Chapter 61

“The Emperor is in his prime, how could he suddenly pass away?

This matter has left all the courtiers feeling extremely suspicious.

In July, the Emperor often showed signs of fear at night, unable to sleep, resulting in dizziness, headaches, and confusion. The imperial doctors were at a loss, while the Qingtian supervisors, observing the celestial phenomena at night, claimed changes in the southern star patterns, fearing it might endanger the Purple Forbidden Enclosure Star. They then conducted rituals within the palace, advising the Emperor to fast, bathe, and pray for forty-nine days.

The Emperor followed their advice and fasted and bathed in the Hall of Celestial Observation.

Regarding state affairs, the Emperor had always been lazy. With the Grand Tutor assisting in governance, not to mention the Emperor’s absence from the court for just forty-nine days, last year, when the Emperor fell ill with a cold, he inexplicably lingered on his sickbed for a long time. During that period, the state affairs were almost entirely handled by the Grand Tutor without any problems. When the Emperor recovered, he was quite satisfied.

This time, with the Emperor praying in seclusion, all state affairs were left to the Grand Tutor.

Inside the Hall of Celestial Observation, the Emperor was reciting sutras while palace attendants approached quietly. In a low voice, they said, “The Grand Tutor has arrived.”

With prayer beads wrapped around his wrist, the Emperor raised his hand slightly, his brows furrowing tightly. Supported by attendants, he moved to the side hall.

Before long, the Grand Tutor, dressed in crimson official robes, entered. The Emperor squinted slightly, while attendants massaged his head. A fresh medicinal fragrance wafted in, and the Emperor relaxed, saying, “Zigui, you’re here.”

“Is Your Majesty feeling better today?”

“Still the same.”

The Emperor impatiently opened his eyes.

The Grand Tutor’s condition seemed worse than his, his face as pale as paper. Although his eyes were bright, their coldness accentuated his unhealthy appearance. He smiled faintly, “Your Majesty looks much better today.”

The Emperor sighed, “Really? Why do I still feel uncomfortable?”

“Zigui…”

“No need to look at those reports. Your judgment is enough,” the Emperor raised his hand, “I have a headache.”

The Grand Tutor coughed lightly, “Your Majesty, please take care of yourself.”

“Speaking of which,” the Emperor’s tone softened, “how about you? Have you been taking the heart-strengthening pills prescribed by the imperial doctor?”

“I have been taking them.”

“If it weren’t for the miraculous healing of the imperial doctor, I might not have survived last winter.”

The Emperor tested this trusted confidant step by step. Despite Mo Yin’s loyalty, he had no family or faction. His health was fragile, and the imperial doctor dared not speak frankly in front of him but was blunt with the Emperor. They knew Mo Yin’s condition was severe, requiring precious medicines to sustain his life. However, these remedies only masked his symptoms temporarily, akin to drinking poison to quench thirst.

Hence, the Emperor entrusted him with authority, knowing Mo Yin’s limitations but appreciating his effectiveness. Mo Yin, living day by day, had no fear or need for caution. As the absolute ruler, the Emperor scrutinized every action of his courtiers; any disloyalty would be promptly discovered.

Moreover, Mo Yin had always been diligent and loyal, never faltering in his duties. Though he harbored personal motives, the Emperor turned a blind eye, for everyone had their ambitions. Killing a few dissenters was nothing compared to Mo Yin’s efficiency.

Resting in the side hall, the Emperor watched as Mo Yin reviewed the reports. Usually, the Emperor would read them himself, but in his current state of discomfort and dizziness, he gestured for Mo Yin to read them aloud. After listening for a while, the Emperor waved his hand, his brows furrowed in pain, signaling for medicine.

The imperial doctor was of no help. Now the Emperor relied on herbal concoctions, which provided some relief.

After drinking the bitter medicine, the Emperor was assisted to lie down on the soft couch in the side hall.

Attendants carried the reports out, leaving the hall quiet. Two palace attendants fanned softly while several guards from the Imperial Order stood outside in the shadows.

With his eyes closed, the Emperor drifted into a drowsy state.

Mo Yin silently approached the couch, gazing at the Emperor’s pale face. If anything were to happen to the Emperor now, Mo Yin would be the prime suspect.

Standing beside the couch with his hands behind his back, Mo Yin observed the Emperor’s face with a scrutinizing gaze.”

The Emperor always believed he was weak and wouldn’t live long. He thought Mo Yin was without desire, only having a narrow mind that couldn’t accommodate anyone associated with the Yan faction.

In fact, the Emperor’s thoughts weren’t entirely wrong.

