PTCQT Chapter 27

The sound of hooves thundered as the tide surged forward once more, carrying with it an unstoppable force. At the head of this torrent, the red plume fluttering with the motion of his horse served as their guiding mark.

The city walls loomed high, growing ever more imposing the closer they came, so vast they seemed to reach the heavens. Countless arrows rained down from above, yet each one was blocked by raised shields. The momentum of the charge remained unbroken. The general on horseback never once slowed, and not a single arrow managed to touch him. As they reached the base of the wall, he launched himself upward, using the strength of his mount. The tip of his spear struck sparks against the stone as it scraped the ramparts. But even as the defenders hurled stones and poured boiling oil from above, nothing could halt the oncoming assault.

“Get him down! Get him down!!!” The general commanding the defenses atop the wall was already in disarray, but just as the order left his mouth, a thrown spear pierced straight through his chest.

At the other end of the spear, the silver-armored general pulled it back with practiced ease, landing steadily on top of the wall. His bloodstained spear swept through the air, flinging droplets of blood in its arc, already claiming the lives of several enemy soldiers who had tried to surround him.

“Spare those who surrender.” A deep, steady voice came from behind the fierce, fanged mask. The calmness of that voice was utterly at odds with the ruthless slaughter just moments ago, yet it was enough to make the soldiers who had been ready to charge all hesitate in unison.

The Northwestern Army was the most brutal and battle-hardened force in all of Yong. Though their Marshal had yet to reach even twenty, his victories were too many to count. Rumor had it he feasted on human flesh each night and drank fresh blood just to stay alive, within the chaos of thousands, he could take an enemy general’s head as easily as slicing through melon.

They were all flesh and blood like anyone else. Before seeing him with their own eyes, most dismissed the tales as exaggeration. But when that man truly stood before them, a single spear and a sword at his waist were enough to make anyone falter.

“Execute all who resist!” shouted a general who had rushed to the scene. But before the soldiers could even act, his head had already fallen to the ground, eyes wide open in death, unable to close even in the end.

With a loud creak and crash, the sturdiest city gate in all of Yong was forced open, from the inside. The tide poured in as countless soldiers flooded the city walls. Each one of them seemed to carry the stench of blood, utterly different from those who had rarely seen real battle.

“Spare those who surrender!” shouted a general of the Northwestern Army as he surged onto the wall.

The soldiers who had been hesitating moments before looked around at one another. One man dropped his blade, and one after another, the rest followed suit, lowering their weapons and raising their hands in surrender.

“Marshal!” The general hurried to Shen Chun’s side and reported, “The imperial palace is already under Prince Liang’s control. The Crown Prince is dead. Will you wait?”

The Northwestern Army had entered the capital under the banner of “clearing out traitors to protect the emperor.” But within the palace, the struggle was a feud between royals; two clashing forces like the snipe and the clam, while the fisherman reaped the reward. If Shen Chun wished to claim the throne now, nothing stood in his way. All he had to do was wait.

Shen Chun swung his sword, flinging the blood from its blade until it gleamed once more. Sheathing it with a clean click, he said coldly, “We enter the palace.”

“Yes, sir!” The general cupped his fists and accepted the order.

“Feiyu,” Shen Chun called out as he walked to the edge of the city wall. A jet-black steed came galloping into view. The general leapt down, landing firmly in the saddle, and sped off toward the imperial palace.

If even the city gates couldn’t hold them back, the palace gates stood no chance. After only a few ramming blows, they collapsed entirely.

Blood flowed like a river within the grand hall. Countless nobles and royals lay lifeless in crimson pools. Emperor Wenhe’s fingers trembled as he tried to write, the characters on the page already illegible.

“Report!” A loud shout came from outside the hall, the voice rushed and breathless.

Prince Liang, visibly agitated, snapped, “What is it?”

“My lord, the Northwestern Army has breached the palace walls! They’re advancing on the main hall!” the reporting soldier cried.

“So fast?!” Prince Liang’s breath caught. He couldn’t help but swallow hard. “Why wasn’t it reported the moment they breached the city?!”

“The Northwestern Army took the city in less than a quarter of an hour!” the soldier replied.

The city walls were solid and heavily fortified, lined with archers and built to be easily defended and hard to take. Even with a force of a hundred thousand, storming the city should have come at a massive cost in time and lives, yet the Northwestern Army had taken it in less than fifteen minutes.

The city walls hadn’t held for even a quarter of an hour, then wouldn’t the palace be no different from an open field?

Prince Liang’s fingers trembled. He took a deep breath, then grabbed Emperor Wenhe by the collar and snarled, “You were waiting for Shen Chun, weren’t you? No matter how fast he is, can he be faster than my blade?”

He pressed his knife against the emperor’s neck, and a thin line of blood began to appear. “Write the decree, now!”

“He who commits too many wrongs is bound to bring about his own destruction,” Emperor Wenhe suddenly laughed. “Even if you kill me, what of it? In the end, you’re only paving the way for someone else.”

“With the decree in hand, I’ll be the rightful emperor. Shen Chun will be nothing more than a rebel and a traitor. If you won’t write it…” Prince Liang’s eyes swept across the remaining members of the royal family. He abruptly released the emperor, strode down the steps, and yanked a child out from the arms of the kneeling empress, one she had been desperately shielding. His blade was already at the boy’s throat. “This is your last child, isn’t it, Brother?”

