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The horizon was laden with gloom, as if massive waves were churning beneath, yet the clouds clung stubbornly to their unshed tears, refusing to let the rain fall.
“Boom!” A sudden clap of thunder illuminated a pair of shadowy peach-like eyes. The red brocade robe stood out starkly against the sea of white mourning banners in the memorial hall.
“My Lord,” Liu Yao whispered as he approached, head bowed low.
No one in the hall dared to speak; pairs of eyes were fixed on the hanging scrolls of eulogies.
“The moon grows cold over Twin Gorges, the stars sink below Spring Breeze Tower.”
Alas! What a loss—a person like that.
“Crack!” Another thunderclap echoed, and the cold electric glow made his handsome face appear even more menacing.
“My Lord, it's nearly time,” Liu Yao reminded again.
The peach-like eyes narrowed slightly. Ling Yiran took an incense stick, glaring fiercely at the coffin.
The atmosphere grew heavy, almost eerie.
Unexpectedly, the incense snapped into pieces where it had fallen, but Ling Yiran stood motionless, his fingers turning pale.
“Ninth Brother.” Amidst the oppressive silence, a gentle voice tinged with sorrow broke through. Ling Cheran stepped forward, lowering his gaze toward the center, placing his right hand lightly on the coffin. “The departed has passed on; you must grieve in moderation.”
Rolling thunder resounded across the horizon, its steely light reflecting in his eyes. His lips curved faintly upward as Ling Yiran slowly turned his gaze toward that intrusive right hand.
“Hmph.” The audible sneer shocked everyone in the memorial hall. Under the watchful eyes of the officials, Ling Yiran gracefully turned around, offering a bow to Ling Cheran while holding the incense.
This... this...
Everyone was dumbfounded. Shouldn't he be paying respects to the deceased? Why?
Ling Cheran's pupils widened momentarily as he watched the figure in red, exuding an air of defiance, drift away.
“Boom!” The sudden thunderclap startled him, quickening his heartbeat.
“It's precisely the hour of Chen. The dragons gather, ready to rain. Escort Left Minister Feng on his final journey—raise the coffin!”
Ling Cheran composed himself slightly, glancing casually at those guarding the coffin, only to widen his eyes in shock.
“Yun Qing...” Yu Ning walked at the forefront, his pale face unable to conceal his grief. “Rest well,” Yu Yuanzhong muttered through gritted teeth, but his gaze remained fixed on Ling Cheran.
Ling Cheran couldn’t help but fall silent. Jiangdong’s Yu Ning, unparalleled among scholars—was Feng Yunqing truly such a close confidant? As Ling Cheran pondered, a sudden surge of murderous intent sent shivers down his spine. What was that?
A white hemp robe brushed past him, carrying a faint scent of blood. The man strode with the gait of a tiger and the agility of an ape—clearly a martial artist.
Ling Cheran instinctively became wary, turning his head to glance at his side, only to see his personal guard deathly pale.
“Cheng Wu?” Ling Cheran exclaimed in astonishment.
A drop of cold sweat slid from the guard’s forehead. He stood frozen, looking at the hemp-clad figure with the fear of a startled rabbit.
“Cheng Wu!” Ling Cheran grew irritated. How could the murderous intent of that martial artist reduce his skilled bodyguard to such a state?
Time moved slowly alongside the black coffin, leaving only the heart-stopping sound of thunder in the heavens and earth.
After a long moment, the speechless guard finally spoke in a low voice, “My... Lord...”
Ling Cheran exhaled deeply, as if a fish surfacing for air. “Hmm?” He feigned calmness, watching the officials from the Han clan escort the coffin away. Removing Feng Yunqing—would it succeed in clipping the wings of the Han clan as planned? He began to waver.
“That man...” Cheng Wu stole a glance at the distant white figure before retreating into the shadows. “That man is Lin Chengbi, the current leader of the Wuyan Sect, also known as the Martial Alliance Master.”
What?! Ling Cheran whipped his head back, disbelief filling his eyes. “The Martial Alliance Master?”
“Yes.”
The memorial hall gradually emptied, leaving only the whispering rustle of willow branches swaying in the wind.
“Two days ago, Riyao Gate was massacred,” Ling Cheran murmured, his voice hollow.
“A letter from Yong Kingdom stated it was Feng Wuyu of Wangshan who did it,” Cheng Wu stammered.
“Dozens of strongholds wiped out in a single night—it’s impossible for it to be the work of one man!” Ling Cheran slammed his hand against the edge of the table, tearing off his mask of gentleness. He sneered, “Good, good!”
The Martial Alliance Master, high-ranking officials, and the common folk lining the streets of Yundu—all gathered here! Should he admire Feng Yunqing, or...
He shifted his gaze to the broken incense on the ground.
Or should he direct his thoughts to you, Ninth Brother?
Unable to bear the weight of so much sorrow, the dark clouds finally gave way, unleashing a torrential downpour.
“Cheng Wu.” Ling Cheran felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. “Did General Han come today?”
“Reporting to my Lord, no.”
“Thank goodness, thank goodness.” He slumped his shoulders, exhaling deeply in relief.
Ever since news of Feng Yunqing’s death reached him, Han Yue had shut herself indoors, causing him to worry incessantly about any intimate connection between the two. Now, it seemed his fears were unfounded. Good, good.
“Please leave.” A voice suddenly rang out from the depths of the memorial hall, startling both master and servant.
“You?” After a moment, Ling Cheran recognized the newcomer.
“Please leave.” Zhang Mi stood expressionless, bending down to pick up the white paper and broken incense from the ground.
“How dare you!” Cheng Wu looked disdainfully at the slender boy.
“My lord prefers solitude.” Zhang Mi slowly straightened, his bewitching eyes filled with disgust. “Please leave.” From the start, he had not used honorifics.
Ling Cheran narrowed his eyes, emanating a sinister aura. He stared, expecting the boy who had betrayed him to show some fear. Yet, the boy approached without a trace of apprehension, his eyes no longer lifeless like dead wood.
Rain connected in threads, linking heaven and earth.
Ling Cheran watched, astonished, as the boy drew closer. Even Cheng Wu beside him froze in place.
Ten paces, three feet, two steps—Zhang Mi’s sleeves fluttered as he silently advanced. In one fluid motion, he extended his arm, applied force, closed the door, and bolted it shut.
“Boom!” A deafening thunderclap exploded above. Ling Cheran stood in the rain, his mind dazed.
Torrential rain poured down, the vast expanse of sky stretching endlessly. Early summer skies were meant to be clear, yet an infinite black curtain enveloped the world.
A sudden shock!
...
The rhythmic dripping of the water clock echoed through the palace halls, accompanied by faint rumbles of distant thunder. A flickering flame danced within the palace lantern, dividing the night into realms of light and shadow.
Four figures stood in the shadows—three men and one woman. The slim figure on the far left seemed to stir slightly. In the deep silence, Yuan Wan turned her gaze.
So, apart from her, the King had other informants among the common folk. Now that they had all appeared simultaneously, it meant the King’s end was near. This gathering was the first—and likely the last.
