Duke Cheng

He promised Ying'er to return by the third watch, but the King summoned him. Their discussion began with national defense and military affairs but soon veered into more personal matters—specifically his marriage to Zheng Fei.

Duke Cheng respected Zheng Fei, but his heart belonged to only Ying'er. He made this clear to Zheng Fei, to the King and the Queen, the day he agreed to their marriage. He treated her with dignity. Her status and authority remained unchanged in his estate even when he brought home Ying.

But Duke Cheng could not share her bed, nor could he father a child with her. Each time he entered her bedchamber, it was a betrayal to Ying'er, though she never forbade him.

He assumed this was one of two reasons the King had summoned him—hidden beneath the pretense of official military discussions.

Duke Cheng loved his brother and obeyed him. But there were some commands he could not blindly follow—truths he could never reveal.

Their conversation ended with another brief remark from the King—about the collection of thoughts transcribed by Duke Cheng. A particular one circulating among scholars and ministers for some time now called "Of Heaven and Earth. Of Sovereign and Subjects."

"There is only one ruler, and that is Heaven. The sovereign who stands above his people casts not a shield, but the shadow and weight of his own grandeur. Power without virtue is a blade without a hilt—one that cuts not only its wielder, but the soul of a kingdom."

The King showed no signs of anger. He simply asked if Duke Cheng wrote these words.

A firm "yes," was all Duke Cheng offered in response.

The King nodded, though his gaze lingered a moment too long before he smoothly shifted the conversation elsewhere. But Duke Cheng caught a flicker of contempt in his brother's eyes—just enough to worry him.

"Lord Duke, we are nearing your manor. Be careful as the carriage slows down." His guard's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Duke Cheng straightened his posture, hands resting lightly on his knees as the carriage swayed with the motion of the horses. His brother's face still lingered in his mind; heavier than any armor he had ever worn.

He did not write those words to defy the King, nor to sow discord within the court. Their purpose was a guide—to remind rulers, scholars, and subjects alike of the Mandate of Heaven.

That the heavens chose the emperor, and his burden was vast, his vision often clouded by the power-hungry ministers.

Duke Cheng leaned back against the carriage walls. He feared for his brothers health. Often, he found his brother with worry etched so deeply across his face, it became a part of him. Duke Cheng only sought to sharpen his brother's rule, not to challenge it.

But words, once spoken, were like arrows loosed from a bow. They would find their mark—intended or not.

His fingers tightened slightly on his knee. He was aware of the depth of his words now, but it was too late. He would stand by them.

The wooden carriage rattled as the wheels struck uneven ground. Outside, the muffled hoofbeats of horses cut through the quiet of the night. A chill seeped through the carriage, but Duke Cheng's thoughts shifted back home to where Ying'er waited.

She'd been anxious all day, waking before him, before the snow came in and before Zheng Fei left for her family home. He needed to see her. Whatever troubled her, he would set it right before the night was over.

The carriage lurched to an abrupt stop, jerking Duke Cheng forward in his seat.

"Halt." The headguard's voice rang out. 

Duke Cheng knew the man long enough to hear the controlled panic hidden beneath it.

Something was wrong.

He slid open the carriage window, the chill of the night rushed in. The soldiers stood rigid outside; their hands tightened around their weapons.

"Why have we stopped?" he asked, but an unease settled around him.

His personal guard, a man who served him since his youth, came forward, his face unreadable, full of discipline and careful expression. Too careful.

"Lord Duke, a routine perimeter check."

Before he could press further, the head guard's voice called out again.

"Fan out."

This was no routine check. Stopping this close to his manor meant something was wrong. A disturbance. A threat. His jaw tightened as he slammed the window shut and threw open the carriage door.

"Lord Duke, please remain inside—for your safety." His guard blocked the doors.

"I am not only a duke—I too have fought and bled in battle. Stand aside." His voice was firm, and his guard stepped away from the carriage doors.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air from ahead, and the guards snapped into motion. They marched forward in unison.

Yet the carriage did not move.

Fear curled up from the base of his spine, not for himself but for his wife and children. Then, the sound of galloping hooves.

