Prince Xin stood at the door. He adjusted the coarse linen clothes on his body, tucked the Seal of the Ministry of War into his bosom, patted it, and turned around.
His gaze fell on Song Ning—on his bare feet, on his thin sleeping robe, on his white eyes that could see nothing.
“Young Master Song, when this prince returns, I will surely reward you generously.”
If not for Song Ning, she would have been killed on the road already. She would not have been able to hold out until now to participate in the power struggle.
Song Ning clasped his hands in a respectful bow. His back slightly bent forward, his head lowered.
“In service to the sovereign, I pledge loyalty to the nation.”
His words were flawless, but in his heart he was calculating something else.
‘Reward me generously?’
‘Once everything is safe, after I get a noble title for my wife, I’ll immediately make Qi Chuyao go somewhere else, far from the Capital City.’
‘The farther the better, the more remote the better, preferably a place where Prince Xin can’t reach.’
‘What if I end up being kept in the Imperial Palace by Prince Xin? That would be terrible! What difference is that from sitting in prison waiting to die? When the rebel army breaks through the Capital City, will I have any good outcome?’
‘I know I don’t have the ability to save a dynasty that has reached its end.’
‘This dynasty has been around for over two hundred years. It’s rotten to the bone. Even if the Taizu Emperor came back to life, he couldn’t save it.’
‘All I can do is find a way for my family to survive before this dynasty completely collapses.’
‘Better to quickly slip away and escape.’
Prince Xin left. Xia Ling followed him, disappearing into the night outside the door.
The room grew quiet.
Song Ning sat on a chair, barefoot, wearing an outer coat. His black hair scattered over his shoulders, his face pale and tired.
Xia Shuang stood beside him, holding her sword, not speaking.
It was as if there was a silent feud between them, neither acknowledging the other.
A strange silence filled the air. The candlelight cast their shadows on the wall, flickering and wavering.
Before long, the sound of hurried footsteps came from outside the door, growing closer.
The footsteps sounded weak, as if a person in poor health was rushing.
Song Ning’s ears twitched.
“Brother, what happened?”
A figure in white appeared at the door.
Song Youyi wore a white dress—a plain white ruqun, with a thin white cloak over it. She looked like a white lotus blooming in the night.
Her face was pale, bloodless. Her hair was loosely tied up, with a few strands falling on her forehead and temples, gently blown by the night wind. She held a handkerchief in her hand.
Upon seeing Song Ning, Song Youyi’s eyes instantly reddened.
“Brother, are you alright?”
She quickly walked in, her skirt swishing at her feet. She reached out and grabbed Song Ning’s arm.
Song Ning felt her hand on his arm. The coldness seeped through his clothing, making him shiver slightly.
“Why are you here? You’re not feeling well, don’t run around.”
“Youyi? Don’t be afraid. Nothing’s wrong. I’ve already arranged everything. Don’t be scared.”
Upon hearing this, Song Youyi finally calmed down.
It seemed that as long as she heard Song Ning’s words, she could feel a sense of security.
“Where is Mother? What happened tonight? Mother wouldn’t tell me,” she said quietly.
Mother Song did not want her sickly daughter to know about this matter.
In her eyes, Song Youyi was the little flower that needed protection, unable to withstand wind or rain.
The battles, killings, and flashing blades outside were not things she should know about.
Song Ning did not answer. He reached out, touched her arm, and gently patted it. His tone was as reassuring as it had been many years ago.
“Come, help me to the front gate.”
Song Youyi was stunned for a moment, then nodded. She bent down, put Song Ning’s arm over her shoulder, and supported his waist with her other hand.
The two slowly walked outside.
Xia Shuang followed behind, holding her sword, her gaze alertly scanning the surroundings. Her hand rested on the hilt, ready to draw at any moment.
As they exited the main hall, the night wind hit them.
Song Youyi supported Song Ning, step by step, toward the front gate.
“Brother, what happened? Is Mother in danger?” she asked again, worried.