“Feibai! Feibai!” the Empress cried out in panic, lunging forward to seize the child. But Prince Liang kicked her hard in the chest. She collapsed face-first to the ground and couldn’t get up again.

“Mother!” the child cried, struggling with all his might, but a thin line of blood appeared across his pale neck.

His resistance grew too fierce, and Prince Liang, abandoning his blade altogether, simply seized the boy by the throat with one hand. He looked coldly toward Emperor Wenhe. “I heard that Your Majesty dotes most on your youngest son. If your final heir were to die here… who, I wonder, would truly be the one who has committed too many wrongs?”

“Feng Maode, may you die a wretched death!” Emperor Wenhe’s hand trembled as he wrote the edict. Though drenched in cold sweat, his brush never stopped moving. Only when the final stroke was laid down, and his face had gone deathly pale, did he shout, “It’s done!”

“The imperial seal,” Prince Liang said, his voice quivering with barely concealed excitement as he looked at the emperor.

With the seal affixed, everything would be set in stone. Not only the emperor, but his wife and child would likely not survive this. Emperor Wenhe let out a long sigh and looked at his still-young son. “I will place the seal,” he said, “but you must spare Feibai. You are not to harm him.”

“Agreed,” Prince Liang replied eagerly.

Outside, the clash of weapons had already begun to echo. Emperor Wenhe looked down at his youngest son, whose face was now tinged with bluish-purple from lack of air. From the side of the dragon throne, he retrieved the hidden imperial jade seal, pressed it into the red ink, and held it with both hands, just above the decree, poised to bring it down.

Just as the seal was about to fall, Prince Liang’s grip tightened further in anticipation, his excitement nearly overwhelming. The child’s mouth hung open, gasping for air, unable to breathe—And then, a single arrow shot in through the window.

With a shriek of wind, it pierced directly into Prince Liang’s temple. No blood flowed yet, but his eyes widened, filled with disbelief, and helplessly, his body collapsed, completely beyond his control.

Everything happened in an instant. Even Emperor Wenhe, still holding the imperial seal in his hands, stood frozen in place. It wasn’t until the grand doors of the hall were shattered open that the silence was finally broken.

Soldiers poured in. The men who had only moments ago raised their swords were now like headless flies, unable to withstand the overwhelming force of the invading troops.

“Spare those who surrender!” a general shouted loudly. The defending soldiers, seeing no way out, quickly threw down their weapons one after another.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to resist, they simply no longer knew what they were resisting for.

The great hall doors stood wide open, as though daylight had finally broken through. The silver-armored general stepped inside, sword in hand. A longbow was strapped across his back, and his armor was already stained with blood. His mask, with its fierce green face and bared fangs, resembled a wrathful god or ghost, casting a heavy silence over the hall once more.

Feng Feibai collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. As he looked up at the tall figure walking in against the light, for a moment, it felt as if he were seeing the divine being his father had once described: a god descending to earth.

“Your Majesty, this subject has arrived late to your rescue, I deserve death a thousand times over.” Shen Chun knelt on one knee, the sound of his armor striking the ground echoing through the hall like the final note of a long battle. It was as though everything had finally come to rest.

Emperor Wenhe looked at the general kneeling before him. The breath he had been holding in his chest finally released. He managed only a single word, “Rise”, before collapsing into unconsciousness.

“Summon the imperial physician! Quickly, summon the physician!” the attending eunuch cried out in panic.

“Your Majesty!” The Empress, helped up from the floor, rushed forward in a daze, hands trembling and face stricken with fear.

Everything descended into chaos once more.

[System 521 has issued a mission. Mission One: Survive as the original host. Mission Two: Sever the red thread between Feng Feibai and Dou Yun.]

The palace servants were released, and the bodies were carried out one by one, each covered in cloth. The blood was washed away with water, leaving the floors clean once more. Emperor Wenhe lay in bed, surrounded by imperial physicians tending to him. The nobles and high-ranking officials still wore their elegant robes as if nothing had changed, but the soldiers standing outside the hall, and the thick, lingering scent of blood in the air, cast a long and unshakable shadow over everything.

Shen Chun was not inside the hall. He was outside, overseeing the imprisonment of the surrendered soldiers. Messengers came and went, constantly delivering updates. The task of restoring order in the capital now fell entirely to him.

“Your Highness, please bear with the pain,” a palace maid said gently as she wrapped the bandage around Feng Feibai’s wounded neck.

“Mm.” Feng Feibai tilted his head up, but his gaze drifted past the tall figure outside the hall and settled on the emperor lying motionless in bed. “How is Father?”

“His Majesty will surely recover,” the palace maid reassured gently. “Please don’t worry, Your Highness.”

No one knew how much time had passed when a raspy cough suddenly broke the silence from the bed. At once, everyone in the hall dropped to their knees. “Your Majesty!”

“Let… Let Shen Chun come…” Emperor Wenhe’s voice was faint and weak.

“Summon Marshal Shen to the hall!” the chief eunuch called out loudly.

“Marshal,” a general at the entrance called out to Shen Chun, “His Majesty has summoned you.”

“I understand,” Shen Chun replied, raising a hand to his mask. He removed it slowly and handed it to the officer beside him, then stepped forward into the hall.

It was forbidden to carry weapons in the emperor’s presence, but Shen Chun, still fully armed, walked in without hesitation.

