Chapter 253: Wu’an Heads South

Chapter 253: Chapter 253: Wu’an Heads South

Xueling Province, Xueling City.

At the busiest intersection in the city—a bustling hub of common life—stood a small shop bearing the sign "Xie’s Butcher Shop."

It was packed with people day in and day out, yet not because the pork was particularly cheap or of exceptional quality; rather, the crowds gathered solely for the sake of the man inside who wrapped the meat.

Fan Dieye stood before a wooden counter, his fair, slender fingertips delicately pinching a sheet of coarse paper.

His movements were unhurried and deliberate; even the simple act of wrapping a cut of pork was imbued with a certain air of noble elegance.

He was naturally blessed with a countenance as flawless as jade and skin fairer than any woman’s.

His features were soft and beautiful, yet devoid of any effeminate weakness. Clad in nothing more than a simple, ordinary cloth tunic, he appeared even more striking—by a good measure—than the most dashing noble scions of the Heaven Dou Imperial City.

Though the butcher shop was a place typically redolent with the scent of meat and spattered with grease, his mere presence within it seemed to conjure an ethereal aura of refined grace out of thin air.

Surrounding him stood a throng of young women from respectable households; blushing deeply, they whispered amongst themselves while their eyes remained riveted upon his face, never straying for even a moment.

Any cut of meat wrapped by his own hands—even if priced slightly higher than the rest—was snatched up instantly.

Furthermore, scholars and literati from across the city would make special pilgrimages to the shop—not to purchase meat, but solely to acquire a sheet of the coarse paper he had used to wrap it.

The reason was simple: Fan Dieye possessed a calligraphy style of exquisite beauty.

A few casual strokes of his brush upon the paper were instantly treasured as priceless works of art—a phenomenon that, for a time, became one of the most curious and talked-about oddities in all of Xueling City.

Yet, unbeknownst to anyone, the man who spent his days in this butcher shop—gently and tenderly wrapping pork—was none other than the Marquis of Wu’an: a powerful regional governor of the Heaven Dou Empire whose formidable reputation preceded him far and wide.

Some time ago, he had been ambushed and wounded while traveling abroad. He was rescued by the butcher shop’s proprietress, Xie Tuyu, who had subsequently hidden him away amidst the bustling anonymity of the marketplace to allow his injuries to heal.

Even after his wounds had fully mended, he did not sever his ties with the shop; he would frequently make time to stop by and lend a hand, all the while never revealing even the slightest hint of his true identity.

Xie Tuyu stood nearby, slicing meat, as she observed the man before her—so poised and elegant in his demeanor. In her mind, she regarded him merely as a refined young nobleman who had fallen upon hard times; she could never have imagined him to be anything else.

It was at that very moment that the rhythmic, uniform clanking of armored plates began to resound—growing steadily louder as it approached from the distance. Flanked by several personal guards clad in the uniforms of the Heaven Dou Army, an Imperial City envoy strode briskly into the butcher shop. His gaze swept across the room before settling directly upon Fan Dieye.

Wearing a solemn expression, the envoy stepped forward; holding the bright yellow imperial decree high in his hands, he proclaimed in a resonant voice: "Fan Dieye, Marquis of Wu’an—receive the Imperial Decree!"

As the words rang out, the entire shop erupted in an uproar.

Fan Dieye, who had been bent over tidying some wrapping paper, paused in his movements. Far from displaying any panic or loss of composure, he maintained his characteristic unhurried demeanor.

First, he meticulously wrapped the cut of pork he held in his hands, folding the paper neatly and precisely before gently sliding the package across the counter toward the waiting customer. Only then did he slowly raise a hand to smooth his slightly disheveled hair, before unhurriedly turning around.

Beside him, Xie Tuyu had already frozen in sheer shock, the butcher knife in her hand clattering loudly against the chopping block.

The Marquis of Wu’an?

The refined young gentleman she had rescued, nursed back to health over a long period, who helped her wrap meat every day, and who was adored by every woman in the city... was he actually Fan Dieye, the Marquis of Wu’an—a man who commanded vast military forces within the Heaven Dou Empire?

Though her heart pounded with utter shock, she felt compelled by the presence of the imperial decree to reluctantly drop to one knee.

With a gentle swish of his robes, Fan Dieye knelt down with perfect composure.

His posture remained tall and erect; even while kneeling amidst the humble confines of a bustling market butcher shop, his innate nobility remained utterly unmistakable.

