Book 7: The Son of Heaven
Chapter 135: Snow-Capped Mountains, Frost-Coated Sword (Part 4)
The Starpicking Tower stood about two or three li southeast of the imperial palace. At such a distance, concealed by the swirling snowstorm, no one noticed the faint disturbance in the distance. On the tower, a precious white fur cloak trembled slightly as the barrel of a gun erupted with a deafening roar, accompanied by a flash of fire and smoke. Yet, the speed of sound lagged far behind the bullet’s velocity.
At that very moment, atop the palace walls, the crowd in front of the watchtower remained still, quietly observing the powerful figures awaiting death in the snowy grounds before the palace. The elite Qing soldiers surrounding the area were completely unaware that the scythe of death had already sliced through the air, approaching their emperor in a manner beyond anyone’s imagination.
From the Starpicking Tower to the imperial palace walls, the deadly ripple would take just over a second to travel—enough time for a person to blink several times. However, the emperor, who had been calmly and intently watching the scene below, failed to notice the occasional glint of light flashing through the snowstorm two or three li away.
Thus, the Grandmaster had almost no time to react. When he sensed a sudden, lethal presence in the air—one even he could not resist—he barely had time to blink. His face turned deathly pale, the light in his pupils flickering, as his body shot backward like a wisp of smoke.
Though the emperor was injured and his energy severely depleted, at this critical juncture, he unleashed an unimaginable burst of human energy, vanishing from his original position in an instant and crashing backward into the watchtower like a phantom.
Thud! A muffled sound echoed as the high-speed, spiraling bullet grazed the shoulder of the figure in bright yellow robes and slammed into the hard palace wall, blasting a hole about a foot wide, its depth unknown.
Bricks and debris shot outward like rays, blooming like a flower.
Apart from the emperor, who had retreated like a wisp of smoke, no one on or below the walls had yet reacted. No one even realized what had happened, as the fierce blossom of shattered bricks was still mid-explosion, its sharp-edged fragments seemingly suspended in the air, mingling with the falling snow.
Had the emperor evaded the shot? No. Regardless of the assassin’s hesitation—whether due to some psychological reason—which caused the seemingly certain kill to miss, a second shot followed immediately, echoing the thunderous roar of the first.
Just as the sound of the first shot reached the square before the palace, the second shot arrived like a shadow, piercing the wooden door of the watchtower and leaving a fist-sized hole as it flew into the dark, quiet interior.
There is no such thing as a certain kill, especially when the target is an unfathomable Grandmaster. Due to the strict security in the capital, the assassin on the Starpicking Tower had chosen a relatively distant sniping position. He could precisely calculate the time the bullet would take to travel through the air. He never expected the first shot to kill the emperor, but he knew it would force the emperor to react with every ounce of his strength, both physically and psychologically.
That was speed. The assassin accurately calculated the emperor’s evasion direction, speed, and instantaneous displacement. With unwavering stability, he pulled the trigger a second time, aiming at the spot where the emperor would exhaust his momentum. His true hope lay in this second shot.
To compute so much in such a short time and accurately predict the emperor’s choices, it was clear the assassin understood the emperor’s temperament and his knowledge and fear of the gun—the box known to the world.
Most crucially, the assassin knew the speed a Grandmaster could unleash in a life-or-death situation, allowing him to pinpoint the emperor’s final landing spot—the point from which he could not shift again.
This was not something that could be calculated or verified, as no one in the world, aside from the few Grandmasters themselves, could push a Grandmaster to the brink, let alone understand their speed.
Unless… a Grandmaster had personally trained the assassin on the Starpicking Tower countless times.
…
In less than half a blink of an eye, the emperor’s calm and冷酷 demeanor was replaced by overwhelming fear. His domineering energy exploded within him, his face pale, his pupils contracting and dilating as he vanished from his position and crashed into the hitherto silent watchtower.
At that moment, the emperor—who had always been supremely confident, powerful, and unacquainted with fear—finally felt a sliver of terror, a fear of death. Though he could not see what had caused this overwhelming presence, he knew the box he dreaded most had finally appeared.
