Chapter 126: Chapter 125. Frozen Peaks, Bleak Moon.

Chapter 125.

The palace gates were falling one after another, and chaos spread like wildfire through the inner courts.

By the time Gao Xian stormed onto the scene, Xue Shu had already led his men right up to Qianqing Palace.

The two factions stood face to face, a standoff brimming with tension. On paper, Qianqing Palace had the numbers—but the so-called "elite" Imperial Guards were paralyzed, their courage gutted by the sheer ferocity Xue Shu exuded. Many were already teetering on the edge of retreat.

This rabid dog!

Wasn't he supposed to be lured away by Prince An's little scheme?

How the hell did he come back so fast?

Gao Xian’s teeth ground together in fury, but he knew better than to clash with Xue Shu head-on. Locked in a silent, volatile standoff, Gao Xian finally bit the bullet and slipped away toward Yongxi Palace to find Yin Ciguang.

Yin Ciguang still resided in Yongxi Palace, and when Gao Xian barged in, he found him not resting but calmly burning paper money in a brazier. The flames licked high, casting shadows across Yin Ciguang’s pale, ghostly face. There was no vitality there, no spark of life—just a cold, almost eerie calm.

Had he gotten wind of the news and risen from bed, or had he stayed up all night?

Gao Xian didn’t know and didn’t care. He only wanted to get the words out, the disastrous state of the palace spilling out in frantic bursts.

Eunuchs, rootless as floating duckweed, lived and died with their masters. Gao Xian’s life was tied to Yin Ciguang's survival—one fell, and the other was doomed.

But Yin Ciguang didn’t react. Not a flicker of surprise or alarm crossed his face. He merely murmured, almost as if talking to himself, “So, he figured it out this quickly?”

No panic, no desperation—just a faint note of regret.

He had spent months, years perhaps, weaving this web, thinking it might buy him at least a few more days. But Xue Shu… that beast… had returned far sooner than anyone could have predicted.

Yin Ciguang lowered his gaze, casually prodding the burning paper in the brazier with iron tongs.

Watching this nonchalant display, Gao Xian felt an inexplicable sense of dread clawing up his spine. His voice rose, sharp and strained, “The Emperor already left a decree—Prince An is the rightful heir! Xue Shu’s actions are treasonous! Prince An must act to suppress this rebellion!”

“Suppress?” Yin Ciguang tilted his head, his fire-lit eyes unnervingly calm. “With what? Your ragtag group, bolstered by the remnants His Majesty so graciously handed over? You think that’s enough to take down Xue Shu?”

“But we have the imperial decree! Our claim is legitimate!” Gao Xian’s unease was spiraling out of control. Yin Ciguang’s detached attitude felt like a slap in the face.

“And the Third Prince had a decree too. Did that make him Emperor? Or have you somehow managed to convince the detained ministers in the side hall to rally to my cause?” Yin’s tone was maddeningly even, every word slicing deeper. “If Father really had the authority to transfer power with a single decree, then tell me—why didn’t he dare depose the Crown Prince all these years, even though he despised him?”

A decree was nothing but ink on paper. Without recognition, it was no more than a forgery.

The scorn etched on Yin Ciguang’s face made something click in Gao Xian’s mind. His hand trembled as he pointed at Yin, stammering, “You—you tricked me!”

When Yin Ciguang first roped him in, he’d sworn up and down that Emperor Longfeng intended to appoint him as heir. All Gao Xian had to do was lend his support, and once Yin ascended the throne, not only would his position be secure, but Xue Shu would be handed to him on a silver platter for revenge.

Now, it was all unraveling.

He didn’t fully trust anyone, always holding back when doing favors. But the imperial edict that Concubine De had seized from Emperor Longfeng? That sealed his loyalty to Yin Ciguang, dragging him onto a ship he could never leave.

He’d always known the emperor kept a blank edict hidden in his pillow. The day Emperor Longfeng dismissed everyone and demanded ink and brush, Gao Xian had his suspicions. But he never imagined that damn mother-son duo would swoop in and snatch it right from under his nose.

If not for that, why would he gamble everything like this? Why take risks that could cost him his head?

And now, Yin Ciguang stood there, cool as ice, saying the edict was useless.

Gao Xian’s chest heaved, his face pale, fury blazing in his eyes as he glared daggers at him. His teeth clenched so tight it seemed he might bite clean through his tongue, his expression screaming he wanted to lunge at Yin Ciguang and tear him apart with his bare hands.

