The Marquis Mansion's Elite Class-Chapter 410

The young man's voice carried a tone of confusion and helplessness.

Zong Qiyun was their clansman—a close uncle and their father's most trusted brother in the family. He couldn’t possibly be like Zhao Yumin or Ma Congzhang, putting on a facade while scheming behind their backs, much less openly leaving them to die.

But...

Why hadn’t reinforcements arrived after all this time?

Despair spread like floodwaters. Not just Zong Yan, but all the soldiers realized they had been abandoned—a forgotten sacrifice.

Zong Zhao said, "No, he will come."

His tone was firm, as if trying to convince Zong Yan and the soldiers—or perhaps himself—to hold on a little longer.

The battlefield raged with carnage.

Soldiers fell one after another.

By the end, the hundred-strong squad of fresh recruits had been whittled down to just the two brothers. The soldiers of You Country encircled them, spears and shields in hand, advancing step by step.

On the battlefield, no amount of martial prowess could withstand an army.

Everyone knew what would happen next—

These two youths would surely die.

Zong Zhao shielded his younger brother, blocking the incoming attacks.

Zong Yan stared at his brother’s broad back, his eyes reddening. He already foresaw the inevitable outcome. He had thought joining the army would mean defending their homeland and achieving glory, never imagining he’d meet such an ignoble end so soon after enlisting.

But, Brother...

This shouldn’t be your fate.

To him, his brother was peerless in both intellect and strength—capable, dependable, someone he admired. He was their parents’ pride, the revered scholar among teachers and students, and a pillar of the crown prince’s court. Zong Zhao had a bright future ahead; he shouldn’t die in this wretched conspiracy.

"Brother," Zong Yan called softly.

"I’m here. Don’t be afraid," Zong Zhao replied without turning.

Zong Yan fought back tears. "Remember that dream I told you about? I’ve been seeing her more and more often. If she truly exists, she should have my jade pendant—the one we bought for four taels on Lantern Street."

Zong Zhao turned. "What are you saying?"

Zong Yan forced a smile uglier than tears and pressed something into his brother’s hand. "Find her for me. Take care of her."

Then, with a forceful shove, he pushed Zong Zhao off the cliff.

"Zong Yan!" Zong Zhao’s cry echoed as he plummeted into the abyss.

The bottomless chasm swallowed him instantly.

Watching his brother disappear, Zong Yan felt an odd lightness. He could finally smile. The iron claw and rope might not guarantee survival, but at least there was a sliver of hope.

And that single chance to live—he had given it to his brother.

Wiping away blood and tears, Zong Yan tightened his grip on his sword and charged into the sea of You Country soldiers—

"I’ll fight you to the death!"

......

Years later, whenever Zong Zhao recalled that day, he burned with the desire to tear those three men limb from limb.

The reinforcements never came.

Yet history recorded it as a victory—one where Zong Qiyun earned military merit. But the battlefield had been in the east, while the rookie squad lured as bait in the western jungles went unmentioned.

Everyone assumed the Zong brothers had perished in the eastern front.

They ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‍never expected Zong Zhao to return.

He had clawed his way back from the abyss, carrying a vendetta drenched in blood.

"Ah! Ah!! Aaaah!!" The Old Marquis trembled as the full truth sank in, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "Zong Qiyun! Zong Qiyun!! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!!"

The Old Marchioness, her face streaked with tears, held him back. "That beast is already dead—rotted to the core."

Xu Wan had always known Zong Yan’s death was unjust, but never imagined the cruelty of it—deceived as bait, abandoned by reinforcements, giving his only chance to live to Zong Zhao...

No wonder Zong Zhao spiraled into madness at the mere mention of his brother. She moved to his side, clasping his hand in silent comfort.

Zong Zhao only gripped hers tighter.

He had sworn to keep this buried, but facing Zong Yan’s memorial tablet, haunted by his laughter and voice, the lies crumbled.

The Old Marchioness wept. "The border was so far from the capital... When Zong Yan’s body was brought back, we couldn’t even recognize him. My poor child, facing so many enemies—his body must have been riddled with wounds. He must have suffered so much... Yan hated pain more than anything."

"That hypocrite Zong Qiyun—spouting lies about never stopping the search, playing the grieving hero—made me trust him blindly. I even handed him family businesses!" The Old Marquis suddenly recalled, "He... he even suggested adopting a son to ease our loneliness..."

Had it not been for Little Jincheng, they might have succumbed to despair—either joining their son in death or accepting Zong Qiyun’s twisted offer.

The Old Marchioness gasped in realization. "Our... our fortune... Was that what tempted him?"

The Old Marquis staggered, his gaze hollow. Trembling, he stumbled toward the ancestral hall’s exit. "It was me... I delivered my own sons into the wolves’ den... Ugh—!"

Blood sprayed from his lips as he collapsed to his knees.

"My lord!" "Father!"

"Father!" Zong Zhao rushed forward, checking his pulse—rage-induced hemorrhage.

The Old Marquis, blood trickling from his mouth, muttered, "Blind... I was blind to trust a viper... I killed Zong Yan..."

The Old Marchioness, blinded by tears, cried, "Zhao, take your father to rest—he’s ill, he’s ill!"

Lying in bed, the Old Marquis stared vacantly at the canopy. He refused medicine, lost in self-condemnation, until agony wrenched more blood from him.

"This can’t go on," Xu Wan fretted. "Zong Zhao, if he won’t drink the medicine and keeps harming himself... Should we knock him out? Let him rest."

Zong Zhao nodded. "I’ll do it."

Finally, the Old Marquis stilled.

As the Old Marchioness wiped blood from his lips, her heart ached as if pierced by needles. He blamed himself for delivering their sons to slaughter, yet their wealth had come through her.

In the end, Zong Yan’s death was their shared burden. Her pain was unbearable—but she couldn’t afford to break now.

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