A suppressed cough echoed through the hall. Before the imperial desk, Ling Zhun lowered his gaze to the open secret report, his pale lips pressed tightly together.
“So, this is the result?” The King’s voice was eerily calm.
“Yes,” the middle-aged man beside Yuan Wan replied without hesitation.
Beneath the bright yellow robes, Ling Zhun’s chest rose and fell violently. He clenched his ten fingers, the rounded tips digging into his palms.
Good, such audacity!
“Crack!” The corner of the desk splintered under his fury, and a heart-wrenching cough reverberated through the hall. Ling Zhun straightened his body, his trembling steps carrying him toward the map. Behind him, De Xian wanted to approach but couldn’t. With each step his master took, the weight of sorrow grew heavier. The streaks of gray in his hair fluttered in the hot summer breeze, his back now appearing older than ever.
His son, his ambitious son!
His pale fist hovered over the map of Yong Kingdom, and Ling Zhun’s dragon-like eyes bulged, revealing a terrifying ferocity.
In the shadows, the four figures held their breath, heads bowed, staring at the ground.
“The sixteen states of You Prefecture?” Ling Zhun’s sharp gaze fell upon the territory recently annexed into Qingtu.
His seventh son, Ling Cheran—the ambitious one—had colluded with the enemy kingdom, attempting to cede land in exchange for aid from Chen Shao? That night when Feng Shaoyu left the capital, upon reading the secret report signed by Ling Yiran, he refused to believe it. Little Ninth, your move was far too reckless. Was it because Little Seventh orchestrated a scheme to have Miss Han die in Mirror Gorge? It seems even you, like me, cannot escape the bonds of love.
And then, the Left Chancellor who had been forced to disguise himself as a woman met his end in Twin Gorges—a wake-up call that struck fear into his heart. On the night the tragic news arrived, he rested in the Moxiang Hall, and naturally, his bedside companion overheard it...
“Consort! Consort!”
The maids’ cries still echoed in his ears. He personally witnessed the once-gentle consort’s face turn pale and lifeless in an instant.
“Beloved Consort?” He supported her frail body, realizing how fragile her waist was in his hands.
Her beautiful eyes were hollow, devoid of life, staring at him unblinkingly.
“Beloved Consort...” He grew uneasy. He had seen such an expression before—in the face of the woman he loved most. But wasn’t the person in his arms the one who loved him so humbly, so devotedly? How could she now wear such a look?
Her silken hair cascaded onto the bed like satin, her exquisite features finely carved, yet utterly devoid of vitality.
“Mo'er...” Ling Zhun felt as if his heart was being torn apart. “Imperial Physician!” The words slipped out before he froze. Hadn’t he ordered the poisoned flower dew drink? Wasn’t this the outcome he desired? Wasn’t it?
Those beautiful eyes seemed to see through his hesitation, a faint smile forming. That all-knowing smile, that smile of liberation, struck him like a hammer blow, suffocating him.
“No!” Ling Zhun roared, watching as those eyes slowly closed, carried away by the wind, leaving behind a sigh.
“Not allowed!” He rubbed her eyelids, like a helpless wild beast. “Open your eyes and look at me! Open them!”
When reality hit, it always came so suddenly. That night, the person in his arms had been so soft, her breath still warm against his nose. But those eyes never opened again, never looked at him once more. Just like over a decade ago, when Ling Zhun was rejected, unable to reach that fragile, humble heart ever again.
Thinking, thinking, a mouthful of sweet, metallic blood sprayed out, wetting the embroidered silk map. Ignoring De Xian’s panic, Ling Zhun approached the window, gazing distantly at the Moxiang Hall.
Hadn’t his heart already died after Nuan’er left? Why did it still hurt?
She was clearly just a pawn in Little Ninth’s game. Shouldn’t he hate her? Hate himself for being manipulated by his own son even in his final days, shouldn’t he?
The wind brushed past the window, creasing his brow.
Even though he had harbored murderous intent, she had always been obedient, so docile, daring only to whisper words of love when he slept, loving him so humbly. But why did she now shut everything out of her sight?
Was she rejecting this palace, or... or...
Staring at the distant lights, he abruptly snapped back to reality, unwilling to delve deeper. To think further would only bring regret, awaken dormant, terrifying emotions.
The thunder continued unabated as he slowly turned, forcibly banishing the palace from his view.
“De Xian.” Ling Zhun’s beard was speckled with blood, the vivid red on his lips contrasting sharply with his pale complexion.
“Your servant is here.”
“Grant.”
Just one word caused the four people standing in the darkness to momentarily freeze.
Was it finally time? A tiny red pill rested in the palm of his hand, glowing with an alluring radiance. Yuan Wan lowered her beautiful face, watching silently.
One ruler rises, another falls; death erases all traces. She had long anticipated this day. Yet now, she clung to life, having just found her biological child, not yet embracing him. How could she bear to leave this world? She was unwilling.
Lost in thought, she suddenly noticed the absence of someone beside her. Looking up, she met De Xian’s warning gaze. The King had issued an expulsion order—she needed to leave.
The southern wind blew gently, carrying the heat of early summer. Thick clouds rolled in the night sky, occasionally split by flashes of purple lightning. Beneath the shadowy walls, a few figures walked, their steps so light yet so heavy, as if the road ahead stretched endlessly.
“It wasn’t like that at all.” Someone suddenly spoke, startling the other three into silence.
Yuan Wan raised her head. An unknown companion blocked the path, gazing intently.
“Though we’ve only just met, we all know what we’re doing,” said the man with a forgettable, ordinary appearance—perfect for blending into a crowd. His face betrayed unease as he slowly approached the one who had responded earlier in the study. “Seventh Prince indeed conspired with Mingwang, but he didn’t cede land for reinforcements. Whom are you serving, brother?”
At these words, Yuan Wan and the fourth person turned their gazes toward the man being confronted.
“Heh heh.” The man’s hoarse voice grated against the ear. “Even if I intended to frame Ronghou, none of you uttered a word at the time.” His sharp eyes swept across the group, freezing the questioner in place. “Thus, we all serve the same master.”
“Boom!” Thunder rumbled, breaking the eerie silence.
“Heh heh, heh heh heh.” The four exchanged knowing smiles. So, everyone favored that prince, knowingly or unknowingly shielding and favoring him before the King.
“It’s about time,” the man who had first questioned sighed.
“Yes.”
“It’s time to settle matters with our families.”
As unfamiliar companions chuckled in understanding, Yuan Wan couldn’t help but reflect.
Should she bid farewell to her family too?
She lowered her head, staring at her delicate fingers. How much blood stained these hands? Could they still offer warmth to her child?
“If forgotten by loved ones after death, perhaps it’s a blessing for them.”
This mournful sigh vibrated through her eardrums.
“Hmm, better to have never possessed than to lose something cherished.” The men leapt onto the palace walls, disappearing into the night like wild ducks.
The wind blew, caressing their faces but cutting into their hearts.
If death was inevitable, wouldn’t recognition only add to the pain? That child, so fragile, could he endure being abandoned once more?
She asked herself over and over, tears streaming uncontrollably.
Could he?
By the time she realized, the rain had already begun to fall, its bittersweet taste flowing into the corners of her mouth.