A lone rider emerged from the shadows, his silhouette stark against the pale glow of distant lanterns. Snow and dirt kicked up beneath his horse's hooves.

Duke Cheng forced himself to remain still, and every fiber of his being screamed for him to run home. His muscles coiled, but he held firm and waited.

When the rider was less than three chi away, he reined his horse to an abrupt stop and dismounted. His face was pale. His eyes grim. "Lord Duke, the manor is under siege. Return to the palace immediately."

Duke Cheng's blood turned to ice.

Ying'er. The twins.

He moved before his mind had caught up, vaulted onto the rider's horse in one fluid motion. The beast had only a moment to adjust before he spurred it into a gallop.

"Lord Duke!" His guards screamed after him, their protests lost in the wind.

The ministers, the ones who were ready to depose him, did they send assassins?

His heart pounded like war drums, a relentless rhythm in his ears.

A distant clang soon filled the night.

Gong… gong… gong… gong…

The bells of the fourth watch.

He kicked his heels into the horse, its muscles tensing beneath him as it surged forward. Faster. Faster.

The manor gates came into view. Relief did not follow.

Duke Cheng came to a complete stop. The sight before him stole the breath from his lungs.

The gates stood wide open without a guard in sight. Flames licked hungrily at the snow-covered rooftops.

"Where are the guards!?"

Hoofbeats thundered behind him as his personal guards finally rode up.

"Dead, my lord," one answered grimly. "Look."

Duke Cheng wrenched his reins, spurring his horse around where he saw them. Dozens of bodies buried beneath the snowfall, their forms barely distinguishable. Silent. Motionless. All dead.

His sword was in his hand before he realized he had drawn it. His grip on the hilt tightened. These were his people. His home. His responsibility.

For a fleeting moment, a thought struck him.

 His family. Were they safe? Were they even still alive?

Dread coiled in his gut. But he crushed the emotion before it could take hold. He had no time for doubt.

His voice was like steel—unshaken. "Find my wife and children. Protect the innocent. Cut down any who stand in your way."

The soldiers snapped to attention. There was no hesitation, only strict obedience. 

"Move."

And with that, he leaped from his horse, followed by his men. His feet barely touched the ground before he broke into a sprint. His heart thundered in his chest, his legs carried him forward with a speed he had never known.

Ying'er. The children. He had to get to them fast.

Further inside, dark figures moved—too fast, too inhumanly. They darted between shadows, cutting down the last of his guards with terrifying ease.

Humans could not move like this. He could only think of one group of cultivators who could.

"Demon cultivators." His voice was low but firm. "Stay vigilant!"

Screams ripped through the once-peaceful estate—cries of agony, pleas for mercy. Remnants of a battlefield, a grotesque contrast of white and red. More bodies slumped over in the snow, their lifeblood soaking into the earth.

Duke Cheng hardened his heart. He could not save everyone. That truth sank into him, but he forced it aside. Not now.

"Go, find my children." His voice was steel. "The rest of you, with me—we find my wife."

His men fell into formation. Four guards at his side and four rushed off.

He heard it first. A sound. A child's whimper.

Ahead, a young servant boy clung to his mother's robes, trembling.

A figure swept in, incredibly fast, tearing the woman from her child's grasp, dragging her to the ground.

The boy screamed.

Duke Cheng moved without thinking, his sword flashing. Steel sliced clean across the man's back—

Nothing. No stagger. No blood.

The figure snarled but did not fall.

Duke Cheng drew back his blade. The wound—deep and fatal—should have severed muscle and bone, yet the figure did not move, it slumped over slow and unnatural over the women. Then, before his eyes, the gash in his flesh began to close, knitting itself together.

Duke Cheng's grip tightened on his sword. Some kind of powerful demonic qi? A forbidden cultivation technique? Even demons could not heal like this. Not without some pill or incredibly strong demonic force.

Behind him, the child wailed.

His mother's voice rose in a strangled cry in response—then gurgled.

A sound Duke Cheng knew too well.

Death.

The man kneeled, hovered over the woman, trembling.

How bold. Disgusting.

