Chapter 37: The Scapegoat Princess Is Sentenced to Death (37)

"Prince Lu has committed heinous crimes against the innocent and deserves to die a thousand deaths. Today, I grant those who perished because of him the right to settle their grievances and exact their revenge. Let his soul be scattered and denied rebirth for eternity.

Emperor Tianwu, by shielding and condoning his actions, shares in his guilt. However, in consideration of your founding merits, the stability you have brought to the nation, and your tangible achievements in securing peace, your accounts are temporarily set aside. I shall leave them for judgment after your death, granting you this final opportunity to repent!"

As these final words faded, Ding Shui’s mental energy was completely exhausted. Fortunately, having anticipated this, she quickly tapped into her stored reserves to conjure a grand visual spectacle for everyone attending the sacrificial ceremony.

To the onlookers, it appeared as though the multitude of victims claimed by Prince Lu—pregnant women, infants, and adults alike—had manifested in broad daylight, their resentment surging to the heavens as they tore him limb from limb.

In reality, however, Ding Shui was relentlessly merging the contents of her synthesis storage space with the Prince. Previously, she had been cautious, not wanting him to meet an easy end; but now, with her resolve set on his death, she no longer bothered to consider what was appropriate or fitting.

She threw everything into the mix.

Remaining scraps of lean pork, pigskin, and bones were fused into his body. Soon, he transformed into a monstrous creature with a human head, a body of pure muscle, draped in pig hide, and sporting cloven hooves. It was a testament to the high genetic compatibility between pigs and humans that he had not yet expired.

But Prince Lu’s luck ran out quickly.

Next, Ding Shui merged him with the items she had gathered alongside him when she first pulled him into her synthesis space—things like black dog blood, rooster crest blood, black donkey hooves, and cinnabar.

Once these miscellaneous items were synthesized into him, he could no longer hold on.

First, his entire body began to deform, followed by a total collapse of his genetic chain. His muscles and bones began to fester, as if ravaged by intense radiation. Before long, his body had been reduced to a heap of rotting flesh.

He died completely, his soul torn from his body. It appeared that even synthesis had to adhere to certain fundamental rules; one could not simply merge things at will.

To Emperor Tianwu and the others, it appeared that Prince Lu, Zhu Qin, had been thoroughly shredded by those he had harmed—first his physical body, then his soul, just as the voice had decreed: scattered and denied rebirth for eternity.

Seeing that the pile of rotting remains sufficiently resembled the aftermath of being torn apart, Ding Shui stopped her efforts. She casually reclaimed the Prince’s soul into her synthesis storage and departed.

As Ding Shui vanished, the illusion she had cast dissipated instantly. Fortunately, the remnants of the illusion matched the pile of decay before them, and no one suspected anything amiss.

Some were trembling with terror, others exchanged blank, bewildered stares, while some wore expressions of extreme malice, gritting their teeth in fury.

Indeed, the latter was Emperor Tianwu.

Losing a son was not of great consequence to him—after all, it was not the heir he favored—but to have his son killed by such cruel means during such a vital state ceremony was a direct slap to his face. It was a humiliation of his imperial dignity, crushing his authority into the dust before all his subjects.

He was filled with immense rage, not only at the audacity of the culprit but also at his own powerlessness.

Yet, he knew well that impotent fury would only invite further contempt. Unless he could immediately locate and execute this entity—who seemed akin to a god or a demon—the more anger he displayed, the more ridiculous and pathetic he would appear, like an ant struggling in vain.

Thus, Emperor Tianwu suppressed his inner rage, finished the final rites of the ceremony by burning the sacrificial text, and departed with a sweep of his sleeves.

As for what should or should not be said, he assumed those present needed no instructions. The collection of the remains likely required no specific command from him either.

At that moment, the Emperor was unaware that Ding Shui’s words had been heard throughout the entire capital. He believed only those at the Altar of Heaven had heard them; had he known otherwise, he might not have been able to maintain his composure.

...

In the capital, on East City Street.

While the people there could not see what had transpired at the Altar of Heaven, nor witness how the grievances were settled, they had all heard Ding Shui’s voice.

At first, they were bewildered, glancing around in panic, wondering where the voice originated. Was this something they were even meant to hear? They feared being silenced for knowing too much. The timid even covered their ears, engaging in a futile attempt to deny the sound, but this was a voice directed at the soul—no matter how they tried to block it, the message remained crystal clear.

"Who? Who is speaking?"

"What person is so bold..."

Officials on duty, assuming rebels were inciting chaos among the crowds, shouted while frantically searching for the source. But they found nothing; the voice seemed to emanate from all directions, lacking any discernible origin.

As the crowd descended into panic, a deaf man suddenly began to laugh in joyous surprise: "I can hear... I can hear a voice! I can hear!"

His sudden outburst was so startling that he ignored the content of the message. The patrolling guards, seeing his erratic behavior, immediately subdued him. He asked what they were doing, his expression one of deep confusion. He could not understand why, though he could hear this one voice perfectly, he could not hear the words of those around him, even as their mouths moved.

"Isn't Zhao Da a deaf-mute?"

"When was his deafness cured?"

"Officer, isn't there a mistake? Zhao Da is a deaf man... wait, this is wrong. Why is this voice still so clear, even though the surroundings are so noisy?"

"There is something wrong with this voice!"

The more sharp-witted among them realized the anomaly. Human voices were rarely so uniform, so penetrating, and so clear in a noisy environment—not to mention the impossibility of a deaf man suddenly hearing it.

Of course, alongside the fear and confusion, there were those who had heard the message clearly and were cheering in righteous indignation.

In any case, the entire capital was in an uproar. Once the voice finally faded, it ignited a frenzy of debate throughout the city.