Chapter Twenty-Nine: Threat

The imperial study was so quiet that one could almost hear the beating of a heart. Suddenly, a faint murmur drifted in from the doorway, as if someone had arrived with urgent news. The Head Eunuch felt a jolt of anxiety; he knew the Emperor was in a foul mood and feared that someone might provoke his wrath at such a sensitive time. He lightened his step, moving as if on clouds, and drifted to the entrance. His gaze, sharp as a blade, swept toward the intruder, warning them with a silent glare: *Do you have a death wish, interrupting at a time like this?*

The messenger, sensing the Eunuch’s displeasure, hurriedly lowered his voice and relayed the news. Upon hearing it, the Eunuch’s brow furrowed, his mind racing with the realization that the matter was treacherous indeed. He then returned to the Emperor’s side like a phantom, waiting silently for instructions.

A moment later, the Emperor emerged from his deep contemplation and asked, "What is it now?" His voice carried a weary impatience, as if he were utterly exhausted by the relentless stream of troubles.

The Head Eunuch hesitated, stuttering for a long moment before steeling himself to speak. "The Empress is at the Weiyang Palace, threatening to take her own life. She says she wishes to see Your Majesty one last time." His voice was barely a whisper, as if he feared shattering the oppressive silence of the room.

The Emperor made no effort to mask his irritation, waving a hand dismissively. Yet, after a pause, he sighed and conceded, "Bring her here. Let me see what else she has to say." Though his tone remained annoyed, it held a trace of hidden concern; after all, they had been husband and wife for many years, and some shred of sentiment remained.

The Empress arrived quickly, as if driven by frantic desperation or a deep reverence for this final chance to speak. Gone was her former dignity and splendor; she wore plain garments and simple hairpins, her face gaunt and haggard, like a withered flower bearing the weight of all her sorrows. The Head Eunuch dismissed the attendants, leaving the imperial study filled only with the Empress’s stifled sobs, which echoed through the vast room like the mournful cry of a night owl.

"I have spared your title out of respect for our marriage and the dignity of the throne," the Emperor began, breaking the silence with a voice cold and detached, as if speaking to a stranger. "What more do you hope to achieve?"

The Empress spoke with sorrowful grief: "I know my sins are grave and I am unworthy to face Your Majesty, but I swear on my life that the Crown Prince is innocent." Her voice trembled, as if she were pouring her entire soul into securing a sliver of hope for her son.

The Emperor let out a mocking laugh. In his eyes, no matter how the Empress defended him, she was merely a woman of the inner palace; to suggest the Crown Prince was ignorant of her schemes was an insult to his intelligence. "Your life as a guarantee? You are beyond redemption; your life is of little consequence." His words fell like freezing frost, piercing the Empress’s heart with every syllable.

The Empress knelt on the cold floor, her body trembling slightly as she lifted her eyes to look at the man who was both so familiar and yet so foreign. This was her husband, the father of her son, yet his gaze was as indifferent as if they were complete strangers. Of course—he was the Emperor. He cared only for power; a wife and son were nothing more than expendable ornaments. Biting her lip, she steeled her resolve. "Your Majesty, given the current situation, you have no choice. You must protect the Crown Prince, or else..." She paused deliberately, creating a heavy suspense.

The Emperor stirred, leaning forward. "Oh? And what would happen otherwise?" His tone was laced with tension, as if he sensed she was about to reveal something earth-shattering.

"Otherwise, the tides of this empire will shift, and into whose hands the throne falls may not be to your liking—just as it happened with the late Emperor!" The Empress’s voice rose sharply, a thunderclap breaking the stillness. Mentioning the late Emperor was like tearing open a long-healed scar, striking the most sensitive nerve in the Emperor’s heart.

The Emperor’s fists clenched instinctively. His expression shifted rapidly—tension, fear, and rage swirling in the depths of his eyes like a turbulent tide. After a long silence, he spoke in a low, gravelly voice: "Are you threatening me?" His words were squeezed through gritted teeth, brimming with authority and fury.

"Your Majesty, do you truly believe this matter remains a secret? You are mistaken. Others have already begun to plot, and you see the results for yourself. If you move against the heir now, you will lose everything." The Empress’s words came like a barrage, giving the Emperor no room to breathe.

"Nonsense! I am the Emperor! Who dares to touch my realm?" The Emperor roared, though his voice lacked conviction, as if he were trying to mask his own inner panic.

The Empress knew the fire was sufficiently stoked. She stood up and turned to leave, her back appearing lonely and desolate. "Your Majesty, I take my leave. May your empire endure for ten thousand generations, stable and secure."

Once she was gone, the imperial study fell silent again. The Emperor’s eyes grew increasingly dark and calculating. He knew that the time for a final decision had come. Matters of succession and the fate of the nation were at stake; one wrong step, and the entire game would be lost.

Meanwhile, at the Prince Ding’s residence, Leng Yichen remained tucked away in his study, as if the turmoil of the outside world had nothing to do with him. After a soft knock, Ye Feng entered cautiously. As he stepped inside, his gaze involuntarily drifted to the wall behind Leng Yichen—specifically, to a painting recently hung there. It depicted a woman shrouded in a cloak, playing a jade-green flute, like a mysterious fairy or a spirit concealed in the shadows, exuding an unfathomable charm. Ye Feng did not understand the significance of the painting, but since Leng Yichen had chosen to display it, it clearly held great importance to him.

"What is it?" Leng Yichen asked. Ye Feng snapped back to reality and replied respectfully, "Master, the Ministry of Justice has been taken care of." His voice was low, as if he feared disturbing Leng Yichen’s peace.

Leng Yichen nodded slightly, though a trace of annoyance flickered in his expression. "I always despised such base tactics..." His words sounded like a sigh, reflecting his helplessness toward the darkness and intrigue of the political world.

Ye Feng disagreed. "Master, the Minister of Justice serves you willingly. Using the right person in the right place—how can that be considered base?" He tried to justify their actions, as if explaining a necessary philosophy of survival.

Leng Yichen set aside his book and looked at Ye Feng with eyes that seemed to pierce through everything. "Do you truly understand what I am doing?"

Ye Feng answered without hesitation, "You intend to become the Emperor." His voice was firm, displaying absolute faith in Leng Yichen’s ambition.