The aura Shen Chun had exuded when he stormed into the hall earlier still lingered, no one dared to speak. Yet some couldn’t help but steal glances at him, only to be stunned into silence.

At first sight, with his fierce green mask and fanged visage, he had seemed monstrous, terrifying. But now, though still bearing the aura of blood and battle, his features were strikingly handsome, so flawless, not a single fault could be found. The blood had been wiped clean from his silver armor, making him appear almost divine. He was like a completely different person.

“Your Majesty, your subject is here,” Shen Chun said, kneeling on one knee beside the bed.

Emperor Wenhe had already removed his ceremonial robes and crown, resting against a soft pillow in only his inner garments. As he looked at Shen Chun’s figure approaching, he reached out and grasped his hand. When he saw Shen Chun’s face clearly, his eyes showed a flash of surprise, only to soften into something like inevitability.

“As expected… you truly are Shen Wei’s son,” he murmured.

His grip was tight, like a drowning man clutching at the last stalk of salvation.

Shen Chun let him hold on and said calmly, “Your Majesty, your command?”

“I have suffered calamity today,” Emperor Wenhe said, his voice weak, pausing every few words to catch his breath, “and nearly lost all my heirs. Only one son remains, his name is Feibai. I hereby… name him Crown Prince. You… you must guide him to ascend the throne.”

“Your Majesty, this is unwise,” an elderly minister prostrated himself on the floor. “The sixteenth prince is but eight years old, how can he bear the burden of ruling the realm? I beg Your Majesty to consider the future of the empire.” Others knelt in agreement.

“I have only one son left!” Emperor Wenhe shouted hoarsely. “Feibai… come here.”

Feng Feibai rose and knelt at the bedside. His small, delicate hand was gently taken by Emperor Wenhe and placed into Shen Chun’s larger one. “Father…?”

“Your Majesty, please reconsider!” one of the elder ministers cried out.

“The sixteenth prince is the legitimate son of the Empress,” a calm, younger voice replied. “Now that he is also the eldest surviving son, by law and custom, his appointment is both reasonable and justified.”

Shen Chun turned to look, and saw a young chancellor in full court robes, graceful and refined in bearing.

Dou Yun.

In the original timeline, there had also been an incident where Prince Liang forced the throne, and that time, he had succeeded. Emperor Wenhe’s bloodline was nearly wiped out, with only one son, Feng Feibai, barely surviving under the desperate protection of Dou Yun.

After all, to exterminate an emperor’s entire line of descendants was a crime that would bring eternal disgrace.

But with Prince Liang ascending the throne, Feng Feibai’s status as the legitimate heir born of the empress would become unbearably awkward. And once the new emperor came to his senses, he would only regret not eliminating the threat completely, root and branch.

He was tormented in every way imaginable, with countless attempts to wear him down and have him die quietly, unnoticed. But Feng Feibai endured. He grew up bearing it all in silence, hiding every trace of his sharpness. He lived like a fool, seemingly dazed and dull, but in truth, he was biding his time, enduring humiliation and hardship, cloaking his brilliance in shadow.

In the end, he reclaimed the throne and ascended as emperor.

And throughout all of it, the only one who stayed by his side, teaching and guiding him, was the Right Prime Minister Dou Yun. A sovereign and his minister, bound in mutual trust, it should have been a tale sung through the ages, a legacy destined for eternal praise.

But feelings, once changed, took a darker turn. Somewhere in the shadows of their closeness, something deeper began to take root, a bond that hinted at more than loyalty. Since it was mutual affection, being together should not have been a crime. And yet, it was Feng Feibai’s love that ultimately led Dou Yun down a path of no return.

Affection from an emperor was rare and precious. But to someone like Dou Yun, well-read, principled, and upright, such emotions from the sovereign ought to have been directed toward a woman. Once rumors of an improper relationship began to spread, he would become a laughingstock in the eyes of the world.

And for the emperor to refuse marriage and fathering heirs because of this affection, such a thing would be seen as a grave violation of filial duty.

Though the emperor invited him again and again, in the end, Dou Yun chose to preserve his untainted name. He hanged himself from the beam of his own chamber, just to safeguard the emperor’s reputation.

A ruler and his minister, still a perfect match in service and loyalty. Yet the bond between them, once so rare and intimate, came to a tragic end. The timeline ends there. There was no “after.”

But someone regretted it, and through a twist of fate, it became a mission assigned by the Fate Severance Group.

“Minister Dou speaks exactly what is in Our heart,” Emperor Wenhe said, gripping Shen Chun’s hand tightly. “For meritorious service in saving Our life, We hereby bestow upon Shen Chun the Imperial Sword of Authority, its blade may strike down even nobles, even corrupt officials. He shall be granted the title of Prince of Equal Rank, with the honorary name ‘Yi,’ and will assist the young heir in ascending the throne. Until the Crown Prince comes of age, he shall govern in his stead.”

Prince of Equal Rank, a title second only to the emperor, yet paired with regency powers, it meant entrusting the entire court into Shen Chun’s hands.

“Your Majesty…” a minister began to speak, hesitation in his voice.

Emperor Wenhe immediately snapped, “My decision is final!”

He then turned to Shen Chun and said, “My days are numbered. The Empress and I have shared deep affection in this life, and even in death, I wish for us to walk side by side in harmony. If I pass… the Empress will accompany me.”

[Host?] System 521 sounded puzzled.

