiem - Fourth Offering to the Withered Bones of Soldiers Part 2

He looked Lu Qing up and down several times, making the latter's skin crawl. Lu Qing asked with a terrified expression, "Wha-what is it?"

"There's a favor I might need Lord Lu's help with," Chu Jin said. "After the ritual, I need to see someone. You will come with me."

Lu Qing: "?"

His eyes widened, and he wanted to ask for clarification, but he saw Chu Jin suddenly stand up. His earlier mood was swept away as he turned to look at the river's surface. "Let's end the idle talk here. The ritual is about to begin."

His change was too abrupt. In an instant, he had transformed from the Prince Regent discussing love to the unfeeling Prince Regent. Lu Qing didn't react. "The ritual? Now?"

The painted boat had already traveled between two mountains. The peaks were towering and steep, the waterway narrow. Under the dark late autumn sky, cold winds blew in gusts. The boat's mast was already teetering, sparks flying everywhere. Charred planks of wood fell into the river from time to time, splashing water in all directions.

Chu Jin raised his eyes, looking at the dark road ahead. "We've arrived."

Lu Qing could already feel the hull trembling beneath his feet, as if it would break apart in the next second. He looked at the cold, deep black river water and couldn't help but take a step back. "The boat is about to fall apart, Prince Regent, we should leave quickly!"

"We're about to lose our lives!" he said anxiously. "Where there's life, there's hope! The ritual... we can just do it next time!"

Seeing that Chu Jin remained unmoved, Lu Qing grew frantic. He no longer cared about status or rank and wanted to drag the mad Prince Regent off the boat.

Before his hand could touch Chu Jin's sleeve, he heard the man speak, asking a question without reason: "Lord Lu, do you know where this is?"

"Where what is? This is the Qiu Jiang!"

Lu Qing answered in a rush, then grabbed Chu Jin's sleeve. Chu Jin actually let him grab it, his gaze sweeping over Lu Qing's hand without a ripple, his expression somewhat obscure.

"This place is called Xishan Gorge," he said softly. "It is the burial ground of eight thousand soldiers of Old Qin."

Lu Qing stared blankly at his cold eyebrows and eyes, and unconsciously let go.

The crackling sound of wood being burned by flames continued. Lu Qing murmured, "Xishan Gorge? Why have I never heard of it?"

Chu Jin said, "You don't remember. The world doesn't remember."

This was a battle that was not recorded in the annals of history, because this victory was won by a group of crippled soldiers abandoned by Old Qin.

Crippled soldiers were those who had been disabled in war, had lost their value in battle, and had become a burden to the country. Thus, they were treated as cannon fodder that could be sent to their deaths at will—such people were not glorious enough and could not be brought into the light.

But back then, he had been saved by them and had become friends with such a group of people. He watched them resist, watched them compromise, until the very end, he watched them go to their deaths.

No one remembered the eight thousand soldiers, no one remembered the loyal souls of Great Qin, no one remembered the withered bones at the bottom of the river.

Only he remembered.

These were the Twelve Peaks of Yanling, which the State of Dai could not breach even at its peak; the twelve peaks that had protected this land from invasion for thousands of years; and the natural defensive line that the lords and ministers of Yanling had sworn by, confident that it was foolproof.

—It was breached by these eight thousand nameless men.

On that day, the waters of the Qiu Jiang were as red as maple leaves. The arrows of Yanling were like meteors, dense and numerous, piercing through flesh and blood. When one man fell, countless others would block the way, their broken, battered bodies forming an indestructible human wall.

He dived into the bone-chillingly cold river water, swimming ceaselessly, ever forward.

Countless arrows pierced the water, grazing past him, their heads tearing away flesh and blood, drawing out bloody lines like the agony of death by a thousand cuts. He did not stop.

The bodies of his comrades fell into the water, their faces mutilated beyond recognition, their empty eye sockets gazing at him silently. He did not stop.

When he reached the opposite bank, to avoid the enemy's eyes and ears, he crawled inch by inch through a muddy swamp, his wounds stinging with pain from the filth. He did not stop.

He did not dare to look back, did not dare to stop.

If he stopped, these eight thousand lives would have been lost in vain.

He had to climb over this Xishan Gorge, crawl into Xufang City, and before anyone else, kill the defending general of Yanling.

He had promised to bring these eight thousand men home.

...

First, an offering to the heavens and the earth. Second, to the mountains and rivers. Third, to the common people. Fourth, to the withered bones of soldiers.

The fiercely burning painted boat was finally about to disintegrate. The doors and windows inlaid with gold thread and jade were teetering, and the Great Qin flag, fluttering in the wind, was as red as blood. It whistled as it fell to the bottom of the river. The moment it hit the water, the flames were extinguished with a tremendous roar, like the final cry of the eight thousand soldiers before they went to their deaths years ago.

"You must be tired of waiting."

Chu Jin slowly poured the wine in his hand into the river and said in a low voice, "...A boat from Great Qin has come to take you home."

The sky was heavy, the river surged. He alone had come to offer respects to these eight thousand loyal souls forgotten by the world.

Lu Qing couldn't help but take a step forward. Looking at the Prince Regent's utterly quiet side profile, he opened his mouth but could not speak a word.

He once wanted to ask: Why, despite the world's opposition and bearing a notorious reputation, did you insist on holding the ritual on the Qiu Jiang?

Now, he wanted to ask: As the only person in the world who remembers these eight thousand souls, living with these painful memories, isn't it tiring?

Countless questions, yet upon seeing the lonely smile on his lips, they silently vanished.

The boat of Great Qin passed through the dozens of miles of Xishan Gorge. The green mountains on both banks stood in silent opposition, witnessing countless mortal affairs. Suddenly, a line of light appeared from the horizon. The clouds parted to reveal the sun, its rays shining in ten thousand directions.

He softly hummed the ancient Requiem of Old Qin, written for soldiers who died in battle.

This was what that group of people had boisterously taught him when he was still in the army—

No glory to share, the sun and moon sink and rise. The mountains and rivers hide their colors, the winds and clouds breathe.

Heaven and Earth stretch on; the Eight Desolations submit. Vapors rise from rivers and lakes, the pure sky over white islets.

The Four Seas are peaceful, what need for natural barriers? Oh souls, come and go, the common people are the crucible.

Burn my decay, forge my bronze bones.

He repeated it again, "...Burn my decay, forge my bronze bones."

The river surged, like the furious roar of war drums.

The boat, carrying eight thousand souls, sailed mightily towards Great Qin along this Qiu Jiang, which was soaked in the hot blood of soldiers.

The author has something to say:

I plan to write a detailed extra chapter about Chuchu's time in the army later~

Both Chuchu and Zhizhi have experienced the pain of war, so their heartfelt wish is for peace in the world.

PS: Happy Children's Day hahaha