Could he?
Could he...
Could... he...
In the rain, that solitary figure flew into the distance, trembling like a lone leaf, swaying in the cooling breeze.
Such heartache, let this mother bear it alone. My child, resent me, continue to resent me—sometimes resentment brings more happiness than love.
And I, Mother, hope you can be happy.
The southern breeze gently stirs the colors, while the drizzling rain dampens the fallen petals.
In the quiet eaves, the night grows deep.
...
“Clang.”
“Clang.”
Clear footsteps echoed through the marble corridors, as the dim oil lamp trembled slightly with each step.
“My Lord, please.”
The clinking of metal unlocking sounded; the heavy bronze lock clicked open. There were no windows in the dungeon, making it impossible to discern the time of day. Though slightly musty, the air was far cleaner than the stench of an ordinary prison.
In the spacious cell stood a stone bed. The man sitting with his back turned wore a jade crown and a brocade robe, exuding an air of arrogance.
As the footsteps approached, the glow of light slowly spread, casting a long shadow on the ground.
“What? Unwilling?” The seated man’s voice dripped with smugness. “Ninth Brother, I’ve already told you—Father will never believe it.”
Ling Cheran turned gracefully, his movements elegant and composed. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself meeting the gaze of the newcomer. In the flickering candlelight, those demonic eyes smiled coldly, exuding an icy chill.
At this sight, Ling Cheran was startled but quickly steadied his expression.
Though the scenery inside and outside the prison door seemed identical, the atmosphere had already shifted drastically.
With a slight flick of his crimson sleeve, Ling Yiran stepped forward leisurely, exuding a hint of languidness. His dark pupils were like deep pools. That red robe flowed arrogantly, vividly igniting the dim chamber.
“At this point, even if you’re unwilling, there’s nothing you can do.” Ling Cheran avoided the piercing gaze of those demonic eyes, speaking as though to himself. “Ninth Brother, your mistake was overestimating yourself. Don’t forget whose mansion housed that red plum blossom.”
“Oh?” Ling Yiran replied lightly, seemingly indifferent. His red robe swayed, creating an alluring arc.
Locked in the gaze of those cold, beautiful eyes, Ling Cheran felt suffocated under the pressure.
“Seventh Brother, are you truly so certain?” His voice slid smoothly, like silk brushing against the ear.
Upon hearing this, Ling Cheran narrowed his eyes toward the shadow behind the red figure. To his dismay, there were no palace eunuchs present to relay messages! His face stiffened, and a shiver ran down his spine.
A delicate eyebrow arched, and a strange smile bloomed on his lips. “Seventh Brother, are you afraid?”
“Afraid?” Ling Cheran raised his voice, attempting to appear bold. “Ninth Brother, we’re brothers after all. Speak your mind freely.” He retreated to the stone bed, watching cautiously.
The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows that danced across the crimson robe. If one didn’t look closely, it might seem like the underworld or the River Styx. This man, with his striking features, radiated a bloody, bewitching beauty.
“Seventh Brother.”
After a long silence, Ling Cheran snapped out of his daze, only to realize cold sweat had already soaked his back.
“I’ve come here with no other intentions,” Ling Yiran said, playing with his jade fan. His handsome face remained lowered, hiding his expression, leaving only his tone to reveal he was smiling. “I heard your appetite has been poor these past few days, so I’ve brought some skewers of roasted meat.” He unfolded the fan, and Liu Yao presented a delicate lotus-shaped porcelain dish. Opening the center, a tempting aroma of grilled meat wafted through the air, carrying a warm heat.
“If I’m not mistaken, Seventh Brother, this is your favorite,” Ling Yiran lowered his voice, almost coaxing.
Looking at the golden strips of meat, Ling Cheran sneered. Did he think him a three-year-old child? There must be something amiss with this meat!
“Seventh Brother guessed right—this meat is indeed different.”
Ling Cheran narrowed his eyes, unable to decipher what lay behind such frankness.
With a crisp sound, the jade fan fully opened. Ling Yiran, still smiling, slowly approached. “Seventh Brother, do you know what auspicious day today is, hmm?”
An auspicious day? Ling Cheran thought quickly.
“The eighth day of the fifth month,” Ling Yiran kindly reminded him, his voice eerily gentle. “Noon has just passed.”
The eighth day of the fifth month?
“Oh, I forgot to mention—two days after Seventh Brother was imprisoned, the Right Minister was detained in the penal court.”
What?! Ling Cheran’s eyes widened.
“Didn’t Seventh Brother say Father wouldn’t believe you conspired with the enemy?” Ling Yiran took another step forward, slowly curling his lips into a bloodthirsty smile. “But Minister Rong has been charged with treason!”
How… how could this be possible?
“Seventh Brother, are you still in disbelief?” He laughed easily, joyfully, causing his black hair to flutter slightly, drawing out an enchanting allure. “Father personally issued the decree: Rong Kexun deceived the king and sold out the nation—a greater villain there cannot be.” The jade fan tapped the bronze lock with a sharp clang, and he raised an eyebrow, softly saying, “According to the law, he shall be executed by lingchi.”
Ling Cheran’s face turned ashen. Images of those articulate red lips kept flashing before his eyes.
Executed by lingchi... executed by lingchi... executed by lingchi!
Sliced to death piece by piece?
Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
He froze on the stone bed, his neck trembling uncontrollably. Impossible, absolutely impossible.
“What? Still don’t believe me, Seventh Brother?” A lavish seat was brought over, and Ling Yiran lifted his robe, calmly sitting down with great patience. “This is quite troublesome.” Though he sighed, there was no trace of helplessness in his eyes. “The meat is getting cold. Seventh Brother, eat while it’s still hot.”
Staring blankly at the lotus-shaped porcelain dish outside the bars, Ling Cheran felt numb. The enticing aroma of roasted meat filled his nostrils.
“Taste this meat—it’s fresh, isn’t it? After all, it’s freshly harvested from the human body.”
Human body? Those two words tickled their way into Ling Cheran’s ears, piercing sharply into his heart.
Human body! Holding his breath, he looked up. Those bewitching eyes gleamed coldly, making him tremble.
“Did Seventh Brother figure it out?” Ling Yiran’s gaze shifted lightly, exuding a dazzling brilliance. “It’s no wonder—they were father-in-law and son-in-law, after all, so familiar with each other.”
So this was it! The warm, meaty scent invaded his nose, turning metallic in his throat. Ling Cheran stared intently at the skewers of roasted meat, then suddenly turned and vomited violently onto the bed.
Leaning back in the ornate chair, Ling Yiran’s slender, beautiful peach-like eyes flashed with mockery.
After a while, Ling Cheran, who had retched until dizzy and disoriented, straightened up. His pale lips trembled uncontrollably. “You...”
A smile etched on his lips, Ling Yiran rested his chin on the fan. Beneath the candlelight, his handsome face remained eerily focused.
Enraged, Ling Cheran threw the plate, sending golden chunks of roasted meat rolling near the ornate chair. “You beast!” he shouted.
“Beast?” Ling Yiran’s voice rose smoothly as he glanced at the meat at his feet, raising an amused eyebrow. “In my humble opinion, those who consume their own kin are the true beasts.”
