Inside Hanyuan Hall, it was brightly lit, yet terrifyingly quiet.
The melodious and pleasant ceremonial music from just moments ago had long since come to an abrupt halt. It was replaced by the friction of swords being drawn from their sheaths, the muffled thuds of short daggers slipping from the long sleeves of the dancers onto the floor, and the ferocious expressions revealed by the eunuchs after overturning their serving trays.
Pei Cijing huddled behind a desk in the deepest corner. Looking at the sword-wielding eunuch in front of him, and then at the completely ruined roast suckling pig smashed on the ground, he felt a complex mix of emotions.
What a perfectly good plate of roast suckling pig!
Wasted just like that.
However, the incoming Gossip Points made Pei Cijing's heart ache a little less.
Ding! Successfully watched the drama 'Swords clash in Hanyuan Hall, the Crown Prince rebels against heaven to force an abdication'. Gossip Points plus 8888!
Current Gossip Points: 16638.
Looking at his Gossip Point balance, Pei Cijing suddenly experienced the feeling of striking it rich. Even having the tip of that eunuch's sword pointed right at him didn't seem quite so unacceptable anymore.
He quietly scooted backward, shrinking himself even smaller.
He continued to observe the current situation.
His gaze swept across the hall.
At the very front, upon the dragon throne, the old emperor sat upright as before.
No expression could be discerned on that heavily wrinkled face. Only those cloudy yet majestic eyes were quietly watching the Crown Prince standing in the center of the hall, watching his eldest legitimate son, watching the fangs he had now bared.
The old emperor did not move.
He did not even look at the dancers, musicians, and eunuchs who had suddenly changed their faces, nor did he look at the swords and blades popping up from all directions, nor the courtiers in the hall who were pale with fright and shivering.
He merely looked at the Crown Prince.
He looked at this son whom he had made heir apparent since the age of thirteen, the son he had painstakingly cultivated for thirty-six years.
After a long time.
The old emperor spoke. His voice was a bit hoarse, yet it still carried steadily into everyone's ears: "Chengqian, are you... truly going to do this?"
He paused. Within those cloudy eyes, something was faintly trembling.
"Why must you... betray your father's trust?"
These words were spoken calmly.
But what was hidden beneath that calmness was far heavier than any furious roar.
To tell the truth, with the Crown Prince being the eldest legitimate son, the old emperor had placed great hopes in him. Even when the former empress passed away, even as the Crown Prince grew older, and even as the newly born princes gradually grew up.
The old emperor had never entertained the thought of changing the heir.
Over the past thirty-six years, the old emperor had witnessed every single state affair the Crown Prince had handled.
Those memorials.
Those decisions.
Those responses in the royal court, those maneuverings with the courtiers. The Crown Prince had done excellently, so well that the old emperor often secretly rejoiced that this son was fully capable of shouldering the great responsibility.
Therefore, over the years, the old emperor had let go and allowed him to manage things, allowed him to gain experience, and allowed him to familiarize himself with the position he would one day occupy.
Trust?
It was far more than just trust.
For these thirty-six years, what he had given the Crown Prince was complete, unreserved trust.
But now.
The old emperor's gaze moved away from the Crown Prince's face and landed on the assassins holding swords, on the eunuchs who were supposed to serve people, and on the dancers meant for entertainment.
If no one had arranged things from behind the scenes, how could these people have snuck into the palace banquet?
If no one had backed them up, how would they dare bare their weapons in this Hanyuan Hall?
If no one had made them promises, how would they dare show such ferocious faces to the civil and military officials, and to him, the emperor?
And this person behind it all was undoubtedly the Crown Prince!
The old emperor lowered his eyes. The beaded fringes of his imperial crown swayed gently, concealing the flash of pain in his eyes. How did it still come to this?
How did it still end up as father and son slaughtering each other?
Standing in the center of the hall, listening to his imperial father's words and looking at his father's aged face, the Crown Prince suddenly felt a surge of complex emotions in his heart.
He too had to tell the truth.
His imperial father's treatment of him.
Was truly beyond reproach.
That trust, that letting go, those eyes filled with high expectations, he had seen them all and carved them into his heart.
Take the recent succession of the Minister of Personnel, for example.
His sixth brother had used some petty tricks.
He actually did not care much about it in his heart.
He had recommended Li Yuan for the position merely to secure benefits for his subordinates, which was perfectly normal. After all, what heir apparent did not have his own people? What heir apparent did not need to plant a few trusted aides in the royal court?
Even if he failed to push his candidate up, he would not be distressed.
As long as the person who took over was truly capable, and as long as that person becoming the Minister of Personnel was genuinely beneficial to the Great Qian Dynasty, he would not target them. As the Crown Prince, he naturally had to possess magnanimity. If his heart could not encompass the entire Great Qian, how could he be a proper heir to it?
As for today's palace coup.
The Crown Prince closed his eyes.
If he were not out of options, he would not have wanted to reach this point.
If he still had enough time, he could wait. Wait until his imperial father passed away naturally at a ripe old age, wait until he logically and rightfully ascended the throne. Even if his own reign would not be very long, he still ought to have waited.
