Compared to Li Jun, who died in battle, and Murong Yanzhao, now shackled in chains, Shi Shouxin's fate seemed …
Compared to Li Jun, who died in battle, and Murong Yanzhao, now shackled in chains, Shi Shouxin's fate seemed the most dignified. No life lost on the battlefield, no soul broken in captivity. He merely stepped from the light of generalship into the shadows of power.
He struck more decisively than Murong Yanzhao, adapted more shrewdly than Li Jun. He understood: one cannot cling to a book whose pages are destined to turn. Zhao Kuangyin was the next chapter, written in ink long dried. But his friends refused to see it, gripping the past until their hands were stained black with futility. Fools. Utter fools.
At first, he couldn't return to Shi Family Village or see his parents. He heard his mother still longed for him. Even though he was reviled as a traitor, she still ached for her son.
Then, he lost more friends. Some asked if his choices were worth it, some called him clever, some entrusted their children to him.
Later, he relinquished his military power, barely securing his life. Some said he'd fallen from grace, others praised his ability to "judge the situation".
Was he a wise man or a fool?
Such questions couldn't be answered by looking inward. No one thinks their own actions are foolish, otherwise, why take them?
Perhaps endless curses would follow him, but he couldn't hear the praises of the dead, nor the insults. Praise and scorn were irrelevant now. He didn't care to listen. Such voices served no purpose.
Standing outside the Martial Temple, his ears filled with the footsteps of artisans, their backs bent under the scorching sun, their work chants shattering the heat. These were the sounds of the present. The emperor's words in the court chambers, those were the sounds of the present. The floodwaters of Shi Family Village, the whispers of old friends, under today's sun, had faded to near nothing.