CT - 72

The water was so cold that when he fell in, he almost thought he had died. However, the instinct to survive quickly urged him to struggle upwards despite the intense pain. As his fingers just touched the surface of the water, he felt someone grab his arm from behind.

Before he could even glance at who it was, a blow to his shoulder and neck sent him completely into unconsciousness.

When he awoke again, Song Ling saw a hollow blackness.

The darkness was so pure that it almost made him believe he had gone blind. He tried to sit up but found his limbs too heavy to move. Reaching out, he felt cold chains.

The wound on his shoulder and neck seemed to have been bandaged, and he could smell a faint scent of medicine around him. However, the feeling of a sudden racing heart and weak limbs after being poisoned still lingered. He merely shook the heavy iron chains, and he felt dizzy and almost fainted.

Where was this place? How did he end up here?

No one answered.

After an unknown period, a beam of light seeped down from above.

Having been in the darkness for too long, his eyes were suddenly stung by the light, and he wanted to cry from the pain. But he persistently kept his eyes open to watch the person holding the candle slowly descend.

The person wore a python robe and a jade crown, and was still small in stature. On the hand holding the lamp was a jade ring.

Such a familiar ring, he thought vaguely.

Then the candlelight moved up, and he saw a pair of eyes as round as a cat’s.

Those eyes had lost their former timid evasiveness, leaving only a nonchalant indifference.

His breathing stopped for a few seconds. Song Ling subconsciously pinched his palm. Only after confirming who was before him did he feel his blood congeal, and a tremor crawled up his spine.

During this time, he had considered countless possibilities, but he had never thought of him.

And his sixth brother, who had always been humble and deferential, stepped forward, pinched his chin, and without explanation, poured a bowl of ginseng soup down his throat.

Song Ling choked, coughing until his face was red: “You...”

Song Lan placed the bowl and candle holder aside, then knelt before him, as if nothing had happened, and called him with a smile, “Imperial Brother.”

Without waiting for him to speak, Song Lan continued, “I know what you want to ask. I’ll tell you slowly, but Imperial Brother must take care. Father, grief-stricken by your assassination and death, passed away last night. If you can’t hold on, he won’t be at peace in the afterlife.”

Song Ling didn’t understand what he was saying for a moment, then he was enveloped by immense grief. He grabbed Song Lan’s wrist, his voice hoarse: “Father, Father, he...”

He tightened his grip, saying with hatred, “It was you!”

“It wasn’t me,” Song Lan frowned, prying open his weak fingers one by one. “Or rather... not entirely me.”

He tilted his head slightly and smiled, “The one who advised me was the Prime Minister you respected. In fact, many years ago in Zishan Hall, he was already my man. The one who stabbed you was your trusted subordinate. Although you cared about him, you certainly didn’t know that all his life he wanted to be a rogue. I covered for him for so many years, and finally used this swift blade.”

“And the poison you’re suffering from... your beloved fiancée personally brought it to your lips, Imperial Brother. Do you know, when she wrote that note, I was right beside her—in and outside this imperial city, only something she sent would you accept without a second thought, wouldn’t you? Do you know, she had already decided to assist me?”

Song Ling’s heart had been pounding with fear, but upon hearing that last sentence, he let out a long sigh of relief.

He knew she wouldn’t do such a thing. This was a clumsy and inept attempt at sowing discord.

Song Lan meticulously observed the expression on his face. Seeing his brow relax, he raised an eyebrow instead. He picked up the candle holder and simply turned to leave, muttering to himself after a few steps, “So your fatal weakness is here...”

He turned his head, smiling with a pair of dimples: “Imperial Brother, I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

Song Lan walked to the steps and stood quietly for a while, seemingly waiting for him to say something.

The ginseng soup he had just drunk was a bit hot. Song Ling clutched his throat, and after a long time, painfully asked, “Why did you...”

Song Lan ascended the steps, blowing out the candle in his hand: “Imperial Brother, take a guess.”

After a period of time, someone came down to deliver white rice and clear water to him.

It was a long time before Song Lan appeared again. In the dark dungeon, he heard the clinking of jewels on the Emperor’s crown.

“I know you don’t believe what I say, but Imperial Brother, think about it. If she didn’t help me, how could I have the confidence to take such a great risk? Wouldn’t I inadvertently make someone else’s wedding dress?”

“She executed a disrespectful military officer in front of Mingguang Gate for me.”

Speaking of other matters, Song Ling still had the strength to ask him a question.

For instance, when he began planning, when he conceived the idea, and whom he had enlisted. Song Lan answered in meticulous detail, except for the “why,” he spoke everything he knew.

But when Luo Wei was mentioned, Song Ling always fell silent.

Song Lan patiently talked to him. Newly enthroned, he was extremely busy, and seemed to visit only late at night. One day, Song Ling even heard the sound of night wind blowing through the cave entrance.

Since Song Lan could visit daily, it must be within the forbidden palace, and with the sound of wind overhead, it couldn’t be indoors.

