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Han Feichi saw everything with crystal clarity. From the moment his uncle conceived his treacherous plans, he tried to dissuade him. But Han Shouye was stubborn and autocratic, unwilling to heed his advice. With no other recourse, Han Feichi turned to his father.
His father had long been tormented by the chaos of the times. Upon hearing Han Feichi’s words, he fell into a deep silence, as if entranced. After a long while, he sighed heavily and said, “Zhongheng… that is your uncle.”
Blood ties bound them together.
Han Feichi understood that his father, as head of the family, viewed lineage and blood above all else—those in his position always did. Thus, he knew he could persuade him.
He said, “Father, if the Han family does not sever its own arm, calamity and disgrace will befall our clan. Would you sacrifice the entire Han family for Uncle’s branch?”
This single question sent shockwaves through Han Shousong’s mind.
Distraught, his brow damp with sweat, he pressed Han Feichi further: “Cut off an arm? How? Your uncle is determined to rebel, and the military power is in his hands—who can stop him? Or do you propose the Hans surrender to the Emperor and betray your uncle? Do you think Xiao Ziteng would spare us because of our submission? What kind of man is he, truly?”
Each question was sharp with panic, like standing on the edge of a precipice.
And Han Feichi answered thus:
“We cannot make this decision,” he said meaningfully. “But someone can.”
Second Brother could.
Second Brother possessed profound strategy, decisive resolve, the courage to face death, and a heart vast enough to embrace all. He could ensure everything ended safely, even after eradicating Uncle’s line, sparing the rest of the Han family.
Self-amputation for survival—this was the Han family’s only path forward.
Hearing these words, his father grew visibly uneasy, unable to believe what he was hearing. Yet Han Feichi knew the message had sunk in—and more importantly, he believed only Qi Yin could bring stability.
From then on, Han Feichi drew closer to Qi Yin—not just out of their personal bond but also for the sake of his family and the greater cause.
The Han family had become, unknowingly, an extension of Qi Yin’s strength.
But Qi Yin was a cautious man. Having endured countless storms over the years, he trusted few people. Though he kept Han Feichi close, he remained guarded, revealing only fragments of his plans and rarely relying on others to execute them.
Han Feichi’s journey north with Qi Yin to escort the bride was initially meant to gather intelligence and protect Second Brother from assassination. Unexpectedly, he received a letter from Qi Yin—eight words scrawled inside: “Secure Huozhou; act with integrity.”
He understood Second Brother’s intent—to secure Uncle Han Shouzheng’s troops in Huozhou!
Finally, Qi Yin trusted him!
Overjoyed, Han Feichi didn’t suspect the letter was penned by Shen Xiling. Quickly, he set out in secret to persuade his uncle.
Han Shouzheng harbored grievances against Han Shouye and knew the family’s stance differed from his brother’s. Persuaded without much difficulty, he rallied under the banner of “cleansing the court” and marched to Xiaoshan, leading to the present situation.
In the blink of an eye, the remnants of Han Shouye’s forces were annihilated. Father and son, drenched in blood, were personally apprehended by Han Shouzheng.
Han Shouzheng forced his brother and nephew to the ground, then knelt before the Emperor, saying, “Your humble servant arrives late to rescue Your Majesty! Please forgive me!”
Inside the palace hall, young Crown Prince Xiao Yizhao still peered through the crack in the door. Seeing the tide turn outside, he erupted in joy, clapping his hands and turning to his mother excitedly. “Mother! We’re saved! We’re saved!”
Despite his youth, the drama of life-and-death had stirred his emotions. He knew his father wouldn’t die, nor would he and his mother fall into enemy hands. It was wonderful!
Yet… his mother’s expression darkened further.
More somber than before, her eyes brimming with fear.
She fixed her gaze on one direction, her expression so terrifying it unsettled Xiao Yizhao. Stopping mid-laugh, he froze and turned back to peer through the crack at where his mother stared.
Outside, nearly everyone knelt.
But the Left Chancellor did not kneel.
Nor did his younger uncle beside him.
…They did not bow to the Emperor.
He was stunned. Why wouldn’t they kneel? The Emperor was their sovereign, their sky—they should prostrate themselves before him. Yet they stood. The Left Chancellor’s face was impassive.
Xiao Yizhao had known the Left Chancellor since childhood. He remembered how deferential he had always been to the Emperor, obedient to every command, never rebellious.
Why wasn’t he kneeling now?
Confused, Xiao Yizhao witnessed something even more shocking…
General Pei Jian, loyal protector of the Emperor, suddenly pressed his sword to the Emperor’s neck.
A sharp snap .
His mother’s fingernail broke.
Blood trickled down.