But Yin Ciguang? He just stared back, unbothered, almost amused. “Have you been around my father too long, Gao Gonggong? Starting to match his stupidity, are you? The Crown Prince’s position is rock solid. He’s got everyone’s support. What could I possibly use to challenge him? And why would I even want to?”

Ever since his true identity came to light, everyone assumed he’d vie for the throne, plotting against the Crown Prince. Everyone was pushing him, cornering him, forcing his hand.

He thought if he stayed true to himself, he could avoid it all. But he’d forgotten one cruel truth: in this palace, behind these high walls, the weak don’t get choices.

From the moment he stepped into the spotlight—or maybe from the moment he joined forces with the Crown Prince in that pavilion corridor—his fate was no longer his own. It just took him too damn long to realize it.

He didn’t want to hate anyone. But deep down, resentment festered.

Why him?

Why always him?

Yin Ciguang let out a hollow laugh, tossed the fire poker to the ground, and turned to leave the hall.

Gao Xian’s dazed eyes fell on the brazier, catching a glimpse of bright yellow silk still clinging to the flames. His pupils widened in horror. Realization slammed into him like a battering ram. That was the imperial edict in the fire.

He lunged forward, kicking over the brazier, frantically beating at the flames with his robes. But it was too late. Too damn late.

Yin Ciguang didn’t bother to look back, even as the sound of Gao Xian’s frantic struggle echoed behind him. He walked on, step by steady step, until he reached the northwest drum tower.

From this height, he could see it all. The Yan’s palace below was a sea of flames, lines of fire stretching from the north and east, closing in on the west and south. The city was being swallowed, piece by piece.

It was the Capital Guard. Had to be.

Turning his gaze toward Qianqing Palace, the sight was no less striking—bright lights lit up the night like it was high noon.

He had schemed and planned endlessly to lure Xue Shu away, hoping to buy just a little more time. In the end, it was all for nothing.

Foolish dreams.

Even the tea he’d so carefully prepared wouldn’t be tasted now. A waste, really.

Standing atop the drum tower, shrouded by the endless darkness of night, the smile finally faded from Yin Ciguang’s face. All that was left was weariness, the kind that cuts straight to the bone.

At least it was almost over.

*

The battle before Qianqing Palace lasted a mere fifteen minutes before the Imperial Guard surrendered, weapons clattering to the ground.

The courtyard outside was left a blood-soaked mess, littered with corpses swiftly cleared away while the wounded were hauled off for treatment. The bannermen, their brown uniforms streaked with blood, stood at attention on either side, blades in hand.

Xue Shu wiped the blood clean from his blade with deliberate precision before sheathing it. Without missing a beat, he strode toward Yin Chengyu, who had been observing the carnage from the sidelines.

“Your servant has fulfilled his duty. The traitors have been dealt with.”

Yin Chengyu, clad in a rich purple robe embroidered with four-clawed dragons, remained immaculate—his hem untouched by blood or dirt. He took a step forward, reaching out to lift Xue Shu, who had dropped to one knee before him. “Come. Let’s check on my father. With all this commotion, I hope his recovery hasn’t been disturbed.”

His words carried a veneer of concern, but his eyes betrayed no worry. Truth be told, whether the Longfeng Emperor lived or died was irrelevant now.

As Yin Chengyu withdrew his hand, he paused, feeling Xue Shu’s grip tighten. The Prince’s sharp gaze slid toward him, a brow arched. With a faint smirk, he traced the inside of Xue Shu’s wrist with his thumb—a silent command: Let go.

The faint scrape of a nail against his skin sent a shiver racing through Xue Shu’s veins. Reluctantly, he released his hold, his fingers trailing down to rest on the hilt of his sword. The cold, unyielding texture was a poor substitute for the soft warmth of the Crown Prince’s hand.

The exchange, a fleeting moment charged with tension, went unnoticed by the others. To them, it seemed the Crown Prince led confidently while Xue Shu followed half a step behind, hand on his weapon like a loyal shadow. Even Zhao Lin, the esteemed commander of the Eastern Palace guards, had no choice but to trail further back.

The scene painted a picture of a benevolent ruler and a devoted subordinate.

Inside the palace, ministers—freshly freed from their second bout of house arrest in less than a week—peeked hesitantly from the side hall. Hearing that the chaos outside had subsided, they emerged cautiously, only to catch sight of Yin Chengyu and Xue Shu’s camaraderie.