A muffled explosion echoed from the palace walls as the second shot pierced the wooden door of the watchtower, following a straight, invisible trajectory as the lethal bullet flew toward the emperor’s chest. The emperor, trembling and disheveled, had just retreated to the quiet room at the back of the watchtower.
This shot was too perfect, anticipating every thought and move of the emperor. The emperor’s domineering energy had already erupted into an invisible airflow atop the palace walls, leaving his body momentarily void. It was impossible for him to perform another ghostly evasion in an instant. Even more terrifying, the second shot followed without pause. By the time the emperor sensed the soul-devouring presence, it was too late to react.
However, while the assassin had accounted for everything, he had not anticipated that the quiet room behind the emperor in the watchtower was not quiet at all. It was filled with people—dozens of silent, breathless, ghost-like figures in armor, holding thick steel shields.
These people seemed to have stood in the quiet watchtower for countless years, never changing their posture, blocking every possible angle of attack toward the room. During the rebellion in the capital three years earlier, when bloodshed had engulfed the walls, neither Fan Xian nor the Eldest Prince had noticed anything unusual in this room. Where had these shield-bearing ghosts been then?
Were these shield-bearers, who appeared to have stood motionless for years, the emperor’s final arrangement to soothe his inner fear? Was their sole mission in life to block the lethal bullets fired from the box?
But how could these steel shields, produced by the Internal Treasury, withstand the world’s most powerful firearm? This was the final dragon-slaying blade, the ultimate sword of the Son of Heaven, left behind by the mistress of the Internal Treasury. How could her other creations possibly counter it?
No one could clearly see what happened in that instant. Only the shield-bearer to the emperor’s left trembled, the dust on the steel shield he tightly gripped shaking slightly. Then, the emperor behind the shield trembled as well.
The shield-bearer collapsed with a thunderous crash, a hole now visible in his steel shield.
As if struck by a divine hammer, the emperor was thrown backward, smashing through the rear wall of the watchtower room and landing pitifully on the cold, snowy ground.
…
Blood flowed from the emperor’s left chest. The wounds from his earlier battle in the Taiji Hall had reopened due to his violent movements. The sword slash on his right chest from Wang Shisanlang and the cut on his neck from Fan Xian’s finger剑气 were bleeding anew, transforming the powerful monarch into a pitiful, blood-soaked figure.
Lying in the snow, the emperor breathed rapidly, his dark pupils flickering. His left chest was slightly sunken, soaked in blood, obscuring the true extent of the wound. His head rested on the snow as he stared at the cold, tear-streaked sky, his hands clenched tightly outside his sleeves, fighting to stay conscious.
Infinite fear and rage flooded his mind. The box—the box had finally appeared. In this world, the emperor had always believed he understood the box better than anyone, even better than Chen Pingping. After all, it was with this box that Xiao Yezi had silently killed two princes and placed the Prince of Cheng’s household on the throne.
No one could help but fear such a thing. Yet, the former Crown Prince of Cheng or the Crown Prince had not been afraid, because the box belonged to her—and thus, to him. But… but… after the incident at the Peaceful Garden, the emperor began to fear. Day and night, he dreaded the box’s appearance, fearing that at any moment, a spark would ignite, and a divine hand would reach out from the void to take his life, avenging its master.
It was because of this fear that, after the Peaceful Garden incident, the emperor rarely left the palace. No, as Fan Xian had heard upon first arriving in the capital, the emperor had scarcely left the palace since then!
Though he had never seen the box, he knew its terrifying power. Like a turtle, he hid within the high palace walls, protected on all sides, with no structures in the capital tall enough to overlook these walls.
His subjects believed he remained in the palace due to his diligence in governance. Who knew he was hiding out of fear? They thought he refrained from touring the realm out of benevolence and love for his people. Who knew he was still hiding out of fear?