Onto Xiao Yizhao’s hand.
Like a tear of blood.
Meanwhile, the clamor outside continued.
Xiao Ziteng, with Pei Jian’s blade at his throat, wore an expression of utmost severity. He didn’t look back at Pei Jian but instead raised his eyes to meet Qi Yin’s distant figure.
There he stood, at the boundary of firelight and shadow, his features indistinct, his demeanor calm as a windless lake—broad and solemn.
Thinking back, Qi Jingchen seemed unchanged. From childhood, he had followed his own principles, knowing precisely what to do and what not to.
When their teacher instructed them in the Four Books and Five Classics, teaching the wisdom of sages, everyone grasped the lessons well in class. Yet, few persisted in practicing those teachings later. Strictly speaking, almost no one did—not Third Prince Xiao Zihuan, nor Xiao Ziteng himself.
Only Qi Yin walked the original path—protecting the land, safeguarding the people, doing what was useful for the nation.
These words sounded simple, but putting them into action was difficult. Take implementing new policies, promoting commoners, or planning northern campaigns—everything was hard. Hard because it required breaking barriers, persevering, and staying true to oneself.
…He was a man who could stay true.
At this moment, Xiao Ziteng gazed at him, a familiar bitterness rising in his chest—jealousy.
He had envied Qi Yin since childhood, though such jealousy was shallow back then: envy of his intellect, his prominence, the power wielded by the Qi family. Only in recent years had he come to understand that none of these were the root cause. His jealousy stemmed simply from knowing he could never be like Qi Yin.
No matter how eloquent his prose, how admired by others, or how many achievements he amassed as Emperor, he would always fall short. From the moment jealousy took root, he had already lost.
For life, he could never surpass him.
Five years ago, he finally dragged the Qi family into the mire. Since then, he tormented and exploited Qi Yin in myriad ways. Watching him kneel at his feet brought both satisfaction and pain. Even knowing it was a hollow victory, he derived fleeting fulfillment from it.
Now, with a cold blade pressed to his neck, those false victories shattered completely. He realized… he was heading toward an inevitable end.
Yet he refused to show weakness. Before him stood countless ministers, behind him his wife and son. He couldn’t fall here. So, he didn’t bow to the blade but instead met Qi Yin’s gaze squarely, asking mockingly, “What does my lord mean by this?”
All eyes watched—the scene of sovereign and minister facing each other.
And waited—for the renowned minister to answer the Emperor’s question.
By now, everyone understood what was about to happen. They silently bore witness to a momentous upheaval.
Yet Qi Yin said nothing. Supported by Han Feichi, he slowly approached Xiao Ziteng.
Still pale and frail from illness, his steps were unhurried, treading upon corpses and blood as if detached—present yet absent.
Stopping a few paces from Xiao Ziteng, his gaze passed over him to the palace behind, piercing through the heavy doors to see the trembling Xiao Yizhao within. Calmly, he addressed the Emperor: “After Your Majesty abdicates, I will dedicate myself to guiding the Crown Prince. All in Jiangzuo will remain as before.”
“For the rest of my life, I will remain a loyal subject of Liang.”
His words were light, his tone serene—as if critiquing a painting or remarking on the pleasant night breeze. Yet their weight exploded like thunder in the ears of all present, leaving them unsettled for a long time.
What did the Left Chancellor mean?
Confronting the Emperor with arms implied rebellion, making demands for abdication logical—but vowing to guide the Crown Prince and remain a loyal subject? What did it mean?
Did he not intend to overthrow the dynasty? To continue serving as a minister?
Amidst the confusion, Xiao Ziteng burst into laughter. In the silence following battle, his laughter rang especially sharp, echoing deafeningly through the mountains.
“Well done, Qi Second Son, illustrious minister of Jiangzuo!” he mocked. “Even in rebellion, you remain so dignified and polished—should I thank you profusely for pledging eternal loyalty?”
“You are far too greedy,” the Emperor raged. “To seize this glorious land yet preserve your untarnished reputation—Qi Jingchen, such bargains do not exist in this world!”
His words struck bone-deep.
“I tell you!” Xiao Ziteng’s frenzied visage, illuminated by fire and shadow, was especially ghastly. “Traitors will meet wretched ends! You think you can sit securely on the throne? You will die by another’s hand, laughed at by all, cursed by historians for eternity! Never to rise again!”
Word by word, his curses scattered into the winds, embedding themselves into every inch of Xiaoshan. The once-dashing Fourth Prince, later the exalted Emperor of Liang, now resembled a vengeful ghost, leaving behind his final malediction.
Even in death, he vowed to drag Qi Yin into the abyss alongside him.
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