The night was as black as ink. Within the imperial city, the glow of fires and the roars of battle were everywhere.
Pei Cijing emerged from Huaqing Courtyard, heading north. His figure moved swiftly through the shadows. He did not walk fast, but every step landed in a corner untouched by the firelight, like a passing gust of wind, completely silent.
Behind him, faint cheers drifted from the direction of Huaqing Courtyard.
The Imperial Guards had arrived.
Pei Cijing did not look back.
His wife was now safe. He had to hurry back to Hanyuan Hall, back to that corner, back behind that long table, and back among the shivering children of the noble families.
He quietly quickened his pace.
Passing through a corridor and rounding a pavilion, the view suddenly opened up.
The square in front of Hanyuan Hall was brightly lit by torches.
Squads of Imperial Guards were surging in from all directions. Their armor glinted coldly in the firelight, and their footsteps were uniform and heavy, letting out muffled thuds against the bluestone slabs.
Shouting "Protect the Emperor!" and "Slay the rebels!", they flooded toward Hanyuan Hall like a tidal wave.
The rebel forces still putting up a stubborn fight were beaten back step by step by the sudden reinforcements. Some threw down their weapons and surrendered, some turned and fled, while others fought to the death, only to be surrounded and hacked to pieces by the guards.
Pei Cijing stood in the shadows, watching the scene unfold.
The outcome was settled.
The Crown Prince's palace coup had ultimately failed.
He withdrew his gaze and silently slipped around to a corner on the side of Hanyuan Hall. There was a small door there, one he had left unlocked when he slipped out earlier.
It was left ajar.
Pei Cijing pushed it open and entered.
Inside the hall, the sounds of killing still shook the heavens.
However, the battle cries were no longer as fierce as before.
Hugging the shadows along the side of the hall, Pei Cijing inched his way toward that specific corner. His movements were incredibly light, as light as a cat, as light as a shadow.
None of the people engaged in the desperate slaughter noticed him.
Finally.
He reached the corner.
The heavy drapery still hung down, concealing the small triangular space behind it. Pei Cijing lifted a corner of the curtain and slipped inside.
As the curtain fell, it blocked out the clamor from outside.
The light abruptly dimmed.
Pei Cijing looked down. The eunuch whose neck he had snapped earlier was still lying there quietly, his face peaceful, as if he were merely asleep.
Looking at him, Pei Cijing suddenly remembered the words he had spoken when he made his move: "He passed... very peacefully."
Looking at it now.
It was indeed quite peaceful.
Pei Cijing looked away, crouched down, and shifted the eunuch's body further into the corner to clear a small spot. Then, leaning against the wall, he sat down.
Outside the curtain, the roars of battle shook the hall.
Inside the curtain, there was dead silence.
Pei Cijing closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Although the slaughter at Huaqing Courtyard had only lasted a brief moment, the back-and-forth rushing had drained a significant amount of his mental and physical energy. Only now, sitting down, did he feel a bit tired.
Leaning against the wall, he peeked through a slit in the curtain to observe the commotion outside.
This grand spectacle.
Seemed to be on the verge of its final conclusion.
...
Inside the hall, the battle was exceptionally fierce.
The Crown Prince's men still held a slight upper hand. Although those loyal to the old Emperor resisted with all their might, and military generals like Pei Fucheng fought bravely, Li Chengqian and his men were pressing closer and closer to the old Emperor.
The eunuchs guarding the old Emperor fell one by one.
One.
Then another.
And another.
Finally—
Only a single eunuch remained standing before him.
The eunuch was not old, perhaps in his early twenties, with a handsome face. Yet at this moment, he was bathed in blood. Gripping a longsword snatched from somewhere, he stood resolutely in front of the old Emperor.
His hands were shaking.
But he did not retreat.
Not even a single step.
Facing him was the Crown Prince, Li Chengqian.
The Crown Prince was still wearing his apricot-yellow brocade robe. He stood there, barely thirty feet away from the old Emperor, with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression perfectly calm.
In front of him.
Stood his last three deathsworn assassins.
Wei Zhong stood at the forefront. This personal eunuch, who had followed the Crown Prince for twenty years, was now covered in blood, both his own and that of others. He gripped a long saber, its tip still dripping blood, and his eyes burned with an almost maddened loyalty.
Three against one.
The young eunuch could not win.
Watching this scene, the old Emperor suddenly spoke. His voice was aged but still steady: "Chengqian, do you hear the sounds outside?"
From outside the hall came the faint battle cries of the Imperial Guards, along with the synchronized thud of their marching. The sounds were drawing nearer and growing clearer, striking like heavy hammers against everyone's heart.
The Crown Prince did not look back.
He simply looked at the old Emperor, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly. The smile was so faint it was almost imperceptible.
"I hear them," he said.