“What do you mean?” A sudden chill ran through Ling Cheran’s heart, causing him to raise his voice involuntarily.
Ling Yiran merely smiled without answering, his beautiful eyes holding a bewitching allure. He lazily rose, casting a meaningful glance around the cell before turning and leaving with a flick of his sleeve.
“What do you mean?!” A panicked question echoed behind him. “Explain clearly—what do you mean?!”
With each step, the hem of his robe brushed lightly against the stone steps. The grayish-blue bricks seemed ready to ignite from the fiery red robe, emitting a faint flame-like glow. Ling Yiran’s backlit figure appeared somewhat darkened. The summer wind blowing upward carried the earthy smell of an impending storm, causing the bottom of his robe and sleeves to billow and flutter incessantly.
With a sharp clang, the iron gate at the bottom level of the dungeon slammed shut, followed by the sound of the bronze lock clicking into place.
Ling Yiran slowly turned his head, lifting his red lips slightly. “From today onward, apart from those skewers of meat, do not give him any other food.”
“Yes.”
Before life and death, humans and beasts often show no difference. To fill their stomachs, they may devour the flesh of their loved ones; to survive, they might even kill their spouses and children.
This is humanity, isn’t it?
Thinking of this, the corners of his lips curved into a graceful arc. His cold smile rippled like water, spreading faintly in the sultry summer breeze.
...
The winding corridors reflected both rain and clear skies. The golden eaves and soaring roofs became distinct.
A single dark cloud lingered on the horizon, but the splashing water had ceased—this was a brief respite in the rainy season.
“Ah...” Outside Yuanhua Palace, where the pavilion was located, several officials dressed in blue robes sighed at the scenery.
“This weather is becoming increasingly unpredictable.” One of them gazed westward and murmured.
Indeed.
All the officials silently agreed in their hearts.
The scarlet red plum blossoms still bloomed proudly in the distance, but the Seventh Prince was now imprisoned. Thirteen days—exactly thirteen days had passed. Yet, what chilled everyone to the bone wasn’t the shocking upheaval in court half a month ago, but the hidden hand pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Who could have imagined it was that prince? Who could have foreseen it?
Rain battered the remaining flowers, and the wind blew away the clouds, revealing the truth. On the horizon, the ink-black clouds continued to churn. Deep within the clouds, a jet-black dragon seemed to dance wildly between heaven and earth, exuding a rebellious spirit.
Lord Ning—how ironic that name was. Was the sky truly peaceful now? Was the world at peace?
Residual raindrops fell from the eaves, splashing onto the carved railings of the thousand-step corridor, leaving faint water stains.
“What are you all doing here?” A thin figure approached from afar, his voice low and hoarse.
“Ah... Right Minister,” the officials hastily stood up, bowing deeply to the newcomer, their long sleeves nearly touching the ground.
“All the old archives reviewed?” The bright crimson robe representing the highest rank stopped among them. Yu Ning’s solemn tone left several people struggling to breathe.
His cloth boots slightly turned, and the newly appointed Right Minister, Yu Yuanzhong, lowered his gaze to the silent officials surrounding him. His clear, handsome pupils suddenly contracted.
A gust of hot wind swept by, amplifying the silence in the corridor.
Unclear, unclear. Although Minister Rong had already been executed and most of Lord Rong’s faction imprisoned, as long as the Seventh Prince remained alive, there was still a chance for a comeback. Moreover, deep within the Eastern Palace, there was still Her Majesty the Empress. Hold steady, hold steady—do nothing, and remember the one-word mantra of officialdom: blend!
The seasoned officials made up their minds, staring at the ground, uttering not a word.
“Fallen petals linger vainly in shadow; rain dyes the pear blossom gate.” The raspy male voice echoed through the thousand-step corridor. Yu Ning stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the gloomy sky as he recited:
“Early plum blossoms boast fine colors, filling the universe with purity. Red fragrance draws close to peach and apricot, yet lacks the resilience of snow.”
The embroidered koi on his official robe swayed gently with his slow steps, creating small arcs across his left chest.
Even without the resilience of snow, it is still the king’s flower, isn't it? That red plum represents the king’s will, doesn’t it? The officials remained silent, adhering to the principle of blending in.
Having made up their minds, they listened attentively. But this listening shattered their previous doubts.
“White plum blossoms perch on the royal branches, heralding spring across the four seas.”
The officials exchanged glances simultaneously, seeing the same astonishment in each other’s eyes.
White? Royal?
That’s none other than...
“Boom!” A thunderous roar split the heavens, leaving everyone stunned, their hearts pounding like drums.
It’s the Emperor! The Emperor!
So they had all guessed wrong. His Majesty did not favor a ruler who would maintain the status quo but rather an emperor capable of conquering the eight directions and founding a new dynasty. So, so it was.
“Gentlemen,” Yu Ning spoke softly, his feather-light voice magically penetrating the deafening thunder, reaching the ears of the officials with perfect clarity. “Please diligently complete organizing the old archives. Grand Minister Luo is waiting for the documents to finalize the sentences.”
Yes, there was still Grand Minister Luo Yin, His Majesty’s most trusted official. How could they have ever thought Luo was aligned with the Seventh Prince? What blindness. With Minister Rong executed by lingchi and over a hundred members of the Seventh Prince’s faction imprisoned, that official had been cold and merciless, like a judge from the underworld.
At this thought, cold sweat broke out among the crowd, and they rushed to respond.
“This lowly official will exert every effort...” “...to not disappoint Your Excellency...” “...and leave no stone unturned...” “...Please rest assured, Ninth Prince and Your Excellency, this lowly official...”
Flattery and obsequious voices followed behind him as Yu Ning walked with his eyes lowered.
“Ding... ding...”
With each step, the crisp sound of bells rang in his ears, intermittently annoying. After a moment, Yu Ning stopped, raising his eyes impatiently. “Take them down!”
“Ah?” Several surprised voices echoed from behind.
Several copper bells hung beneath the treacherous eaves of the corridor, their chimes resembling soft laughter in the wind.
“Take them down.” Yu Ning shot a glance at the sky, which threatened rain.
“Yes.” “Yes.”
“Alas, these eave bells were Master Feng’s favorite,” someone lamented. For a moment, the surroundings fell silent, the atmosphere growing eerie.
Pain flickered in his brows, and Yu Ning’s gaze softened as he looked at the tiny bells dangling from the eaves.
Rainwater mingled with verdigris, slowly sliding down the bell hammers that chimed in the wind.
After a while, Yu Ning lowered his head, his voice gentle as a summer drizzle. “Send the steward of Yuanhua Palace to me.”
“Yes.”
The longing of early summer accompanied the sound of bells echoing through the thousand-step corridor, tinkling and colliding softly against Yu Ning’s heart.
Since she liked them, he would have them all reinstalled.
Yunqing, when you return, every corner of Yuanhua Palace will ring with bells.
Will you be pleased?
...
Clouds surged, smoke billowed, and one summer rain after another painted the garden moss green. Outside the window, the water hung like a curtain.
