Chapter 910: 867. Discussing The Terms Of Funan Surrender
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Go to scholar repeated his words. The king’s shoulders sagged, the last remnants of resistance crumbling. His lips trembled, and when he spoke, his voice carried the hollow weariness of a man who had nothing left to bargain with.
“Yes,” he said quietly, the weight of his crown pressing him down though no diadem remained upon his brow. “Yes. I will agree to your terms. Whatever you ask. Only… only spare my family. Let them live, and I will sign what you place before me.”
The queen clutched her daughters tighter, tears streaking her cheeks. The boys lowered their heads, shame and despair twisting their youthful faces.
The scholar’s voice translated the plea with steady precision, but there was no mistaking the tremor that had escaped the king’s throat.
At these words, Zhou Yu’s lips curved faintly, not in mockery, but in recognition of the opportunity laid bare. He leaned subtly toward Sun Ce, his voice pitched for his brothers in oath to hear.
“Brother Bofu,” Zhou Yu said, using Sun Ce’s style name, “this will be simple. The king is a family man above all. His fear for them outweighs his pride for his throne. Such a man will yield easily, provided we hold his family’s safety before him. Allow me to take the lead in negotiation. I assure you, I will be gentle, yet I will secure for our Majesty the strongest treaty possible.”
Sun Ce’s grin broke wide and approving. He clapped Zhou Yu lightly on the shoulder. “If Brother Gongjin wishes it, then by all means. This work is made for your tongue, not for our spears. If you take this burden, then I am most content.”
He glanced to Ma Chao. “Brother Mengqi, what say you? Shall we entrust the matter of treaties and parchment to Gongjin, while we focus on the sword?”
Ma Chao gave a deep nod, his voice calm but resolute. “I agree. Matters of quill and ink are best suited for Brother Gongjin. You and I are warriors, Bofu. Our strength is in battle, not in bargaining.”
Sun Ce laughed heartily, clapping Ma Chao’s shoulder. “Well spoken, Mengqi! Then it is settled.”
Turning back toward the Funanese king, Sun Ce raised his voice once more, his words ringing clear through the hall.
“King Kaundinya III,” he said, his voice resonant. “You will sit with my advisor, Zhou Yu, and together you will draw the treaty of Funan’s surrender. Have no fear, your family will be treated with respect. They will be escorted to chambers within this palace, watched, but not harmed. As long as you abide by our terms, they shall come to no misfortune. You, however, will remain with Zhou Yu, to see this pact signed and sealed.”
The scholar translated each word, and Kaundinya III’s eyes flickered with a faint glimmer of relief, though the sorrow in his heart remained deep.
The king closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them with a faint nod. His voice was almost inaudible. “Yes. I will do as you say.”
The scholar relayed his assent, and Sun Ce gave a firm nod. “So it shall be.”
He gestured toward his men. “Escort the queen and the royal children to their chambers. Treat them with courtesy. The king shall remain, and follow Zhou Yu to discuss the terms of surrender.”
The soldiers moved forward at once, their discipline unyielding, as they gently but firmly guided the royal family from the hall. The queen glanced back only once, her eyes lingering on her husband as though to imprint his face upon her memory, before being led away into the depths of the palace.
Kaundinya III stood alone now, flanked only by guards, his head bowed, his crownless state made plain for all to see. Zhou Yu stepped toward him, his movements elegant, his gaze calm as still water.
“Come, Your Majesty,” Zhou Yu said, his tone smooth and unfaltering. “Let us speak. The future of Funan awaits us in ink and parchment. The sooner we begin, the sooner you can be reunited with your family.”
The scholar translated. The king nodded heavily and followed, his steps slow, each one dragging the weight of a fallen kingdom.
Zhou Yu led the defeated King Kaundinya III and the scholar through the corridors of the Funanese palace. The sound of armored boots echoed faintly against the polished stone floor, yet Zhou Yu’s gait was measured, graceful, more like that of a visiting noble than a conqueror.
He carried himself with quiet confidence, his robes flowing with every step, his expression calm and unreadable, as though every detail of what was to unfold had already been written in his mind.
The king shuffled beside him, his steps heavy, each footfall seeming to drag the weight of his broken crown. His once proud shoulders slumped forward, and his face bore the hollow look of a man forced to walk away from everything he had sworn to protect.
The scholar, a local man with narrow shoulders and a bookish face, stayed close, his eyes flicking nervously between the conqueror and his king. His role as translator made him both bridge and shield, and the tension of it pressed hard on his brow.
At last, they arrived at the chamber Zhou Yu had selected. He pushed the ornate door open with a deliberate calm, allowing the others to step inside before him.