That was what a son should do.
It was also the rule a subject should follow.
But he could wait no longer.
The Crown Prince opened his eyes, and at this moment, they actually carried an indescribable complexity.
Thirty-six years.
He had lived in the Eastern Palace for a full thirty-six years.
That place was said to be the residence of the heir apparent, said to be the second most honorable place in the world, but in reality, it was just an exquisite and magnificent prison.
Beneath one person, above ten thousand?
It sounded glorious.
But just how heavy a mountain was that beneath one person?
His imperial father was watching him!
The courtiers were watching him!
Even the commoners of Great Qian were watching him!
He had to be cautious and conscientious, unable to reveal even the slightest flaw.
Those memorials, those decisions, those responses in the royal court, those maneuverings with the courtiers, every single matter, every single detail, he had to handle flawlessly.
One year.
Two years.
Three years.
Ten years.
Twenty years.
Thirty years.
Thirty-six years.
What he lived was not a life, but torment. Those days of constantly having his nerves stretched taut, of constantly treading on thin ice, had already worn him down to the point of mental and physical exhaustion.
His body had long been hollowed out.
The time he had left...
Was not much.
In these final moments of his life, he suddenly wanted to be willful for once.
His entire life, he had disciplined himself, adhered to etiquette, followed the rules to the letter, and never once stepped out of line.
But the result?
Thirty-six years of waiting had brought him nothing but a broken body and a position that remained indefinitely out of reach.
The Crown Prince raised his head, looking directly into the old emperor's complex eyes.
He did not avoid them.
Nor did he dodge.
He merely stood there quietly, locking eyes with the man sitting on the dragon throne.
"Imperial Father." He spoke, his voice not loud, but every word clear. "Is there any Crown Prince in the world who has waited thirty-six years?"
As soon as these words came out, the hall fell into an even deeper deathly silence.
Indeed.
Is there any Crown Prince in the world who has waited thirty-six years?
These thirty-six years, no matter who it was, who could endure it?
The Crown Prince continued: "Imperial Father has made your son... wait far too long."
His voice carried an indescribable tone. There seemed to be resentment, there seemed to be pain, but more than anything, there was helplessness, and resolution.
"I entreat Imperial Father to issue an edict immediately and pass the throne to your son."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the people holding swords in the hall before retracting to land on the old emperor's face.
"Let us not make this ugly for everyone. And do not think about stalling for time—the imperial guards will not be coming anytime soon."
"There are my people among them."
"Please, Imperial Father... make your decision swiftly."
As his words fell, the grand hall grew so quiet that one could hear the flickering of the candle flames.
The hostage officials reacted differently: some were deathly pale, some trembled uncontrollably, while others gritted their teeth, not daring to make a sound.
The armed "assassins" glared like tigers eyeing their prey, waiting only for the Crown Prince's command.
Everyone was looking at the man on the dragon throne.
Waiting for his answer.
After hearing the Crown Prince's words, the last glimmer of light in the old Emperor's cloudy eyes completely faded away.
It was as if something within those eyes had shattered.
Shattered completely and utterly.
He slowly stood up.
His movements were not fast, perhaps even a bit slow, but they were steady, without the slightest waver. The beaded strings of his imperial crown swayed gently with his movements, catching fragmented glints of light under the candlelight.
He just stood there.
Looking down at the Crown Prince in the center of the hall.
Looking down at this eldest legitimate son, upon whom he had placed high hopes for thirty-six years.
Then, he spoke, his voice aged but still commanding: "Since the Crown Prince desires this seat—"
He paused.
His gaze burned like a torch.
"Then come and take it yourself."
The words were spoken calmly.
But beneath that calm lay a resolve as immovable as a mountain.
Back when he had just ascended the throne and the nation was unstable, foreign tribes from the northern borders took the opportunity to invade Great Qian. They even sent an envoy with an ultimatum—a princess must be sent for a marriage alliance, or their iron cavalry would march south and trample the Central Plains.
The majority of the civil and military officials in the court advocated for the marriage alliance, arguing that the foreign tribes were too powerful and it was best to avoid their sharp edge for the time being. They claimed that a single princess could buy ten years of peace for the borders.
But how did he answer?
No.
His answer was just that one word.
No.
On what grounds?
On what grounds should a princess of Great Qian be sent off for a marriage alliance?
On what grounds should the people of Great Qian use a woman's tears in exchange for peace?
He personally led the military expedition, marching the grand army north.
That war raged for three full months. He went to the front lines himself, personally supervising the battles, and personally beat those foreign tribes until they fled like scurrying rats. He chased them all the way to the northern frontiers, only withdrawing his troops when they fell to their knees and begged for mercy.
Since then, for over thirty years, the northern borders had seen no large-scale wars.
And now.
Facing the Crown Prince who had crossed his bottom line.
His answer remained that same single word—No!
Hearing these words and seeing his Imperial Father's unshakable demeanor, the Crown Prince felt it was both expected and yet laced with a trace of bitterness.
After so many years as father and son.
