Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

The Imperial Guards around them looked at each other, but none of them moved.

They had been starving for five days. Their provisions had been burned. Why should they risk their lives for an emperor who couldn't even afford to feed them?

Pei Zhihui sighed, his eyes filled with pity, looking at the emperor as if he were a clown.

"Your Majesty, admit defeat."

The emperor stared intently at Pei Zhihui. The sickly prime minister now appeared as tall as an insurmountable mountain. Those ministers he had trampled underfoot, those commoners he had treated like dirt, now all seemed to have transformed into vengeful ghosts, standing behind Pei Zhihui.

A sweet taste rose in his throat, and a stream of foul-smelling black blood gushed from the emperor's mouth, splattering onto the blue bricks of the city wall—a horrifying sight.

The emperor slammed straight backward, his head hitting the ground with a dull thud that made your teeth ache.

"Your Majesty!" the Grand Eunuch Wang De screamed, his voice cracking. He scrambled forward, cradling the emperor's head in his hands. His hands were covered in sticky, black blood.

The emperor rolled his eyes, his limbs twitched violently like a toad having a spasm, and a hoarse bellows sound came from his throat.

The officials were in chaos. Some cried out, some retreated, and most stared blankly at Pei Zhihui, who stood in the wind and snow, dressed in a scarlet court robe.

Pei Zhihui dusted off his sleeves and looked calmly at the emperor on the ground.

"His Majesty is suffering from a sudden attack of anger and is unwell." Pei Zhihui turned around and looked at the head of the Imperial Medical Academy, who was huddled in the corner. "What are you all standing there for? Escort His Majesty back to the Hall of Mental Cultivation. If anything goes wrong, the entire Imperial Medical Academy will be executed."

The judge's legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground, kowtowing frantically.

Several imperial guards hurriedly lifted the emperor and rushed him down from the city wall.

The heavy snow hadn't stopped. Pei Zhihui stood before the city walls, looking down at the dark mass of the Zhenbei Army. He didn't order the city gates opened. The time wasn't quite right yet.

The Hall of Mental Cultivation.

The underground heating system was burning fiercely. The air was thick with the stench of blood and excrement. The emperor had lost control of his bladder.

The imperial physicians knelt on the ground, administering acupuncture and medicine, but to no avail. The emperor's face had turned from ashen to purplish-black; he was breathing heavily but exhaling little.

"Useless things! Get out! All of you, get out!" Wang De waved his whisk wildly, driving the imperial physicians out of the inner palace.

He slammed the palace doors shut and scrambled to the dragon bed. The emperor couldn't die now. If he died without even leaving a will, the empire would truly belong to Pei Zhihui. And he, the chief eunuch, would have to be buried with him.

Wang De's hands trembled as he pulled a white jade porcelain bottle from his sleeve.

Nine-Turn Purple Gold Pill.

This is the last batch prepared by the alchemist. The amount of cinnabar is extremely high. In the past, the emperor only dared to cut off a piece the size of a fingernail to consume.

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry. You have to hold on, you have to write the edict of succession..." Wang De gritted his teeth, uncorked the bottle, pried open the emperor's tightly clenched teeth, and poured the entire bottle of crimson pills, along with the dregs, into the emperor's mouth.

He picked up the half-cold tea beside him and forced it down his throat.

"Gulp." The emperor's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Half an incense stick later.

The emperor on the dragon bed suddenly opened his eyes.

Those eyes were filled with spiderweb-like blood vessels, and the pupils were dilated to their maximum.

"ah--!"

A heart-wrenching scream shattered the deathly silence of the Hall of Mental Cultivation.

The toxicity of the heavy metal cinnabar was fully unleashed at that moment. The emperor sat up abruptly, gripping his own neck tightly with both hands, his nails digging deep into his flesh, tearing off large chunks of skin and flesh.

"Fire...fire is burning my internal organs!" the emperor roared, rolling around frantically on his dragon bed.

He was hallucinating.

From the shadows of the main hall, countless people covered in blood crawled out.