[He’s trying to put my mind at ease.] Shen Chun replied with a faint smile.

The Northwestern Army now controlled the palace, no one dared oppose them. If Shen Chun truly wished to take the throne, all he had to do was eliminate everyone and blame it on Prince Liang. The deed could be done.

But Emperor Wenhe instead entrusted him with the empress’s legitimate son, offering him the highest rank, an attempt to restrain his ambition through responsibility. And fearing that the Empress’s presence might stir something uncontrollable in Shen Chun, the Emperor even planned to take her with him in death.

Such a concession was not without cost, but it was the only way to preserve what breath remained in the Yong Dynasty, to prevent it from falling into the hands of someone outside the imperial bloodline.

He seemed muddle-headed, but in truth, Emperor Wenhe had calculated everything with great foresight. His decision carried the weight of righteousness; if Shen Chun dared to rebel, he would be branded a traitor to the throne, a usurper without legitimacy.

Though Shen Chun had little interest in the throne, it was, after all, the most exhausting burden under heaven. It looked like ultimate power, but in reality, it meant a lifetime of shackled freedom. Still, anyone who dared to scheme against him would have to bear the cost of that calculation.

At the emperor’s words, the small hand resting on Shen Chun’s trembled. Gripped by overwhelming shock, Feng Feibai clutched at Emperor Wenhe’s arm and cried out, “Father…”

“I am willing to follow His Majesty in death,” the Empress interrupted, her voice steady as she knelt and performed a full ceremonial bow.

“Mother…” Tears glimmered at the corners of Feng Feibai’s eyes, his rims red and swollen.

No matter what kind of strategist and ruler he would grow to become, at this moment, he was still just an eight-year-old child.

Emperor Wenhe had fathered him in old age, and as the legitimate son of the empress, Feng Feibai was cherished beyond measure. The emperor wished he could offer the child all the treasures under heaven. It was this deep affection that kept the boy’s eyes untouched by the filth of palace intrigue, his gaze as clear and pure as water hidden deep where no one could reach.

In his youth, he was surrounded by love. But later, he lost everyone who had ever cherished him, along with all the splendor he once knew. Left to walk alone through the shadows, he eventually ascended the throne, only to find that even the one person who had stood by him chose, in the end, to leave.

The throne stood high and cold. And upon it sat a monarch whose heart had fallen into an endless darkness.

But with Emperor Wenhe striking the table in finality, no one dared to plead further.

“Your Majesty,” Shen Chun spoke at last, “the sixteenth prince is still very young. He needs his mother’s care. I ask that Your Majesty show mercy for the sake of your son.”

He was only here to sever the red thread, not to raise a child. Even if this child did look far too lovely for his own good.

As Shen Chun spoke, Feng Feibai suddenly turned to him. The tears he had been holding back could no longer be restrained, streaming down his cheeks, falling drop by drop from his chin. His small body, wrapped in delicate ceremonial robes, trembled slightly, the movement subtle yet unmistakable.

But Emperor Wenhe suddenly let out a soft laugh, two short chuckles, before sighing deeply. “Then… as you say, my loyal subject.”

Leaning back against the soft pillow, his breathing had grown faint. Still, he gathered what strength he could, gently patting Feng Feibai’s head. “You must be good…”

“Your son will remember,” Feng Feibai choked out between sobs.

“Then… I…” Emperor Wenhe tried to draw another breath, but even that seemed to drain what little strength he had left. His clouded eyes slowly closed, and the hand resting atop Feng Feibai’s head slipped down and fell away.

The imperial physician stepped forward to check the pulse, then knelt and solemnly declared, “His Majesty has passed.”

At once, the sound of weeping rose throughout the hall. The Empress crawled forward on her knees, collapsing beside the bed as her cries broke into the stillness. Feng Feibai clutched his father’s hand tightly. He had seen life and death before, and he understood what it meant for an emperor to pass. The sorrow in his young face could no longer be hidden.

With the emperor’s death, even if the new sovereign were to ascend the throne before the spirit tablet, the formal coronation could not be held until thirty-six days of mourning had passed.

All rites and ceremonies were carried out according to longstanding tradition. Yet the new emperor was still a child, and before his formal enthronement, many had already begun to stir with ambition.

Emperor Wenhe had many brothers. Aside from Prince Liang, there were several other royal princes, all of whom had entered the capital at the head of well-equipped forces.

Within the vast mourning hall, countless figures in white knelt in solemn reverence. Amid them, the child leading the rites appeared all the smaller, his figure delicate and slight.

At eight years old, an ordinary child would still be playing with cats and dogs, causing mischief without knowing right from wrong. But in the imperial household, even an eight-year-old must learn to be composed and wise beyond his years.

For the first three days of mourning, not a drop of water or grain of rice may be taken. Even grown adults might not withstand it, let alone a child. Yet Feng Feibai knelt there in silence, without speaking a word or taking even a single bite of food.

“Feibai is just a child. He should eat something, or my royal brother’s spirit won’t rest easy knowing his son is starving like this,” said Prince Huai, dressed in mourning white, kneeling beside him. As he spoke, he drew a packet of pastries from his robe, brought in under cover.

When one is starving, even tasteless steamed buns would feel like a blessing, let alone delicate pastries.

Feng Feibai glanced at the offering, his pale lips pressing lightly together. “There’s no need. Royal Uncle, this is not proper before Father’s spirit.”

