◎ The Emperor’s Death ◎

Song Shiyan strode calmly through the main gate of Xuande Hall.

The hall held all the officials who had witnessed Song Chang write the edict deposing the Crown Prince, now trapped behind the guards’ long blades, furious but not daring to speak. Cai Ying clutched the imperial-yellow brocade box to his chest and glared coldly at the approaching Crown Prince. “Is Your Highness staging a rebellion?”

Song Shiyan let out a scornful laugh, as though he found the remark quite amusing. “A rebellion?”

He unhurriedly took the sword from a nearby guard, running his fingers along the gleaming silver blade. “Who exactly is rebelling here—isn’t it all of you, my lords?”

Cai Ying glared furiously. “Nonsense!”

“You lords, taking advantage of my father’s grave illness, coerced him before the throne, hoping to install some young prince and seize control of the government.” Song Shiyan blew lightly across the blade’s edge. “I’ve brought troops to save my father from danger—what crime is that?”

Holding the sword, he narrowed one eye and swept his gaze across the assembled officials, then suddenly asked, “Where is Zhou Tan?”

A guard beside him answered quietly, “He hasn’t entered the palace.”

Zhou Tan had only just returned to the capital and hadn’t yet been restored to office; Su Chaoci was young. So no one thought it strange that the two of them weren’t present.

But to Song Shiyan, this came as quite a surprise. “My father entrusted his dying edict to others, and yet didn’t even summon him into the palace?”

The guard answered, “Our men have kept watch on him. Ever since His Majesty summoned him for that private audience, he went with Madam to the Qu residence, then shut his gates and hasn’t gone out since.”

“Fool,” Song Shiyan said coldly. “Take a detachment there at once to search his residence. Seal off every gate in the capital and bring him back to me alive. If you fail to capture him, I’ll have your head.”

His voice was soft and indifferent, chilling the guard to the bone. Just as the man rose to leave, the Crown Prince asked again, “Is his wife also at the residence?”

The guard said, “A few days ago, after seeing off the Qu household out of the capital, she hasn’t gone out since.”

“Are our men tracking the Qu household?”

“Yes. They’re heading toward the Southland. If anything happens in the capital, our men can bring them back at once.”

Song Shiyan said, “Mm. Go on, then.”

The guard wiped the sweat from his brow and hurried off.

Cai Ying, clutching the brocade box, saw the Crown Prince turn back toward him and grew visibly tense, yet still spoke up. “You have some nerve, to dare this within the imperial palace itself…”

Song Shiyan gave a slight flick of his hand and sliced off half of Cai Ying’s topknot.

A gasp rose from the officials behind him. Cai Ying, not yet recovering, knelt there stunned. Seeing their reaction, Song Shiyan found it amusing and couldn’t help laughing loudly.

“What a fine group of upright, incorruptible officials—faced with life and death, this is how ugly you truly are. How laughable, how laughable…”

He tossed the blood-stained sword to the ground; it clattered loudly, sending everyone stumbling backward in fright.

But Song Shiyan found it dull, and turned to ask, “Where’s Jing’an?”

Another trusted guard answered, “He’s at his residence.”

Song Shiyan gestured, and someone pushed open the doors of Xuande Hall for him. Sunlight poured in. Someone behind him shouted curses, but he paid no mind, only curling his lips slightly as he walked toward Shengming Palace, where Song Chang lay.

The hall was thick with the smell of medicine. The maids trembled with fear, and upon his entry, scrambled to withdraw before one another. A few of Emperor De’s remaining consorts knelt on the floor, wailing mournfully. He glanced at them a couple of times, only finding their tears too obviously fake, stirring an inexplicable irritation in him.

“What are Mother Consorts doing, adding so much bad luck for no reason?” Song Shiyan said flatly, walking past the screen. “Better go back to your own palaces at once. Father wasn’t even sick, but you’ll manage to sicken him with all this fuss.”

Such words were deeply disrespectful, but everyone knew the palace was in chaos, and no one dared disobey.

Song Shiyan sent them away, then turned to the imperial physician kneeling nearby. “Physician Luo, has father taken his medicine today? If not, go supervise and bring it once it’s prepared. I’ll attend to father’s medicine myself.”

The physician quickly assented, “Yes, yes.”