This state of affairs persisted until the fourth year of the Qingli era, when the child from Danzhou finally arrived in the capital. As his fifth brother seemed to have truly forgotten the past, and no one connected him to the Peaceful Garden incident, the emperor gradually relaxed, occasionally leaving the palace in plain clothes. Even then, he dared not leave the capital, for who knew if hidden flames of revenge awaited him in the vast fields of Qing? During the affair at Great Dong Mountain, the emperor had to leave the capital, but he immediately summoned Fan Xian to Danzhou, to his side. Only with this son nearby did he feel safe.
What a sorrowful life this was! The emperor possessed boundless land and millions of subjects, yet he could not see or feel them. In the latter half of his life, he seemed to have everything, but in reality, he was nothing more than a prisoner confined to his own palace.
The emperor was not afraid of death; he was afraid of dying before his grand ambitions were realized. Few people or things in this world could kill him, aside from that blind man and that box. Thus, when Chen Pingping returned from Dazhou with异常冷漠,异常冷酷冷血, the emperor, in his rage, also felt a chill.
Those dust-covered, shield-bearing soldiers had been hidden in the palace watchtower all along. As the emperor stood with narrowed eyes, hands behind his back, watching the execution of the old dog in the autumn rain, they had waited silently behind him. Yet, on that day, the box had not appeared.
Yet today, the chest appeared, and it appeared so abruptly. His Majesty the Emperor sadly realized that he had still underestimated the terror of the chest—or at least underestimated the skill of the person using it today. He had not expected that wisp of deathly aura to accurately locate his position under the protection of the watchtower, easily pierce through the steel shield, and finally, mercilessly strike his body.
...
The pure white snow was stained red by the blood flowing from the Emperor’s body. Only then did the people on the watchtower finally react. Though they still did not know what had happened, they at least knew that something had gone wrong!
Eunuch Yao, his face full of terror, crawled to the Emperor’s side. His throat was so hoarse he could not utter a word, his entire body trembling. His hands subconsciously clawed at the wound on the Emperor’s chest and abdomen, pulling out some shattered metal fragments and torn flesh, yet he still could not find the weapon that had caused the injury.
The Emperor’s body rose and fell with his rapid breathing. His somewhat dazed gaze fell upon Eunuch Yao beside him. “I… will not… die!”
These words were gritted out by His Majesty the Emperor through clenched teeth. Yet, having suffered such a severe injury, no matter how fierce the words, they seemed somewhat feeble. The Emperor’s gaze swept past Eunuch Yao’s face, still fixed fiercely on the falling snowflakes in the sky, howling miserably in his heart: I am ordained by Heaven, who dares kill me! If I do not die today, it is because Heaven does not wish me dead!
The assassin atop the Star-Picking Tower had calculated everything but ultimately failed to account for the sheer toughness of the Emperor’s body as a Grandmaster. More precisely, he had not anticipated that the Emperor, who ruled the world with majestic authority, would actually be so afraid of death that he would place a mirror of heart protection over his heart beneath the dragon robe!
The soul-devouring line unleashed by the heavy sniper rifle had traversed the vast distance across the capital’s sky, pierced through the steel shield, and though it had not deviated, accurately striking the Emperor’s chest, it was already at the end of its strength. It only shattered a large portion of the Emperor’s breastbone but failed to tear apart all the flesh and blood it touched from the root, immediately ending the monarch’s life.
Earlier, in the abandoned garden, when Fan Xian took out the steel plate from his chest, the Emperor had mockingly reprimanded him, saying petty tricks were useless for great deeds. Yet who would have thought that in the end, His Majesty the Emperor would rely on precisely such a petty trick to narrowly escape death?
Those who achieve great things must be cautious—no matter how extreme, caution is necessary. They must cherish their lives—no matter how embarrassing or dull, preserving one’s life is essential. In this regard, the Emperor and Fan Xian, father and son, were in fact two truly despicable people in this world who were极其相似.
“Star-Picking Tower.” The Emperor’s unfocused gaze fixed on the gray sky. He knew that the person using the chest today could not be the Fifth—because if it were the Fifth, he would have already stormed into the palace by now. Gasping for breath, he said, “Kill them all.”
