Inside the imperial city, officials walked in twos and threes. It looked the same as before, yet also different.

In the earliest days, officials would divide into two groups—one cluster surrounding Grand Tutor Deng Yi, another following Xie Yanfang.

Later, after Grand Tutor Deng Yi was gone, Xie Yanfang became the leader.

Now Xie Yanfang was also gone, and the officials seemed somewhat lost, as if they had no one to follow.

“What do we do next?” someone said in a low voice.

“Wait,” someone else sighed. “Endure a bit longer and His Majesty will assume personal rule.”

Behind them, someone snorted coldly. “So certain people couldn’t wait to harm the Empress.”

Hearing this, everyone turned to look at this official.

“Lord Xue, aren’t you speaking incorrectly?” another official immediately bristled and said sharply. “Clearly it was the Empress who couldn’t wait to harm others.”

“Who harmed whom—we all know in our hearts,” Lord Xue yielded no ground.

That official sneered. “Oh? Are we discussing hearts now? What a pity there’s no Guard Bureau to arrest me and debate right and wrong.”

More than half the people from the Guard Bureau had died at the hunting grounds. The rest had been locked in prison. The entrance to the Guard Bureau had been sealed with notices. Overnight, the Guard Bureau had ceased to exist.

Just as there was no longer any trace of the Empress in the court.

A trace of melancholy flashed in Lord Xue’s eyes, and his momentum became subdued. Other officials hurried to intervene, separating and pulling the two men apart.

“Lord Xue,” an official sighed. “Victory and defeat have been decided. Some words you should just keep in your heart.”

No matter who wanted to harm whom, the Empress had now been defeated. The defeated become bandits, while the Xie family had won, making them meritorious subjects.

Lord Xue’s face tightened, his hands clenched at his sides. Was that how it was? The defeated become traitors?

“Look,” that official suddenly said, raising his chin toward the front. “Someone’s going to the Grand Tutor’s Hall.”

After Deng Yi, the court had not appointed another Grand Tutor, but the Grand Tutor’s Hall had not been left idle. The Empress often went there to handle court affairs. When the Empress was away on campaign, Xie Yanfang would go.

The Empress had already become a traitor and fled. Xie Yanfang was injured. Who had come?

…

…

Officials gathered outside the Grand Tutor’s Hall, peering inside from time to time. Inside, it was also full of officials, but without the previous clamor and bustle.

They held documents in their hands, looking at the man reclining at the desk.

Behind the man stood guards and attendants, solemn and still.

The mask on his face made everyone’s vision blur, and the object he tossed in his hand blurred their vision even more.

The imperial seal.

“Third Young Master is seriously injured and recuperating. His Majesty is still young. As a family member, I’ve come to oversee things for them,” the man’s voice carried some hoarseness.

Unable to see his features, unable to discern his age from his voice, but judging by his build, he should still be young.

A young master of the Xie family.

The Xie family had always resided peacefully in Dongyang. Everyone was unfamiliar with them, only knowing Xie Yanfang and the deceased Xie Yanlai.

“How should we address you, my lord?” an official asked. “Are you succeeding Third Young Master as Imperial Censor?”

The man looked at him. “No need to ask how to address me. I’m not taking any position, not attending court. I’m just helping to oversee things, using the imperial seal to review your memorials for everyone.” With that, he pointed at the document in the official’s hands. “Come, tell me about your matters.”

Although some officials had complex and hesitant expressions, the Xie family’s supporters clearly already knew and stepped forward one after another, reporting the matters they were handling.

The officials standing outside the hall saw this scene and looked at each other. What was this?

“The Supervising Grand Tutor at least had a title,” an official said in a low voice.

A title was also a constraint—court officials and the people of the realm would be watching.

Without name or title, unknown to the people of the realm, yet controlling everything—wasn’t this the legendary wielding of power behind the emperor’s back?

An official sneered coldly. “The Empress has already been eliminated. The Xie family stands alone and supreme. Naturally, they can do as they please. Whether they have a title or not is for them to decide.”

“Endure it,” another official said helplessly. “Endure until His Majesty assumes personal rule.”

Would things improve once His Majesty assumed personal rule? Many silent officials wondered quietly in their hearts.

A crisp crack rang out—it seemed a memorial had been slapped on the desk. This made everyone’s hearts jump, putting aside their wandering thoughts to look inside.

An official’s face was flushed red.

