Tong Rushi looked at the two writhing, screaming figures on the ground, feeling a chill rise from his feet straight to his crown.

Tie Ci had already used the Chu Xingbai brothers’ fate to tell him that as long as he couldn’t win today, his end would certainly be the same as theirs.

But could he win today?

No matter how much he struck, Tie Ci never fell.

In the blink of an eye, several experts were gone, and the rest might also be poisoned. Forget about taking down Tie Ci—he hadn’t even managed to walk three steps into Chongming Palace’s courtyard.

The Mo clan arrived faster than expected, and Chongming Palace’s mechanisms were perilous at every step.

Now the ministers had also arrived, with no one becoming hostages. Clearly the Xiao family had failed.

Xia Houchun had already surrounded them.

His gaze shifted secretly, but he saw none of the Liaodong experts Qiu Wujiu had promised.

Li Zhi quietly approached his side, whispering: “Young Master, we might be trapped. Liaodong and the Xiao family can’t be trusted… While everyone’s still here, let’s retreat quickly!”

Tong Rushi stared at Tie Ci, clenching his jaw: “Do you think she’ll let me leave now?”

“With so many of us, at least ensuring your escape shouldn’t be a problem…”

“Since we have so many people, why can’t we fight for it?” Tong Rushi said hatefully. “It took me twenty years to get here! If I flee in panic now just because of intimidation, I’ll never have another chance in this lifetime!”

“Am I inferior even to Tie Ci at her last gasp!”

“Young Master!”

Tong Rushi gritted his teeth.

Then he turned to address the ministers outside the hall: “You all heard it—the Emperor’s death, Tie Ci bears unavoidable responsibility! When Murong Yi dared climb even the palace walls, toying with the guards, treating the imperial city’s defenses as nothing, Tie Ci actually laughed it off and accompanied his nonsense. This ultimately led to this monstrous disaster. Such conduct—how is it different from King You of Zhou who brought about his dynasty’s fall? Do you really want to support such a ruler!”

The ministers remained silent in the wind and snow.

They had already concluded the assassin was Murong Yi, and whether Murong Yi or the twins, they were indeed personally brought into the palace by the Crown Princess.

They had also personally witnessed how the Crown Princess indulged that man. Almost everyone had privately criticized how the Crown Princess was good in every way except unable to pass the test of beauty.

These words were truly irrefutable.

The ministers’ silence made light bloom in Tong Rushi’s eyes.

“Women are ultimately women—they disregard the greater picture for personal feelings. How can she be worthy of being Great Qian’s emperor? While I—I am King Tang’s grandson, legitimate imperial clan bloodline. Some should still remember that the late High Ancestor Emperor favored King Tang and once intended to make him Crown Prince! This throne should originally belong to my family!”

“Today my subordinates are all top experts. If we fight to mutual destruction, this Chongming Palace, the entire imperial palace, including yourselves—calculate how many will die? Can Great Qian, currently beset by internal and external troubles, withstand such losses and upheaval? Once the palace falls into chaos, the capital’s people will fall into dire straits! Looking further ahead, if the capital becomes chaotic, Liaodong, Dayan, Longright will trample the three passes, and Great Qian’s destruction will be instantaneous! You will all become sinners!”

The ministers remained silent.

A trace of smile flickered in Tong Rushi’s eyes as he softened his tone: “If you step back today, you’re still supporting Great Qian’s legitimate imperial bloodline—it doesn’t count as disloyalty. I also swear here that afterward I will ensure your families remain prosperous, honor endures, and reputations unchanged. I also won’t make things difficult for Tie Ci, still granting her a princess title and ensuring her lifelong peace.”

Slight stirring arose among the ministers.

The smile in Tong Rushi’s eyes grew brighter: “I can also promise that as long as you support me as emperor, not only will Chongming Palace suffer no casualties, the capital will also restore calm, Dayan cavalry will withdraw outside the city, the capital garrison won’t advance another step into the capital, and both Liaodong and Longright will withdraw their troops. Great Qian will restore peace as quickly as possible, with no more fear of national destruction!”

A thunderous roar arose as private discussions erupted in the crowd.

If the previous promises only somewhat moved people, this final paragraph truly made everyone begin serious consideration.

Not everyone cared about wealth and honor or posthumous reputation, but matters concerning the realm’s safety and Great Qian’s survival were issues almost all ministers had to carefully consider.

Before such incomparably important questions, imperial legitimacy, right and wrong, and historical reputation all became relatively less important.

Many looked toward He Zi, which itself represented an attitude—he was the Grand Tutor, the Crown Princess’s teacher, the hope of scholars nationwide, the most steadfast royalist.

Inside the hall, Chi Xue and others also looked hopefully toward He Zi. The Ruixiang Hall palace servants could feel this speech’s lethality, and now they could only pin their hopes on the Grand Tutor.

