The Sickly Regent Prince Who Was Abandoned as a Substitute Bride

"Wang Yong's baggage was found in the woods to the west of the camp! And...and bloodstains!" The guard almost shouted. "The brothers saw it when they were patrolling the camp. The patch on the baggage was sewn by Sister Zhang a few days ago, there's no mistake!"

"What?!" Zhao Xuan felt a buzzing in his head, as if a thunderbolt had exploded. Wang Yong! The Wang Yong he had sent to the capital for help! He slammed his hand on the table, causing the writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone on it to fall to the ground. "Take me to see him!"

He dashed out, his guards quickly following. The snowstorm outside the camp had intensified, the fluffy snowflakes stinging their faces. The group trudged through the snow to the western edge of the woods, where they found a familiar gray pack lying on the snow—the very one Wang Yong had carried when he set out. One of the straps was broken, and the contents were scattered everywhere. A few pieces of dry rations and a flint lay frozen solid in the snow.

Beside the luggage, there was a trail of dark red blood on the snow, as if someone had been dragged, stretching intermittently into the depths of the forest before being covered by thick snow.

Zhao Xuan felt as if an invisible hand was clenching his heart, the pain almost suffocating him. Wang Yong was his most trusted bodyguard, not only highly skilled in martial arts but also meticulous in his thinking. How could this have happened? Had the Northern Di people discovered them? Or…

"General!" a guard suddenly spoke, his voice wary, "Could this be a trap set by an inside traitor? Are they deliberately using Wang Yong's luggage to lure us out so that the Northern Di can launch a sneak attack?"

Zhao Xuan snapped back to reality, his sharp gaze sweeping across the patch of snow. The guard was right—Wang Yong was incredibly cautious; how could he easily leave behind his belongings and bloodstains? But what if… what if something really happened to Wang Yong? He was their only hope!

He crouched down and examined the bag closely. Sure enough, he saw the crooked patch on the corner—it was definitely Zhang's handiwork. He then touched the bloodstains on the ground; they were half-frozen and dark in color, clearly not fresh.

"General, perhaps... we shouldn't go?" another guard whispered, "The situation in the woods is unknown; what if it really is a trap..."

Zhao Xuan stood up, his gaze fixed on the depths of the forest. Snow was swirling out of the woods, like countless eyes peering into the darkness. He remained silent for a moment, the hesitation in his eyes quickly replaced by determination: "No."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority: "Wang Yong is our brother. Even if there's only a one in ten thousand chance, we can't abandon him. Besides, this bloodstain and baggage might have been deliberately left by an inside agent to throw our troops into disarray. Whether it's a trap or something really happened, we have to go and check it out."

He turned to his guards behind him and said, "Zhang Wu, you take fifty men and stay behind to guard the camp and reinforce the defenses. If there is any movement, sound the alarm immediately."

"Yes!" a guard with a full beard replied, clasping his hands in a fist salute.

Zhao Xuan then selected a dozen or so elite soldiers: "The rest of you, come with me. Take bows and arrows and scimitars. Be alert." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Remember, we're not just looking for Wang Yong, but also to find the traitor hiding in the shadows. Stay focused!"

"Yes!" the crowd responded in unison, their voices ringing out loudly in the wind and snow.

Zhao Xuan took a deep breath and stepped into the vast snowstorm. The icy snowflakes stung his face, but they only made him more alert. He carried his sword and walked step by step into the dark forest, his guards following closely behind, their footsteps quickly swallowed by the wind and snow.

The forest was eerily quiet, save for the whistling wind whistling through the treetops and the crunching sound of snow beneath their feet. Zhao Xuan's eyes were sharp as an eagle's, carefully searching the ground for any traces, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know if a trap awaited them, or the whereabouts of Wang Yong, but he knew that no matter how perilous the road ahead, he had to keep going—for the wounded soldiers in the tent, for the brothers waiting for news, and most importantly, for the land behind him that needed protecting.

The wind and snow grew stronger, quickly covering their footprints. In the darkness, only a dozen pairs of determined eyes shone brightly in the wind and snow, like stars that refused to be extinguished.

