In the end, Xiang An did not throw a second punch at his brother.
Or rather, he had already waited for what he wanted, so he no longer demanded anything more.
If Han Xin had been here, he might have been so angered by Xiang An that he laughed.
Han Xin had left Xiang An and defected to Liu Ji for no other reason than Xiang An's foolish loyalty to Xiang Yu. Now, it seemed some of that poison still lingered in Xiang An's body.
Han Xin: What a joke. I'm going to throw up.
Because of this, the person Han Xin found most disgusting in his life was Xiang Yu, while the second might have been Xiang An.
Who knew what Han Xin had felt when he heard that Xiang An had finally parted ways with Xiang Yu?
But—
It did not matter.
Han Xin was the victor.
Though he had not lived to see Liu Ji ascend the throne, instead being desperately killed by Xiang An on the battlefield, he was still the victor. He had proven that he was not wrong—and that the path he had shown Xiang An was not wrong either.
It was simply that, for Xiang An, some things could perhaps never be measured solely by right and wrong.
If he said that to Han Xin, Han Xin would probably curse out loud.
Those former lord and retainer had both died on the plains of Dingdou. It had to be said that this, too, was a kind of romance unique to that era.
Xiang An sat on a rock, lowering his head, not knowing what to say.
Xiang Yu looked at his own fourth younger sister, green-faced and fanged, wanting to cry but unsure whether he even deserved to.
Yu Meiren stood beside Xiang