He couldn’t tolerate anyone who harbored enmity towards him.

Mo Yin reached out his hand, pale and icy. His fingers gently rested on the Emperor’s throat. The skin he touched was warm, blood flowing beneath. The Emperor was weak, but he was still alive.

With a sudden force, the Emperor woke up almost instantly. He thought he was having a nightmare again, but as he opened his eyes, he felt something wrong with his breathing. It was then he realized someone was strangling him—

“Your Majesty, awake.”

Mo Yin’s face was pale, with a faint smile. His fingers deeply dug into the Emperor’s throat. The Emperor wanted to struggle and scream, but he felt powerless, limbs numb as if floating. He was horrified, staring at his loyal servant before him, feeling helpless yet terrified like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.

“I originally planned for Your Majesty to peacefully depart in your sleep, considering it as fulfilling the bond between us,” Mo Yin smiled faintly, “But then I thought, you don’t deserve it.”

“Your Majesty, on the way to exile, I kept pondering over who was at fault for my current situation.”

“Was it because I didn’t flatter enough in court, with no one to rely on?”

“Was it Yan Qi’s domineering rule, manipulating factions, endangering my life?”

“But I feel like it’s more than that.”

“Your Majesty, who is truly at fault?”

Mo Yin stared at the representative of the world’s highest power, the one designated in this world to possess supreme authority. Yet, he was merely a creature who could still breathe in Mo Yin’s hands.

How could such a creature be worthy of supreme power?

As Mo Yin’s grip tightened, his expression became more relaxed, as if witnessing something fascinating.

The Emperor’s eyes bulged slightly, showing a fierce and ruthless gaze, as if saying: “This is in the palace. How dare you commit regicide?!”

Mo Yin leisurely loosened his grip a little. The Emperor struggled to speak, “Im… perial…”

“Your Majesty wants to summon the Imperial Order? Let me handle that for you.”

“Guards—”

Mo Yin’s voice rose slightly.

Suddenly, a dozen more people appeared in the hall.

All the members of the Imperial Order stood beside Mo Yin. “Grand Tutor.”

“Summon the imperial doctors.”

Mo Yin smiled faintly as he looked at the Emperor, “Your Majesty suddenly feels unwell, it seems things aren’t going well.”

The Emperor watched in horror as those people didn’t even spare him a glance. They responded, “Yes, Grand Tutor,” and left. The late Emperor’s successor faced great challenges. Born as the Crown Prince, he was extremely noble, the most distinguished person in the world. No one dared to challenge his authority. In his eyes, all beings were ants, and only he was the Emperor…

Breathing became increasingly difficult, and the Emperor struggled in pain. His tongue protruded from his mouth, emitting a struggling sound.

“Your Majesty, look at me…”

The Emperor’s eyes were gradually clouded. In the suffocating pain, he only saw a pair of icy eyes, cold, sharp, and mocking.

“…is it worthy of the title of champion?”

*

At the moment of the Emperor’s death, rumors spread that only the Grand Tutor and the Emperor were in the Hall of Celestial Observation. No one knew where these rumors came from, but everyone knew, and everyone dared not discuss it.

When the Imperial Order was established, the number of people wasn’t large. This organization was solely accountable to the Emperor, and nobody knew exactly how many people were in it or what their responsibilities were.

Once, it was said that an official recited a poem in his courtyard with his concubine: “The cuckoo calls incessantly, urging people to dawn, better to return home.” The next morning, that person was taken to the Imperial Order.

“The cuckoo” refers to the Grand Tutor, whose courtesy name is Zi Gui. Wasn’t this “cuckoo” implying the Grand Tutor?

“Urging people to dawn, better to return home,” isn’t this hinting at the Grand Tutor’s heavy coughing, wishing for his early demise?

That person didn’t live to see the next day.

After learning of this incident, the Emperor reproached the Grand Tutor—just a reproach.

Perhaps because this person was once a part of the Yan faction, that was his true cause of death.

In any case, all courtiers were greatly intimidated.

That was the Imperial Order.

It didn’t need any trial to arbitrarily convict people and get them killed inside, yet it remained unscathed.

Moreover, such secretive matters could have been kept confidential, yet the details of this incident were widely known, and spread by word of mouth. Why? It was to let everyone know that the Imperial Order was so arrogant, and what could anyone do about it?

Afterward, the person in power at the Imperial Order continued to rise and eventually became the Grand Master.

One person above ten thousand.

In the prosperous era of several generations of emperors, there were continuous factional struggles among courtiers, but never before had there been a courtier with such overwhelming power, covering the sky with one hand.