Leading the way was a young man dressed in tattered prison clothes, his body covered in sores. He carried a broken crossbow, his empty eye sockets staring intently at him.

Pei Zhichao.

"You...you stay away! I am the emperor! I am killing you because you are a traitor!" The emperor grabbed the jade pillow and slammed it into the air.

The jade pillow shattered.

Pei Zhichao's illusory figure did not stop, followed by hundreds and thousands of loyal ministers and generals who had been unjustly killed. They stretched out their bloodied hands, grabbed the emperor's ankles, and dragged him toward the deepest hell.

"Get out of the way! Wang De! Protect the Emperor! Kill them all!" The Emperor kicked his legs desperately on the bed, banging his scalp against the bedpost until it bled.

Wang De huddled in the corner, watching the emperor go crazy at thin air, and was so frightened that he wet his pants.

"Squeak—"

The heavy palace doors were pushed open.

A cold wind rushed in, causing the candlelight inside the hall to flicker violently.

Pei Zhihui stepped over the high threshold and slowly walked into the inner hall. He locked the hall door behind him.

Under the dim light, the scarlet court robes looked as red as if they had just drunk their fill of blood.

When Wang De saw who it was, he rolled his eyes and fainted from fright.

Pei Zhihui walked to the dragon bed and looked down at the emperor, who was writhing in excrement and blood.

"Your Majesty," Pei Zhihui said, his voice as cold as a stone in an ice cellar.

The emperor turned his head abruptly. Illusion and reality intertwined. He looked at Pei Zhihui as if he were seeing Yama, the King of Hell, coming to claim his life.

"Pei... Pei Zhihui..." The emperor coughed up blood, reaching out his withered hand to try and grab Pei Zhihui's sleeve. "Save me... give me the antidote..."

Pei Zhihui didn't move. He lowered his eyes, looking at the hand covered in filth, a flash of extreme disgust in his eyes.

"In the twenty years since His Majesty ascended the throne, more than 1,300 loyal and virtuous people have been unjustly killed. All the male members of the Pei family have been exiled or died. My elder brother, Pei Zhichao, was executed by slow slicing, and his flesh was devoured by wild dogs."

Pei Zhihui's voice was soft, yet every word was like a knife, scraping away flesh and bone.

"This empire is already terminally ill. Your Majesty, it's time for you to depart."

The excruciating pain tore at the emperor's nerves.

His internal organs felt as if they were being cooked by a raging fire. He was in so much pain that he rolled on the ground, fell off the dragon bed, and crashed heavily onto the gold bricks.

"Kill me...kill me!" the emperor screamed, his fingers scratching ten bloody marks on the gold bricks, his fingernails all turned outwards.

He didn't want to live anymore. He just wanted a quick death.

Pei Zhihui stood there, looking at the emperor writhing like mud beneath his feet.

"Want to die? Fine." Pei Zhihui pulled a roll of bright yellow blank silk from his sleeve and threw it into the pool of blood in front of the emperor.

Along with it fell a royal brush covered in cinnabar.

"Write it." Pei Zhihui said indifferently.

The emperor struggled to lift his head, his vision blurred. He stared at the blank imperial edict, his teeth grinding together.

"I... will never... give you the empire..." the emperor squeezed out through gritted teeth.

"I do not want Your Majesty's empire." Pei Zhihui's lips curled into a mocking smile. He squatted down to meet the emperor's gaze. "I only want Your Majesty to issue an edict of self-reproach. Proclaim to the world that Pei Zhichao is innocent, and the Pei family is innocent. This chaos in the world is all because Your Majesty is incompetent and tyrannical, favoring treacherous officials and persecuting loyal and virtuous people."

Pei Zhihui paused for a moment, his peach blossom eyes swirling with intense killing intent.

"After you finish writing your edict of self-reproach, abdicate the throne to the Ninth Prince in the Cold Palace. I will guarantee you a proper burial. Otherwise, I will have the imperial physician keep you alive with ginseng, so you can live in this hell for another ten days and ten nights."

Ten days and ten nights.

These four words became the final straw that broke the emperor's back.

