DLERB -Chapter 95 Xiang Liang Vomits Blood: “That Letter Was Written by You?!”

Xiang Liang’s pupils locked tightly onto that face.

It was him.

It really was this eight-year-old child.

This seemingly innocent—yet utterly monstrous—boy.

The one who had destroyed everything.

“It was you!”

Xiang Liang’s voice was hoarse, like a broken bellows.

“It was you, you monster!!”

Beside him, Fan Zeng’s face had gone deathly pale. His lips trembled, but not a single word came out.

Ying Ziye tilted his little head.

He picked up a delicate osmanthus cake from a small plate beside him and put it into his mouth.

Muffled, he spoke.

“Old man, you’re so loud.”

Xiang Liang nearly blacked out on the spot from rage.

Ying Ziye chewed slowly and continued.

“Are all people from your Xiang clan this loud?”

“That big idiot Xiang Tian earlier screamed even louder than you.”

“And then his head was gone.”

Xiang Liang’s body began to tremble violently.

From anger.

And fear.

Ying Ziye looked at him as though observing an interesting toy.

He reached out of the carriage.

“Qinglong, give him that thing.”

Qinglong said nothing.

He took something from his chest and flicked his wrist.

A strip of cloth stained with dark red blood flew through the air in a graceful arc.

It landed lightly in front of Xiang Liang’s horse.

Xiang Liang looked down.

That familiar handwriting.

That familiar “blood stain.”

It was identical to the letter he had once received.

Exactly the same.

How could this be?!

He had clearly burned that letter in front of everyone!

Ying Ziye’s voice drifted again.

“Don’t bother looking.”

“That one is fake.”

He pointed at the cloth on the ground.

“And this one is also fake.”

Xiang Liang suddenly looked up.

Ying Ziye sighed, his tone full of childish complaint.

“To imitate that old man Chunyu Yue’s handwriting, I practiced for a full half-hour lying on my desk.”

“My hand even got tired.”

“And that blood…”

“Tsk. Chicken blood really smells awful.”

BOOM!

It felt as though something exploded inside Xiang Liang’s mind.

Fake?

Everything was fake?

That “blood letter” that made him decide to contact the Six States and raise rebellion against Qin…

Was written by this eight-year-old child using chicken blood?!

“No… impossible…”

Fan Zeng muttered blankly beside him, as though his soul had left his body.

“Our intelligence… we verified it!”

“In Xianyang, Ying Zheng was truly critically ill and on the verge of death! That couldn’t have been false!”

“Haha.”

Ying Ziye laughed.

A pure, childlike laugh.

“Critically ill?”

“My father was just a bit weak after taking some elixirs recently.”

“I had people spread rumors outside that he was dying—and you believed it?”

“And also…”

He paused, a look of “you’re really dumb” appearing on his face.

“The messenger who delivered that information—how do you think he escaped from Xianyang?”

Fan Zeng’s body stiffened.

Ying Ziye continued casually.

“I deliberately let him go.”

“Otherwise, how would you have believed it?”

“I even drew the escape route for him myself.”

His voice was soft.

Yet every word struck like a hammer against Xiang Liang and Fan Zeng’s hearts.

Xiang Liang’s body began to sway.

He thought of someone else.

His last hope.

His most valiant nephew.

“Xiang Zhuang…”

His voice carried a final trace of desperation.

“Xiang Zhuang… where is he? He clearly escaped back! He said Qin’s army was nothing but worthless trash!”

“Oh, you mean the swordsman?”

Ying Ziye leaned out of the carriage and pointed at Qinglong standing nearby.

“He fought Qinglong.”

“His sword broke. He didn’t die.”

“I told him to go back and report to you.”

“Every single word he said… was what I told him to say.”

“If he didn’t say that, why would you bring your entire clan and march straight to Hangu Pass to die?”

“Pfft—”

Xiang Liang could no longer hold it in.

