Killer Queen: Tyrant, prepare to die!

Chapter 8: Father's Counterattack! The secret guards are activated to gather evidence against their mortal enemy!

Shen Family Manor, on the outskirts of Beijing.

Although it's called a manor, it's actually just a small courtyard with three sections. It was originally a retirement home that Shen Anbang bought with his savings when he was Grand Tutor. It's in a remote location, surrounded by farmland, and rarely visited.

Since being dismissed from his post and having his home confiscated three months ago, Shen Anbang has been under house arrest here.

The official reason given was "His Majesty's benevolence, remembering his former officials, and granting him permission to retire to his rural home." In reality, eight imperial guards stood watch at the gate, and everyone who entered or left was checked; even the farmers delivering vegetables were searched.

That evening, Old Zhao, the vegetable deliveryman, came to deliver vegetables as usual.

A basket of radishes, a basket of cabbages, and a small bag of brown rice—this is the food ration for Shen Anbang and his two remaining old servants for this month.

The imperial guards routinely rummaged through the vegetable baskets and squeezed the rice bags, found nothing unusual, and waved them off.

Old Zhao lowered his head, carried the things into the kitchen, and exchanged a glance with Shen Fu, who was tending the fire.

Shen Fu was an old servant of the Shen family, having served Shen Anbang for over thirty years. Everyone else had been dismissed, but he refused to leave, remaining under house arrest with his master on this farm.

After Old Zhao left, Shen Fu picked up the bag of brown rice and weighed it in his hand.

The weight is incorrect.

He calmly poured the rice into the rice bin, and sure enough, he felt a hard object in the middle of the rice pile—a small bamboo tube.

Shen Fu's hand trembled, and he almost dropped it.

He glanced outside and saw the Imperial Guards yawning at the door. So he quickly hid the bamboo tube in his sleeve, picked up the boiled water, and went to the main room.

Inside the main room, Shen Anbang was reading a book.

He said he was reading, but the Analects of Confucius had been lying on the table for an hour without him turning a single page. In just three months, his hair had turned completely white, and the wrinkles on his face were as deep as if carved by a knife. Only his eyes retained their former sharpness and clarity.

"Master, hot water." Shen Fu put down the kettle and lowered his voice. "There's something in the rice that Old Zhao brought."

Shen Anbang's hand trembled, and the pages of the book were crumpled.

He looked up at Shen Fu, a flicker of emotion crossing his eyes for the first time: "What?"

Shen Fu took out a bamboo tube from his sleeve and handed it over.

The bamboo tube was small and rough, the kind of broom handle most commonly seen in the countryside. But when Shen Anbang took it, his hands trembled violently.

He knows this.

When Qingci was little, he loved playing with bubbles using these small bamboo tubes. He was often away on official business, and whenever he returned home, Qingci would run over with the tube, pouting as he blew a string of colorful bubbles, saying in his childish voice, "Daddy, look! There's a rainbow in the bubbles!"

My daughter was only five years old at the time.

just now……

Shen Anbang closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and carefully unscrewed one end of the bamboo tube.

A roll of cloth fell out.

The plain white cloth was clearly torn from undergarments. Unfolded, it revealed several lines of small charcoal writing, the characters faint and weak, indicating the writer was frail, yet each stroke carried a familiar stubbornness:

Peace. Two months pregnant. Her youthful beauty has faded. Lady Liu is anxious. Father, take care.

Twelve characters.

Like twelve knives, they pierced Shen Anbang's heart.

"An" – His daughter was letting him know she was safe and sound, so he shouldn't worry.

"Two months pregnant"—she's pregnant? In a place like the Cold Palace? Whose child is it? Could it be… His Majesty's?

"The Death of a Beautiful Woman"—it really was that poison! Jinshu's mother died from this poison! Liu Ruyan! The Liu family!

"The Liu family is in a hurry"—they can't wait any longer and are about to strike with deadly force!

"Take care, Father"—even at this time, his daughter is still worried about him...

"puff--"

A mouthful of blood spurted out, splattering onto the yellowed pages, spreading a glaring red.

"Master!" Shen Fu exclaimed in shock and rushed over to support him.

Shen Anbang braced himself against the table, his chest heaving violently, his vision blurring. But he gripped the strip of cloth tightly, his nails digging into his palms until they bled.

"Qingci...my Qingci..." His voice was hoarse, and tears streamed down his face.

Memories flooded back uncontrollably—

Four-year-old Qingci, dressed in a pink ruqun (a traditional Chinese dress), wobbled as she came to him carrying the "Three Character Classic": "Daddy, what's the pronunciation of this character?"

Eight-year-old Qingci could already recite the Analects of Confucius, but he secretly drew kittens on his official documents. When his father discovered this, he blinked his big eyes and said, "Daddy is too tired, let the kitten keep Daddy company."

At the age of twelve, Qingci attended the palace banquet for the first time. Her palms were sweating with nervousness, but she still bowed gracefully, winning praise from the late Empress Dowager: "The daughter of the Shen family is indeed intelligent and virtuous."

At sixteen, Qingci was crowned Empress. The night before her wedding, she knelt before him, her eyes red, and said, "Father, I'm afraid I won't be a good Empress..."

He stroked her head and said, "Qingqing, don't be afraid, Daddy's here."

But now?

Now his Qingqing is in the cold palace, poisoned and pregnant, driven to the brink of despair by villains. And he is here, unable to do anything!

"Cough, cough cough..." Shen Anbang coughed up another mouthful of blood.

Shen Fu paced anxiously, pleading, "Master, please hold on! This old servant will go and fetch a doctor right away..."