A fiery red figure lounged in a wooden chair. Ling Yiran’s handsome eyes were tightly closed, the gentle breeze caressing his fine eyelashes.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed outside the door.
“Master!”
Beneath the long crimson sleeves, his slender fingers tightly gripped the arms of the chair. Slowly, his peach-like beautiful eyes opened, brimming with a faint anticipation. “What is it?” he asked in a low voice, his pupils gradually clearing, unnaturally bright.
Liu Yao, holding a duster, spoke with a tone that was both startled and delighted: “Master, the Seventh Prince has gone mad!”
The dark, handsome eyes instantly dimmed. Ling Yiran sneered and slowly closed his eyes again.
“Just now, a message came from the dungeon. They said that after eating the skewers for several days, the Seventh Prince began to babble nonsense. The head jailer tested him for a few days, and now the Seventh Prince can’t even distinguish between clean and dirty, drinking water straight off the ground. He alternates between crying and laughing—he’s completely lost his mind!”
Liu Yao excitedly relayed the news, spilling it out like beans tumbling from a bamboo tube. He stood aside, waiting for his master to curl his thin lips into a smile. But after waiting for what felt like an eternity, there wasn’t a trace of satisfaction on that handsome face.
“Master?” Liu Yao softly ventured.
His raven-black hair was unbound, and his red robe hung loosely around him. Ling Yiran leaned back against the chair as if he had already fallen asleep.
Could it be? All this rushing through the rain just to make his master happy?
Liu Yao slumped his shoulders and quietly began fanning him.
Ever since the young mistress went missing, his master’s moods had become increasingly unpredictable. With a slight turn of his wrist, Liu Yao fanned away the stifling air while the confidential documents on the desk fluttered gently.
He Jian De ascends the throne...
Even though he was reluctant, those elegant characters still forced their way into his sight. So, the Crown Prince of Yi Kingdom had succeeded to the throne.
The gentle breeze blew, lifting the gold-sprinkled rice paper over and over again.
Mianzhou grips your throat—if you don’t act first and divide them, they will swallow you whole...
Liu Yao's eyelids twitched, averting his gaze and fixing it firmly on the floor.
He hadn’t seen anything; he saw nothing. If he wanted to live longer, then even if he had seen it, he’d already forgotten it. Yes, his memory was poor—very poor.
“Has Zhu Su not returned yet?”
While Liu Yao was mentally hypnotizing himself, a low question suddenly broke the silence. He steadied his stance and softly replied, “To answer my lord, General Han has not yet returned.”
Since the dreadful news arrived, General Han had rushed to Twin Gorges to search alongside the young mistress’s senior brother. Nearly a month had passed. Even when Madam Han gave birth at the beginning of the month, the general hadn’t returned to the capital.
“What about Lord Ding?” This question carried a cold edge tinged with anticipation, its true meaning difficult to decipher.
“No news yet. The people of Mianzhou are still inquiring along the river.” Liu Yao answered honestly.
Unexpectedly, a faint smile bloomed on those red lips, leaving Liu Yao bewildered.
“My Lord.” He murmured hesitantly.
The corners of his lips rose higher and higher. Ling Yiran opened his beautiful eyes, his gaze soft like water, exuding a lazy, enchanting charm.
My Lord? Liu Yao was stunned, unsure of what to do.
“Serve the meal.” Ling Yiran casually tied the sash of his robe, his loose black hair intertwining with the red robe. His sparkling eyes revealed an unusually good mood.
Huh? Serve the meal? Just moments ago, didn’t he say he had no appetite? Liu Yao nodded obediently and walked toward the door with hesitant steps.
“And what about Seventh Brother?”
Finally, he remembered the main matter! Liu Yao turned around eagerly, waiting for his master to give orders.
“Has he gone mad?” A smooth laugh echoed through the sticky air. Ling Yiran propped his chin on his hand, his gaze hazy. “Today, I’m in a good mood, so I’ll let him off for now.”
No, no, my dear master! Don’t show mercy—make sure to finish him off!
“A few days ago, Her Majesty the Empress made a fuss. Why not grant her wish and reunite the Seventh Sister-in-law with the Seventh Brother?”
How could this be allowed! Liu Yao’s blood boiled, but before he could speak, his master continued.
“People say that adversity reveals true feelings. Let’s see if this dungeon can reveal the truth of human hearts.” Ling Yiran raised an eyebrow, his smile exuding a chilling aura. “Lock them both in the same dungeon cell, and provide food for only one person. I wonder whether my mad Seventh Brother would choose to become devoted lovers with the beauty or discard her like a bridge after crossing the river?” His laughter spread like waves. “I’m truly curious...”
This is called letting him off? Then what does not letting him off mean?
Liu Yao trembled almost imperceptibly, bowed deeply, and turned to leave.
Don’t ask, don’t ask—I don’t want to know anything.
The heavy rain continued outside. Inside the window, Ling Yiran lazily held a brush, the lamplight illuminating his handsome face. His misty peach-like eyes shimmered faintly, as if rippling with gentle waves.
Zhu Su, there’s no need to keep searching. She will return soon enough.
Lord Ding hasn’t returned, hasn’t returned.
“Hmph.” His expression darkened, complex emotions intertwining across his brow.
So she’s not dead, and she’s with Lord Ding.
But so what? As long as the news of the comatose person in the palace spreads far and wide, won’t that foolish girl come back?
As for Lord Ding...
His handsome eyes smiled, his gaze carefully lingering on the confidential document.
In those bewitching eyes, peach blossoms fluttered, streams flowed gently, and a warm glow persisted within.
Thank goodness, she’s not dead. Thank goodness.
Outside the window, a summer rain washed away the lingering sorrow, dripping and echoing clearly.
She’s not dead, she’s not dead.
Deep grooves were carved into the smooth pen, deep, deep—penetrating into the depths of his heart.
Come back, Qingqing. This time, no one will be able to hurt you.
Come back...
The rain curtains filled the sky, pearls flowing like jade. The summer breeze swayed gracefully, brushing out a melody of longing.
...
The world was shrouded in darkness, the sound of ghostly wailing water echoed in the ears, and the bitter wind brushed against her face.
“Sister?” She hugged herself, shouting into the wind, “Sister!”
Layers of misfortune piled up like waves, and sorrow accumulated like sand. The midsummer scenery was unexpectedly bleak.
“Sister!” Beneath her feet, the river flowed backward, and in the distance, she saw a tall, desolate figure.
“Xiao?” She murmured, then shouted loudly, “Xiao!”
Stepping on the pebbles, she ran quickly, carefully supporting her lower back.
“Ah!” Her foot slipped, and she fell to the ground. Sharp stones cut her palms, the pain vivid and clear, flooding like a surging tide. She looked at the dazzling red between her legs, disbelievingly touching the sticky substance. “Child...” She despairingly cradled her round belly, “Child!”
Tears streamed down her face as she screamed hoarsely at the shadow: “Xiao!”
“Dannong?”
The person lying down had their eyes closed, sweat sliding down their smooth forehead: “Xiao...”
“Dannong!” This call carried a deep sense of unease.
“Mmm...” Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes, and in her sleep, the beauty’s brows carried a fragile vulnerability.
“Dannong! Wake up, Dannong!”