The old Emperor looked at him, his gaze complex: "The Imperial Guards are arriving at any moment to protect the throne. Stop this, Chengqian. For the sake of our bond as father and son, I will give you a dignified end."
A dignified end?
The Crown Prince lowered his eyes and remained silent for a moment.
Then, he looked up at the old Emperor, something faintly glinting in his eyes.
"Imperial Father." He began, his voice not loud but every word distinct, "A loosed arrow cannot return to the bow."
He paused.
"As long as I capture Imperial Father before the guards arrive, then the victor will be your son."
As his words fell, he raised his hand and waved it forward.
"Take him!"
Without a moment's hesitation, Wei Zhong led the two deathsworn assassins and charged at the last eunuch.
The flash of swords and sabers lit up the hall once more.
The young eunuch fought back with his life on the line.
His swordsmanship was not particularly brilliant, but he had no regard for his own survival.
When a saber slashed at him, he did not dodge; instead, he met it head-on, using his own body to block the strike before thrusting his sword toward his opponent's heart. When a sword thrust at him, he didn't evade, but thrust his chest forward, using his flesh and blood to buy a few precious seconds for the old Emperor behind him.
One against three.
He held out for three breaths.
After three breaths, his sword pierced the throat of the assassin next to Wei Zhong, but his own chest was run through by the long saber of the other assassin.
"Ugh..."
He let out a muffled groan and his body swayed, yet he did not fall. Gripping his sword tightly, he used the very last ounce of his strength to drive it into the assassin.
The tip of the blade sank into flesh.
The assassin's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the eunuch. Then, both men collapsed to the ground simultaneously, never to make a sound again.
A life for a life.
He traded his own life to take down one of the enemy.
Before the old Emperor, there was no one left.
Wei Zhong gripped his saber, panting heavily, covered in blood. Beside him, only the final deathsworn assassin remained. The two exchanged a glance, then stepped forward in unison, closing in on the old Emperor.
One step.
Two steps.
They were merely one step away from the old Emperor.
The old Emperor remained standing, his expression unchanging. He simply watched the approaching blade, and behind that blade, the tranquil face of the Crown Prince.
Right at this moment—
A longsword silently rested against the Crown Prince's neck. The icy edge of the blade pressed against his skin, carrying the scent of death.
The Crown Prince's body stiffened.
Everyone in the hall froze in shock.
The owner of the sword slowly stepped out from behind the Crown Prince. He was dressed in a dark, mysterious brocade robe, his posture tall and straight, his face cold and stern.
His youthful face was now filled with a murderous aura.
The Eighth Prince, Li Chengyan.
The sword in his hand rested steadily against the Crown Prince's neck. His gaze swept over the dumbfounded rebel soldiers in the hall. His voice was not loud, yet it reached everyone's ears with absolute clarity.
"The Crown Prince has been captured. Surrender now!"
As his words fell, a deathly silence descended upon the hall.
Everyone froze.
The royal guards and rebels locked in combat, the courtiers gripping swords and blades, the princes cowering in the corners—everyone's eyes fixed uniformly on that single figure.
The Eighth Prince's sword rested steadily against the Crown Prince's neck.
The blade pressed flush against the skin; a mere flick would claim the Crown Prince's life.
Wei Zhong whipped his head around. Seeing this scene, he looked as though he had been struck by lightning.
He subconsciously tightened his grip on his blade, wanting to rush over, but though his own weapon was only a step away from the old Emperor, the Crown Prince's life was in someone else's hands.
He dared not move.
He dared not gamble with the Crown Prince's life.
Li Chengyan paid no attention to the rebels, nor did he mind Wei Zhong's murderous glare. He merely looked at the old Emperor, bowed his head slightly, and spoke in a tone filled with respect and guilt.
"Your son is late to protect you. Please forgive me, Imperial Father."
The old Emperor looked at him, at that youthful face, and at the sword resting against the Crown Prince's neck. Suddenly, he let out a long breath.
That breath.
It had been held in his chest for far too long.
"It is of no matter," he spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse but carrying a trace of relief. "Chengyan, you arrived at the perfect time. You have done very well."
He paused, shifting his gaze from Li Chengyan to the Crown Prince's face.
The Crown Prince was also looking at him.
The eyes of father and son met under the flickering candlelight.
The old Emperor looked at his legitimate eldest son, upon whom he had placed high hopes for thirty-six years. Seeing the white hair at his temples and the complex expression on his face, a myriad of emotions churned in the Emperor's heart.
"Chengqian," he began, his voice old and weary. "You have lost! Tell your men to cease this senseless resistance."
"It is time for everything to end!"
Hearing this, the Crown Prince did not respond immediately. He just looked at the old Emperor, at that aged face, and at those cloudy yet still majestic eyes for a long time.
"Yes, Imperial Father," he finally spoke, his voice as light as a sigh. "Everything has ended."
As his words faded.
Then.
He suddenly smiled.