Ever since seeing Zhou Tan and Su Chaoci, Song Chang had been sunk in a hazy stupor. In his confusion he only felt someone lift the bed curtain and prop him up; he assumed it was an attending servant, and only came to his senses when his tongue touched the warm medicine, catching the scent of ambergris in the air.

Song Shiyan sat before him, brow relaxed, blowing on the spoon of medicine in his hand. Seeing him wake, he made no gesture of respect, only saying gently, “Father has slept a long while. Let your son attend to your medicine.”

Song Chang called out hoarsely a couple of times and found the hall completely empty, silent and oppressive—he could even hear the heavy drip of the water clock in the outer hall.

Song Shiyan asked, “Who is Father looking for? You and I, father and son, haven’t spoken heart-to-heart in so long. Let’s talk, Father.”

Song Chang had no time to think further; he grabbed his wrist urgently. “You… why did you have to kill Su Huaixu?”

Song Shiyan’s lips curled. “Since Father has already met young Master Su, why bother asking me? In the end, I was too cautious—I only thought that eliminating him would arouse your suspicions. I never imagined he already knew everything.”

The hall’s candlelight was dim and yellow. Song Chang, looking at the Crown Prince’s sharp, beautiful face, belatedly noticed how different he looked from the Empress, a woman from the Southland—his eyes were deep-set, his nose bridge high, his pupils black tinged with blue—he hardly even resembled a person of the Hua people at all.

He wanted to say something, but before he could speak, Song Shiyan cut in softly. “Does Father think this scene resembles the past? When you forced your own father, my grandfather, to his death—did you ever imagine you’d face a day like this yourself?”

Song Chang’s eyes widened slightly.

Song Shiyan continued, “I was still young then, and for a long time I didn’t understand what you were doing. But the more I thought about it later, the more interesting I found it—birth, bloodline, coercion, and the lives of the entire Prince of Jing’s family…”

Song Chang gripped his handsome young son tightly, his face twisting. “You heard?”

“I heard,” Song Shiyan answered with evident pleasure, as though he’d long awaited the chance to speak plainly of it. “So when Father insisted on building the Tower of Burning Candles, I said not a word to stop you. After all, I wanted to know too—”

He leaned close to Song Chang’s ear and said gently, “Does Father share the same trouble as I do?”

Song Chang stared fixedly at the sweet smile on his son’s face, his voice trembling. “No matter who your mother is, I… am still your true father.”

Song Shiyan said, “Yes—it was Father himself who favored that Xishao woman, then cast her aside, leaving her pregnant and imprisoned in the punishment chamber, living a fate worse than death. It was that hatred of hers that drove her to kill the Empress’s own son, and put this cuckoo’s child up as heir instead.”

His gaze bore down on him, sharp and icy, as though dripping with venom. “It was Father’s own sin. Why should your son be the one made to live in constant fear and dread because of it?”

Song Chang asked hoarsely, “The Empress’s own son…”

“Back then, after Su Huaixu brought that woman before me, I drew my sword and killed him first, keeping the woman alive so she could reveal where the Empress’s true child had gone—to root out the threat entirely.” Song Shiyan shook his head mockingly. “But given how much she hated the Empress, why would she have kept the child alive? Not long after leaving the palace, she strangled the infant and abandoned the body. When she went back to find it later, all she found were scattered bones—the corpse had probably been eaten entirely by wild dogs. Father, when you see that child in the underworld, you might want to offer him an apology.”

“You handled everyone involved in building the Tower of Burning Candles so thoroughly that your son could never learn the outcome, no matter how he inquired. I suppose Father won’t tell me now either, determined to carry this secret to hell with you. But I can guess well enough—Father’s bloodline is impure, and so is mine. Just as you said yourself, ‘ruler and subject, father and son, none know their place.’ Isn’t that quite funny? Ha ha ha ha…”

Song Chang caught his breath. “You used to be… clearly a good child. In recent years, you’ve grown ever more brutal and bloodthirsty, even slaughtering your own brothers. If not for that, even knowing your true bloodline, what would it matter if I left the realm to you?”

“Father, enough with the false sentiment,” Song Shiyan cut in. “If you’d let me know sooner, how would I have survived until now? Ever since I was seventeen, Father believed it was I, not my second brother, who tortured that servant to death in the back garden. Did you ever once hear my side of it then? The position of Crown Prince has always been precarious—without your trust, I’ve had to walk on thin ice. If I hadn’t resorted to such methods, I couldn’t even protect myself.”

