The palace was full of people and loose tongues, yet neither of them gave it any thought. They walked together to the pavilion in the Imperial Garden.

Though his mind was elsewhere, Gu Yanxi, out of habit, removed his cloak and wrapped it around Hua Zhi’s shoulders. There was wind today, and the pavilion’s open sides let the chill in freely.

Hua Zhi pulled him to sit beside her and recounted everything in language as concise as possible, detail by detail. Yanxi, whose face had at first been dark with anger, had grown calm by the time she finished. More than anger, what he felt now was a deep and desolate sorrow.

If his imperial uncle had been hopelessly foolish from the very beginning — if from the start he had been nothing more than a selfish and self-serving ruler — then in his heart, this uncle would be no different from the Prince of Ling. But he was not. He had once held him in his arms with bold spirits and told him he would become a ruler whom the world would honor. He had once taken his large hand and wrapped it around his small one, tracing the map of Daqing’s territory across a great atlas. He had once clapped him on the shoulder and said the two of them, uncle and nephew, were like Bole and the thousand-li horse of the Gu family…

He could have accepted his imperial uncle dying of old age. What he could not accept was that he had died in this way — in a manner that could scarcely be called anything but humiliation. He could not imagine the shame and fury his uncle must have felt in the moment the truth came to light. It was the trampling of his dignity into the ground. A man who had once stood at the very peak of the heavens had been shoved violently from that height in the most wretched way imaginable. In the moment he closed his eyes — how unwilling he must have been. How much hatred he must have carried.

Hua Zhi rose and drew his head into her embrace, gently stroking the back of his neck, saying nothing.

The weight of words could be as light as a feather — in a moment like this, any words at all were superfluous.

Gu Yanxi wrapped his arms around her waist. He dared not use force, afraid he might lose control and hurt her. After a moment, he stood and drew the cloak more snugly around her. “You have worked hard these past days. Go back and rest well. What comes next — leave it to me.”

“I’ll stay with you.” Hua Zhi tilted her head with a gentle, soft smile. “I want to stay with you.”

Gu Yanxi’s fingers lingered over the dimple on her cheek, and a trace of a smile appeared on his face as well. “I have a residence within the palace. I’ll have someone take you there.”

“All right.”

Hua Zhi did not ask where he was going or what he intended to do. She only knew that he would surely not let things pass without acting.

Gu Yanxi certainly would not.

Watching until Ah Zhi had gone, he turned around — and in an instant became a cold-faced demon. Killing intent wrapped around him like a shroud as he strode straight for the Imperial Gaol.

The so-called Imperial Gaol was in truth nothing more than an ordinary room; it bore that name only because the Son of Heaven had ordered someone held there, and those who received such treatment were customarily members of the imperial house.

The guards keeping watch over the gaol silently stepped aside. He cracked his long whip and sent it through the door. Then, with one reach and one pull, he wrenched the Fourth Prince out from within and flung him to the ground. No great force was needed — the Fourth Prince, who had never known hardship in his life, was already wailing.

Gu Yanxi said nothing and exercised careful, deliberate control: one lash after another, each finding him, bringing pain without bringing death. Dying would be too easy for him.

“Shizi-gege…”

“Shut his mouth.”

Chen Qing, without a trace of hesitation, stepped forward, tore off the Fourth Prince’s outer robe, ripped off half a sleeve and stuffed it into his mouth. Then, wasting not a single moment, he bound him with what remained, lest he act out and further enrage his master.

The whip came down like rain. The Fourth Prince rolled across the ground trying to escape, but the whip followed his every move — wherever he went, it found him. For a time there was nothing but the sound of the lash and muffled groans.

Yet it did nothing to cool Gu Yanxi’s fury. His anger only blazed hotter. He swept the man up in the whip and dragged him close, lifting him by the collar. “Gu Chenyang — you have failed in every duty owed to your sovereign and in every duty owed to your father!”

The Fourth Prince shook his head repeatedly, the look of someone desperate to speak. Gu Yanxi paid him no heed. He believed every word Ah Zhi had said.