The envoy unfurled the imperial decree and began to read it aloud.

"Marshal Ge Long’s army of five hundred thousand has been utterly annihilated at the hands of the Spirit Hall; the northern frontier defenses of the Heaven Dou Empire have crumbled, and the Imperial City is in peril. I hereby summon Fan Dieye, the Marquis of Wu’an. You are to immediately mobilize the entire army of the Xueling Province and march south without delay. You shall assume full command of the western front’s defensive operations against the enemy, standing as the bulwark against the Spirit Hall’s invading forces!"

As the voice faded, Fan Dieye calmly raised his hands to receive the Imperial Decree.

His fingertips brushed lightly over the bright yellow silk—he wore the same unperturbed demeanor as always, betraying not a shred of anxiety, and simply responded in a soft, even tone: "Your subject accepts the decree."

Seeing his composure, the envoy actually breathed a sigh of relief, assuming that this renowned general of Heaven Dou possessed a strategic depth beyond ordinary men.

He immediately cupped his hands in salutation and urged: "Marquis, the northern frontier has collapsed; the situation is dire and brooks no delay. His Majesty in the Imperial City awaits your arrival day and night with bated breath. I implore you to marshal your troops and set out for the south as swiftly as possible!"

Fan Dieye rose slowly, carefully stowing the Imperial Decree away as if terrified of creasing even a single corner.

He lowered his gaze to observe a tiny speck of grease clinging to his fingertips, and a faint frown creased his brow.

His voice remained gentle, yet it carried an unmistakable air of aristocratic hauteur: "What is the rush?"

"Allow me to first attend to my appearance and don my formal attire; only then shall I return to my residence to mobilize the troops. That will be soon enough."

Beside him, Xie Tuyu looked up at him, still reeling in shock and utterly at a loss for what to do.

Fan Dieye, however, suddenly softened his expression. He was no longer the aloof, high-and-mighty Marquis of Wu’an; instead, he reverted to the gentle, tender demeanor he had once displayed back at the butcher shop.

He lightly brushed a speck of dust from his clothes, meticulously tidied his collar and hair, and then walked slowly toward Xie Tuyu, his gaze as soft and gentle as flowing water.

"Tu Yu, I have concealed my true identity from you for a long time, and in doing so, I have failed to live up to the kindness you showed in saving my life."

"As I head south to face the Spirit Hall in battle, I vow to safeguard our nation and our people. Upon my triumphant return—on that very day—I shall come for you with a procession of ten miles of crimson finery and all the ceremonial pomp befitting a Marquis. I will take you as my lawful wife, bringing you home to the Marquis’s residence."

Before the words had even fully left his lips—and before Xie Tu Yu could recover from her shock enough to utter a reply—

Fan Dieye leaned forward slightly. Gently, he touched his lips to her forehead, bestowing upon her a kiss so light, yet so deeply cherished.

The very next instant, he had already turned away; with a flourish of his robes, he strode off without a single glance back.

Xie Tu Yu remained standing beside the butcher’s block, her cheeks burning hot and her mind in utter disarray, gazing blankly after his receding figure.

She still could not bring herself to believe it: that fair-skinned, refined gentleman who had helped her wrap meat day after day was, in truth, the Marquis of Wu’an—a noble of the Heaven Dou Empire!

Outside the gate, his personal guards and ceremonial retinue had long been waiting for Fan Dieye.

While he had maintained a low profile and a simple demeanor during the time he kept his identity hidden, the moment he stepped into the public eye, the innate nobility and grandeur befitting the Marquis of Wu’an of the Heaven Dou Empire were instantly revealed in all their glory.

Upon returning to his residence, the very first thing Fan Dieye did—rather than mustering his troops, reviewing his generals, or analyzing the strategic situation—was to sit before his mirror and meticulously attend to his appearance.

The man reflected in the glass possessed a countenance as flawless as polished jade and skin as white as snow; his features were delicate and refined, utterly devoid of even the slightest blemish.

He dismissed his attendants and personally combed out his long hair, binding it into a high topknot with silver threads.

Yet, he steadfastly refused to don any form of heavy iron helmet—for such headgear was cumbersome and stifling, liable to dishevel his coiffure and ruin his air of elegant refinement.

His personal guards, long accustomed to his ways, silently stepped forward to present a ceremonial crown crafted exclusively for him: a simple yet exquisite diadem of pure gold, styled in the motif of a phoenix at rest.