Having stepped into the forest only a few dozen paces, Zhao Xuan felt the snow crunch softly beneath his feet, yet the inexplicable sense of unease in his heart grew stronger. He instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping around—from the outside, the trees, though dense, still possessed a certain wintery openness, but now, deeper within, he discovered the branches intertwined in an eerily strange way. Vines as thick as a child's arm seemed deliberately stretched, weaving an impenetrable net overhead, filtering even the sunlight to mere sparse specks; the snow on the ground was thicker than elsewhere, reaching ankle-deep with each step, as if someone had manually filled in the original ravines, creating a quagmire that hindered movement.

"Something's not right," Zhao Xuan said in a low voice, his words carried away by the wind in the woods, leaving a dull echo. The guards behind him immediately stopped, their hands on their weapons in perfect unison—these were veterans who had fought alongside him through thick and thin, and they knew something was amiss with just a glance.

Just then, about three zhang to the left, a very faint rustling sound came from somewhere. The sound was so faint that it was almost negligible, mixed with the whistling of the wind blowing through the leaves. But Zhao Xuan's ears perked up suddenly—it wasn't the crisp sound of a dry branch breaking, nor the commotion of birds and beasts being startled, but rather the sound of someone wearing thick boots carefully moving through the snow, the soles of their boots crunching over ice particles.

"Stop!" Zhao Xuan shouted in a low voice, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force. He gestured for everyone to remain on guard, while he squinted, staring intently in the direction from which the sound came. There stood an old pine tree, its trunk so thick that it would take two people to encircle it, its dense needles covered with a thick layer of snow, appearing from a distance like a bloated white shadow. Yet, deep within that white shadow, there seemed to be a subtle, unsettling movement.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" Zhao Xuan channeled his inner strength, his voice suddenly rising in pitch, like a boulder crashing into a calm lake, echoing through the forest in layers of reverberation. "Who—is—there—?"

The echo struck the tree trunk, shattering into a muffled roar, but apart from the wind swirling snowflakes past my ears, there was no other response. The snow beneath the pine tree remained smooth, without a single footprint, as if the commotion had been nothing but an illusion.

Zhao Xuan's brows furrowed even more. He slowly raised his left hand, curled his index finger, and gestured to Li Zhong, the captain of his personal guards—spread out in a fan shape and advance in search. Li Zhong's eyes sharpened, and he immediately dispatched three guards to form a triangular formation, moving silently forward through the snow. Their footsteps were extremely light, their boots gliding along the snow's surface, and they even deliberately slowed their breathing. Only the occasional clinking of the swords at their waists sounded particularly jarring in the deathly silence of the forest.

Just as the leftmost guard was about to approach the old pine tree, a flash of cold light suddenly shot out from behind the trunk! The arrow came fast and fast, the sharp whistling of the arrowhead cutting through the air almost next to Zhao Xuan's ear, its target being his unsuspecting throat!

"Watch out!" Li Zhong's shout had barely faded when Zhao Xuan's body reacted. Almost instinctively, he twisted sharply to the right, the longsword at his waist flashing as it was drawn, leaving a silvery arc. But the arrow was too fast; he felt a sharp pain on his cheek, as if scraped by an ice blade, followed by a warm liquid that slid down his chin, dripping onto his chest and instantly staining a small patch of dark red.

"An ambush!" Zhao Xuan wiped his cheek, his fingertip touching a thin, long bloodstain. A chill instantly spread through his body. He had barely uttered those three words when several muffled thuds came from behind the surrounding trees, as if someone had kicked away the dead branches of their hiding places. Immediately afterward, dozens of dark figures emerged from all directions as if springing from the ground—they were dressed in tight-fitting black clothing, their faces covered with black cloth, revealing only pairs of fierce-looking eyes. The steel blades in their hands gleamed coldly in the dim light, their surfaces even still glistening with unmelted snowflakes.

In a short while, these men in black had formed an impenetrable circle, tightly surrounding Zhao Xuan and his group of more than ten people. Their positioning was extremely precise, with no more than five steps between each pair, effectively blocking all possible escape routes, clearly indicating that they were highly trained assassins.

Zhao Xuan tightened his grip on the sword, his knuckles turning white. He glanced around; there were at least thirty or forty men in black, more than three times their number, and each of them exuded a calm and composed aura, their hands gripping the swords as steady as rocks—this was definitely not a hastily assembled rabble, but clearly a premeditated ambush.