“Your father has passed, and it’s your uncle’s duty to take care of you now,” Prince Huai said gently, pushing the point. “Just have one piece.”

“Royal Brother, do not break the rules of mourning,” the Empress said, pulling Feng Feibai’s small body protectively into her arms.

Prince Huai let out a cold laugh. “Now that the emperor has returned to the heavens and the new sovereign has yet to ascend, matters between kin need not concern the empress.”

“Indeed,” came a voice from the other side, Prince Qi had spoken as well. “The inner palace truly has no place in affairs of state.”

If Emperor Wenhe had left no heir, the next ruler could be chosen from among the imperial clan. Those who had once failed in their bid for the throne now saw another chance to rise.

The Empress held Feng Feibai tightly, her grip firm around his small shoulders. For a moment, she looked utterly helpless. To argue with noble princes over propriety would only strip her of dignity.

Though she was the empress of the central palace and her young son the soon-to-be emperor, a mistress without power could still be humiliated by her own court.

Ambition laid bare, undisguised and shameless.

“I must have missed the day when royal princes were permitted to openly meddle in court affairs,” came a voice from outside, laced with amusement. At once, the gathered princes turned their heads.

The speaker was a young man, likewise dressed in mourning white, a simple hemp cord tied around his waist. Yet he stood tall, his presence commanding. Even without armor or weapons, the sight of his face alone made several of the princes hesitate.

Though Shen Chun was still remarkably young, one could hardly measure a man’s capabilities by age alone.

In the northwestern frontier, barbarian tribes stirred unrest. Born and raised on horseback, these tribesmen were strong and fierce, every man a soldier. After each wave of pillage and slaughter, they would retreat deep into the grasslands. Even tens of thousands of troops stationed at the border often proved useless. It was a problem that had plagued several emperors of the Yong Dynasty.

During Emperor Wenhe’s reign, it was General Shen Wei who held the line, managing to ease the threat somewhat. But the tribes were cunning, Shen Wei was struck by a hidden arrow in an ambush, and the military situation grew dire. At that critical moment, his son Shen Chun took up the command.

What followed was a series of decisive victories. Over the past few years, the northwestern frontier had remained quiet, and not a single tribe dared to provoke the Yong Dynasty again.

What commanded respect was not Shen Chun’s striking appearance, but his unmatched record on the battlefield.

The Northwestern Army, trained like wolves and tigers, was firmly under his command. They had taken the capital in less than a quarter of an hour, a force not to be trifled with.

And yet… the throne was too great a prize. When such a piece of meat was placed right at one’s lips, who wouldn’t be tempted to take a bite?

“Marshal Shen must be jesting,” said Prince Qi, his tone no longer as overbearing as before. “His Majesty is still young, naturally, as royal uncles, we ought to offer some guidance where we can.”

“Is that so?” Shen Chun replied mildly, his gaze sweeping over them. “Then might I ask, have Your Highnesses returned to the capital with the intention of staying permanently?”

In this era, people liked to speak of the divine right of kings, of heaven’s mandate. But in Shen Chun’s eyes, the throne belonged to the one most capable of ruling. Reshaping a feudal system was a task that demanded more time and energy than he cared to expend. He had no interest in reforming it, but neither would he allow the empire to fall into the hands of a fool, only for the common people to suffer and be cast adrift.

Had even one of these royal princes proven trustworthy, Shen Chun would not have opposed their ascent to the throne. But alas, tales of suffering and unrest in their fiefdoms were far too many to count. They only dreamed of feasting on meat, never considering the cost. Yet when had the world ever offered such easy indulgence?

As soon as Shen Chun spoke, the princes stiffened. To stay in the capital, that phrase had more than one meaning. One was to ascend the throne… the other, to remain here forever, in a tomb.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt. Prince Huai, unable to preserve his pride, forced a smile and said, “What does the Marshal mean by that?”

“The late emperor personally conferred upon this minister the title of Prince Yi. Though different from Your Highnesses, the honorific has already been bestowed. I urge Your Highnesses to act with caution,” Shen Chun said as he stepped before the spirit tablet. He lifted his robes and knelt, every movement refined and composed, none of the roughness typical of a military man, but rather the bearing of a nobleman raised in the capital. Yet his words sent a chill down their spines: “Is living not better?”

His tone was light, his gaze devoid of malice, and yet the princes instinctively held their breath, tense and silent. Prince Huai opened his mouth to speak but was tugged back by someone beside him and dared not utter another word.

Shen Chun held righteousness in his hands, was showered with imperial favor, commanded the mightiest army in the Yong court, and bore the sacred imperial blade personally bestowed by the late emperor. Even before imperial kin, he had the right to act first and report later. His power was immense, just one step short of seizing the throne itself. To provoke him was to risk annihilation.

“Royal Brother is as clever as ever,” Prince Huai finally forced out, the only thing he could manage after everything.

A child ascending the throne, of course there were many who found it unacceptable. But with Shen Chun present, no one dared act rashly.

Still, once the young emperor came of age, this all-powerful regent would undoubtedly be the first to face the consequences.

They were all waiting, waiting to see the day this man fell from the clouds.

“To receive such praise from Prince Huai must surely bring great comfort to the late Emperor’s heart,” Shen Chun said with a faint smile.

“Prince Yi is indeed young and capable,” Prince Qi replied with a pointed tone, “but one must remain vigilant, lest we raise a tiger that will one day become a threat.”