But what made Chi Xue and others’ hearts sink slightly was that He Zi remained silent, gazing across the hall door at the Crown Princess, wordless for a long time.

This itself was not a good omen.

Chi Xue looked tearfully toward Tie Ci.

Tie Ci still appeared calm and indifferent, not even changing position. When Chi Xue’s gaze turned to her, she actually smiled at Chi Xue.

But Chi Xue couldn’t bear to see her smile now, whispering: “Your Highness, if it really comes to that… activate Chongming Palace’s mechanisms and leave first.”

Even if the Great Qian imperial family couldn’t kill all the rebel ministers and traitors, achieving mutual destruction with most people here wouldn’t be difficult.

Tie Ci’s smile remained: “No need.”

Chi Xue: “Your Highness!”

“I’ve been Crown Prince for twelve years. I spent two years traveling this realm. Everything I’ve done has left traces. Whether what I’ve built is a tall building or fragile floating earth, the future will tell me the answer.”

Chi Xue didn’t quite understand these words, yet felt she did understand. She bowed and quietly withdrew.

She went to care for Dan Shuang, who had been seriously injured fighting assassins earlier but refused to rest or speak. When bandaging her wounds, she was completely dazed, which worried Chi Xue greatly.

When she went to the side hall, she glanced back at the distance.

Where have you and your master reached now?

Since Liaodong people have infiltrated the capital, there should be some support, right?

But no matter where you are, from the moment blood was spilled in Chongming Palace,

This majestic imperial palace gained three heartbroken people.

And what about you? Are you grieving or feeling satisfied? Great Qian and Liaodong have become two separate worlds from now on. I’m here, you’re there—no longer gazing across vast distances, already separated by stars and the Milky Way.

…

After Zhao San added lamp oil twice, Murong Yi finally slowly opened his eyes.

As soon as he opened them, he stared straight at the ceiling, saying nothing, not asking where he was, with no expression in his eyes.

Zhao San approached and was startled to discover he’d awakened soundlessly.

“Young Master, are you feeling better?” Zhao San helped him sit up to feed him water, saying softly, “We’re still in the city. Chazi says you have a high fever and can’t travel yet. Once you’re better, we’ll leave the city…”

Murong Yi interrupted: “…How is the city…”

Zhao San knew whom he was asking about. After a pause, he said: “We’re hiding underground with poor information…”

“Father King should still have contingency plans for her…”

“No matter what contingency plans.” Tears welled in Zhao San’s eyes. “Young Master, you can’t and shouldn’t interfere anymore.”

Murong Yi fell silent, then suddenly asked: “What time is it?”

“About midnight.” Zhao San brought over a pill. “Chazi brought this, saying you might have an episode soon. This medicine can provide some relief. Don’t worry, this isn’t the medicine the Great King gave.”

His eyes held hidden sadness.

Chazi had previously given the Young Master sedative drugs, hoping he could sleep through the night’s difficulties, but clearly whether due to his strong will or heavy concerns, he woke earlier than expected.

Obviously, the Young Master had also fallen into the Great King’s trap because of him.

He asked Chazi what this medicine was, whether it was the same type the Great King gave—that would be drinking poison to quench thirst.

Chazi said no, explaining that the Great King’s medicine evolved from an early addictive ointment. Later that herb was banned and destroyed. What the Great King now used was refined and improved—seeming toxic yet not toxic, very troublesome.

The medicine she provided had lighter dosage than the Great King’s, with many tonifying ingredients added to help Murong Yi endure the pain without further addiction.

He said this still wouldn’t work—small amounts of poison were still poison. But Chazi cried asking what else could be done? You know how painful and unbearable that poison’s effects are. He’s already at his last strength, severely weakened, covered in wounds. When the time comes, forget the agony of myriad ants gnawing bone—just the struggling and thrashing that tears open wounds could kill him!

Zhao San lowered his eyes, not daring to look at the pill.

A hand reached over and picked up the medicine.

Zhao San lowered his head to offer the water cup.

But the pill crumbled between pale fingertips.

Zhao San looked up in shock.

Murong Yi’s face was paler than his fingertips, his eyes mocking as he flicked away the powder.

Then he said: “Bring chains.”

Zhao San looked at him in shock.

“Bring them.”

Zhao San went out, returning shortly with chains, but Murong Yi found them too thin, so he had to exchange them for iron chains as thick as a child’s arm.

“Lock me up… tightly… leave no gaps.”

Zhao San held the chains, tears streaming down his face.

Even his fingers went soft, the chains clanking in his palms.

Mu Si, who had followed them in, stepped forward, took the chains, and silently wrapped Murong Yi circle by circle, binding him tightly to the bed. He tested with his hands—couldn’t pull or insert anything—before letting go.

Murong Yi remained motionless throughout. He was feverish, with a faint flush on his face, but his eyes were empty and cold, giving him a contradictory, world-weary quality.

He said: “Go out… tonight no matter what sounds you hear… don’t come in.”