The room was luxurious, perhaps one of the most beautiful the palace had to offer. The floor was polished wood inlaid with delicate carvings of serpents and lotus blossoms. The walls were decorated with elaborate murals, each telling stories of Funan’s legendary past, kings crowned by the gods, warriors slaying beasts, rivers teeming with boats laden with riches.
Exotic furs and skins draped across the chairs, their soft textures contrasting with the cold stone outside. Paintings framed with gilt adorned the walls, and the scent of rare incense, still lingering in the air from before the city’s fall, wove an atmosphere of tragic opulence.
Zhou Yu’s sharp eyes missed nothing. A kingdom of wealth, pride, and illusion, he thought. And now it belongs to us.
He gestured for the king to sit. Then, without hesitation, he claimed the most expensive chair for himself, the one with gilded legs, its arms wrapped in the fur of some great spotted beast. He sat with a poise that filled the space, a man fully at home even in the palace of his enemy.
King Kaundinya III lowered himself across from him, his movements heavy, reluctant, yet tinged with a desperate dignity. His robes were creased from the hurried escape attempt, his crown gone, his hands trembling slightly as he clasped them together in his lap. The scholar took his place at the side, standing between them, ready to carry words back and forth across the gulf of language.
For a moment, there was silence. Zhou Yu allowed it, studying the man before him. He could see the exhaustion in the king’s eyes, the way his lips quivered with unspoken fear. He did not look like a monarch. He looked like a father.
Zhou Yu leaned forward slightly, his voice low, smooth, and touched with carefully crafted warmth.
“Your Majesty,” he began, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “There is no need for alarm. Your family will come to no harm while under our care. You have my word. I, too, am a family man. I know what it means to treasure one’s kin above all else. Believe me when I say that I understand your heart.”
The scholar translated, his voice steady.
The king blinked, taken aback. His tired eyes rose from the floor and lingered on Zhou Yu’s composed face. He had expected cold commands, perhaps cruelty, perhaps threats. Instead, he found a man who spoke of family, of shared feelings. His chest tightened, and his lips parted with a shuddering exhale.
“Then… then I am relieved,” he said, his voice quivering as he looked at Zhou Yu with a flicker of desperate hope. “To find that even among conquerors there are honorable men who understand what it means to be a father.”
The scholar translated quickly.
Zhou Yu’s smile was faint, serene, his gaze steady. Inwardly, however, he smirked. The mask he had chosen fit perfectly. The king, panicked and clouded with fear, had already stepped into the net.
Zhou Yu let the silence stretch for a moment longer, his expression calm, his posture impeccable. Then, with a graceful motion of his hand, he began.
“Now, Your Majesty,” he said smoothly, “let us speak of the terms that will shape the future of Funan.”
The scholar’s voice carried the words across. The king straightened slightly, though his shoulders trembled.
“The first term,” Zhou Yu continued, “is simple, and as Marquis Dingdong has already spoken: you shall retain your throne. Funan shall remain under your rule in name. However, you will become a protectorate of the Hengyuan Dynasty. Each year, you will send tribute to our Emperor, as a sign of loyalty and submission.”
The scholar translated.
The king listened, then nodded, his jaw tightening but not resisting. “I have no objection. It is… logical. Better to keep my throne in name than to lose all.”
Zhou Yu inclined his head, satisfied. “Good. The second term: your military, both army and navy, will be reduced. Only twenty percent of its current strength shall remain. This is to ensure peace and stability. The number must never increase again.”
The words fell like stones into the room. The king’s face twitched, his breath catching. His hands clenched in his lap, then loosened. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with resignation.
“Yes,” he whispered. “It is as you say. Were I in your place, I would demand the same. So be it.”
The scholar translated.
Zhou Yu nodded, pleased with the lack of resistance. His tone remained calm, but his words pressed forward with inexorable weight.
“The third term: Funan shall adopt the bureaucracy and policies of the Hengyuan Dynasty. From the lowest official to the highest, step by step, your government will be reshaped to match ours. Each year, with your tribute, you will send reports of these reforms to our capital.”
The king’s eyes flickered with something like despair, yet no surprise. He had expected this. His lips curled bitterly, but he nodded. “Yes. If Funan must bow, then we shall bow fully.”
Zhou Yu allowed himself a small smile. “Excellent. Then, the final term.”
He let the words hang for a moment, his gaze fixed on the king. Then he spoke with deliberate clarity. “One of your sons must come to our capital, Xiapi. He will live there as a royal guest for the rest of his life. Every two years, he may return to Funan for one month, before returning to us.” The scholar translated carefully.
______________________________
Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 35 (202 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 966 (+20)
VIT: 623 (+20)
AGI: 623 (+10)
INT: 667
CHR: 98
WIS: 549
WILL: 432
ATR Points: 0
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