He couldn't bear the pain of being gnawed at by poisonous ants deep in his bones for even a moment longer.

The emperor, trembling, reached out and grasped the imperial brush.

There is no ink.

He dipped the tip of his pen directly into the black blood he had vomited.

"I... am guilty beyond redemption..." The emperor lay on the ground, his wrists trembling violently, leaving crooked blood characters on the bright yellow silk.

Pei Zhihui looked at him coldly.

Each stroke of the pen represents self-reproach, but also the death knell for the Great Sheng Dynasty.

By the time he wrote "pass the throne to the Ninth Prince," the Emperor's strength was completely exhausted. He stared intently at those words, his eyes filled with resentment and bitterness.

He knew that the three-year-old Ninth Prince was nothing more than a puppet in Pei Zhihui's hands. In the end, the Great Sheng Empire would belong to the Pei family.

"I'm done writing." The emperor threw down his pen, lay back on the ground, and gasped for breath.

Pei Zhihui picked up the imperial edict and glanced at it. The handwriting was messy, but the seal was clear, and the bloodstains were still wet.

He put the imperial edict into his sleeve.

"Pei Zhihui..." The emperor stared intently at him, his voice barely audible, "You...you will die a horrible death...I'll be watching you from the afterlife..."

Pei Zhihui stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles on his clothes.

"After my death, I will descend to the eighteenth level of hell. Your Majesty need not trouble yourself."

Pei Zhihui turned around and walked out of the hall.

"You...you won't kill me?" the emperor roared from behind.

Pei Zhihui did not turn around.

"There is no antidote for the poison in the Nine-Turn Purple Gold Pill. Your Majesty, please continue to brew it slowly."

The palace doors opened, then slammed shut again.

The emperor's desperate screams were muffled behind the heavy wooden door. He rolled on the ground for a full half hour until black blood flowed from his seven orifices, his eyes wide open, and he breathed his last.

Do not look down.

when--!

when--!

when--!

The Jingyang Bell tolled. Twenty-seven tolls shattered the snow-covered night sky of the capital.

The emperor has passed away.

Outside the Meridian Gate.

Pei Zhihui stood atop the high steps, holding the blood-written imperial edict. Below him, the entire court of civil and military officials knelt prostrate in the snow.

"The late Emperor's last edict. He issued an edict of self-reproach to apologize to the people. He passed the throne to the Ninth Prince. Grand Secretary Pei Zhihui was appointed regent!"

Pei Zhihui's voice, amplified by his internal energy, resounded throughout the square.

No one dared to raise their head. No one dared to question.

Because the city gates had already been opened. Fu Chuan'ang's 30,000-strong Zhenbei Army cavalry had taken over the nine gates of the capital under the pretext of "entering the capital to protect the emperor by secret edict of the late emperor".

A shocking rebellion was turned into a meritorious act of supporting the emperor.

Pei Zhihui gripped the imperial edict and coughed violently. He removed the white handkerchief covering his mouth, revealing a pool of glaring black blood.

But he smiled.

Next, he was going to pick up his wife and daughter.

The Pei residence. A secret room in the main courtyard.

The floor heater warmed the air inside. Pei Zhihui took off his scarlet court robe, stained with snow and blood, and threw it into the brazier.

Flames leaped up and engulfed the bird's quills.

Shen Qiongju walked in carrying a basin of hot water. She had changed into a clean, plain-colored long dress, and her hair was tied up with a wooden hairpin, showing no trace of makeup.

She wrung out a hot towel, walked to Pei Zhihui, and wiped the weariness from his face and the bloodstains from his hands.

"Is it all over?" Shen Qiongju asked softly.

"It's over." Pei Zhihui took her hand and pressed his face against her palm. Only in front of this woman could he shed that man-eating demon mask. "The new emperor will ascend the throne tomorrow. Fu Chuan'ang has taken over the capital garrison. This capital is clean."

Tears welled up in Shen Qiongju's eyes. She wrapped her arms around Pei Zhihui's waist and buried her head in his chest.