Zhao San didn’t move.

“No… no…” He wept, “You’ll die, you’ll die… Young Master, please!”

“Get out.” Murong Yi didn’t even glance at him. “Even if I die, no one can control me.”

Zhao San cried and refused to leave until Mu Si gritted his teeth and dragged him out.

As soon as the door closed, Zhao San slumped against it, sliding softly to the ground.

“He’ll die!” He grabbed Mu Si’s boots, tears soaking his trouser legs. “Really, you don’t know what it’s like. In his condition now… he’ll die!”

“You let him take that medicine, you make him forever a prisoner to it, and he’ll live worse than death.” Mu Si kicked him away. “Zhao San, fulfill his wishes!”

Zhao San collapsed on the ground wailing: “It’s all my fault! All my fault!”

Mu Si punched the wall hard, debris flying, staining his eyes red.

In the distance, Chazi stood at the corner, pressing her head heavily against the rough wall.

That night, cold air seeped through wall cracks, the oil lamp on the wall flickered dimly in the cold, and outside the narrow passage breath turned to ice. Three people stood the entire night.

Soon they heard chain-striking sounds from the room, growing more urgent, more urgent.

They heard unceasing metallic collision sounds, like a giant beast desperately trying to break free from its bonds. The entire underground earthen house seemed to shake, with debris falling like snow from the outer walls.

Sometimes the sounds would suddenly stop, terrifying the three outside—both hoping and fearing.

Hoping he’d weathered that wave, fearing he hadn’t survived.

When chain sounds resumed, all three would change color again, not knowing whether to rejoice that he wasn’t dead or agonize that such torment would continue.

The chain sounds rang like soul-stealing bells in their fate, making them tremble and turn pale. They couldn’t bear to listen, didn’t want to listen, couldn’t stand to listen, wanting to cover their ears or turn and flee.

Zhao San suffered more than others because only he truly understood what it should feel like. When he was strong and healthy, he couldn’t endure it repeatedly, needing the Young Master’s full internal energy to help. Now seeing the Young Master in such condition walking this endless hell alone, he dared not even imagine.

He only regretted that his and the others’ internal energy was mediocre—they couldn’t even help the Young Master.

He pressed his head desperately against the ground, grinding out a deep pit, his tears pooling within.

As if wanting to drown or suffocate himself.

Each time the chain sounds stopped, he couldn’t control his urge to rush in, always held back desperately by Mu Si or Chazi.

They couldn’t bear the frenzied chain sounds, nor the silence, because later they knew that meant the Young Master had fainted.

Countless deaths and revivals, blood-and-flesh struggles in human hell. Countless cycles of bodily collapse and haphazard reassembly.

Eventually all three lost strength, leaning back against walls, feeling they too were broken, scattered, scattered across heaven and earth, never to be whole again.

For the rest of their lives, none of the three could bear to hear chains rattle.

Yet throughout that night.

From beginning to end.

They heard crisp chain sounds, dull wall-striking sounds, even what seemed like a sharp crack later.

But they never heard a single moan or cry.

As if what lay in that room wasn’t a person but a powerful soul from hell’s depths that could endure blade cuts and axe strikes, boiling and frying, human suffering’s utmost.

When prolonged silence finally came, the three waited anxiously for a while. Finally unable to wait longer, they pushed open the door and rushed in.

Zhao San, first to enter, stopped immediately upon entering.

Mu Si behind him looked up and jerked his head back.

Chazi bit her teeth, glanced once, turned away, tears flying to the wall.

Finally it was Zhao San who stepped forward first.

Murong Yi lay quietly on the bed, clothes completely soaked, all wounds torn open, blood mixed with sweat had also soaked the thick bedding beneath in a layer of pale red.

Blood covered the chains everywhere. One arm had somehow struggled free from the tightly bound chains, hanging limply beside the bed—from its angle, clearly broken.

Zhao San’s trembling hands went to unlock the chains, but pulling brought up flesh and blood. Used too forcefully, the chains had sunk into flesh. His entire body was covered in bleeding welts, as if severely whipped with iron.

His other hand pressed against the wall. Only then did Zhao San see that on the wall side, there were two deep, blood-written characters.

Tie. Ci.

Each stroke penetrated the earthen wall an inch deep.

The strokes weren’t connected, clearly not written in one go.

Perhaps when he felt he couldn’t endure, he wrote one stroke as spiritual support to continue.

Perhaps when nearing madness, he added another stroke to remind himself to remember awakening, remember she existed in the world.

Perhaps when finally waking from unconsciousness, he wrote another stroke, grateful that having her in life meant he could not give up, not retreat, not despair.

Through the longest, most bitter night.

One name.

Borrowed her to endure.

Zhao San clutched the bloodied chains, looking at those wall-penetrating strokes, at the dripping blood around the characters, at his fingers nearly worn to white bone.

Tears fell like rain.

…