“Are you trying to vindicate Empress Chu?” the masked man asked.

The gaze behind the mask was icy cold. The swords of the guards beside him also gleamed coldly. The tension in the hall made everyone involuntarily recall that morning court session.

They had been told that the Emperor and Empress had returned overnight from the hunting grounds and announced overnight that there would be morning court the next day.

Everyone had originally thought it was because Zhu Yong’s indiscriminate arrests of innocents had caused conflict with officials, disturbing the Emperor and Empress, so they rushed back to court. Who would have expected that the next day at morning court, while the Emperor appeared, the Empress was not seen, nor was Xie Yanfang. A group of guards surrounded the hall, and an attendant stood before the hall announcing that the Empress had attempted rebellion and fled out of fear of punishment.

The entire hall was in an uproar.

News of the turmoil at the hunting grounds outside the capital had also spread, along with officials who had witnessed the chaotic battle scene.

“Zhu Yong deliberately lured us there. We saw with our own eyes him charging in with his sword—”

“Many people in chaotic battle, the fire burned half the mountain forest—”

Although more than half a month had passed, the officials were still somewhat dazed.

The Empress had just disappeared like that.

But she hadn’t disappeared—there were still officials who persistently mentioned her, still insisting on questioning—

The official who had publicly questioned earlier was one. Now there was another official who had written a memorial.

Others looked at that official with eyes mixed with sympathy and helplessness. Why were there so many people who weren’t clear-headed? Did they have to become the Empress’s accomplices, be arrested, and have their entire families executed to be satisfied?

But regardless of what eyes stared at him, that official raised his head without the slightest retreat.

“This official, as an imperial censor, requests an investigation into the Empress’s rebellion.”

“We need witnesses and physical evidence. We need a thorough investigation of the hunting grounds.”

“The Empress was entrusted by the late Emperor, fought Xi Liang, quelled rebellions, and has illustrious renown. If this is not clarified, it will be difficult to pacify the realm.”

The hall became even quieter, suffocating, until the masked man let out a sneer.

“This lord,” he said. “Not investigating a single case won’t affect the realm.”

He said this while hurling the memorial at that official.

“Denied.”

The official was struck by the memorial and took a step back, but refused to give up. “This official, as an imperial censor—”

“Then you don’t need to be an imperial censor anymore!” the masked man shouted. “Drag him out!”

Guards stepped forward, seized the official, and dragged him out.

“This official—”

The official’s voice was immediately muffled.

The hall quickly returned to quiet. The masked man’s gaze swept across, asking, “Who else wants to investigate?”

No one else in the hall spoke.

The masked man leaned back and waved his hand. “All right, let’s stop here for today. I’m tired. Other matters can wait for next time.”

Tired… He truly didn’t take it seriously. The officials filed out one after another, and the officials waiting outside also hurriedly dispersed.

The Grand Tutor’s Hall returned to quiet.

“My lord,” an attendant asked respectfully. “Would you like to dine?”

The masked man looked at the memorials piled on the desk and said, “Take these and send them to His Majesty.” He stood up. “I’ll dine as well.”

…

…

In the Emperor’s sleeping quarters, attendants came and went delivering imperial meals. Palace maids arranged dishes with deft, silent movements. Though there were many people, it was like dead water—not half a trace of vitality could be felt.

Xiao Yu sat at the desk, eating woodenly, consuming whatever the palace maids handed him.

Someone walked in.

Without an attendant’s announcement, without any notification—seeing him, the attendants all made way.

He approached the desk and pulled out a chair to sit down himself.

A palace maid set out bowls and chopsticks for him.

Then the attendants and palace maids all withdrew, leaving only two people in the hall.

“The memorials have been sent to your study. Go look at them after eating,” he said. From beginning to end, he never looked at Xiao Yu.

Xiao Yu raised his head. “Uncle—”

“Dear nephew,” the man said with an ambiguous smile, reaching up to press and remove his mask, revealing a pair of phoenix eyes. “If you don’t want to look at them, you don’t have to. I’ve already reviewed them all for you.”

His eyes were smiling. His words were very gentle. He even called him nephew. He had never called him nephew before, only addressed him as “Your Majesty.”

But this scene held no warmth at all. Xiao Yu felt no warmth either—only icy coldness.

Just like when he was a child, meeting him at the palace gates.

Except now, there were no longer warm hands embracing him at his side.