Her curved lashes trembled slightly, and she awoke from the darkness. Dazed and blurry, she only felt a familiar presence enveloping her.
The rainy season had just ended, damp and humid. The moon hid behind black clouds, and the bedroom was pitch dark.
A thumb gently caressed her brows and the corners of her eyes, filled with deep affection, followed by a faint sigh.
“...” Tears poured down, soaking the large palm, “Xiao...” She pressed against his palm, choking on her words.
“I’m sorry, Dannong, I’m sorry.” The man’s voice was filled with self-reproach and indescribable pain. “Letting you face childbirth alone, I...”
“Mmm...” The person beneath his palm moved slightly. She used her husband’s arms to sit up on the edge of the bed. “It’s not the first time I’ve been through this. I’m not that delicate.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she was pulled into his embrace.
“Xiao?” She rested against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his heartbeat.
After a day and a night, she had just given birth to twins—a boy and a girl—but his wife spoke of the pain as if it were a light breeze. Han Yuesha tightly embraced his wife, and a gushing spring of warmth flooded his once-dry heart.
“Xiao?” She gently stroked his back. “Are you tired?” She didn’t mention her sister, bearing the pain of endless searching and the silent void, willing to endure nightmares for him every day.
“No.”
A letter from the prince summoned him back. Would Qingqing really return soon? He was filled with anxiety and doubt, but ultimately, he returned, traveling day and night back to Yundu because here awaited the wife he had neglected.
“Dannong.”
“Mm.”
“Thank you.” He buried his head in her hair, filled with gratitude.
“What are you talking about?” She teased.
“I’ve seen the children—they look very much like you.”
“Yin Zhang and Han Rang both think the daughter resembles you.” She softly whispered.
“Dannong.”
This time, his hoarse voice carried a hint of request, causing her to furrow her brows.
“What should we nickname the children...?”
“Mm?” She responded.
“How about Qi’er and Yuan’er?” He cautiously asked, something seeming to choke in his throat.
Feeling the stiffness in her husband’s arms, she instantly understood. Sister, wherever you are, can you hear the humble prayers of your brother and sister-in-law?
“Yes.” She hugged him tightly in response.
“Thank you, Dannong.”
The second drumbeat from the distant watchtower sounded, muffled like a summer night breeze, weighing heavily on the heart.
“Xiao?” Qin Dannong lifted her head from his chest, looking at the black iron spear by the bedside and softly asked, “What is this?”
The scar on Han Yuesha’s left cheek exuded a murderous aura, and his tall figure stiffened slightly.
“In Twin Gorges, we only found this.” Surrounded by a grim atmosphere, he replied in a low voice.
The tassels on the spear were congealed together, revealing dark red bloodstains.
There were no spear wounds on the headless corpse, and fragments of an official robe hung from the spear tip. This spear had injured...
Thinking of this, he abruptly stood up.
“Xiao?”
A light kiss fell on her eyelids, and a deep, hoarse male voice sounded in her ear: “Dannong, rest for now. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Where are you going?” She suddenly opened her eyes, but saw her husband’s cold gaze and the iron spear in his hand, resembling a dark night demon.
His large hand tightened, and the blood-soaked tassel swayed with dark ripples.
“Blood debt, repaid in blood.”
With a twist of his tall frame, killing intent surged. His spear challenged all directions, his sword revealed its sharpness, and a trail of dewdrops wrote a shocking chapter in history.
Han Yue Xiao, styled Zhu Su, was from Jiao City in Lianzhou. He was the son of Han Baiqing, the former general of Youzhou, and the elder brother of the peerless empress dowager.
In the thirteenth year of Tianzhong, amidst a family upheaval, he was saved by the emperor, renamed Yuesha, and later subdued the southeast twenty-two states of Youzhou, executing Liu Zhongyi and subduing 100,000 Youzhou troops. After this battle, his fame skyrocketed, earning him praise from Emperor Qinglong.
At the age of twenty, he cleverly dismantled the Xiangyun Array, marrying the daughter of General Zhenbei, Qin Shi, and incorporating all 100,000 Qin family troops into the Han camp. Emperor Long, awed by his military strength and admiring his talent, bestowed upon him the title of Fubo Supreme General.
In the nineteenth year, he quelled the northern rebellion, and in the twenty-first year, he beheaded traitors. His golden spear and divine arrows became renowned; the Divine Kun feared his name. In the twenty-third year, he conquered Jingtu with 100,000 iron cavalry trampling through mountains and rivers. Upon entering Min Pass, he devised a plan to capture the mountain city, leading to a desperate battle against multiple allied forces.
A master of military strategy, courageous and wise, he treated his soldiers kindly and respected talented individuals, earning him a reputation for benevolence. However, in the final years of Tianzhong, the imperial court was stained with bloodshed. On the fourth day of the sixth month, Empress Dowager Qiu ordered the imperial guards to imprison Honorable Lord Rong and usurp the throne. That night, Yuesha, under the emperor’s command, led 10,000 elite troops to surround the rebel army.
When the imperial guards surrendered, Yuesha shed his benevolent facade and slaughtered the 10,000 men. On the sixth day, Lord Lie secretly colluded with his elder brother, and the second prince of Emperor Long rebelled in the northwest. Yuesha, without removing his armor, led his army directly to Qingxi. On the thirteenth day of the sixth month, the decisive battle at Mirror Gorge resulted in the massacre of 30,000 rebels. The second prince, Ling Xiran, fled but was shot down by firearms before reaching the riverbank. After the Battle of Mirror Gorge, Chi River lived up to its name, stretching for hundreds of miles painted crimson.
During the Battle of Mirror Gorge, thunderous sounds echoed throughout the battlefield without accompanying summer rain, astonishing the people of the time. Later, it was revealed that the thunder was caused by the Han family’s firearms—the Five Thunder Divine Machine and Nine-Linked Beads Gun—each capable of matching ten foes, instilling fear with their mere sound.
After these two battles, Yuesha no longer bore the name of benevolence...
... Zhang Mi, “Chronicles of Warring States: Biographies of Famous Ministers”
...
“Father.” A little person with a face as handsome as a crown jewel tugged at the bright yellow dragon robe affectionately, his small hands trembling with excitement. Finally, he had touched it—he had finally touched his father’s robe!
“What is it, Cheran?”
“Father, today Master praised me.” His warm eyes blinked, his innocent expression full of anticipation.
“Oh.” The man responded perfunctorily. “What reward does Cheran want?”
A few steps away, the mother empress, adorned with a phoenix hairpin, slightly narrowed her eyes. Instantly understanding, the child beamed radiantly: “I don’t want anything, Father. I only ask that you honor us with your presence and have dinner with Mother and me tonight.”
The sharp dragon-like eyes of Ling Zhun bypassed the child, fixing intently on the calm and composed Empress. “Cheran, was this your idea?” Ling Zhun curved his thin lips, his tone soft.
The little one stole a glance, only to see the Empress casually glance over with an indifferent look.
Huh? Mother clearly wanted Father to stay, so why was she treating him coldly?
He scratched his cheek, then nodded very seriously: “Yes.”