At this, the Empress’s fingers tightened beneath the fold of her sleeve. Today’s events had finally made her understand the late emperor’s intentions. With Shen Chun by her son’s side, her child would not be devoured by these wolves. Yet Shen Chun was no easy man to deal with. Though the late emperor’s mandate restrained his ambition for now, with wolves in front and tigers behind, she and her son would have to live in constant vigilance going forward.

“Thank you for the reminder, Your Highness,” Shen Chun replied, his expression tinged with casual dismissal.

The princes exchanged a few glances, chalking it up to youthful arrogance.

When the three days of mourning ended, the princes were escorted back to their estates to recuperate. But the child who had knelt without pause collapsed to the ground, his face pale and ashen, so much so that the Empress urgently summoned attendants.

“Lay him flat,” Shen Chun ordered calmly.

He did not approve of such suffering for a child so young. Filial piety, he believed, came from the heart and sincere intention, not merely from rigid observance. Yet, in this era, such strict rites existed, and the young emperor had no choice but to follow them.

The Empress, feeling helpless, gently laid the child down. Shen Chun reached out, loosening Feng Feibai’s collar and carefully turning his head to the side. One hand pressed lightly on his pulse, while the other pressed firmly on the acupressure point between his nose and upper lip.

“Feibai, Feibai, wake up!” the Empress cried, panic rising in her voice. “Your Highness, what’s wrong with him?”

“Fainted from hunger,” Shen Chun said, pressing several acupressure points. As the tension in the child’s small body eased, he instructed the palace attendants, “Bring some light sugar water. Give it to him.”

Feng Feibai’s eyes slowly opened, his body and voice still weak and soft. “Mother…”

“Drink some water first,” the Empress said, holding the sugar water as she helped her son sit up and fed him carefully.

Feng Feibai cradled the bowl in his hands, leaning weakly against the empress’s embrace as he drank carefully and attentively.

Shen Chun stood nearby, watching quietly.

Though the Empress had reached middle age, her life of privilege had only left a few streaks of white in her hair. Her beauty still hinted at the stunning grace she once possessed. The princes, though scheming for power with impure hearts, all bore noble, refined features, suggesting that Emperor Wenhe himself must have been handsome and dignified in his youth.

Both his closest relatives possessed remarkable qualities, and Feng Feibai had clearly inherited all their best traits. His small face was delicate, framed by slightly curled lashes; his eyes were finely shaped and expressive, his nose dainty and well-formed. Though his lips were pale, lending him an androgynous air, it was only due to his youth, his features were excellent, and as he grew, a masculine vigor would surely emerge.

At such a young age, his future brilliance was already apparent. Handsome and endearing, it was no wonder Emperor Wenhe doted so deeply on his youngest son.

After finishing the sugar water, Feng Feibai still leaned weakly against the Empress’s embrace. She set the bowl down and repeatedly expressed her gratitude to Shen Chun, “Thank you, Your Highness, for saving his life.”

“I am merely fulfilling my duty as a subject; Your Majesty need not thank me,” Shen Chun said, meeting the young emperor’s dark eyes with a smile. “Rest well, Your Majesty. I take my leave.”

With that, he turned and left with effortless grace, those he passed bowed respectfully. Feng Feibai’s gaze followed him, thinking that only someone like Shen Chun could truly be worthy of this imperial throne one day.

The imperial physician hurried over and tended to Feng Feibai for several hours. When the boy finally lay down in his chamber, only the Empress remained by his side, holding his hand gently and whispering tenderly, “Feibai, you must remember, unless absolutely necessary, always keep your talents hidden. Understand?”

Feng Feibai looked up at her and asked, “Mother, will Prince Yi harm us?”

The Empress replied gently, “Mother does not know for certain, but as your father said, until you can oppose him, you must obey and not provoke him. Only by surviving can you have a future.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Feng Feibai said, gripping her fingers tightly. “I will obey.”

He grew up within the depths of the imperial palace, witnessing countless plots and betrayals. Without his father’s protection, as a young man, he knew he had to protect both his mother and himself, no matter how deeply he admired that man.

Twice he had been saved by him, his actions measured and deliberate, his words gentle yet commanding respect. Not even his father had ever possessed such an imposing presence. Yet this man controlled both his and his mother’s fate, so he had to obey.

After the thirty-six days of mourning, the late emperor’s spirit was sent to rest in the imperial tomb. On the grand hall for the enthronement ceremony, all the officials were present. But unlike before, when only the emperor would ascend that lofty throne, this time, it was Prince Yi who held the young emperor’s hand and led him up.

Everything was ready. The sounds of ritual music filled the air. Outside the main gate, Feng Feibai stood, extremely nervous. As he clenched the hem of his garment tightly with trembling fingers, he suddenly heard a chorus of voices behind him, all kneeling in unison: “Long live Prince Yi!”

Feng Feibai turned around to face the speaker, and for a moment his pupils dilated, his eyes filled with awe and admiration.

“Your Majesty, let us go.” Shen Chun extended his hand toward the young emperor. When the small hand hesitated before touching his, he could clearly feel the sweat upon it. He tightened his grip, holding the hand firmly in his own.

The warmth and dryness of the touch transmitted through, and Feng Feibai still remembered his mother’s words to obey and keep a low profile. Yet at this moment, all he felt was a deep sense of comfort and reassurance.

