Feng Zhan—or perhaps I should call myself Zane Phoenixfield.
From the moment I was born, I knew who I was—and what my duty was. I refuse to live only for duty, but I will not run from it either. I will never huddle in a corner, waiting for fate’s favor, the way some of my clansmen do.
I believe destiny is in my own hands. I believe three parts are fate, seven parts are earned. If the Phoenixfield Clan wants to reclaim the Nine Provinces, they cannot just sit at the snowy mountaintop and wait. If you don’t strive, don’t sacrifice—what right do you have to demand success?
Since childhood, I studied and trained with my father. He was both learned and skilled in arms—the most talented man I’ve ever known—but he never showed it in public. To outsiders, he was always just a rustic old farmer, with a bit of knowledge but still every inch a peasant.
What I learned as a boy was no less than any noble son, but I never had a noble’s elegance. My father always made me copy the village children, forcing me to act rough and uncouth.
As a child, I didn’t understand. I envied the refined air described in books, admired the scholars and beauties in stories. Only later did I realize—being rough and uncouth isn’t so bad after all.
Everyone I knew believed I was born poor and illiterate. They never hid anything in front of me—confidential letters even passed through my hands, because...
They thought I couldn’t read. Even if I saw those secret letters, I wouldn’t understand a word.
A beautiful misunderstanding, isn’t it?
When I was fifteen, war reached our village. Southlyn soldiers stormed in, killing and burning. My father—by rights, with his strength, could have taken me away. But he didn’t.
My father said his whole life was devoted to making me who I am. For my future, for the Phoenixfield Clan’s future, he could face death calmly.
At the moment of life and death, my father possessed world-shocking martial skills, but he never used them. He died under Southlyn hooves like any ordinary village elder, and I...
...escaped alive, just as he had planned.
From then on, I had a flawless identity. Even if someone investigated that village, no one would suspect I was Phoenixfield—let alone Phoenixfield royal blood.
The surname Phoenixfield is forbidden on the Nine Provinces Continent. My village had several families named Feng; my father chose it for that very reason.
I couldn’t be called Zane Phoenixfield; at least I had to keep a trace of my heritage. So I became Feng Zhan, dropping the middle character.
After Southlyn wiped out the village, I began a life half on the run, half wandering. By deliberately getting close to the frontier soldiers, I made friends among them. With their help, I became an ordinary soldier.
My father taught me many things, but he never told me what path to take. He only said: the road ahead is mine to choose. If I succeed, I’ll be Phoenixfield’s hero; if I fail...
If I fail, so be it. No one knows I’m the Phoenixfield King; if the clan can’t wait for their king, they’ll just choose a new one. So I never felt much pressure.
Joining the army was my own choice—and my only choice.
I was a supposedly illiterate country bumpkin. If I couldn’t read, I couldn’t become a civil official. Even if I had all the learning in the world, so what?
Born poor, without a great house’s recommendation, I’d never become an official. Even if I did, my prospects would be limited; under the great houses’ suppression, I could never become a minister second only to the emperor.
The army was my best option. On the battlefield, promotion depends on merit. Even though noble sons always steal the credit...
Those noble sons need capable, background-less men to earn merit for them—so they have someone to take credit from. That’s why someone like me can still rise, even if it’s slow. I was content with that.
This isn’t the Former Dynasty, and I’m no imperial favorite of Phoenixfield. I’m just a regular village boy. To stand firm in the army and climb step by step is already better than most.
In court politics, you need connections. On the battlefield, you need real ability. Without it, no matter how well-connected you are, you won’t get far—your enemies won’t spare you just because you have friends.
Every time I earned military merit, two-thirds was stolen. Even so, in five years I still rose to qianfu—commander of a thousand men. That means in five years, I killed a lot of people.
On the battlefield, no hands are clean. Every pair is stained with blood—only the amount differs. Mine are among the most bloodied. But in public I never showed it; no matter what, I was still that foolish boy from the mountain valley, with nothing but martial skill.
By rights, someone of my background should peak at qianfu. But I wasn’t satisfied—I didn’t want to stay a mere soldier; I wanted to become a general with real power.
If there’s no opportunity, then I’ll make one.