The atmosphere grew somewhat tense as the two adults sat facing each other, their unyielding expressions making them seem less like a married couple and more like mortal enemies.
After a while, Ling Zhun extended a large hand as if to ruffle his black hair. Ling Cheran watched with delight and anticipation, waiting for his father’s touch. After all, such affection was something only his ninth brother among the dozen or so brothers could enjoy.
He closed his eyes and waited for a long time, his hopes slowly drying up like a daisy wilting in the scorching sun, its head drooping. Only then did he open his eyes, filled with disappointment.
That large hand awkwardly hovered in mid-air, and following his father’s stern gaze, he met his mother’s triumphant smile.
“Your Majesty.” The eunuch De Xian hurried into the room, respectfully bowing low and whispering softly into the Emperor's ear.
His thick brows furrowed again and again. He carefully observed, wanting to smooth out the frown lines between his father's brows.
Suddenly, the bright yellow robe stood up abruptly, and he panicked, tugging at the sleeve tighter and tighter: “Father!” He almost cried out, absolutely unwilling to let his father leave just like that. Once he left, who knew when they would meet again? Father was always so busy, unable to come even a few times a year. No, he wouldn't let go, never.
“Cheran.” A cold voice jolted him awake, the stern gaze like icy rain pouring down, chilling him to the bone.
“Father...” His small hands loosened, and in the moment of his distraction, the beautiful yellow robe slipped through his fingers. “Father!”
Why, why did Father always leave him with a back view, why?
“It’s her again!” His mother’s angry voice came from behind. He turned around to see an old nanny had just raised her head, obviously having just finished whispering with his mother.
“Are only the sons she bore considered true sons?” The sound of shattering jade pieces echoed, no longer surprising. The dignified mother tore off her mask of indifference. “Ling Zhun...” She gritted her teeth as she called out the emperor's name, frightening the palace attendants into kneeling. “One day, one day, I will make you regret it!”
Though young, he knew who the favored son his mother spoke of was—Ninth Brother, Ninth Brother, how he hated him, how he hated him.
Another thunderous crash sounded, scattering porcelain shards and pearls across the floor.
The little one looked at that grotesque face, instinctively stepping back until he exited the hall and bumped into something soft.
“Ouch.” The voice was gentle and soothing. “You...” He tilted his head, recognizing the little maid on the ground.
“Your servant Chun Qiao pays respects to the Seventh Prince.”
“Chun Qiao?” He squatted down, staring directly at the delicate little palace maid. “Your voice is really nice to listen to.”
“Huh?”
Such an expression was adorable. He cupped his face, watching as the little maid revealed a plain yet warm smile. Such a smile—he was seeing it for the first time...
A lone figure quietly woke up on the stone bed. He shook his head, disheveled strands of hair swaying with the movement.
How did he dream of these things again? How boring.
He glanced around, his gentle eyes full of calculation.
As long as he stays alive, there will be opportunities to rise again.
Mother’s plan should have started by now. If he remembered correctly, tonight at midnight was the time to raise the army. Just wait a little longer, just wait a little longer...
Time passed second by second. He sat on the stone bed, unusually quiet.
Ruoshui, once I get out, I will certainly posthumously honor you as Empress, remembering you as fondly as I remember Chun Qiao. Ruoshui, hate the Ninth Brother. If not for him forcing my hand, how could I have done it?
Sigh, how could I have done it.
Before his sigh ended, he heard a mocking laugh. Startled, he concealed the cunning in his eyes, turning around like a madman: “Who’s there!” Like a caged beast, he violently shook the wooden door, “Fools, what are you laughing at!” He spat, his madness fully displayed.
With a playful arch of his distant mountain eyebrows, the glaring red robe lightly swayed. Ling Yiran sat elegantly in the ornate chair, his handsome eyes glancing around, smiling faintly but ambiguously.
Though his gaze remained hazy, it was sharp and piercing, like a ravenous tiger eyeing its prey, causing Ling Cheran’s heart to race. Suppressing the chaos in his chest, he bent down to pick up a dead rat, jumping up to throw it toward the prison gate.
The person neither dodged nor avoided, merely lazily watching. Before the rat could approach, a streak of silver flashed, and the creature was chopped to bits.
“My Lord.” The man who acted was none other than Lin Chengbi, who even made Cheng Wu tremble with fear.
Why was he here? The imperial guards’ jailbreak later would surely be fraught with difficulties. What was to be done now?
Ling Cheran unconsciously frowned, anxiety showing in the corners of his eyes.
“What is Seventh Brother thinking about?”
Ling Cheran abruptly snapped back to reality, looking around blankly. “Seventh Brother?” He pointed at the jailer and called softly.
“Seventh Brother, do you know who I am?” Ling Yiran curled his red lips.
“Seventh Brother, do you know who I am?” Ling Cheran repeated crazily.
“When did this madness start?” Ling Yiran glanced at his side.
“When did this madness start?” Ling Cheran mimicked like a parrot.
“In response to the prince, after eating the skewered meat, the Seventh Prince began to babble nonsense,” the jailer said, casting a disgusted look at Ling Cheran, who kept repeating words nonsensically. “Later, when the Seventh Princess Consort came, the Seventh Prince didn’t recognize her either. Every day, he would grab and drink the ration of porridge first. At first, the princess consort still yielded to him. But later, even the princess consort couldn’t bear the hunger, and they began to fight over food. And then, and then...” The jailer fearfully glanced inside the cell. The madman’s wild hair fluttered, muttering incoherently to himself, completely unlike the violent demeanor of that day. “And then, the Seventh Prince beat the Seventh Princess Consort to death.”
“Oh?” Ling Yiran chuckled indifferently. “Open the door.”
“My Lord?” The attendants around were surprised.
Ling Yiran slowly rose and walked to the prison door: “Do you want to come out?”
“My Lord!” Wasn’t talking to a madman too absurd? Everyone was puzzled.
“And then the Seventh Prince beat the Seventh Princess Consort to death.” Ling Cheran spun in circles, ignoring everything. “Beat the Seventh Princess Consort to death, hahaha.”
“Open the door.” Ling Yiran’s eyes darkened. Liu Yao took the jailer’s keys, carefully unlocking the wooden door.
The madman, preoccupied with his own amusement, spun a few more times before noticing the anomaly in the cell. He reached out and cautiously peeked his head out, revealing a childlike smile.
“Ha!” He leaped out of the cell, joyfully rolling on the ground.
“Get away! Get away!” The jailer used a wooden stick to drive Ling Cheran away. “Don’t dirty the prince's shoes.” The jailer flattered with a raised glance, meeting Ling Yiran's pair of deep-set eyes. His heartbeat accelerated, and he hastily lowered his gaze, no longer daring to look into those demonic pupils.
The person on the ground continued to frolic, while the red robe gradually approached.
“Seventh Brother,” a seductive voice whispered like a night breeze, but Ling Cheran ignored it and continued to rub the dirt off his body.
“Has he truly gone mad?” The voice carried a hint of regret as Ling Yiran sighed. “I originally wanted to show Seventh Brother something, but now it seems difficult.”
Something? Ling Cheran couldn’t help but perk up his ears to listen.