"Pei Zhihui, let's go pick up Nian'an. Let's go now." Her voice was trembling.

Five days have passed. In these five days of chaos in the capital, she hasn't had a single good night's sleep. She's afraid something will happen to Tingzhu Pavilion, afraid that refugees will storm the manor.

"Okay. Let's go now." Pei Zhihui kissed the top of her head.

Half an hour later.

A black carriage without any markings, escorted by a hundred elite soldiers of the Zhenbei Army, crushed the snow on the outskirts of the city and headed straight for Tingzhu Pavilion.

The wind and snow had stopped. A pale waning moon hung above the bare treetops.

The main gate of Tingzhuxuan was ajar.

There were no lanterns. No dogs barked. The silence was chilling.

Before the carriage had even come to a complete stop, Shen Qiongju lifted the curtain and jumped down. She slipped and nearly fell, but Pei Zhihui caught her from behind.

"Something's not right." Pei Zhihui's eyes turned cold instantly, and he gripped the hilt of the knife at his waist with his right hand.

A very faint smell of blood lingered in the air.

"Break down the door," Pei Zhihui ordered.

Two guards stepped forward and kicked open the slightly ajar door.

"Ugh—" A guard, upon seeing the scene inside the courtyard, immediately leaned against the door frame and vomited.

Shen Qiongju broke free from Pei Zhihui's hand and rushed into the courtyard.

Everywhere you look, the ground is covered in scarlet.

The dozen or so servants and maids of Tingzhuxuan lay sprawled on the snow. All of them had been killed with a single blow, without even a trace of resistance.

"Nian'an! Nian'an!" Shen Qiongju ran to the backyard like a madwoman.

Pei Zhihui followed closely behind, his face deathly pale. His cough flared up in extreme panic, and he tasted blood in his throat, but he swallowed it down with all his might.

The meditation room for pilgrims on the back hill.

The door was violently kicked open.

The charcoal brazier inside had gone out. Song Qingyuan lay in a pool of blood, his hands tightly protecting his wife, Liu, behind him. A short knife was embedded in Liu's chest, her eyes wide open, dying with unfinished business.

Shen Qiongju's gaze passed over the two corpses and landed on the bed.

The cradle tipped over.

The room was empty. The fox fur was torn to shreds, and the sandalwood tiger pendant carved by Pei Zhihui himself was broken in two and fell into the blood.

Nian'an has disappeared.

"No...it can't be..." Shen Qiongju's legs went weak, and she knelt beside the cradle. Her hands trembled as she picked up the half-eaten tiger cub, tears streaming down her face. "My daughter...Pei Zhihui, where is our daughter!"

Pei Zhihui stood at the door, his whole body stiff.

He slew the dragon and seized the world, but at the very moment of reaching the summit, he was stabbed in the heart with the most fatal blow.

"My lord!" Pei An rushed into the room, torch in hand, his voice trembling. "There's something on the wall... there's something on the wall!"

Pei Zhihui suddenly turned his head.

On the snow-white walls of the meditation room, a huge totem was drawn in blood.

A broken crossbow bolt.

Pei Zhihui stared intently at the blood-red totem. The rationality in her peach blossom eyes was completely shattered, replaced by a madness and ferocity capable of incinerating the heavens and earth.

He walked to the wall and wiped the bloodstains off it.

The blood hadn't dried completely. The person had only been gone a short while.

"Seal off the nine gates of the capital. Tell Fu Chuan'ang to mobilize 30,000 iron cavalry. Even if you have to turn every inch of land within a hundred miles of the capital, you must find Nian'an!" Pei Zhihui turned around, his voice hoarse like the roar of a wild beast.

He walked over to Shen Qiongju and pulled his trembling wife, who was kneeling on the ground, into his arms.

"Don't be afraid." Pei Zhihui rested his chin on the top of her head, his eyes as cold as ice from hell. "I'll search the heavens and the underworld to chop them to pieces and bring Nian'an back with me."

Shen Qiongju gripped Pei Zhihui's clothes tightly, her knuckles turning white.