...
...
The Emperor’s sudden assassination, leaving him unconscious and his life hanging in the balance, was a thunderous变故 that stunned all the ministers and generals on the palace walls, leaving them numb. No one knew what to do next. The experts surrounded by countless people above and below the palace walls were still trapped. If the second wave of arrows were to be unleashed, everyone would likely die, including the still-unconscious Fan Xian.
The imperial physicians were rushing over from the Imperial Hospital. Gong Dian, his face ashen, had already reached the Emperor’s side, taking out the wound medicine he carried with him in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but it seemed to have little effect.
Yet Eunuch Yao still firmly remembered the Emperor’s final order before losing consciousness. Trembling, he绕过 the watchtower, cautiously approached the deputy commander of the Imperial Guard, and in a hoarse voice, announced the Emperor’s final order to kill them all. Eunuch Yao shrank his body on the palace wall, looking utterly ridiculous, but he was truly terrified. He knew how powerful the Emperor was, and for such a mighty monarch to be so severely injured by an unseen assassin—how could he not be afraid? He even feared that the next moment, an invisible thread in the air would tear him into shreds of flesh and blood.
The next moment confirmed his fears, causing Eunuch Yao’s pupils to contract sharply as he threw himself to the ground! The deputy commander of the Imperial Guard on the palace wall was preparing to wave his flag and issue the order for the soldiers above and below to unleash another rain of arrows. But as soon as his shoulder moved, his entire head suddenly vanished!
Yes, like a ghost story in broad daylight, the deputy commander’s head suddenly exploded—like an overripe watermelon or a water-filled leather pouch, bursting without reason, transforming into a mess of blood, brain matter, and bone fragments that scattered across the wall...
Even more terrifying was that after the deputy commander’s head exploded, his body seemed unaware that his head had turned into scattered brain matter. His right arm still lifted slightly before slackening and falling, like a marionette with its strings cut, as his entire body collapsed!
Screams and cries of horror erupted on the palace walls. Such a spine-chilling scene happening right before the eyes of countless officers and soldiers—how could they not be terrified? Everyone began to tremble, desperately widening their eyes, searching frantically on the palace walls, below the walls, among their comrades, and even in the empty, snow-filled sky!
Of course, they found nothing. They had no idea what was happening, only that the deputy commander’s head had suddenly exploded! These elite Imperial Guards of Qing would never have imagined that the assassin was miles away. They shouted futilely and searched angrily.
The fruitless search gradually turned into fear. How could mere mortals resist an assassin they couldn’t see, a slaughter they couldn’t oppose?
Infinite panic quickly spread across the palace walls. All the soldiers searched helplessly, some on the verge of崩溃 under the silent pressure. The bows aimed at the people below the palace walls unconsciously loosened.
The Qing army had strict discipline and would not disintegrate into chaos merely because of the deputy commander’s gruesome death. On the battlefield and in suppressing rebellions, Qing soldiers had witnessed countless strange and horrifying ways to die. Yet, a strike as divine as today’s inevitably made ordinary people think of supernatural forces.
Another officer roared bravely, trying to calm the emotions of the Imperial Guards under his command while issuing the order to attack those below. But his roars lasted only a few moments before abruptly ceasing. The terrifying killing intent that had frightened the soldiers on the wall struck again. A massive hole was blown through this officer’s chest and abdomen, his intestines turning into a bloody mess. Without even a grunt, he fell to the ground.
At this point, the atmosphere of panic could no longer be suppressed. The palace walls descended into chaos.
...
...
The commotion on the palace walls naturally reached those below. However, the soldiers奉命 sealing off all directions did not know what had happened. The archers aiming at those waiting to die in the snow felt their arms growing sore but still had not received the order to loose their arrows. The officers frowned deeply, worried about what was happening on the palace walls and why there was such chaos.
