Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

Pei Zhihui took a sip of the medicine. The bitter medicine flowed down his throat, suppressing the surging smell of blood.

He put down the medicine bowl, picked up a handkerchief, and wiped the corner of his mouth.

"Release the arrows."

Two words, light and airy, without the slightest emotional fluctuation.

On the city wall, eight hundred musketeers from the Divine Machine Battalion stepped forward in unison. The dark barrels of their guns were aimed at the private soldiers inside the barbican.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The deafening gunfire shattered the tranquility of the capital. Flashes of gunfire ripped across the city walls as lead bullets crisscrossed the barbican, forming an impenetrable net of death.

Screams erupted from all sides.

The private soldiers fell in droves without even touching the hem of the enemy's clothes, like wheat being harvested. Blood mixed with melting snow, pooling into small red streams on the blue bricks of the barbican.

"Shield formation! Form a shield formation!" Shou Wang's steward shouted hoarsely as he gave the order.

Hundreds of soldiers carrying shields rushed to the perimeter, attempting to block the musket fire.

Pei Zhihui leaned back in his chair, watching the struggle below.

"Change to the Eight-Ox Crossbow."

The Zhenbei Army removed their muskets and brought out their eight-ox crossbows for siege warfare. Arrows as thick as a child's arm were nocked.

The mechanism springs.

The massive crossbow bolts whistled sharply, tearing through the air. They pierced through three layers of shields, impaling five or six private soldiers behind them like a string of candied hawthorns, pinning them firmly to the walls of the barbican.

Massacre. One-sided massacre.

Within the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, more than half of the three thousand private soldiers had perished. The remaining men collapsed, dropping their weapons and running around the barbican like headless flies, trying to find an exit.

Prince Shou fell from his horse. Two arrows were stuck in his golden silk armor, his helmet was nowhere to be seen, and he was disheveled and in a sorry state.

He looked at the corpses scattered on the ground, at the assassins who had once promised to help him conquer the world, now turned into a pile of rotten flesh.

"Open the gate! Let me out!" Prince Shou crawled toward the tightly closed Zhengyang Gate and frantically pounded on the gate with his blood-stained hands.

Pei Zhihui stood up. He pulled his cloak tighter and walked down the stone steps of the city wall, step by step, down into the barbican.

The city gate opened a crack.

A squad of heavily armored infantry charged into the barbican, divided and surrounded the remaining private soldiers, disarmed them, and pinned them to the ground.

Pei Zhihui walked over to Prince Shou, stepping through the blood and mangled limbs scattered on the ground.

Prince Shou turned around and looked at the frail young man.

"Pei Zhihui, you've won." Prince Shou gave a bitter laugh, a laugh more agonizing than a cry. "But don't be so smug. If you kill me, all the vassal kings in the land will rebel against you! You won't be able to hold onto this throne!"

Pei Zhihui lowered his eyes and looked at Prince Shou.

"I didn't want to sit in that seat," Pei Zhihui said calmly. "I just want you dead."

He raised his hand, and Pei An handed him the Embroidered Spring Knife.

Pei Zhihui gripped the hilt of the knife.

No nonsense, no trial.

A flash of light appeared.

Prince Shou's right ear was severed at the root. Fresh blood gushed out, splattering onto Pei Zhihui's black cloak.

"Ah—!" Prince Shou covered his ears, rolled around in the blood, and let out a pig-like scream.

Pei Zhihui flicked his wrist, and the back of his blade slammed heavily onto Prince Shou's kneecap. The sound of bone cracking was clearly audible.

Prince Shou's legs were crippled, and he lay paralyzed on the ground, too weak to even scream, only able to gasp for breath.

"Cut off his head." Pei Zhihui tossed the knife to Pei An, took out a clean handkerchief to wipe his hands, and said, "Hang it on Zhengyang Gate. Let it air dry."

He turned around, followed the footprints he had come from, and walked towards the city gate.

"The entire Prince Shou's mansion, along with the owners of the thirty-six merchant houses involved in the incident in Jiangnan, will be punished along with their entire families. The male members will be beheaded, and the female members will be sent to the brothels."

The executioner's blade fell, and the capital city was stained with blood.

Dawn breaks.

The snow stopped. A red sun rose from the east, its rays shining on the Zhengyangmen city wall.

The head of the most powerful non-royal prince of the Great Sheng Dynasty was hung high in the center of the city gate. Its empty eyes stared at the streets of the capital.

The imperial court was shaken. Those nobles and princes who had been eager to make a move were all terrified after receiving news of the annihilation of the entire Western Camp and the execution of Prince Shou, who remained secluded at home.

Pei Zhihui sat in the carriage returning to his residence.

There was a charcoal brazier in the carriage, making it warm. He leaned against the cushions, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy.