He knew very well.
His Imperial Father might seem gentle in temperament and mostly lenient toward his officials, but in his bones, he was never one to compromise easily.
When the foreign tribes threatened the borders back then, he did not compromise.
Now that his own son was forcing an abdication, he would not compromise either.
The Crown Prince sighed. The sound was very soft, so soft that only he could hear it.
Then, he raised his head, his gaze turning resolute: "Then... I have no choice but to ask you to step down from that seat."
He raised his hand.
And waved it.
"Attack!"
As his voice echoed, the "assassins" who had been waiting to strike instantly sprang into action.
The gleam of swords and shadows of blades flashed under the candlelight.
Screams, gasps of alarm, and the clattering of overturned tables and chairs immediately merged into a chaotic din.
Among the hostage officials, some collapsed to the floor in terror, some were frozen with blades held to their necks, and others shouted "Protect the Emperor! Protect the Emperor!" only to be kicked down by the assassins behind them.
The grand hall descended into total chaos.
...
The old Emperor's close personal attendants had already formed a protective ring around him, shielding him as they retreated toward the back of the hall.
"Protect the Emperor—"
"Protect the Emperor—"
High-pitched voices rang out in the pandemonium, but were quickly drowned out by the clash of steel.
As he was escorted backward, the old Emperor's gaze never left the figure in the center of the hall—the Crown Prince stood exactly where he was, unmoving, just quietly watching it all unfold, watching the "assassins" he had personally arranged inch closer to the dragon throne.
The old Emperor took a deep breath and suddenly spoke out, his aged yet resonant voice piercing through the chaos filling the hall—
"My loyal subjects!"
"The time to crush this rebellion and restore order is today!"
"Join We in executing these traitors!"
Upon hearing this, some of the officials who had been scared out of their wits suddenly snapped back to reality.
A few officials with military backgrounds were the first to react.
Although they were unarmed, their blood still ran hot, and the martial spirit from their younger days had not rusted away. Spurred by the old Emperor's rallying cry, their blood boiled.
"Protect the Emperor—"
"Execute the traitors—"
Several men lunged at the assassins nearest to them. Some tackled their opponents around the waist, some desperately grabbed the hands wielding the blades, and some simply used their own bodies to block the incoming thrusts.
The hall was entirely engulfed in a chaotic brawl.
...
The Marquis of Weiyuan, Pei Fucheng, stood in the front row of the seating area. The moment the Crown Prince stepped forward, he had sensed something was wrong and had tensed his body in secret preparation.
At this moment, an assassin wielding a longsword lunged straight at him.
Pei Fucheng's expression did not change.
He did not even show the slightest hint of panic.
A palace coup?
He truly had not expected it.
He had not expected the Crown Prince to make a move at this time.
But a fight to the death?
He was not afraid.
He, too, had been to the battlefield. Although the royal court of the northern foreign tribes had not launched a massive invasion, they could not fully restrain their subordinate clans, and small-scale skirmishes occurred frequently every year.
Bloodshed was inevitable!
Though he had been enjoying a life of comfort in the capital in recent years, he practiced martial arts relentlessly every day. He had never let his skills rust, and his current condition remained at its absolute peak.
As the assassin's longsword thrust toward him.
Pei Fucheng turned his body slightly to yield.
The movement was small, but perfectly timed. The blade brushed past his robes without harming a single hair on his body. Taking advantage of the momentum, he reached out and firmly clamped his hand around the opponent's sword-wielding wrist.
The force was so fierce that the assassin felt his wrist go numb.
A sharp pain shot through the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.
His grip on the sword loosened involuntarily—
The longsword dropped.
Pei Fucheng caught it steadily with his other hand.
And then—
With a backhanded thrust, he sent it forward.
The tip of the sword pierced through the assassin's chest and emerged from his back.
The movement was clean and efficient, without a single wasted motion.
The assassin's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the man before him. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he only spat out a mouthful of bloody froth before collapsing limply to the ground.
Pei Fucheng withdrew the sword, his gaze sweeping across the hall.
Everywhere there were flashing blades and shouts of slaughter.
He did not rush forward to join the fray. Instead, he instinctively looked toward the corner of the grand hall. Behind that long table, it was completely empty. The young noblemen who had been there were either cowering under the tables, trembling, or had hidden away somewhere unknown.
Only Pei Cijing was nowhere to be seen.
Pei Fucheng frowned slightly.
That brat...
He was sitting right there just a moment ago. How did he disappear in the blink of an eye?
His eyes searched the hall, but he could not find that familiar figure anywhere. With a hall full of people and the chaotic flashing of blades, how could anyone distinguish one person from another?
Pei Fucheng took a deep breath.
Never mind.
In this chaotic scene, and from such a distance, he could not look after him anyway.
My dear nephew!
You will just have to... look out for yourself.
He tightened his grip on his sword, spun around, and fought his way toward the dragon throne. As a man born of the military, he had always thirsted to establish his legacy and make a name for himself. Today was the perfect opportunity!
The glory of saving the Emperor!
He, Pei Fucheng, had arrived...