If this were an ordinary battle, if today’s palace were merely a simple battlefield, no one would foolishly wait for the Emperor’s order to shoot. But today was different. The target of ten thousand arrows was Lord Fan.
Everyone knew what killing Fan Xian meant. They were well aware of the恩怨情仇 between Lord Fan and the Emperor. Without the Emperor’s explicit order, no one dared to rashly loose their arrows. Yet at this moment, the officers below did not know that the Emperor was severely injured, unconscious, and his life hung in the balance.
This eerie silence did not last long. A commander in the field, faced with a tense situation, must react—even if just outside the palace, Qing officers had their own initiative. General Shi Fei, hidden behind the archers, frowned as he watched the center of the snowy field. He noticed that the surrounded assassins seemed to have detected the anomaly on the palace walls and were mustering the courage and intention to break out. But Shi Fei, after all, was the formidable figure who had once single-handedly subdued the Northern Camp under Yan Xiao Yi’s command. A sudden inexplicable impulse made him refrain from directly issuing the attack order, instead having his deputy issue it. On one hand, it was the nameless fear that prompted this choice; on the other, like all civil and military officials of Qing, Shi Fei never, ever wanted Fan Xian to die directly by his hand.
This decision directly saved Shi Fei’s life, for as soon as his deputy raised the command flag, he fell to the ground.
It wasn’t because he lost his balance on his horse or any other reason. Along with the deputy’s body, the horse beneath him also collapsed into the snow, countless streams of blood quickly dyeing the white snow red.
Shi Fei’s pupils contracted, his face pale as he looked at the bloody flesh of his deputy. He knew that if he had issued the order himself, he would already be dead. Who could withstand this formless, intangible, unpredictable strike from beyond?
Shi Fei also understood now what the commotion on the palace walls was about. But... was the Emperor still alive?
After a brief period of slight chaos, the area above and below the palace walls fell into deathly silence. The discipline of the Qing army was indeed the best in the world. Yet, under the threat of that terrifying, otherworldly strike, who dared act recklessly? The faces of all the soldiers were pale, even bluish. They waited for the Emperor’s order, but the Emperor never reappeared on the palace walls.
Another gunshot broke the silence of the square in front of the palace. A苦修士 wearing a bamboo hat, attempting to use his own ferocity to rally the silent soldiers to charge, was accurately struck down in the snow. Without so much as a twitch, he became a corpse.
Deathly silence.
Another gunshot.
Another deathly silence.
Another gunshot.
This repeated four times. Four more corpses lay on the snow, and the gunshots fell silent, as if they would never sound again. Everyone above and below the palace walls understood: this peerless assassin capable of striking from beyond was warning everyone in the Qing court not to attempt any movement. Anyone who dared move on this vast expanse of white snow was a target he would surely kill.
One shot, one death, one bloody corpse lying in the snow—without exception. This cold, silent declaration froze everyone’s hearts.
This is one man challenging a nation.
The deathly silence lasted for an unknown length of time. The horses began to grow restless, kicking their hooves and splattering flecks of white snow. The powerful figures trapped within the snow seemed unwilling to provoke the tightly strung nerves of the formidable Qing army and chose not to attempt a forced breakout at this moment.
No one knew what caused those dull booms that tore through the clear, snowy sky of the capital, nor how those men had died.
…
…
Ye Zhong, clad head to toe in armor, sat impassively on his horse. The elite cavalry under his command were more than capable of slaughtering all these powerful figures on the snowy ground with just two charges. Yet, he remained motionless. Despite his formidable ninth-level strength allowing him to discern that the dull booms originated from behind his own lines, and his vague sense that the assassin delivering those sky-piercing strikes couldn't cover the entire area—that there were likely blind spots for such projectiles—and that the assassin probably couldn't stop his cavalry if they charged now… Ye Zhong remained silent and steady in his saddle.
With the Emperor's condition unknown, he was the highest-ranking official present. Yet, he stubbornly refused to utter a word, much like the image he had cultivated over the years within the Qing court: never ostentatious, but never to be underestimated.