After a long while without any sound, he was just congratulating himself for not falling for the trick when pale yellow sheets of paper fluttered down from above, covering the ground one by one.
The familiar handwriting pierced his eyes and chilled his heart.
This!
“How could this be in Ninth Brother's hands?” A deep, heavy voice fell like a boulder, pressing him immobile. “Is that what Seventh Brother thought, hmm?”
His chest heaved uncontrollably as he steadied his breathing, refusing to look up—never looking up. Just one glance would render all his days of enduring humiliation in vain.
“Tsk.” The fiery brocade robe swayed slightly, and the long boots stopped before the scattered papers. “Prince Yi, the head of the Liu family—Seventh Brother, you’ve thought of so many people. But,” the tone shifted, and the soft voice flowed slowly through the silent dungeon, “do they still remember you?”
Ling Cheran unconsciously clenched his fists, his dirt-streaked face shrouded in shadows.
“Prince Yi, no, it should be Prince Li Yan Zhen.”
Li? That’s a posthumous title. So that means... The breath of someone prostrate on the ground trembled slightly.
“That’s right, Yan Zhen is already dead.” Ling Yiran spoke lightly. “On the eleventh day of the fifth month, Consort Yue of the imperial harem was discovered to have conspired with outsiders. The concubine, along with her lover, strangled the king in the Palace of Eternal Joy. Afterwards, Consort Yue falsely proclaimed the king’s will, summoning the crown prince into the inner palace in an attempt to bind and kill him. Unexpectedly, the plot was exposed. Crown Prince Jian De executed the treacherous officials, killed the wicked offspring, and dismembered Consort Yue. On the fourteenth day of the fifth month, Yan Zhen was laid to rest, posthumously titled Li.”
Impossible! The child in Consort Yue's belly was indeed Yan Zhen's flesh and blood, how could this be! Ling Cheran panted heavily, doubt clouding his eyes.
“On the twenty-seventh day of the fifth month, the new king ascended the throne and, the following day, married Xiang Rui. Our once-desperate nineteenth sister is now the new empress of Yi Country.” The white jade button on the fiery red lapel glinted coldly. “Seventh Brother, you should be grateful. After all, even Third Brother sold himself and gained nothing. Princess Tianjiao, Yan Qi, has been removed from the royal family records by the new king, forever barred from returning to Yi.”
Upon hearing this, his ten fingers clawed at the ground, feeling the piercing gaze of the person above, as if it could see through everything. He realized he had made a fatal move and was trapped within a web of intricate strategies, becoming a completely oblivious pawn—so foolish. And the one controlling his fate was none other than his long-overlooked Ninth Brother.
"As for the Liu family, it was a mistake from the start. Why does Seventh Brother harbor a fluke?"
The dungeon was airless, the stifling atmosphere creating an indescribable pressure.
“As for King Ming...” Ling Yiran shook his head and chuckled softly, his black pupils like ink-dyed lakes, rippling with faint smiles. “Thank you, Seventh Brother, for your personal letter—it saved Minister Luo a lot of effort.”
“You!” His eyes widened abruptly.
“Seventh Brother, this time it was your own signature. I didn't frame you.” Ling Yiran smiled innocently.
Ling Cheran's eyes darkened sharply as he looked fiercely to the side. The jailer's figure wavered slightly, sneaking toward the stone steps like a rat.
“Seventh Brother, don’t look at him. This pawn hasn’t betrayed you; you just didn’t think things through enough.” Ling Yiran slowly lowered his eyes, his handsome face calm and unruffled. “If I hadn’t intentionally allowed it, how could a fly enter this dungeon?”
Before the jailer could bolt away, he collapsed. The speed was so fast that Ling Cheran couldn’t see who struck or when.
“Is Seventh Brother still waiting?”
A light voice pulled his attention back. Though Ling Cheran was no longer feigning madness, he remained silent.
“Come.” Ling Yiran pulled his right arm and walked alongside him warmly. “Younger Brother has a great gift for Seventh Brother to accept graciously.”
Gift?
A single flickering light solidified like ice, casting an eerie shadow over the wooden box on the table.
“Does Seventh Brother recognize this person?”
The red sleeve swept past, revealing a terrified dead face inside the box, its expression frozen at the moment of death, eyes still radiating intense fear.
“He Zi Hua!” He shouted in a trembling voice, wrenching away from his ninth brother’s grip and stepping forward incredulously. “How could this be? How could this be!”
Ling Yiran unfolded his jade fan, fanning the humid air. “So the Commander of the Imperial Guard was indeed the person Seventh Brother was waiting for.”
“You!” Ling Cheran slammed the wooden table, the upright head rolling off like a papaya. “You knew all along!”
“Yes.” The peach blossom eyes were full of delight.
His entire body trembled uncontrollably, blood surging in his throat. Ling Cheran bit his lower lip, almost forgetting to breathe.
What was he! Eating his father-in-law's flesh like a beast, pretending to be insane to degrade himself, painfully and tearfully killing his wife—all these amounted to what!
It turned out he was merely a clown, acting according to someone else's script. The glimpses of hope were just props given by others, only to find that in front of him was a reflective copper mirror. The madman reflected in the mirror was himself, himself!
He laughed bitterly, the mournful sound echoing between the stone walls.
Poor him, unaware, wanting to be human while having become a beast.
“Hahahaha!” He laughed wildly, tears streaming down his face, his voice hoarse and broken, yet he continued laughing. At this moment, only laughter could express his feelings.
“Ha... Ha...” His weakened body slid down, crawling forward like a beast. “Ha... Ha...”
Mad, he was truly mad this time, utterly and completely.
Still grinning, he saw the red robe slowly descend to the ground. The peach blossom-like beautiful eyes, now filled with murderous intent, stared directly at him. Though his handsome face was as radiant as summer flowers, it exuded a terrifying ruthlessness. It left him forgetting to laugh, forgetting his madness, with only irrepressible fear lingering in his heart.
“If you want to play dirty tricks, come at me.” The voice was extremely soft and gentle, sending chills down his spine. “Why hurt her?”
Ling Yiran glared at him, like a bloodthirsty beast, paralyzing him.
The oppressive silence stretched too long. Ling Cheran struggled to shift his gaze, looking at the severed head on the ground, making up his mind. Rather than staying to be humiliated, he might as well...
His eyes darkened, and he suddenly bit down on his tongue. Before he could feel the searing pain, a crack sounded, and excruciating pain shot through his jaw.
“Wanna die?” Ling Yiran closed his jade fan, tapping his dislocated jaw. “That also depends on whether this prince allows it.”
“Uh...” He endured the pain, resolutely charging towards the corner of the table, only to be immobilized by a pressure point strike.
“Don't rush. After I pay respects to Mother Empress, I'll send Seventh Brother on his way.”
Shadows enveloped half of Ling Yiran's handsome face bathed in oblique light—one side bright, the other dim and unclear. Only those red lips stood out vividly, subtly curving like spring blossoms.
“The good show is just beginning.”
The cold, clear laughter drifted away like a stream, the torn clothes and dismembered bodies forging whose kingdom?
And that sorrowful longing, like the rainy season, came and went, came and went.
The rain in his heart never ceased.
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