The itch in his throat could no longer be suppressed. He removed the handkerchief covering his mouth and vomited a mouthful of black blood.

Blood splattered on the wooden planks of the carriage.

"Master!" Pei An, who was outside the carriage, heard the noise and hurriedly lifted the curtain.

Pei Zhihui waved his hand. He leaned back on the cushion, his face as pale as paper, but a hint of relief on his lips.

"Hurry up and go." Pei Zhihui's eyes were closed, and his voice was weak. "Nian'an should be awake by now."

time is limited.

After doing all that, all he wanted to do was go home and hug the little girl blowing bubbles in the cradle.

The snow gradually stopped.

The carriage wheels rolled over the remaining snow on the bluestone slabs, and the carriage stopped outside the vermilion gate of the Pei residence.

Inside the carriage, Pei Zhihui leaned against the cushion, his Adam's apple bobbing. A sweet, metallic liquid welled up on his tongue, but he clenched his teeth and forced it back down.

In the arena of power, purges are never about decorum; they prioritize efficiency in eliminating all threats. It's worth noting that this efficiency often comes at the cost of jeopardizing the very lifespan of those in power.

He killed Prince Shou, annihilated his private army, and used ruthless methods to intimidate the entire Dasheng court. His own already dilapidated body was also on the verge of collapse.

He reached out and touched the deerskin water sac on the table. The snow water inside had long since frozen solid. He uncorked it and poured the icy water into his palm.

He rubbed them gently. The dark red bloodstains remaining between his fingers peeled off under the icy water. The water was so cold that his knuckles turned blue. He didn't care.

After washing his hands, he tilted his head back and gulped down a mouthful of cold water mixed with ice shards, swirled it around in his mouth twice, and spat it into the spittoon in the corner. He repeated this three times. Only when he could no longer smell any blood in his breath did he stop.

He casually peeled off the black cloak that symbolized slaughter and power and tossed it into a corner of the carriage. The hem of the cloak, soaked with mud and blood from outside Zhengyang Gate, was stiff and hard.

Outside the carriage curtain, Pei An knelt beside the rut. This tough man, who wouldn't even flinch amidst piles of corpses, had red-rimmed eyes.

"My lord, I will go and fetch the imperial physician. Your health..." Pei An pleaded in a trembling voice.

The carriage curtain was lifted slightly, and Pei Zhihui looked down at him.

His eyes were like frost, devoid of any warmth. Without a word, a terrifying pressure rained down upon him.

Pei An's throat tightened, and he swallowed the rest of his words.

Pei Zhihui stepped off the vehicle using the pedals. A cold wind rushed into his lungs, causing a spasm in his chest.

He suppressed the urge to cough, straightened his back, and the casual robe embroidered with a four-clawed python looked somewhat empty on his thin body, but his steps were surprisingly steady. Each step was extremely firm, as if measured, disguised as an invincible god.

Stepping over the threshold and through the covered walkway, I saw that the old plum tree in the main courtyard had broken branches under the weight of the snow, and the bitter fragrance of plum blossoms floated in the cold air.

A warm, dim light shone through the paper windows of the inner room. The underfloor heating was burning brightly. Pei Zhihui did not push the door open directly. He stopped on the veranda and looked inside through the half-transparent window.

Shen Qiongju leaned against a soft couch covered with thick fox fur. She wore a simple, moon-white, double-breasted ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), her long hair loosely tied in a bun and secured with a plain silver hairpin. In her hand, she held a rattle drum and gently shook it.

In the cradle, Nian'an, dressed like a bright red New Year's picture doll, was waving her short arms and legs, trying to reach the rattle drum.

This scene, seemingly mundane and commonplace, is like a dull knife, slowly and methodically cutting through the hardest shell in Pei Zhihui's heart.

He gazed at her greedily. His eyes traced Shen Qiongju's features, then settled on Nian An's carefree little face.

The intrigues and power struggles in the imperial court, the mountains of corpses and seas of blood beneath Zhengyang Gate, all seemed absurd and insignificant in the face of this warm light. Interestingly, the regent, a man known for his ruthless killings, now stood outside his own door, feeling a touch of trepidation, as if he were returning home.

He was afraid that the coldness emanating from his body would clash with the warmth inside, and that his inhuman, ghostly appearance would frighten them.

He stood there for the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, until his hands and feet were completely frozen and he lost all feeling, before he raised his hand and pushed open the partition door.

The wooden door creaked slightly, letting in a faint wisp of cold air.

Shen Qiongju turned her head at the sound. The rattle in her hand stopped.

Pei Zhihui closed the door behind him, completely shutting out the wind, snow, and carnage outside. He did not immediately approach the cradle.

In the corner of the inner room sat a brass charcoal brazier, about half a person's height, the silver charcoal burning bright red without a trace of smoke. He walked straight to the brazier, stretched out his hands, and held them above the embers.

