The Hall of Purple Radiance.
"Cough, cough—"
The sound of Emperor Yuanyou's coughing filled the hall. Mei Zhilin, with a solemn expression, carefully took the emperor's pulse. After a moment, a trace of helplessness flickered across his face. "Your Majesty, this is caused by excessive agitation."
For a man of his age, he still let anger consume him so easily.
"That bastard Xiao Bingsheng! He always seemed like an honest man, yet he withstood the tortures of the imperial prison and even dared to insult me to my face!"
Emperor Yuanyou spoke furiously, then heaved a heavy sigh.
"Mei Zhilin, in just these past few days, my hands have been stained with more blood than I can count."
He had fought tooth and nail to secure the peace his people now enjoyed, and he would never allow anyone to threaten it.
Yet sometimes, in the dead of night, he wondered—what did the common folk truly think of him? How would history remember him? What would future generations say?
Mei Zhilin did not respond. He knew Emperor Yuanyou did not need his comfort.
Another fit of violent coughing erupted.
The emperor's lips had turned pale. He rose and walked to the eaves outside the hall, watching the snowflakes drift down from the sky. "In three days, it will be New Year's Eve."
For the first time in many years, as the holiday approached, he felt only emptiness.
"Your Majesty, 'A timely snow promises a good harvest.' The people will rejoice at this sight," Wu Qi said softly from beside him.
"Yes. If the people are happy, then so am I."
The emperor's gaze grew distant, lost in thought.
---
Shen Residence.
"The emperor has been coughing incessantly these past few days. It’s truly worrying," Shen Mingwen remarked with concern.
The moment he finished speaking, Shen Qingping let out a cold laugh.
"Because none of the princes or imperial grandsons left in the capital are worth a damn."
Shen Mingwen’s eyelids twitched. He instinctively glanced around to ensure no one else was listening before rounding on his son.
"You’ve grown far too bold lately, daring to speak of the imperial family like that! Do you think your head is so securely attached to your neck?"
Shen Mingwen had three sons. The eldest and second were both posted outside the capital, gentle and respectful men. Only this youngest son of his had the uncanny ability to infuriate him daily.
"Father, was I wrong?" Shen Qingping set down the object in his hands.
"That day, Xiao Bingsheng demanded to speak before the entire court before revealing the truth, only to openly insult the emperor. Both Prince Chu and Prince Qi were present, yet neither dared to utter a word."
"And now, days later, has any of the imperial grandsons from Prince Ping’s or Prince Chu’s households stepped forward to avenge the emperor? Even if they just beat Xiao Bingsheng senseless, they could brush it off as 'youthful folly.'"
But what happened instead?
The emperor had to bear the burden alone.
If Shen Qingping had such unfilial descendants, he’d strangle them in their sleep.
Hearing this, Shen Mingwen fell silent.
"If only Prince Qin and Princess Fu'an were still in the capital..."
He sighed deeply. At the emperor’s age, any misstep could be disastrous.
Shen Qingping’s mocking smile only widened.
Sometimes, once you retreated, you could never rise again.
---
Meanwhile, at Prince Chu’s Mansion.
"Father, I feel we should do something," Song Yanhong said with a frown. "I heard Grandfather fell ill—likely from anger over Xiao Bingsheng."
Prince Chu, usually gentle with his son, grew solemn.
"Yanhong, your grandfather has executed more people in these past days than in the last ten years combined."
A trace of fear flickered in his eyes. "Everyone even remotely tied to this affair has been exterminated down to the ninth generation, their corpses dumped in mass graves. The court officials must already be whispering about his brutality."
"If we involve ourselves now, we’d only invite the same accusations of cruelty upon our house."
"But..." Song Yanhong hesitated. "Didn’t you always say Grandfather never favored our family? If we stand by him now, perhaps he’ll think more highly of us."
"Yanhong, once branded as tyrants, that reputation sticks," Prince Chu insisted. "Don’t sacrifice long-term gain for short-term benefit."
Seeing his father’s resolve, Song Yanhong lowered his head.
He couldn’t understand—was reputation truly so important?
His uncle had been labeled a wastrel for years, yet the emperor still shielded him at every turn.
---
On New Year’s Eve, the palace banquet proceeded as usual.
Ministers and their families arrived, their smiles restrained, none daring to revel as they once had.
After all, the Xiao family was being systematically wiped out. Who knew if they’d be next?
Among them, Shen Mingwen and Shen Qingping entered the palace together.
They had barely walked far when Wu Qi hurried over. "Young Master Shen, His Majesty requests your presence."
The surrounding officials’ eyes sharpened instantly.
Shen Qingping exchanged a glance with his father before following Wu Qi.
"This year’s celebrations feel hollow," Emperor Yuanyou admitted upon seeing him, a faint smile appearing. There was something about this youngest Shen son that reminded him of Qin Prince’s household.
"Your Majesty misses the prince and the princess," Shen Qingping said plainly.
The emperor laughed. "You’re right. I miss my son and granddaughter."
He adored how Shen Qingping always spoke of Qin Prince’s family without hesitation.
"These past days, I’ve wondered—if Yu'er and Ah Huan were here, how would I have handled the Xiao affair?" He waved a hand. "No matter. Come, accompany me to the banquet."
Emperor and subject walked, one before the other.
Wu Qi’s back bent even lower in deference.
At the banquet, after a brief opening, dancers swept into the hall.
Conversations were cautious, topics carefully selected.
Then, a voice cut through the murmurs.
"Your Majesty, since tonight is New Year’s Eve, perhaps you could spare one member of the Xiao family as a gesture of benevolence," proposed Censor Han, who had replaced the dismissed Censor Geng. "Otherwise, the sight of blood on this day may unsettle the people."
The emperor’s grip on his wine cup tightened.
Before he could respond, Shen Qingping stepped forward.
He smashed his cup against the floor, then dragged a shard across his own hand. Blood welled as he smiled at Censor Han.
"Look. Blood has been shed."
His grin sent chills down spines. "If, as you claim, the people are now unsettled... what shall we do about it?"