Wide-eyed, they exchanged glances.

“Who said the Crown Prince and Xue Shu didn’t get along?” one whispered.

“Utter nonsense,” another muttered in disbelief.

Yin Chengyu stopped before the gates of Qianqing Palace, where the gathered officials hastily bowed before falling in line behind him. The crowd surged like an eager tide into the palace, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of what awaited inside. Whispers rippled through the air as they speculated about the situation within.

As Crown Prince, Yin Chengyu led the charge, his composure unshaken. But upon reaching the inner chamber, he halted abruptly. The doors were locked tight, and no sound came from within.

Surprise flickered across his face as murmurs of alarm spread among the officials behind him.

Xue Shu, needing no orders, stepped forward and drew his sword. In one swift motion, the blade shattered the lock. The broken metal fell to the floor with a dull thud, echoing in the tense silence and hammering against the hearts of everyone present.

Yin Chengyu pushed the doors open slowly, his movements deliberate. The darkness within spilled out like a shroud, thick with the metallic tang of blood.

The murmured conversations ceased, replaced by a suffocating quiet. The officials stood frozen, dread pooling in their guts.

Xue Shu, unfazed, entered the chamber without hesitation. He struck a flame, lighting the floor lamps flanking the screen. The room’s gloom gave way to flickering light, revealing its chilling contents.

Behind the screen lay a figure draped in imperial yellow, the color reserved for the emperor alone.

Yin Chengyu’s stride quickened as he rounded the screen. He stopped dead in his tracks, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

“Father!”

He staggered back two steps, as if he'd just seen the most horrific scene imaginable. The officials behind him forgot their rank and dignity, shoving forward in a panic. But when they laid eyes on what was behind the screen, gasps and horrified cries erupted among them.

Behind the screen lay Emperor Longfeng, his lifeless body sprawled on the ground. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly into nothingness, his body drenched in blood. A deep slash gaped across his neck, and a sharp shard of porcelain jutted grotesquely from his chest. Blood had poured out in such profusion that the once-luxurious red-and-white carpet beneath him was now soaked to a sickening blackish red. Anyone stepping on it would feel the nauseating squelch of dampness and stickiness underfoot.

A short distance away, near the emperor’s dragon bed, the Third Prince slumped against it, his expression void of any life or emotion. His eyes shifted slightly as the room filled with people, but he made no other move. Behind him, curled up within the bed curtains, was Consort De. Only half her face was visible, one eye glaring at the crowd with frantic vigilance. Her lips moved incessantly, muttering incoherent words that hinted at her unraveling sanity.

The scene was a nightmare—a slaughterhouse masquerading as a royal chamber. The emperor lay dead, the Third Prince and Consort De still alive but battered and disheveled, their bodies bearing the marks of whatever madness had unfolded here. Shattered porcelain littered the ground, and the once-pristine room was a chaotic mess. The story of violence and betrayal screamed from every corner.

The officials who had barged in exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale. None dared to speak, but their regret was palpable. They wished, desperately, that they had stayed outside.

Finally, Yin Chengyu stepped forward, his expression grim. He knelt by the emperor’s lifeless form and gently closed those hauntingly wide eyes. His voice was steady but icy as he barked out the order: “Consort De and the Third Prince conspired to murder the emperor. They shall be executed for their crimes!”

At his command, guards stormed in and seized the pair. Neither resisted. Or perhaps, they simply no longer had the strength to. They were dragged away like broken dolls.

Yin Chengyu then ordered the emperor’s body to be handled with care and the inner hall to be cleaned. As he stepped outside, his composure cracked. His voice boomed like a whip, lashing at the gathered officials: “Bring me the commander of the Imperial Guard who was assigned to protect Qianqing Palace! How did the traitorous Third Prince and that wench Consort De end up here, of all places?”

The officials, still shaken by the sight of the emperor’s mangled body, suddenly snapped to attention. Their minds reeled with the realization—how had the Third Prince, who had already been labeled a traitor and fled the palace, found his way back here?

It didn’t take long for the trembling commander of the Imperial Guard to spill everything. “It was Prince An and Eunuch Gao who brought them here,” he stammered.

Yin Chengyu’s eyes darkened, though he seemed unsurprised. “I see,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Where are Prince An and Eunuch Gao? Bring them to me—alive!”

———TN:

Oh, sweetheart, I'm absolutely shattered, torn to pieces, and drowning in a storm of heartbreak.