Rage flickered beneath Duke Cheng's controlled exterior. To violate a corpse in open sight, after murdering her. In his home. He swung harder this time, his blade carving deep across the man's shoulder.

Finally—a reaction.

The man's head snapped around. His face—dripping with blood.

Duke Cheng staggered back. He was not a demon cultivator. He… he was something else…

And why? Why was his face covered in blood?

The man licked his lips. Grinning. "Just having a little snack."

Then—he lunged.

Duke Cheng barely had time to raise his sword before the man was upon him—

One strike.

His blade sliced clean through the man's neck. The head rolled to a stop. The body slumped to the ground.

But for a breath—just a breath—the head's mouth moved, lips twitching, then the light faded from his eyes.

Dying nerves, perhaps. He was a powerful demon cultivator. And yet—Duke Cheng could not shake the feeling that it had tried to speak some last words.

Duke Cheng's pulse pounded.

He had heard of their strength, their savagery—but this? This went beyond the dao, beyond immortality.

"Lord Duke!"

Followed by the cry of a child.

Duke Cheng turned his instincts on tact.

A shadowed figure lifted the boy into the air. A small, panicked whimper. A flash of teeth.

Then—a crunch.

Red spattered against the snow. Too much. Too fast.

"Stop him!" His voice snapped like a whip.

The thing—not a man, not a demon—dropped the boy.

Tiny fingers reached out. Then stilled.

Something inside Duke Cheng fractured—fear, deep and unrelenting. One he could not afford to feel.

In that moment his men sprang forward, swords cutting deep—only for the wounds to seal themselves back together, to vanish.

And the thing only laughed, low and guttural—tickled by their swords.

"Cut his head!" Duke Cheng remembered now. The way he had stopped the other one. The only way.

This wasn't normal. These weren't men. These weren't demon cultivators.

His mind raced. His children. Ying'er. He had to reach them.

Without another thought, he ran.

A moment later, he was mere steps away from the archway into her courtyard. He passed through it.

The scent hit him first. Iron. Blood. Smoldering wood. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing down on him. His wife's once-pristine courtyard lay in ruins.

And there—standing amidst the carnage— Cloaked in crimson robes, his golden eyes gleamed the same blood-red shade. His presence swallowing the whole courtyard in darkness. 

Duke Cheng's grip on his sword tightened. A demon lord. This must be their leader. The one who brought hell to his home. "Who sent you?" he called out.

The man smirked, a cruel smirk.

"The esteemed Duke of Taihong." He tilted his head, with amusement. "I have long waited to meet the man who took Ying from me."

Duke Cheng had faced enough enemies to be unaffected by empty threats. His expression remained unreadable. So, it wasn't the ministers.

The demon lord studied him, as if waiting for a reaction. When the duke gave none, the smirk faltered from the demon lord's face.

Then, a low chuckle rumbled from his throat. "How admirable." His golden eyes gleamed. "But tell me, Duke, do you have the strength to stop me?"

He had trained at Haoran Sect, his cultivation could not rival that of Master Gu but he knew enough to fight even the strongest demon lords. And with a single breath, he released his qi.

"Where is my wife?" A pause, his voice stern. "And my children?"

The demon lord—smiled, in response. "They belong to the Fox Spirit Clan. And they belong to me." The words were spoken as a claim. He took a step forward though his feet never moved. "Your son—he carries hellfire in his blood, doesn't he? Just like me. A gift from the Bloodborn. He'll serve me well."

A memory surfaced. A name. No—two names. Ying had only mentioned them once, long ago, so briefly it was as if she wished never to speak of them again.

"You must be Mao Zhen." Duke Cheng's voice remained unbothered though he wanted to kill the demon lord who threatened to take and enslave his son.

 A flicker in Mao Zhen's expression—brief but telling enough.

Confirmation.

"Ying mentioned you." Duke Cheng's qi pulsed through his sword hilt. "Briefly. Like a passing thought."

Mao Zhen snarled—just for a breath—almost imperceptibly. Duke Cheng had struck a vein.

Amusement returned to the demon lord's face, but it was forced. "You overestimate yourself, mortal."

A fiery whip cracked forward, a streak of searing red illuminating the night. It slashed toward him.