Perhaps it was his handsome appearance, perhaps his weak body, perhaps his eloquence and charm, which deceived the Emperor and led the Emperor to grant him too much power. After this person became the shadow looming over the prosperity, there wasn’t a single courtier who had the power to resist.

And now, with the Emperor’s death, all courtiers harbored suspicions but dared not speak. Their only hope rested on that special power figure of prosperity.

Two sheets of paper were enclosed in the envelope sent to the border.

One sheet informed Emperor He Xuan’s death, while the other described a Mo Yin who felt extremely unfamiliar to He Xuan, a Mo Yin that sent shivers down the spine of all courtiers! There were even suspicions of regicide!

“…The court is in danger. Please hurry back to the capital, General.”

The last few lines were hastily written, as if in an emergency. Perhaps after sending the letter, the writer had already met an unfortunate end.

He Xuan held the letter in his hand for a long time.

Li Yuan was still reeling from the shock of the Emperor’s death when he saw Hexuan blow out the match and ignite the other sheet of paper.

“General,” Li Yuan was still shaken, “His Majesty was in the prime of his life. How could he suddenly pass away?”

Hexuan remained silent, and the paper in his hand burned to his fingertips before he gently flicked it off, the ashes fluttering to the ground, quietly disappearing.

“His Majesty hasn’t named a crown prince yet,” Li Yuan continued, “Won’t there be chaos in the court?”

“Shut up.”

Li Yuan instinctively closed his mouth, seeing Hexuan’s face darkening, and he involuntarily took a step back.

Except on the battlefield, Li Yuan had never seen such a menacing aura emanating from their general.

The tent fell into silence until the sound of another report came from outside.

“Come in—”

He Xuan roared.

The messenger brought another sealed letter.

“General, it’s a letter from home.”

“I won’t read it!”

The guard raised his head, hesitating, “The old Grand Master added a message to it.”

Hexuan cast a cold glance.

The guard swallowed hard before saying, “The old Grand Master said if General doesn’t read this letter, then he shouldn’t bear the surname ‘He’ anymore.”

The letter was unfolded.

This time, He Xuan’s father wasn’t urging his son to return home and start a family. On the contrary, He Xuan’s father’s tone was stern, insisting that He Xuan must not return, whether to the Southern Frontier or the capital and forcing He Xuan to remain at the border to continue guarding.

The Southern Frontier had only a few scattered tribes left, no longer influential. Yilan had a natural miasma barrier, and He Xuan couldn’t yet flatten Yilan. However, the Yilan people were frightened and didn’t dare to step out of their barrier. The tributes had continued for the past two years, and the border was calm.

At this time, He Qingsong’s father unexpectedly used such harsh words to insist that he must stay at the border.

If the letter from Chen Cong made Hexuan half doubtful, his father’s letter completely weighed down his heart. What was Hexuan’s father most afraid of? He was afraid that He Qingsong would be entangled in court struggles and die a miserable death, so he would rather have him join the army, keeping his head on the battlefield rather than entering the court as an official.

Now, the situation in the capital must be extremely dangerous…

The Emperor had three sons in total, with the eldest only in his twenties.

The Emperor died suddenly, leaving no heir.

In He Xuan’s mind, a line of text emerged—using the Emperor’s name to order the princes.

“Prepare the troops.”

Li Yuan froze slightly.

He Xuan’s gaze swept over him fiercely. “We’re going back to the capital.”

*

“Grand Master, Chen Cong’s letter has arrived.”

“Good.”

“He Qingsong also sent a letter to the border.”

Mo Yin raised his eyes. “Oh? What did he say?”

“He instructed the General not to return to the capital under any circumstances.”

Mo Yin smiled and coughed lightly. “The old Grand Masterr was able to retreat unscathed back then; indeed extraordinary. He knows the current situation well, knowing not to let his son return and meet his death.”

Zhou Yong dared not speak.

“But knowing He Xuan’s temperament, he probably won’t listen to advice. Continue to keep an eye on his movements.”

“Yes.”

“Alright, you may leave.”

Zhou Yong acknowledged and retreated quietly, stealing a glance upward.

Upon the bright yellow dragon throne, Mo Yin wore a crimson official robe, with a crane embroidered on the chest, appearing indifferent as he reviewed the documents from the Ministry of Revenue with a vermilion brush in hand. With each stroke, he determined the life and death of the Emperor, commanding mourning throughout the realm.

What else in the world could move his heart? And who could surpass him?

Zhou Yong took a deep breath, feeling a chill run down his spine as he exited the room.