The continuous imprisonment had made him very weak, and the poison in his body showed no signs of dissipating. Song Ling lay on the straw on the ground, biting his lip, and thought somewhat despairingly, even if he guessed where this place was, would his subordinates outside the palace believe he was still alive and break into the forbidden palace to rescue him?

Moreover, Song Lan had been hiding by his side, humble and submissive, all these years, with an early ambition to seize the throne. He was currently keeping him alive merely for amusement. Who knew when he would lose interest in tormenting him and quietly kill him here?

Both paths led to a dead end.

Song Lan always came alone. His guards stayed above the cave entrance, only coming down occasionally to urge him on. When he spoke to Song Ling, he would lean very close, not at all afraid that Song Ling would pounce on him and strangle him. After all, Song Ling was now so weak that even lifting a finger was a luxury; he had no strength to kill.

Song Lan prattled on about the current court situation, judging Song Ling’s hidden confidantes by his facial expressions. After realizing the other’s intentions, Song Ling began to remain silent for long periods, refusing to say a word to him.

But Song Lan grew furious at his indifference, even beginning to torture him.

After the first interrogation, the young emperor dipped his hand in Song Ling’s blood and smeared a red mark on his forehead.

“Imperial Brother,” he suddenly said, “Why haven’t you pleaded with me even now?”

Song Ling looked up at him, laughing brokenly.

He finally understood why Song Lan had kept him alive—not just for amusement, not just to find satisfaction in his pain and wretchedness. Song Lan was unwilling to let him die from an obscure conspiracy; he wanted him to admit defeat himself, and then, with a heart utterly devoid of hope, fall into hell.

That day, Song Lan sent someone to unlock his hands and feet, then carried him to the top of the dungeon.

He was already having trouble seeing clearly. Fortunately, it was late at night, and there was no dazzling sunlight. He saw the grand shadow of the Candle-Burning Tower, then vaguely saw a full moon in the sky.

It had been a month already. It was a full moon again.

“Imperial Brother, do you still remember, many years ago, also under such a moon,” Song Lan recalled softly beside him, “You and I drank together. Fifth Brother, in his drunkenness, performed a sword dance and cut off my hair accessory. When the sword tip pointed at you, even though you were heavily drunk, you instinctively drew your sword to block it, avoiding his teasing. Then Fifth Brother, holding my broken hairpin, laughed heartily and said that you would always be a first-rate hero, and I... at most, a shadow holding a sword for a hero.”

He clutched Song Ling’s shoulder, finally showing a hint of discomposure: “Did you hear that? Why didn’t you refute it? In your hearts, I’m always the pitiful one who needs a hero’s care! As long as the sun is out, who can still see the shining stars?”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Song Lan released his hand, his expression gradually calming, even gently smoothing the wrinkles on Song Ling’s shoulder, “The one who shot down the sun was the person insignificant in his eyes. I know you’re holding a grudge in your heart, unwilling to lose to me, but today I suddenly realized, you’ve already lost. The rest no longer matters.”

“Take one last look at this moon. You probably won’t see it again in this life,” he looked up, sighing seemingly with pity, “Whether dead or alive, you will never be able to leave the darkness again. I’m also very curious, can a sun in the mud also shine?”

The next day, he brought him some letters.

“Imperial Brother, I’ve never told you a single lie,” Song Lan still held the candle, speaking earnestly, “Actually, you also believe she betrayed you, you just haven’t figured out why, right? You two have known each other for so long, do you know what she wants?”

Fame, power, prestige.

Empress’s position, trust, love.

Would she feel resentment when he was busy with state affairs and had no time to spare?

Would ambition arise when they walked hand in hand through the rice fields of Xuzhou?

In the nearly ten years of her close relationship with Song Lan, would she develop affection due to his disappointment and timidity?

These questions, which he could once answer without hesitation, became blurred within those letters, one after another.

That was her tone—”My dear brother Zilan, seeing this letter is like seeing you.”

Her handwriting—Lanting and Feibai styles were always difficult to learn; he had never seen anyone else write this book.

Finally, one day, Song Lan no longer read letters to him.

“Imperial Brother, I am getting married.”

For the first time, he left the candle behind, allowing Song Ling to watch that tiny light disappear before his eyes.

“Everything I’ve learned, Imperial Brother taught me. To repay your kindness, I will certainly not let you die unwillingly.”

Song Lan wouldn’t be so careless; the intention behind leaving this object was clear.

The principles he taught, Song Lan learned them so well.

To kill is easy, to break the spirit is difficult.

The candle was almost extinguished. In its last flickering light, Song Ling meticulously examined the sharp golden hairpin Song Lan had dropped there. The hairpin was exquisitely carved in the shape of a rose.

Could this be the hairpin Luo Wei wore on her wedding day?

Before he had fully recovered his senses, he used the golden hairpin to cut open his right wrist.

It was so sharp. He used all his strength, and immediately, his hand was covered in blood.

Even so, he gripped it tightly in his palm.

It was bloody, golden, cold, and beautiful.