Duke Cheng parried, steel meeting fire in a deafening clash. The force rattled through his bones.

Not bad. But not strong enough.

Another strike. Then another. One whip became three. Three became nine.

They lashed out, sharp as daggers, lunging for his flesh.

Duke Cheng danced between death, leaping, twisting, meeting each strike with the sharp ring of his blade. The ones he could not escape, he deflected. The ones he could not deflect, he endured.

By the time he landed, one zhang away, his breath was uneven.

He had faced countless enemies. Bested warriors, assassins, traitors. But this—this was different. This was not a battle he could win.

A voice suddenly called out to him.

"Fūjūn—"

His breath caught.

Ying!

She stumbled from her chamber, her silhouette pale beneath the moonlight.

His world stopped.

Blood. So much blood.

It poured from her throat, painting her once-white robes in a deep shade of ruin. Her hair clung to her damp skin. She wore so little, as if she had been pulled from her bed. A trembling gasp left her lips.

"Ying'er!" Duke Cheng blindly dashed towards his wife not even stopping to assess his surroundings.

A flicker of movement. Two figures appeared. Nearly cutting him down.

Steel met steel in a savage clash. Severe their heads. He told himself.

Right swing—parry—strike.

One head fell.

A pivot—another fatal cut.

Then another head rolled.

He made one more pivot and turned around to face Ying.

"Fūjūn go." Her voice—shaken.

His heart hammering.

"Go—now." Her breaths came in shuddering gasps. "You can't stop him. But you can save them. Please."

A command. A plea.

But he would not—could not—leave her behind. Then he saw it.

The vermillion bleeding into her golden eyes. The sickly pallor of her skin. The tremor overtaking her body. Something twisted, unnatural happening to her. His heart clenched. What had Mao Zhen done to her?

Then—

A growl.

Her bones twisted, warping beneath her flesh. A scream, cut off by the snap of a transformation.

Duke Cheng knew Ying's bloodline. He knew she came from the Demonic Fox Spirit Clan. But never—never—had he seen her like this.

The shadows behind him stirred—his guardsmen.

"Lord Duke. Apologies, we are late. Your children are safe and with the maid."

Duke Cheng nodded in response.

More of Mao Zhen's men appeared from the shadows.

"Severe their heads." he told his men. "It's the only way to kill them."

Steel clashed against flesh as his guards advanced, cutting down Mao Zhen's men. He was desperately trying to make his way towards his wife. But severing their heads were easier said and done.

His eyes—his worry—remained locked on Ying as he fought on.

Suddenly she screamed, a horrid anguishing scream.

Flesh tore. Bones cracked. Her face contorted. Fur sprouted over her arms, legs, and body. Then—a magnificent nine-tailed fox emerged before him. Ying'er was gone. Only the glow of her fur as white as the snow beneath the blood-stained courtyard and her golden eyes met his.

No words. Only pain. Only understanding. A silent farewell.

His chest tightened.

No.

His foot lifted, a step toward her—

She stepped back.

That was it.

His fingers curled into fists.

She had decided.

Slowly, deliberately, he forced himself to nod.

The children. He had to get to them now.

Then—a blur of movement.

Ying lunged.

Fangs. Flesh. Blood.

Her jaws sank into Mao Zhen's arm.

The demon lord hissed, his voice a snarl of rage—

And then—

They were gone.

Tumbling back into the darkness of her chamber.

Silence.

Time slowed.

For the first time in his life, Duke Cheng had no answer.

No next move.

His mind—trained to strategize, to outmaneuver, to command—collapsed into silence. The answer he always found, the path he always carved—gone.

He could only stand there. Not as a warrior, or a duke, but a husband—and a man who had just lost his wife.

He could only stare.

Watch on as the love of his life, his wife, disappeared.

And—

"My Lord Duke!"

A voice—distant.

"Lord Duke!"

The world lurched back into motion. A rough grip on his arm—someone shaking him.

"Your children! We must retreat! The madam is lost."

A pull. A forceful tug. His feet followed, but his heart—his very being—remained behind.

Where she vanished. Where he had failed.

She was gone. And he had no way to bring her back.