Ye Zhong's reason for inaction was simple. It wasn't because the Emperor hadn't issued an order. It was because he knew what those life-taking, sky-piercing things were. He knew what those dull booms were.
The box. The box had finally reappeared in the world.
Ye Zhong slightly lowered his eyelids, ignoring the intense gazes of his subordinate officers beside him, as if he had fallen asleep. In truth, his heart was roiling with towering waves.
Back when the incident at the Taiping Courtyard erupted, the Emperor had transferred him to Dingzhou as part of the rear army. It was clear the Emperor hadn't trusted Ye Zhong's stance between himself and Ye Qingmei. He still remembered when Ye Qingmei first arrived in the capital; she had fought with the then still young Ye Zhong. Ye Zhong understood those people from back then all too well. Although he had never voiced any opinions, it didn't mean he was unaware of the matter of the box, ignorant of the events at the Taiping Courtyard, or clueless about why Chen Pingping had betrayed the Emperor.
Countless scenes and faces from the past flashed through Ye Zhong's mind. He felt somewhat weary. Finally, his gaze sharpened and settled on the young man in the snow, reminding him of that young man's mother—the young woman who had brought that box and refused his inspection at the city gate all those years ago.
Regarding this matter, Ye Zhong believed the Emperor was in the wrong. Thus, he chose utter silence. Without a direct imperial decree, he would absolutely not move.
…
…
How long could this deathly silence last? How long would this wind and snow continue?
At this moment, a young man in light yellow robes stepped onto the palace wall, one step at a time. He walked to the edge and gazed calmly at Fan Xian, who stood in the snow below.
The Imperial Guards on the wall were in some disarray. Most instinctively kept their heads down, avoiding the potential death raining from the sky. Thus, this young man in light yellow standing at the battlement seemed exceptionally tall and brave.
"According to the General Compilation of Qing Laws, if the Emperor is unconscious and unable to attend to state affairs, should I not automatically become the Regent?" Third Prince Li Chengping asked, his fists tightly clenched within his sleeves.
The pale-faced Eunuch Yao beside him, his eyes darting nervously around, replied in a trembling voice, "But Your Highness, His Majesty has just fallen unconscious. The seven-day period hasn't yet passed."
"Can the current situation afford to wait? Do you want to watch all the famous generals and marshals of our Great Qing be struck down by the heavens?" Li Chengping turned his head and glared venomously at Eunuch Yao. A chill ran down Eunuch Yao's spine. "Your Highness, this is a matter of national importance. This slave should not speak out of turn, but… if His Majesty wakes up, I'm afraid…"
"There's nothing to fear. Withdraw all the troops…" The ice in Li Chengping's eyes grew thicker. The chill in Eunuch Yao's heart intensified. Over the years, under Fan Xian's tutelage, the Third Prince had seemed to become a benevolent and kind prince. But Eunuch Yao knew well what a ruthless character this young prince had been. If he were truly pushed to the brink and held a grudge, how would Eunuch Yao survive in the future?
Moreover, the empire of Qing would eventually be passed to the Third Prince. If the Emperor truly did not recover, the Third Prince might very well ascend the throne tomorrow.
"Wait until they have left the square before pursuing them. That should be enough to account to Father Emperor. What's the point in letting them die trapped here?" Li Chengping squinted slightly, looking at his elder brother and his mentor in the snow, not revealing any emotion he shouldn't.
…
…
Atop the Star-Picking Tower, amidst the snow, the metal tube beneath the pure white, precious fur kept emitting tremendous roars, tearing through the air and reaping lives in the distant palace. The sounds were immense. Although much of the recoil had been mitigated, the snow on the tower roof still shook and slid down gradually. These sounds traveled far, disturbing the people in the surrounding streets and residences.
The Kyoto Magistrate's yamen runners had already noticed the peculiarities in this area. However, the Star-Picking Tower was a forbidden place of the court. Although it had been abandoned for years, no one could enter to investigate without proper authorization. Furthermore, it was still the first few days of the new year, and the festive season continued. The yamen runners thought it might be some mischievous children setting off firecrackers inside, though the sounds seemed unusually loud.