The ritual music sounded again as the court officials knelt in unison. The young prince was led forward by the youth, their footsteps winding slowly, as if time itself had slackened.

Though the youth was not yet twenty, his stature was impressively tall and slender. He wore the black-and-red ceremonial robes of a prince, crowned with the prince’s headdress. His long hair flowed behind him, adorned with two tassels decorated with pearls, truly a sight of exquisite nobility.

In the Yong Dynasty, black symbolized authority, and red symbolized nobility. Even the emperor’s ceremonial robes were composed of these two colors. Though the emperor’s robes appeared more magnificent, compared to the prince at his side, the boy looked like a mischievous child who had stolen adult clothes to wear.

“Your Majesty, please take your seat.” Shen Chun held the sweating small hand and stepped onto the platform. Upon reaching the dragon throne, he released the tightly clenched fingers.

Feng Feibai instinctively glanced at him, bit his lip, and lifted his robe as he ascended the final three steps.

That glance, though filled with a hint of pleading, was quickly withdrawn. The still-immature emperor lifted his robe, clenched his teeth tightly, and climbed onto the highest imperial throne. The dragon throne was quite tall; he even had to steady himself with his hands before settling down.

The voluminous imperial robes and the flowing ceremonial crown, strung with twelve cascades of jade beads, and the oversized dragon throne all made the child appear especially small and delicate.

[Am I being too cruel?] Shen Chun looked at the emperor’s tense posture and expression, and asked.

[By human age standards, the young emperor is still a cub. Host should pay more attention to the child’s healthy growth.] 521 suggested.

Though it was a system, it too had a time of naïveté, not in knowledge, but in emotions. The system possessed awareness and feelings, and even in its early, confused stage, it was guided by a higher-level system. Despite this being its first mission, the host was incredibly reliable. Just thinking about the little one, isolated and helpless, stirred deep pity.

“Prince Yi, please be seated.” Feng Feibai remembered the etiquette taught to him; despite his overwhelming nervousness, he still spoke out.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Shen Chun took his seat to the left of the throne.

Before the emperor, all the ministers stood in reverence. In the Yong Dynasty, the left side was honored above all; the seat on the emperor’s left was the highest honor bestowed.

With the dawn of the new reign, all rituals and arrangements were officially declared. The young emperor took the era name “Chenyuan.” Due to his tender age, there were no consorts in the palace. The late emperor’s consorts who bore children were relocated to the secondary palace, while those without offspring entered monastic life. The palace was thus emptied of concubines. The empress was elevated to Empress Dowager, and all affairs were decreed by imperial edict, though inside and outside the court, it was clear whose hand truly directed these orders.

After three days, the new dynasty settled with no errors or omissions, leaving even the most stubborn old ministers unable to voice objections.

Despite Shen Chun’s regency, many voices of opposition still arose, arguing: there cannot be two suns in the sky, nor two rulers of the nation.

“Few troublemakers stir unrest around the capital, but there are uprisings in the provinces of the princes,” Liang Wendong reported. “Marshal, shall we dispatch troops to quell them?”

Liang Wendong was one of Shen Chun’s trusted aides, having followed him all along. Matters of great importance always passed through his hands.

“Have you found the instigators?” Shen Chun asked.

“We traced them back to Prince Huai’s residence. Since you have detained the princes in the capital, they must be desperate,” Liang Wendong replied.

“Good. Send people to arrest the troublemakers and replace the local commanders with loyal guards,” Shen Chun said.

Centralized power has its advantages: when orders are issued, none go unheeded, and dissent is quashed. This is precisely why emperors throughout history have favored curbing the power of regional princes.

“Yes,” Liang Wendong replied.

“And what about the other list?” Shen Chun asked.

Liang Wendong presented the list with a deeply furrowed brow. “The marshal ordered me to investigate thoroughly. Over two thousand corrupt officials have been identified across the provinces, including some high-ranking members of the court.”

The Yong Dynasty was vast, with countless officials throughout the land, but cleansing over two thousand would undoubtedly shake the very foundations of government.

When Emperor Wenhe was young, he was diligent and dedicated to governance, but as he aged, he grew weary of court affairs, allowing corruption to flourish. This is the downside of centralized power.

“Arrest them all.” Shen Chun took the imperial seal, and after finishing writing the edict, pressed the seal gently, then spoke a single word: “Execute.”

Liang Wendong’s hand trembled slightly as he took the edict. “All of them?”

“All of them.” Shen Chun stood up and said firmly, “If the parasites are not thoroughly eradicated, they will keep gnawing away at the court. Kill them all. Leave no one alive.”

“Yes.” Liang Wendong bowed his head.

On the seventh day of the new reign, His Majesty dispatched troops to suppress uprisings across the land. Instigators were to be killed without mercy, while the common people were given consolation and reassurance.

On the same day, over two thousand officials were arrested inside and outside the court. Their crimes were publicly announced, and His Majesty decreed immediate execution.

For a time, the court was filled with anxiety and unrest, but no voices of opposition arose among the populace. Instead, countless commoners praised the enlightened ruler.

“Is there anyone here who still has objections to this matter?” Shen Chun asked softly.

The court fell utterly silent. When the emperor was angered, a thousand corpses could float across the land. The Regent ruled with an air of natural authority, yet it was only when they realized the unrest at the frontier was no mere rumor that his ruthless decisiveness was fully revealed.