That smile concealed far too many things: unwillingness, relief, liberation, and a trace of something others could not comprehend.
As he smiled.
His body suddenly gave a violent jolt.
A mouthful of bright red blood spewed from his lips. The blood splattered onto the golden floor bricks, onto his apricot-yellow robe, and onto the sword Li Chengyan held against his neck, a shocking and grisly sight.
Startled, Li Chengyan instinctively tried to withdraw his sword, but it was already too late.
The Crown Prince's body swayed before slowly collapsing.
His eyes remained unclosed, even in death.
A light still flickered within them—what kind of light it was, no one could decipher. Was it indignation? Relief? Mockery? Or something else entirely?
No one knew; only the Crown Prince himself knew.
On the chessboard.
He had lost, lost utterly and completely!
But so what?
He had already played his piece. The game would not end with his death; it would continue. As for whether the person taking over the board could make it to the end, that was no longer his concern.
In the moment the Crown Prince closed his eyes, a faint, lingering smile remained at the corners of his mouth.
That smile.
It was like a mystery.
A mystery that would never be unraveled.
"Your Highness—!"
Wei Zhong let out a heart-wrenching, sorrowful cry.
He threw down his blade and rushed to the Crown Prince's side, gathering the still-warm body into his arms. Looking at the Crown Prince's peaceful face and those eyes that had not closed even in death, tears burst from his eyes.
"Your Highness! Your Highness! How could you... how could you..."
His voice trembled violently, ultimately dissolving into a long, mournful wail.
Then, he raised his head and looked at the old Emperor.
His eyes were filled with grief and indignation, filled with absolute resolve, and a hint of... release.
"Your Highness, this old servant is coming with you!"
With those words, he picked up the blade from the ground and slashed it across his own throat.
Blood sprayed outward.
His body collapsed limply beside the Crown Prince, dying right next to his master.
A deathly silence filled the hall.
Everyone watched this scene, looking at the two corpses lying side by side, entirely at a loss for words.
A moment later, a massive swarm of imperial guards flooded into Hanyuan Hall.
Their armor glinted coldly in the candlelight, swords and sabers in hand, glaring like tigers. They swiftly brought the situation under control. The surviving rebel death squads were pressed to the ground one by one, surrendering without a fight.
The hall.
It finally grew quiet.
The Sixth Prince, Li Chengyu, finally breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned against a pillar, panting heavily. His body was covered in countless wounds, some still seeping blood.
The slaughter just now had been truly fraught with peril.
The Crown Prince had actually sent so many men to besiege him—each one an expert, every strike aimed at his vitals. They were truly going for the kill, not just putting on a show; they genuinely wanted him dead.
If he hadn't possessed some skill himself, perhaps...
He really would have lost his life!
Li Chengyu closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was just that his eldest brother... had he really died so easily?
He opened his eyes and looked toward the corpse lying in the center of the hall. The Crown Prince lay there quietly, his face serene, a faint smile still lingering on his lips.
That smile...
Watching that smile, Li Chengyu furrowed his brows slightly.
He suddenly felt that something was wrong.
He knew his eldest brother too well. A man who had schemed for years and laid such far-reaching plans—how could he admit defeat so easily? How could he go to his death so simply?
That smile.
It was clearly the smile of someone who had gotten exactly what he wanted!
But he had lost, lost utterly and completely. What was there left to "get what he wanted"?
Li Chengyu's gaze fell on the Crown Prince's serene face, on the faint smile at the corners of his mouth, and on those eyes that were now closed.
The man was dead, wasn't he?
Could he possibly have left some contingency plan behind?
Li Chengyu's gaze swept slowly across the hall.
The rebel death squads being escorted away, the remnants kneeling and begging for mercy, the blood-soaked courtiers, the other princes still reeling from shock, the Eighth Prince who had valiantly come to the rescue...
Everything looked completely normal, didn't it?
Everything seemed to be over!
In the center of the hall, the old Emperor was still standing.
But his gaze remained fixed on the Crown Prince's corpse. He looked at that familiar face, at those eyes that had not closed even in death, and at that faint smile on his lips.
Within his heart, stormy seas were churning.
Chengqian...
He silently repeated the name.
This son, whom he had established as the Crown Prince at the age of thirteen and carefully cultivated for thirty-six years; this legitimate eldest son, upon whom he had once placed high hopes and regarded as his heir.
He had just died like this.
Died right in front of him.
Died in this forced abdication coup.
The old Emperor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened them again, no emotion could be seen in those cloudy eyes.
He merely looked quietly at the Crown Prince's corpse, at those eyes that had not closed even in death, and at that faint, lingering smile.
No one knew what he was thinking.
Nor did anyone dare to ask.
He simply stood there, watching, steeped in silence.
For a long time.
A very long time.
Outside the hall, the night grew deeper.
Inside the hall, the candlelight flickered.
This earth-shattering palace coup had finally come to an end!