“Since you cannot govern your third leg, there is no need to keep it.”

An instinctive premonition of danger seized the Fourth Prince — but before he could react, he felt a coldness below. He was about to look down when searing agony surged upward from between his legs. His face turned crimson, the blood rushing to his neck and head, and he let out a strangled, muffled howl as he collapsed, twisting and writhing on the ground.

“Master…” Chen Qing was startled. He had moved to stop it, but it was already too late. He stared at the thing lying on the ground, a throbbing ache forming in his head. What was to be done? Master had castrated the Fourth Prince. Even if the late Emperor had already decreed his death, he was still an imperial prince — if word of this spread, where would the imperial family’s dignity be?

“Throw it outside to feed the dogs.” Gu Yanxi glanced down at his own sword with distaste and tossed it aside. “Have someone attend to his wounds. Don’t let him die so comfortably.”

“Yes.”

“Since you are unwilling to live as a man, I will make you regret being born one.” Gu Yanxi leveled a cold glance at Gu Chenyang before turning away. His gaze was that of someone looking at a heap of rotten offal.

Outside, all seven Bureau Chiefs of the Seven Lodges Bureau were lined up in neat formation, waiting. The moment they saw their leader emerge, they dropped to one knee in unison to ask for punishment.

Gu Yanxi closed his eyes briefly. “Before my departure I instructed you all to monitor the movements around Ruyue Hall, to watch Hao Yue without blinking, and to report any abnormality at once to the old master. Did you fulfill that?”

The First Bureau Chief bowed his head and reported, “Your subordinates dare not shift the blame. Yet we truly were not negligent for so much as a moment.”

“Very well. Then this official asks you — when did Gu Chenyang enter Ruyue Hall? An imperial prince repeatedly visiting a consort’s palace: did none of you sense anything amiss?”

The Seven Lodges Bureau’s people were themselves full of aggrieved frustration. The Third Bureau Chief replied, “You were often away and may not be aware — the Fourth Prince had recently taken a sudden interest in the Book of Changes. The late Emperor had always been fond of such things and often summoned the Fourth Prince to converse on the subject. After Hao Yue entered the palace, His Majesty spent most of his time in Ruyue Hall and would frequently summon the Fourth Prince there as well. As for what took place inside… we beg your forgiveness. The workings of Ruyue Hall remained impossible to learn anything about, and we did not know what was happening within until the day it was all exposed.”

“And those children? You had no idea either how they entered the palace?”

“That has now been investigated and confirmed.” The Fourth Bureau Chief replied, “The matter appeared to pass through the Xu Family’s connections — but in truth, the late Emperor had arranged cover for it. Had His Majesty not done so, it would have been impossible for the Seven Lodges Bureau to have not even a whisper of information.”

In other words, those children had effectively gone through official channels with the late Emperor’s knowledge. The late Emperor had known from the very beginning that he was drinking human blood and eating the hearts of the living. It was the late Emperor himself who had brought Gu Chenyang into Ruyue Hall. The source of this defilement of the palace and corruption of its ways was the late Emperor — and receiving this conclusion, Gu Yanxi nearly laughed aloud.

He could deal with Gu Chenyang. He could make Hao Yue wish she were dead. But even the justification of avenging his imperial uncle had no ground to stand on — for the one who had sown this seed was the very one who had swallowed its fruit. Whom could he blame?

His back molars, clenched so hard for so long, had left his jaw aching with the effort. Gu Yanxi forced every emotion within him down by sheer will. “The Seven Lodges Bureau failed to fulfill its proper responsibilities during such a grave crisis within the palace. All Seven Lodges Bureau members currently in the capital are to go to the punishment hall and receive thirty lashes each.”

“Yes. Your subordinates accept the punishment.”

Gu Yanxi’s gaze swept across them. How could he not understand their frustration? It mirrored his own — a heart full of fury and resentment, yet nowhere to direct it, and no one to hold accountable. This had nothing to do with ability or lack thereof. For the one who had done this was their sovereign — a man they were bound by every obligation to obey. And he was already dead.

His imperial uncle. Gone.