This young man’s heart was indeed filled with deadly resolve.

The court remained silent, silent to the point that even Feng Feibai, seated on the dragon throne, clenched his fingers tightly. Over two thousand people wiped out in one sweep, yet all of them were those who disturbed the realm. They deserved to die!

If he gave the order, it would be the same, only that with him in charge, it would be difficult to ensure that none of the executed were innocent.

On one side of the court, Dou Yun suddenly took a deep breath, stepped forward, and knelt down. “Your Majesty, I have an objection.”

“What is the objection of the Right Prime Minister?” Shen Chun asked.

Dou Yun exhaled deeply and said, “Our dynasty’s officials have established laws and procedures. If you purge all at once, I fear problems will arise across the provinces. I suggest punishing the minor offenders lightly, executing the severe ones, distinguishing between degrees of guilt, only then can both court and countryside accept it.”

Dou Yun’s words fell like thunder, but once spoken, the previous silence returned, no one stepped forward to echo his view.

Dou Yun’s hand gripping the tablet was slightly damp. Though young and accomplished, having risen to high office, the former Emperor Wenhe was always kind-hearted, unlike the regent who thirsted for blood.

Shen Chun, of course, knew that according to law, punishments should be weighed according to severity. But with the new dynasty just established, eyes from all sides watching greedily, and unrest simmering, this purge was not only a cleansing but also a show of power.

“That is exactly what I had in mind,” Shen Chun said lightly. “But given the large number of those arrested, the task of investigation shall be handed over to the Right Prime Minister. Do draw up a clear distinction between major and minor offenses for us to review.”

Dou Yun was indeed a capable man. At fourteen, he was named the top scholar by imperial decree. Upon entering court, he was immediately appointed to a fourth-rank official post. With the support of his prestigious family and guidance from senior officials, he rose quickly, by seventeen, he had assumed the position of Minister and entered the Inner Cabinet. Now, at just nineteen, he already held the title of Right Prime Minister.

This wasn’t merely something noted in the original timeline. Shen Chun had arrived in this world eight years ago, when the body’s original owner had fallen from horseback and died at the age of ten. At that moment, the system had made a pact with Shen Chun, allowing him to take over this body.

The son of the Grand Marshal of the Northwest, Shen Chun had grown up almost entirely on the frontier and rarely returned to the capital. With the constant warfare along the border, he could only make brief visits to assign a few trusted people, and had little capacity to involve himself in the palace’s internal power struggles.

Taking out Prince Liang from a thousand miles away without drawing attention was no simple task, especially given that palace intrigue and power plays were nothing unusual in the imperial family. Moreover, the red thread between Feng Feibai and Dou Yun wasn’t solely tied to Prince Liang.

While the original timeline did contain environmental factors, those weren’t the whole story. In fact, the current circumstances were even more favorable for completing his mission.

“I accept the order,” Dou Yun said, a bit taken aback, but still bowed low with the ceremonial tablet clutched in his hands. As he straightened up, he was about to return to his place in the ranks when another question drifted down from above.

“Has the Right Prime Minister taken a wife?”

“Not yet,” Dou Yun replied respectfully, though he was somewhat puzzled.

“A grown man usually begins marriage arrangements at sixteen,” Shen Chun said with a faint smile, “Is it that the Right Prime Minister is in poor health, or perhaps has the habit of cutting sleeves or is fond of Longyang¹斷袖之癖: From the Han dynasty — Emperor Ai of Han cut off his own sleeve so as not to disturb his male lover Dong Xian, who had fallen asleep on it. 龍陽之好: From the Warring States period — King of Wei was infatuated with a male companion named Longyang.?”

All eyes turned to Dou Yun at once. He abruptly looked up, his fair cheeks already flushed a deep red. “This subject… this subject is neither. Your Highness jests.”

“Then it’s fine,” Shen Chun replied casually. “Still, of the three forms of unfilial conduct, having no heir is the gravest.²This is a Confucian saying that comes from the Book of Filial Piety (孝經), and it’s often quoted in traditional Chinese culture to emphasize the importance of continuing the family line. Has the Right Prime Minister taken a liking to any young lady? If so, this prince can petition His Majesty to grant a marriage.”

Some people, if never guided otherwise, may indeed spend a lifetime believing they only like women. If no one ever leads them down a different path, they may never realize they could desire otherwise. Being bisexual isn’t rare, it’s simply unspoken.

Dou Yun found himself at a loss for words. For a moment, nothing came out.

Shen Chun chuckled and added, “If there’s no one in mind, one of this prince’s generals has a daughter yet unwed…”

“I already have someone I care for!” Dou Yun hurriedly blurted out, thinking Shen Chun was attempting to draw him into an alliance.

Though he said it with conviction, his heart was heavy with worry, how was he supposed to resolve this now? He couldn’t just pick a random girl and claim they were in love.

 

 

 

---

Support me on ko-fi for more additional updates~ ʚ(´꒳`)ɞ

• 1
  斷袖之癖: From the Han dynasty — Emperor Ai of Han cut off his own sleeve so as not to disturb his male lover Dong Xian, who had fallen asleep on it. 龍陽之好: From the Warring States period — King of Wei was infatuated with a male companion named Longyang.
• 2
  This is a Confucian saying that comes from the Book of Filial Piety (孝經), and it’s often quoted in traditional Chinese culture to emphasize the importance of continuing the family line.