Ultimately, the reaction of the Inner Court was faster. Before losing consciousness, the Emperor had calmly uttered the name "Star-Picking Tower." Experts from the Inner Court quietly slipped out of the palace, followed the imperial moat to the left of the palace, cut directly through the woods, and sped towards the eastern part of the capital.
Even two streets away, they could still hear the loud reports coming from the Star-Picking Tower. These Inner Court experts felt a surge of adrenaline, forcibly suppressing their tension. They split into four groups and converged on the tower. They believed that since the terrifying assassin was still atop the tower, he would surely be unable to escape before they surrounded him.
However, when the Inner Court experts bravely rushed into the garden of the Star-Picking Tower and finally reached the rooftop, they found no one. Only a distinct impression remained in the thick snow on the roof. Beyond this mark, the place was empty, as if no one had ever been there. The silence was unnerving.
Snowflakes continued to fall incessantly. The Inner Court experts carefully examined the traces left in the snow on the rooftop, only to find that the terrifying assassin had left no clues whatsoever. Although the marks were clear, they had been tidied up. They couldn't even determine the figure's build.
…
…
An Inner Court guard was stationed at the mouth of an alley near the periphery of the Star-Picking Tower. His face was pale as he vigilantly watched the sparse pedestrians. Suddenly, he saw a figure dressed like a young servant boy approaching. His heart skipped a beat.
What made the guard suspicious was that this young man was wrapped in a thick layer of fur. Although the fur looked quite shabby and probably wasn't worth much, it thoroughly covered the blue cloth clothes beneath. However, the part below the knees was turned up, revealing the other side of the fur—a side as pure white as snow. This was an extremely precious type of fur. What servant boy could afford such a luxurious item?
The Inner Court guard's pupils constricted. He immediately moved to block the young servant's path and was about to call for his comrades when he felt a blur before his eyes. Then, a numbness spread from under his jaw. The Inner Court expert leaned against the alley wall, instantly dead, his body rigid and not falling.
The young servant retrieved the thin needle from under the man's jaw with a flick of his finger, tightened the thick fur wrapped around his body—as if feeling the cold—exited the alley entrance, and swiftly disappeared into the wind and snow of the capital.
…
…
The capital was experiencing heavy wind and snow and great tumult today, yet few knew what was truly happening in the sealed-off area before the palace. The censors who had kowtowed at the palace gate the previous night had already been forcibly escorted back to their respective residences. The officials from various ministries had also been notified by the Overwatch Council and confined to their homes. Even Grand Academician Hu was unable to approach the imperial city.
It didn't take long for this oppressive tension and unrest to reach the main street in the southern part of the capital. This street housed numerous powerful and noble families, and all their wary, suspicious eyes were fixed on one particular residence: the Fan Manor.
The Fan Manor was as calm as ever today—no panic, no grief, no tension. Those tasked with heating water did so, those cooking meals did so. The results of Fan Xian's negotiation with the Emperor in the palace clearly hadn't translated to any changes within the manor. The lady of the house, Lin Wan'er, had not taken the family and left the capital for Danzhou during this brief window of time, an opportunity tacitly allowed by the Emperor. Instead, she remained in the manor with a terrifying stillness. She sat in the flower hall, waiting for her husband's return. If he couldn't return, what meaning would there be in her leaving the capital?
"Why hasn't Ruorui gotten up yet?" Lin Wan'er smiled gently, though a trace of faint sorrow lingered in her smile. She looked at Sisi, who was feeding the child, and asked, "Did you call for her?"
Just as she spoke, the young Miss Fan, who had only been released from the palace the previous night, slowly walked into the hall from outside. She was impeccably clean as usual, her brow as cold as ever, the soles of her shoes untouched by any snow or water. She smiled at her sister-in-law, sat down at the table, and picked up her chopsticks. The hand holding the chopsticks was perfectly steady, without the slightest tremor.