The crown itself was slender, light, and magnificent; from either side of its apex rose two long, slender plumes of jet-black feather, curving slightly upward—feathers that would quiver ever so gently with his every movement.

Yet Fan Dieye was utterly delighted; he scrutinized his reflection in a bronze mirror, adjusting the angle of the two plumes atop his head again and again until they were perfectly symmetrical and his bearing was peerless. Only then did he nod in satisfaction.

A faint, silvery radiance shimmered gently around his body, and behind him, an ethereal butterfly—its wings shimmering with flowing light and breathtakingly magnificent—slowly unfurled.

This was his Martial Soul: the Moon-Glow Butterfly.

Having been steeped in the influence of this resplendent Martial Soul for so many years, his temperament had long since grown delicate and vain; he prized elegance and bearing far above military merit, and valued his personal appearance far more than matters of life and death.

Once he was fully clad in his gleaming silver-and-gold-plated battle armor and wore his Phoenix-Perch Crown—the two plumes atop his head swaying ever so slightly—he strode slowly out of the Marquis’s residence, vaulted into his saddle, and mounted his steed.

The horse was magnificent, the armor dazzling, and the man himself as flawless as fine jade, his crown plumes fluttering in the breeze. Simply by standing at the head of the street, he drew countless citizens to a halt, eliciting gasps of astonishment and a ceaseless chorus of praise.

In his command of an army, he had always focused on one thing and one thing only: military appearance must be impeccable, armor must gleam, formations must be visually striking, and the overall aura must be intimidating.

As for actual combat prowess, military discipline, or practical battlefield experience—all were relegated to a distant second place behind mere aesthetics.

The army of several hundred thousand troops marching southward under his command had their armor polished to a mirror-like sheen, and their ranks were aligned with pictorial precision. Viewed from a distance, they appeared majestic and imposing—truly deserving of the title: the most presentable army in the entire Heaven Dou Empire.

Fan Dieye sat upright in his saddle, his posture erect; yet, unlike the typical general who exudes a sense of steady, grim authority, he instead bobbed his head slightly from side to side, occasionally lifting a hand to gently adjust the plumes atop his crown, terrified that they might have shifted even a fraction of an inch.

With every movement, those two "cockroaches"—or rather, those plumes—bobbed and swayed in unison, flaunting their splendor and basking in the boundless glory of the moment. A personal guard at his side whispered for instructions: "Marquis, shall the army march out immediately?"

Fan Dieye cast a fleeting glance at the dust rising in the distance, his brows furrowing slightly—as if resenting the wind and sand for sullying his countenance. His tone was soft yet detached, brimming with an air of aristocratic hauteur: "What is the rush?"

"With a bearing as magnificent as mine, I must naturally proceed southward with unhurried grace, so that the world may witness the true visage of a renowned general of the Heaven Dou Empire."

A few days later...

Under Fan Dieye’s command, the Snow Spirit Legion—clad in gleaming armor and marching in flawless formation—advanced in a mighty, sweeping column until they finally arrived at the Imperial City of Heaven Dou.

On the day Fan Dieye entered the city, the entire populace surged onto the main thoroughfares, vying with one another to catch a glimpse of the spectacle.

Leading the army rode a figure clad in bright silver armor inlaid with gold—spotless and pristine—his posture as upright and elegant as a piece of fine jade. Upon his head rested a crown of burnished gold adorned with a pair of slender, upright plumes; these swayed gently with the movement of his steed, dazzling the eye and exuding an air of supreme nobility.

He appeared as if a noble scion had stepped straight out of a poem or a painting.

The army of four hundred thousand moved as a single, cohesive entity—their armor gleaming, their drums beating in perfect unison. In terms of sheer military bearing alone, it was hailed as the most magnificent display the Heaven Dou Empire had witnessed in nearly a century.

Upon beholding the vast army encamped outside the city walls, the citizens erupted in jubilant cheers and thunderous applause: "It is the Marquis of Wu’an! Heaven Dou is saved!"

"With such heroic vigor and martial splendor, he is bound to repel the Spirit Hall!"

"With an iron army such as the Marquis commands, the Spirit Hall is nothing to be feared!"

Everyone declared that the Heaven Dou Empire had finally produced a peerless general—a young man of extraordinary talent capable of turning the tide of destiny.

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