"You're not allowed to go!" Shen Anbang grabbed his hand abruptly, his eyes bloodshot. "The Imperial Guards are right outside the door. If you call a doctor, they'll know immediately... know that Qingci is still alive, know that she's sending a message... that will put her in even greater danger!"

"But sir..."

"I won't die." Shen Anbang wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and stood up, supporting himself on the table.

Although it was teetering on the brink of collapse, its back was held very straight.

Just like back then when I was in the imperial court, facing a hall full of treacherous officials.

"Shen Fu." His voice was still hoarse, but he had regained his composure. "Take out the seventh book from the left on the third hidden compartment of my study."

Shen Fu was stunned for a moment, then immediately went to do it.

It was a thick copy of the Records of the Grand Historian, but when you opened it, you found that the inside was hollowed out—hiding a black iron plaque.

The iron plaque is about the size of a palm and quite heavy. The front is engraved with the character "沈" (Shen), while the back features intricate cloud patterns. The edges are worn smooth, indicating its age.

"This is..." Shen Fu had never seen this before.

"This is the token of my Shen family's secret guards." Shen Anbang took the iron token and stroked the patterns on it. "It was left by my grandfather. There were three in total. One is with Qingxuan (Shen Qingci's elder brother), one is with me, and the other one... was melted down and made into an ornament for her phoenix crown when Qingci got married."

He gave a wry smile: "I thought I'd never need it in this lifetime. The Shen family is known for its integrity; they don't keep private armies or form cliques... but now..."

Now, he has to use it.

For his sake, Qingqing.

Also for the sake of the Shen family's century-old reputation.

"Shen Fu," Shen Anbang looked at the old servant who had been with him for half his life, "how many years have you been with me?"

"Thirty-eight years." Shen Fu said without hesitation, "I entered the manor when you were eight years old."

"Then you should know," Shen Anbang said slowly, "that the Shen family's secret guards have never actually disbanded."

Shen Fu's pupils contracted.

He does know some things.

The Shen family had ancestors who were founding heroes, but later retired from public life and became civil officials. But how could a family with a history of over a hundred years not have any means of self-preservation? It's just that successive heads of the family strictly adhered to the ancestral precepts and only used them in times of life and death.

Now, it's a matter of life and death.

"How many guards are left?" Shen Anbang asked.

Shen Fu pondered for a moment: "This old servant dares not say all... but there should be more than twenty people near the capital. They were all skilled men carefully selected by the old Marquis (Shen Anbang's father) back then. Although they have been scattered in various places for the past ten years or so, someone will secretly send a congratulatory gift every time it is the master's birthday."

"That's enough." Shen Anbang nodded. "Find a way to go out tonight and contact them. I need to see the person in charge within three days."

"Yes!" Shen Fu paused. "Master, what do you need them to do?"

Shen Anbang gazed at the deepening twilight outside the window, his eyes icy: "Liu Chengzong embezzled military funds, sold official positions, colluded with foreign enemies… I don't believe there's no evidence for these things. The reason we didn't touch him before was for the sake of the bigger picture. Now…"

He looked away and gazed at the blood-stained strip of cloth in his hand.

"If he dares to touch my daughter now, I'll expose his entire past!"

"But sir, the Liu family is powerful, what can we do now..."

"Powerful?" Shen Anbang sneered. "No matter how big a tree is, if its roots are rotten, it will fall with a gust of wind. What I want is not to bring him down, but to make him... unable to take care of himself."

He walked to his desk, spread out the paper, and picked up his pen to write.

This time, I didn't use charcoal pencils, but ink.

The handwriting is steady and powerful, a style honed over many years in the official script.

First, the investigation revealed that Liu Chengming had embezzled salt taxes in Jiangnan, and the evidence included accounts, witnesses, and stolen goods.

Second, investigate the secret trade between the Liu family and the Xiling Witch Kingdom, especially the source of "Zhu Yanmo".

Third, I need to investigate the assassination attempt on the emperor at the Jiangnan Imperial Palace three years ago. I want to know who arranged that arrow...

After he finished writing, he blew on the ink to dry it, folded the paper, and handed it to Shen Fu.

"Tell them to do whatever it takes, no matter the cost or the time, but it must be done secretly," Shen Anbang said, emphasizing each word. "Especially the third point... I need solid evidence."

Shen Fu took the paper, his hands trembling slightly.

He knew what the third point meant.

If the "life-saving grace" three years ago was orchestrated... then Consort Rou, Liu Ruyan, is guilty of deceiving the emperor! The Liu family is guilty of treason!

"Sir, if this is found out..."

"If we can't find out, my entire Shen family will be wiped out. If we do find out..." Shen Anbang's eyes were like knives, "The Liu family won't live either!"

Outside the window, the last ray of sunlight disappeared.

Night falls.

Shen Fu carefully hid the note on his body, changed into dark clothes, and crawled out through the dog hole in the backyard—a hole he had secretly dug over the past three months, known only to him and the master.

Shen Anbang sat in the chair, looking at the dim oil lamp on the table.

The light flickered, illuminating his aged face and the blood-stained strip of cloth.

He reached out and gently stroked the writing on the strip of cloth.

"Qingqing," he whispered, his voice echoing in the empty room, "I'm useless, I couldn't protect you, and you've suffered so much..."

"But you wait."

"Even if it costs me my life, I will clear your name and let you and your child walk out of that hellhole with your head held high."

The oil lamp suddenly burst into flame.

A sudden burst of light illuminated the deep-seated longing in his eyes, the first fire to ignite in three months—

flame.

The flames of revenge.

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away in the cold palace of the imperial palace.

Shen Qingci lay on the bed with her eyes closed, pretending to be unconscious.