Chapter 298: Waiting for Death in the Wasteland

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, producing a faint shaa-shaa sound, blending with the chirping of summer insects to form a unique nocturnal symphony.

The night was deep, yet the middle-aged scholar had not gone to sleep. His gaze remained fixed on the two chessboards before him, shifting back and forth.

On the left chessboard, the white stones advanced steadily, forming a formidable defensive line that slowly devoured the enemy. Eventually, with an overwhelming advantage in numbers and resources, they secured victory through sheer dominance.

On the right chessboard, the black stones were inherently one move behind the white. Though it was only a single step, in many cases, such a gap could become an insurmountable chasm, leaving one to spend their entire life struggling to climb the mountain ahead, only to end up with nothing in the end.

Thus, the black stones’ strategy was simple—since they were already one step behind, they would fight with relentless speed, forcing the opponent into their own rhythm. By dragging their adversary into chaos, they could then launch an unpredictable, seemingly disordered but deeply cunning offensive at the final moment to seize victory in one decisive strike!

“One follows the grand, resplendent path—securing victory through innate strength and steady play, crushing all opposition with sheer superiority.”

“The other is fearless, attacking without hesitation, unleashing every risky move in the book—seeking a path to break free from the perilous battlefield.”

“As expected, neither of my two nephews are easy to deal with…”

“Born into the imperial family, even if they have no claim to the throne, how could they possibly be useless?”

Sighing, the middle-aged scholar stretched his body, leaning his upper half against a soft silk cushion while casually resting his legs atop the chessboards. With a lazy sweep of his feet, the pieces scattered to the ground with a series of clatter-clatter sounds.

Noon the next day.

Under the scorching midday sun, four carriages—three made of black-gold and one of plain wood—traveled side by side on a weed-covered desolate road.

The wooden carriage rattled along the uneven path, its wheels repeatedly sinking into small pits or knocking against stones, producing a constant clunk-clunk sound.

Lifting the side curtain of the carriage, Gu Ning’an peered outside and caught sight of several figures lying in the wild grass. From their tattered clothing and gaunt faces, it was clear they were refugees who had fallen on hard times.

Their cheeks were hollow, their bodies motionless under the merciless sun, their eyes devoid of life. They had seemingly abandoned all hope, choosing to lie there in silence—waiting for death to claim them…

Perhaps by coincidence, the people inside the three black-gold carriages also lifted their curtains to look outside.

Moments later, a voice came from the leftmost carriage: “Stop the carriages. Let me give them some food.”

At those words, the guards driving the four carriages immediately reined in their horses, bringing the convoy to a halt.

Four individuals disembarked one after another. The young man in the purple robe—who had spoken earlier—took some dry rations and water from a guard, then strode toward the refugees.

Meanwhile, the man in blue stepped out of the carriage and leaned lazily against the railing, watching his elder brother’s actions with an amused smirk.

The middle-aged scholar also followed along but paused for a moment when he noticed the blue-robed man staying behind. He glanced back but said nothing.

At this moment, only Gu Ning’an remained beside the blue-robed man. Seeing that Gu Ning’an intended to walk over, the latter chuckled softly and said in a low voice, “Mr. Gu, don’t bother looking. It’s the same old act—watching it will only leave a bad taste in your mouth…”

Gu Ning’an glanced at him, smiled without replying, and proceeded forward.

Not far away, the purple-robed young man crouched beside a middle-aged man whose lips were cracked from dehydration. He spoke solemnly, “Drink some water and eat something.”

Despite having his eyes open, the middle-aged man showed no sign of hearing him. He simply stared blankly at the sky, unmoving. If not for the faint, erratic rise and fall of his chest, it would have been difficult to tell whether he was alive or dead.

Seeing himself ignored, the purple-robed young man let out a long sigh before calling out to the scattered refugees around him: “There’s food and water here! Come and eat! You don’t need to pay for it!”

After making his announcement, he stood up, placing the provisions beside the middle-aged man. His gaze, filled with compassion, lingered as he prepared to leave.

Just then, the middle-aged man lying on the ground rasped, his hoarse voice barely audible: “Take it back… Take it back and give it… to those who still want to live…”

Hearing this, the purple-robed young man immediately turned back and said seriously, “You’re still alive—why don’t you want to keep living?”

“As long as you’re alive, there is still hope!”

Perhaps the word hope was too cruel for those lying in the wasteland awaiting death. These starving, dehydrated people had remained silent even in the face of food and water, but at the mention of hope, they all stirred at once!

A frail old woman, as thin as a “black monkey,” struggled to speak with a voice as ragged as torn cloth: “Krrk… Where… where is the hope…?”

“If there was hope… my son wouldn’t have… cut his own flesh… to keep this old woman from starving… would he…?!”

“Damn this so-called Great Wu! Damn your so-called hope! The rich feast on wine and meat, while the poor freeze to death by the roadside!”

With those final words, she let out a breath of air, her body abruptly slumping down. Her lifeless, murky eyes bulged wide open, frozen in place.

Feeling the old woman’s lifeless eyes staring at him, the purple-robed young man instinctively furrowed his brow. Just as he was about to say something, a sharp, eerie laugh rang out behind him.

“Hee hee hee~ Hee hee hee!”

“Hope! You all have gold threads in your clothes!”

“A single strand of gold thread could buy us half a month’s worth of food!”

“What the hell do you know about hope?”

The one laughing and mocking the purple-robed young man was a boy who looked no older than fourteen or fifteen. His clothes were nothing more than ragged scraps of fabric. Through the holes, his skin clung tightly to his bones—if stripped of his garments, he would appear as nothing more than a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of flesh.

“That old emperor of Great Wu—his death was great! It was wonderful!”

“I heard a hero chopped off his mongrel head!”

“Marvelous! Marvelous! Marvelous!”

“I only wish that hero would raise his blade again and slaughter all those lapdogs and mongrel offspring!”

At those words, the boy started laughing again, a wild and manic cackle. The corners of his mouth split open, his lips cracking apart inch by inch, making him look like a terrifying specter.

After a while, his laughter slowed. A single tear of blood trickled from the corner of his eye, and then—he took his last breath.

The purple-robed young man stared at the boy’s lifeless body with an indifferent expression, merely furrowing his brows slightly.

Suddenly, a burst of rapid applause rang out beside him.

Following the sound, he turned to see the blue-robed man stepping forward at some point, clapping as he praised, “Good! Well said! That old dog deserved to die, and Hero Jiang did well to cut him down!”