A mere sixteen days later, a thousand elite Imperial Guards rode hard with whips flying, traveling day and night from Chang’an to arrive at the Eastern Capital of Luoyang.

The Emperor was advanced in years, suspicious by nature, and plagued by illness, making him increasingly sensitive to any behavior that dared touch upon imperial authority. Upon receiving the impeachment letter from Henan Prefecture Magistrate Dou Jing along with the key evidence of the lion’s mane, he flew into a towering rage and immediately dispatched the Minister of Justice and the General of the Left Imperial Guard to personally lead troops in a swift journey to Luoyang to deal with this brother who presumed to rebel against his superiors.

The thousand Imperial Guards joined forces with the two thousand prefectural troops under Dou Jing’s command, totaling three thousand soldiers who surrounded Prince Qi’s mansion so tightly that not even water could leak through. However, the officials and generals leading the troops all understood tacitly that this was merely going through the motions. Prince Qi Li Yu had already been assassinated over half a month ago, and only his wives, concubines, children, and grandchildren remained in the mansion awaiting investigation, with no power to resist. If there truly were any rebel death warriors, they should have been rooted out long ago.

Dou Jing surrendered the sixty sets of confiscated “armor.” Minister of Justice Wei Changfu immediately spotted the anomaly with a single glance. But the Emperor’s attitude was crystal clear: he had long harbored suspicions about this elder brother, and regardless of what material the armor was actually made from, the charge of treason was already established. Anyone who dared speak up for Prince Qi would be equivalent to openly defying the imperial countenance.

To substantiate Li Yu’s crimes and make it an ironclad case, Wei Changfu personally led people to dig three feet deep throughout Prince Qi’s mansion, turning it completely upside down, then subjecting his officials and stewards to cruel torture and interrogation. Unexpectedly, they accidentally forced out a shocking, unbelievable crime of monstrous proportions.

Li Yu lived extravagantly and spent without restraint. His original stipend had long been insufficient to cover expenses. To fill the deficit and continue his wasteful spending, he had actually sent people to infiltrate the abandoned Ziwei Palace, secretly transporting out the precious large nanmu timber used in the dilapidated palaces to sell for personal profit.

The Tang Legal Code clearly stipulated: “Anyone who plots to destroy ancestral temples, imperial tombs, or palaces commits the crime of great rebellion.” The crime of plotting great rebellion ranked second among the “Ten Abominations,” with severity second only to treason. It was a fundamental threat to imperial authority, and according to law, regardless of whether one was the principal or accessory, all were to be beheaded. Not only would the criminal himself be executed, but his family would also be implicated as a warning to others.

Upon learning this news, Dou Jing immediately felt relieved, grateful for divine intervention in his dreams. With this verified serious crime, his impeachment could not be considered false accusation. In the subsequent great purge, he could rely on this merit to preserve himself and avoid implication.

When Li Yu was alive, he knew that once this matter was exposed it would inevitably bring catastrophic disaster, so he acted secretly with extremely clean methods. After the Tianbao Rebellion, the Emperor’s carriage had never again visited the Eastern Capital. Ziwei Palace had gone decades without repair or maintenance, becoming dilapidated and overgrown with weeds. If not for the “Yellow Lion Dance” case being exposed and bringing high court officials with troops to investigate, perhaps even after a hundred years no one would have noticed this hidden crime.

Those dignitaries who had frequently associated with Li Yu and often attended his banquets were all regarded as accomplice suspects, dragged out one by one for severe interrogation. Regardless of whether they had participated in treason, merely having watched the “Yellow Lion Dance” that belonged exclusively to the emperor was indisputable evidence of great disrespect. For a time, the Luoyang official circles were filled with alarm, everyone in danger like startled birds.

According to precedent, all of Li Yu’s descendants were stripped of their noble status and reduced to commoners. All males were executed without exception, while his wife Wang Shi and other female family members were confiscated as government slaves. Prince Qi’s lineage was stripped of their titles and completely exterminated, with no one left to continue the line.

Although Li Yu had long been dead, he still could not escape severe punishment. His rotting corpse was dragged from the coffin, placed under the scorching sun to be exposed and whipped, then stripped naked and hung at the city gate for public display. His crimes of capturing and harming civilian women during his lifetime, though ranking lower among his many offenses, were still sufficient to make the common people clap their hands in celebration, deeply feeling that heavenly justice was clear and retribution unfailing.

At this point, everyone connected his death by the Juque Heavenly Bow and four-feathered great arrows, as if Emperor Taizong could no longer tolerate it and had personally descended to earth to shoot down this unworthy villain. “Heaven has no favorites, it only assists virtue” – this could truly be called divine will, and no one mentioned capturing the real culprit anymore.

The night was iron-dark, silent as death’s ashes.

Prince Qi’s mansion was visible in the distance, flames reaching toward heaven, extremely striking in Luoyang city that had sunk into darkness. With treason established, the Imperial Guards bore torches and charged about, capturing criminals and confiscating assets. The iron hooves of imperial power trampled that magnificent mansion day and night without rest.