A mouthful of black blood spurted violently from Xiang Liang’s mouth.

His proud nephew—the number one swordsman of Chu—

From beginning to end, had been nothing more than a puppet delivering messages.

He had spent his entire life scheming and calculating.

He believed he had seen through Ying Ziye’s “open conspiracy.”

In the end, he hadn’t even understood the first act of someone else’s script.

He wasn’t a chess player.

He wasn’t even a chess piece.

He was nothing more than meat laid out on the table, waiting to be slaughtered.

“Lord!”

Fan Zeng hurriedly supported Xiang Liang, his voice shrill with panic.

But Xiang Liang shoved him away.

His eyes were blood-red as he stared fixedly at Ying Ziye.

That gaze looked like he wanted to devour him alive.

Ying Ziye jumped down from the carriage.

His small figure walked step by step to Xiang Liang’s horse.

He looked up at the utterly broken old man.

Then he crouched down.

Picking up a small twig, he drew circles on the ground.

“Don’t feel wronged.”

He spoke softly.

“You nobles of the Six States have been feeding off Great Qin—and the common people—for hundreds of years.”

“You’ve grown fat and bloated from sucking blood.”

“Now that you’re full… you should return it, shouldn’t you?”

He poked the puddle of black blood on the ground with the twig.

“Look.”

“I didn’t take your lives. I just made you spit out what you swallowed.”

Ying Ziye lifted his little face and smiled brightly.

“This is called… physical circulation.”

Physical… circulation…

Xiang Liang didn’t understand the term.

But he understood the deep, bone-chilling mockery behind it.

He hadn’t lost in battle.

He had been treated like a fool—played with from beginning to end.

This humiliation—

Was ten thousand times worse than death.

“Ah… ah…”

A hoarse, broken sound came from Xiang Liang’s throat.

He tried to raise his sword.

To end his life.

To preserve the last shred of dignity he had left.

But he found—

His arm weighed like a thousand jin.

He couldn’t even lift it.

“Mon…ster…”

He squeezed out the word through clenched teeth with his last strength.

“WAAAH—!!”

Another surge of blood erupted from his mouth, spraying several feet high.

Xiang Liang’s eyes widened.

The life within them rapidly faded.

Only endless regret remained—along with unwilling, venomous hatred.

His body fell straight from the horse.

Thud.

A generation’s warlord, the lord of the Xiang clan, Xiang Liang.

Did not die by sword.

He was literally angered to death.

The remaining Chu soldiers around them stared in total shock.

Fan Zeng collapsed to the ground, his face ashen.

“It’s over…”

“Everything is over…”

Qinglong raised his hand.

Dozens of Embroidered Uniform Guard soldiers pounced forward like wolves and tigers.

They bound Fan Zeng and the remaining remnants of the Six States nobles like dumplings being tied up.

Ying Ziye stood up and brushed off the dust from his hands.

Ding!

A crisp electronic sound echoed in his mind.

【Host has annihilated the anti-Qin coalition, destroyed Xiang Liang mentally, and completely shattered the foundation of the Six States’ remnants. Qin’s national fortune has greatly increased!】

【Reward calculation in progress…】

Ying Ziye was already used to the system’s voice.

His gaze fell on Xiang Liang’s corpse.

“Qinglong.”

“Search him. See if he’s hiding anything good.”

“Yes.”

Qinglong stepped forward and carefully searched the body.

Soon, he retrieved something from Xiang Liang’s inner armor.

“Your Highness.”

He presented it.

It was a bone whistle made from a wild beast’s leg bone.

Its surface had been worn smooth by years of use.

On it was carved a crude symbol—

A wolf head howling at the moon.

Ying Ziye took the bone whistle.

The smile on his face slowly disappeared.

In its place appeared a coldness that did not match his age.

“Xiongnu?”

He stared at the wolf totem and murmured to himself.

“So these bastards… are actually colluding with the northern barbarians?”