Song Ning gently pulled her into his arms, patted her back, and comforted her softly.
“It’s alright. I’ll protect you. Nothing will happen to you.”
Hearing this, Song Youyi’s thin body pressed tightly against Song Ning’s, tears streaming down.
The smell of medicine entered Song Ning’s nostrils. Her soft body was a bit chilly.
“Then I want to stay with you, Brother. You have to be safe.”
The night was heavy, the moonlight like frost.
The sounds of shouting and killing in the distance grew closer, like a giant beast awakened from the darkness, opening its bloody mouth and charging toward them.
…
This road wasn’t wide. Wei Yang led a large force into this narrow path.
The Brocade-Clad Guards were at the front, the Eastern Depot agents at the back.
The torchlight illuminated the entire road brightly, casting the shadows of those people on the walls like a group of ghosts crawling out from the ground.
The sounds of footsteps, clashing armor, and horse hooves mingled and echoed.
Suddenly, more torches lit up ahead, all igniting in the darkness like a fire dragon that had suddenly awakened.
The flames lit up the road as bright as day, illuminating the figures hidden in the darkness one by one.
Qi Sugong’s troops marched in formation, surging from the other end of the road.
They held weapons, their steps orderly, their formation tight, advancing and retreating with discipline.
“Damned eunuch! How dare you! You commit treason!”
A loud shout came from the formation, as loud as a bell, echoing through the road, making even the torches flicker.
That voice carried decades of accumulated resentment, the anger that had been suppressed for too long, and the satisfaction of finally being able to fight freely.
“You have plunged the inner palace into chaos and monopolized court power. Countless people of ambition and goodwill have long wished to kill you to satisfy their hatred!”
“Today you have delivered yourself to us!”
Wei Yang’s whole body shook. Her pupils contracted sharply.
She pulled on the reins, and the war horse neighed. Her gaze passed through the firelight and the crowd, landing on the figure slowly riding out from the formation.
Qi Sugong rode a tall horse, holding a long spear. She wore armor, and the tassel at the tip of the spear was bright red like blood in the torchlight.
A cold smile hung at the corner of her mouth, with contempt and mockery.
The corner of Wei Yang’s mouth twitched, and then a cold smile emerged.
“Old fox, it’s you.”
Qi Sugong did not answer.
She swung her long spear, the tip drawing a silver arc of light in the air. The tassel rustled in the wind.
The strength of a second-rank martial artist burst forth. An invisible pressure surged from her body.
For many years, the two had been pulling and tugging in the Imperial Court, with grievances and grudges, fighting for over a decade. Neither dared to let go, neither dared to relax.
Neither of them expected that the final reckoning would happen in such a scene—not a battle of words in the court, not the deadly accusations in memorials, but weapons drawn and blood spilled at close quarters.
“I heard a rumor in the martial world,” Qi Sugong said, riding on her horse. Her voice was loud and carried throughout the road.
“They say that Lord Wei castrated himself and entered the palace in order to practice a divine skill. I wonder if that rumor is true?”
“All these years, I have always wanted to know if the rumor is true.” She finished and burst out laughing.
The domestic servants and guards behind her also laughed, their laughter rising and falling.
Naturally, this was to mock Wei Yang.
After dealing with each other in the court for so long, who didn’t know who? What divine skill? It was just gossip from the markets, a joke after dinner.
Wei Yang’s face immediately darkened. It turned an iron gray. Her gaze fixed on Qi Sugong.
Her fingers clenched the reins, the veins on the back of her hand bulging one by one.
But she was wary of Qi Sugong’s second-rank strength.
She was a eunuch by origin. She had entered the palace because she couldn’t even afford to eat.
She was not skilled in martial arts. Although she had many experts under her command, she herself was just an ordinary person.
If it came to one-on-one combat, she wouldn’t last three moves under Qi Sugong’s hands.
She rode her horse backward, raised her hand, and said coldly,
“Kill them.”
As soon as the words fell, the chaotic army surged forward like a tide, and the front clashed.