“A trap…it really is a trap.” Zhao Xuan let out a low laugh, but the laugh carried a chilling undertone. Wang Yong’s whereabouts were only finalized last night. Apart from him and a few trusted guards, only a few core advisors in the mansion knew about it. Yet, the other party was able to set up an ambush here with perfect precision, even timing their entry into the woods perfectly.

A traitor! The thought pierced Zhao Xuan's mind like an ice pick. Who was it? Was it the clerk responsible for delivering the message? Or the guards who stood watch outside the council hall last night? Or even... those seemingly loyal advisors? How did they know that Wang Yong would detour through this forest? Countless questions surged in his mind, but the glint of a blade was already upon him.

"Kill!" the leader of the men in black shouted, swinging his blade first. The blade whistled through the air, aiming straight for Zhao Xuan's face. Zhao Xuan didn't hesitate. He pushed off the snow with his toes, using the momentum to slide half a step backward. At the same time, he swung his longsword horizontally, striking the back of the opponent's blade with a crisp "clang." The man in black felt a tremendous force, his hand instantly splitting open, the blade nearly slipping from his grasp. But his companions behind him were already upon him, several blades slashing down from different directions simultaneously, the flashing blades weaving a net of death.

"Fight them!" Li Zhong roared, swinging his sword to deflect a sharp blade coming from the left. Sparks flew as the blades clashed, disappearing in the dim forest. The guards immediately formed a battle formation, back to back protecting each other's blind spots. With swords flashing, they quickly became entangled in combat with the men in black.

The forest erupted in chaos. The clanging of metal, the splattering of blades piercing flesh, and the muffled groans of the dying mingled together, causing the snow to cascade from the branches. Large flakes of snow rained down from the sky, landing on the fighting figures, instantly melting in the scalding blood, only to quickly freeze back onto the cold blades. Zhao Xuan's longsword weaved through the crowd, each swing accompanied by a sharp whistling sound, yet his gaze remained constantly on his surroundings—these men in black were ruthless in their attacks, but seemed to be deliberately avoiding vital points, more like stalling for time.

Delaying time? For what purpose? Zhao Xuan's heart sank. Was there another trick up their sleeve? He glanced at the guards surrounded in the center, protecting an inconspicuous package—containing the secret letter Wang Yong wanted, the key to their mission. It seemed their target had never been him, but this package.

The snow continued to fall, and amidst the glint of swords, Zhao Xuan's cheeks burned with pain, but the chill in his heart was far greater than the winter's ice and snow. Behind this ambush lay a vast net that he had yet to fathom.

Zhao Xuan's sword swept across the wrist of a man in black. As the man recoiled in pain, Zhao Xuan caught a glimpse of his guards, who were gradually exhausting themselves. These men in black were like tireless ghosts; for every one who fell, two more would immediately take their place. The blood on their blades froze, only to be melted by fresh blood, spreading patches of glaring dark red across the snow. His throat bobbed; his palms, gripping the hilt of his sword, were drenched in sweat, mixed with splattered blood, making them so slippery he could barely hold the blade.

"We can't afford to waste any more time." Alarm bells rang in Zhao Xuan's mind. Even through several layers of brocade, he could still feel the rough texture of the paper in the secret letter he held in his arms. Yet, those few thin pages now felt incredibly heavy—they contained crucial maps and diagrams of Wang Yong's border defenses. If they fell into enemy hands, the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers on the front lines would hang by a thread. His peripheral vision swept over the package tightly guarded by his personal guards; hidden there was not only the secret letter, but also the turning point in the entire battle.

"Quickly finish this!" Zhao Xuan suddenly lowered his waist and exerted force, his inner strength surging from his dantian and flowing through his arm to the tip of his sword. He shouted, his voice piercing through the noise of the battle, carrying an undeniable determination. He twisted his wrist rapidly, his longsword drawing a silver arc in front of him. The surging sword energy forced the three men in black around him to retreat simultaneously—the one on the far left couldn't dodge in time and was struck on the shoulder by the sword wind, spitting out a mouthful of blood. He staggered and crashed into a tree trunk behind him, the snow being shaken down and falling, hitting his contorted face.

In that fleeting moment, Zhao Xuan abruptly turned his head, his gaze locking precisely on Li Zhong, who was desperately parrying the blade. "Li Zhong!" His voice, amplified by his internal energy, was exceptionally clear. "Take Lao Zhou and Xiao Ma, protect the secret message, and escape through the northeast. The trees are sparse there, making it easier to maneuver!"