He rose and knelt before the couch. “Father’s bloodline is impure, and you’ve lived in madness for so long—I too am a madman, truly Father’s worthy son. Today, I’m merely doing what Father once did himself. Even if you depose me today, who else could you find to inherit the throne? Better to hand over the imperial seal to me—I’ll hold the edict and release the pedantic officials trapped in Xuande Hall. How about it?”

Song Chang breathed heavily, and after a long moment said, “I can agree to your terms. But… just as before, I want a few promises from you.”

Song Shiyan gave a noncommittal “Mm.”

“First—everyone in Xuande Hall are pillars of the state. If you slaughter them all… the court will be left empty, unable to sustain itself. Spare their lives, even if you must imprison them for now. Once you’ve ascended the throne properly, release them, and they’ll still serve the dynasty loyally.”

“Second—your Xishao blood was never your choice, but the blood feud between Great Yin and Xishao still stands… No matter what, you must guard our borders and avenge the bloodshed of the Battle of Pengcheng…”

“Third…” He coughed heavily, struggling to continue. “This man, Zhou Tan… must not be killed. Release him from the capital. Do you know—he is your Uncle Xiao’s…”

He didn’t finish, but Song Shiyan understood, and looked slightly surprised. “Uncle Xiao had a child?”

“Your Uncle Xiao once… saved you, back during the Jinling rebellion. If nothing else, for the sake of that debt, spare his life…” Song Chang’s voice trailed off haltingly, and finally, gathering the last of his strength, he asked, “Can you promise me this?”

Song Shiyan answered gently, without a moment’s hesitation, “Of course.”

The old Emperor rasped out the hiding place of the imperial seal, and having spoken, seemed to collapse as if all strength had been drained from his body. Song Shiyan paid him no more mind, rising and walking toward the door—but after a few steps, he turned back. “But, Father…”

He furrowed his brow slightly, seeming quite troubled. “Back then, before my grandfather’s deathbed, you swore to keep Uncle Xiao guarding the border, to keep Chancellor Gu in court and honor him for life, never to slaughter the Prince of Jing’s descendants, and also… to treat the people well and govern with gentleness.”

He bit his lip, unable to suppress a soft, mocking laugh. “Seems Father didn’t manage a single one of those, did he… Your son is your true child—I will surely inherit your legacy.”

Song Chang gripped the imperial-yellow bedsheets tightly, trying to call out to him, but no words came. In the end, he only knocked over the bowl of now-cold medicine beside his bed.

Song Shiyan stood before the finely carved wooden doors for a moment, and only after all sound within the hall had ceased did he reach out and push them open.

The sun had already sunk heavily below the horizon.

He stepped over the towering threshold, blinked twice, and tears fell immediately.

These tears seemed not his own—devoid of feeling, cold and indifferent.

The Crown Prince’s face always carried a faint smile, ambiguous and unreadable. Now, expressionless, tears streamed down his face.

He walked ten-odd steps outward and saw the maids and eunuchs kneeling in rows in the twilight. He said, very softly, “Father… has passed away.”

Wails rose up—no one could tell whether real or feigned.

“The dragon has ascended to heaven; the whole nation mourns. All of you… hang the white cloth, and prepare the funeral rites.”

He reached up to wipe the tears from his face, then saw a guard kneeling and trembling at his feet, reporting in a low voice, “Your Highness… that Zhou Tan indeed has… already… but his wife was left behind at the residence. It seems Zhou Tan didn’t intend to take her with him—when our men found her, she hadn’t even woken. We’ve rescued her now and sent her temporarily to the Crown Princess’s quarters.”

Song Shiyan asked coldly, “And Zhou Tan himself?”

The guard said, “Already—already searching for him. It shouldn’t be long before…”

Song Shiyan drew the sword at his waist; its light flashed in the darkness, and the guard fell straight to the ground, blood splattering onto the Crown Prince’s cheek.

He tossed the sword aside, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his face, and gave his order as though nothing had happened at all. “Keep searching—Song Qi, looking at me now, don’t I seem more frightening than before?”

The named guard forced himself to look up, nodding stiffly. Satisfied, Song Shiyan smiled and turned back toward Xuande Hall.