The feast of extreme pleasure would never appear in the world again. That brutal revelry had finally been destroyed by brutality.

Two people sat side by side on a rooftop, quietly admiring the distant flames of extermination.

To get a panoramic view from afar, Wei Xun had specifically chosen an abandoned pavilion in the right position, carrying her up with his lightness skills. The Frost Descent period had passed, and the deep night weather was quite cold. Bao Zhu wrapped her cloak tightly, staring intently at the mansion in the firelight.

With her great revenge achieved, she had not only personally eliminated her enemy’s physical body but had also designed to sever his bloodline at the roots and implicate various accomplices. The wronged souls of the Guanyin slaves who died unjustly could now rest in peace.

Once this intense emotion that had occupied her entire soul receded, she felt completely empty inside.

Bao Zhu suddenly recalled something and asked: “Do you remember that night when we were patrolling the city, we agreed to watch the fireworks display together?”

Wei Xun silently nodded, his expression wooden. That night’s extremely joyful romantic experience now seemed like a grand beautiful dream from a hallucination when recalled. Someone like him, covered in blood and ominous evil, indeed did not deserve to possess such wonderful redemption and transformation.

Flowers in a mirror, moon in water – extreme joy gives birth to sorrow, heartbreak and lifelong regret. Chen Shigu’s Evening Smoke Wave Palm had long ago foreshadowed his disciple’s tragic end.

Bao Zhu’s expression was calm as she said: “We missed the fireworks, but this fire of extermination is reasonably satisfactory.”

After a speechless silence, she extended her arm from within her cloak, opening her hand toward Wei Xun: “Give me the rhinoceros horn blade.”

It was time to end this, Bao Zhu thought. During the days and nights of waiting for results, she had yearned for this day’s arrival every moment. After being buried alive due to her royal father’s suspicions, stumbling all the way to here, she had finally recognized that she already had nothing left.

Upon hearing these words, Wei Xun trembled violently as if stabbed. He gripped the dagger at his waist, looking at Bao Zhu with despair, still harboring a thread of wishful thinking. But her gaze was resolute, her arm steadily extended toward him, with absolutely no room for compromise.

The Fish Intestine Sword – this peerless deadly weapon specifically stored for assassinating King Liao, having gone through a thousand years of reincarnation, seemed cursed to once again drink deeply of royal blood today.

Wei Xun felt cold throughout his body, all hope extinguished. He thought with grief and anger: what meaning was there in rescuing her from the tomb? Could it be that their acquaintance and mutual understanding was only so she could live to endure humiliation, experience all the thorns and suffering of the mortal world, then die heartbroken at a dead end?

Living on was far more difficult than dying and ending it all. Bao Zhu’s prediction was correct – he truly could not bear to watch her continue suffering with his own eyes. If she was determined to sever earthly ties and vitality, he would properly send her on her way without letting her feel the slightest pain. As for the remaining blood and lingering hatred, that was the karmic retribution for his lifetime of tomb robbing, which he deserved to bear.

The youth could not suppress his sorrow, weeping mournfully as he untied the Fish Intestine Sword, carrying it like a tremendous burden as he slowly handed it to her.

Bao Zhu received the dagger, gripped the rhinoceros horn handle, and drew the blade. In the flowing water patterns, a face was clearly reflected – this was the first time she had seen her own appearance since surviving and returning.

Under the moonlight, her complexion was dull and lusterless, her cheeks gaunt.

But unexpectedly, these eyes that should have contained nothing were not hollow. Within them burned two leaping flames – the burning Prince Qi’s mansion reflected in her pupils.

After hatred departed, something had secretly grown in her empty soul, as if beneath the ashes, new flesh and blood were taking root. This faint, wonderful sensation made her impulse to seek release not as strong as she had imagined.

Gazing at the somewhat unfamiliar face on the blade, Bao Zhu contemplated: having left the protection of her father and brothers’ wings and companions’ protection, she had single-handedly slain her enemies in desperate straits with nothing left, shot down the sun, and made that place of evil burn fiercely. Her power and strength did not come entirely from bloodline. The absolute power of life and death, of trampling everything – she too could wield it with ease.

Fate had shattered everything she had once been proud of. Could these achievements reconstruct new pride?

But she still felt pain, still felt shame. The nightmare of being forced to dance for others’ entertainment repeatedly broke her heart and left her with nowhere to hide her shame. Spiritual wounds were not as easy to heal as physical ones.

Tonight, she had washed away the humiliation of her body with the blood of her enemy’s entire household, but she still needed something else to comfort her soul.

“When Mother refused to teach me dance in the past, she once said ‘serving others with beauty is shameful.’ I was too young then to appreciate her good intentions, and instead asked: ‘Mother, when you dance, isn’t it to please others?’ She was extremely angry upon hearing this and ignored me for several days. Looking back now, I know how hurtful those words were.”

Bao Zhu gazed at herself reflected in the blade, murmuring softly: “Though Mother and I were mother and daughter who shared imperial favor, she was a consort while I was the master. Our situations were actually different. Without personal experience, one cannot understand her unspeakable pain.”

Wei Xun quietly listened to her recount childhood memories. Though he couldn’t fully understand the meaning within, he still prayed to heaven to let her speak a while longer, so she could live a few moments more.

“Mother had never been so angry. I thought she would never speak to me again. After a few days, she suddenly picked me up, saying she wanted to chat privately. I sat on her lap, listening to her gentle explanation: though serving others with beauty is shameful, dancing for oneself and for worthy people is not shameful. She had once had the fortune to dance for a worthy person, and from then on, no longer felt conflicted and pained about it. I naively thought at the time that person must have been Father. Thinking about it now, that probably wasn’t the case.”

After telling these past trivial matters, Bao Zhu remained silent for a long time, as if weighing a major decision. After a moment, she sheathed the sharp blade and handed it back to Wei Xun.

Wei Xun was overjoyed beyond measure, hastily snatching back the deadly weapon, wishing he could immediately throw it into the depths of the Luo River.

Bao Zhu moved closer to him, reaching out to press her warm palm against his cold, gaunt cheek, solemnly and gravely declaring: “Sit properly and watch carefully. I am going to wash away my shame – this will be the only time in my life.”

Under Wei Xun’s shocked gaze, she removed her cloak and, with the fire of her enemy’s extermination as backdrop, with heaven as curtain and earth as stage, began to dance with abandon. She wished to use the gaze of her cherished person to wash away the filthy mire corroding her soul.

The phoenix shadow suddenly turned with wings raised together, the phoenix cry just ceased with wings spread wide. Wei Xun’s breathing became rapid, almost unable to catch his breath. He suddenly understood the hint contained in those memories – he was the “worthy person” in her heart, and she was willing to temporarily put down the blade and pause her steps toward the underworld for this.

Bao Zhu exerted all her strength leaping and spinning, pouring all the despair and hope, hatred and satisfaction, pain and compassion that had long shrouded her body and mind into her dance steps. From this moment on, only the person before her eyes in this world had lived to witness her dance. All past indignities were cast behind her – she would summon courage to once again embark on an unknown journey.

Bao Zhu was not originally a good dancer. Having learned for only a few days, the details gradually became unclear. Without Mimolayan’s guidance, when she reached the “Eagle Soaring” movement midway, she again forgot the subsequent moves.

Bao Zhu looked slightly embarrassed, saying awkwardly: “I forgot what comes next again.”

The next instant, Wei Xun pounced forward, embracing her tightly in his arms with nearly suffocating force.

Suddenly, Bao Zhu felt a bitter, moist tide surging in her throat. That unfamiliar emotion kept rising until it reached behind her nasal cavity, then flooded into her eye sockets. Long endurance and bearing burdens had made her forget an innate instinct. At this moment, in this steel-like solid embrace, she finally found the long-lost sense of security.

Between life and death lies great terror, born in the heart and manifested in the body. After washing away shame with blood and being reborn through fire, she was like a newborn, beginning to relearn how to master this instinct.

Bao Zhu let out two soft whimpers, unable to grasp her former vocal tone, sounding somewhat awkward. Wei Xun held her tighter, encouraging: “Cry! Cry it all out!”

So she tried harder, her voice gradually rising in pitch. In her eye sockets, long-absent crystalline pearls reappeared. Grievance, fear, longing for response, emotional release – tears meant nothing to strangers, but only in the embrace of companions and loved ones could they return to their essential function.

Bao Zhu’s tears flowed like springs. Sobbing with drawn-out cries, she wept in Wei Xun’s arms until her voice was hoarse and her liver and intestines felt torn apart, her whole body trembling.

In the silent night, crying sounds spiraled upward. Like a noble young bird that had accidentally fallen into a mire, after a valiant struggle with death-defying determination, she had finally succeeded in pulling out her wet feathers. She reorganized her wings, spread them to fly, raised her neck, and let out a defiant, spirited cry toward the vast sky. When Kunshan jade shatters, the phoenix calls – the spiritual sound pierced straight through the nine heavens, resounding through the clouds.

Author’s Note: “These violent delights have violent ends.” I know it’s inappropriate to quote Shakespeare in ancient Chinese fiction, but this line is really perfect.

“The phoenix shadow suddenly turned with wings raised together, the phoenix cry just ceased with wings spread wide” – Zhang Hu

In this volume, Bao Zhu and Sanniang never spoke a word to each other or even met, but both coincidentally chose the same healing method: personally taking revenge. Severely punishing criminals is the best comfort for victims.

After killing everyone, one can peacefully cry in the embrace of one’s beloved youth.

Normal princess date: watching fireworks display [shy] Princess Bao Zhu’s date: watching fires of extermination [starry eyes]