The firelight illuminated his pale face. He turned his palm over, letting the warmth seep into his stiff knuckles. Only when his fingers regained their normal temperature and the veins on the back of his hands were no longer so horrifying did he turn around, tiptoe towards the mother and daughter.

The room was filled with a pleasant milky scent, mixed with the faint soapberry fragrance that Shen Qiongju often wore. Pei Zhihui felt that this was the best calming medicine in the world.

Nian'an was engrossed in gnawing on her fingers when she heard footsteps, and her round eyes turned around.

The little guy immediately got excited when he recognized the man who had held him.

She thrashed about in the cradle, babbling and making cooing noises, drool dripping from the corners of her mouth. Her two chubby little hands were raised high, her desire to be held was crystal clear.

Pei Zhihui walked to the cradle and bent down.

He cradled his daughter's soft nape with one hand and scooped her up by the waist with the other, his movements so practiced and familiar that they seemed nothing like those of a newly-minted father. He held that warm, soft little body firmly in his arms.

Without any hesitation, Nian An swung her chubby hand and precisely grabbed a strand of Pei Zhihui's long hair that was hanging down. She pulled hard.

A pulling pain shot through her scalp. Pei Zhihui didn't even flinch. Far from being annoyed, he lowered his head in response to her pull.

Nian'an buried her face in his clothes, her glistening saliva staining the extremely expensive four-clawed python robe, leaving a suspicious water stain.

This living devil who had turned the Great Sheng court upside down had now completely transformed into a doting father to his daughter. He gently rubbed his stubble-covered chin against Nian An's soft belly.

"Giggle giggle..." Nian'an was ticklish, and she writhed like a mudfish in Pei Zhihui's arms, letting out a clear laugh. The laughter echoed in the quiet inner room, dispelling all the gloom.

Shen Qiongju leaned back on the soft couch, quietly watching the father and daughter.

The nerves that had been stretched to the limit for many days finally relaxed completely at this moment.

But when her gaze followed Nian'an's small hand and moved up to Pei Zhihui's face, her heart tightened.

His face looked terrible. It was so pale it was almost transparent, and the bluish veins under his skin were clearly visible.

His lips were chapped and bloodless. The dark circles under his eyes were so deep they looked as if they had been rolled in ink, revealing a sense of utter exhaustion.

Shen Qiongju stood up and straightened her skirt. She walked to Pei Zhihui's side, reached out, and took Nian'an from his arms.

At the moment of handover, her fingertips inevitably touched the back of his hand.

It was extremely cold, like being frozen in an ice cellar for three days and three nights, with chill seeping into every bone. I had been warming myself by the charcoal brazier for so long, but not a single bit of heat had been retained.

"Why are your hands so cold?" Shen Qiongju frowned slightly, her tone carrying a worry and reproach that she herself didn't even realize. She held Nian'an firmly with one arm, and with the other hand, she grasped Pei Zhihui's wrist, trying to warm him with her own body heat.

Pei Zhihui lowered his eyes, looking at their intertwined hands. Shen Qiongju's hands were soft and warm, full of vibrant life. He turned his hand over and enveloped the smaller hand in his palm, then gently pulled her half a step closer.

The distance between them shortened. They could hear each other's breath.

"It's snowing heavily outside, you've caught a chill," Pei Zhihui said casually, his voice hoarse but carrying a reassuring tone. He didn't mention the massacre at Zhengyang Gate, nor how much blood he had vomited; he simply gently stroked the back of Shen Qiongju's hand with the pad of his thumb.

"The matter of Prince Shou is settled." He looked into her eyes, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the evening's menu. "His entire family was implicated, the men were beheaded, and the women were sent to the brothels. None of his cronies escaped."

Shen Qiongju's breath hitched. She was a businesswoman and understood the principle of eliminating all threats. But hearing such a verdict of annihilating an entire family still shocked her.

"From now on, no one in this capital will be able to harm you and your daughter in the slightest." Pei Zhihui emphasized. This promise was worth more than a thousand pieces of gold.

Providing the most secure refuge through the most ruthless means. This is Pei Zhihui's guiding principle. He keeps all the bloodshed and filth outside, leaving only cleanliness and safety for this house.

Shen Qiongju understood. Looking at the man before her, she felt a complex mix of emotions. An enemy from a past life, a reliance in this one. The gears of fate meshed so absurdly, yet so perfectly. She didn't pull her hand away, only softly replying, "Mm."

A series of hurried footsteps came from outside the door, accompanied by the indistinct shouts of children.

"Madam! Grand Secretary!" Du Hengniang's loud voice pierced through the heavy curtains; her voice preceded her arrival.

The curtain was lifted, and Du Hengniang, dressed in a neat crimson-purple jacket and carrying a chubby little boy in her arms, rushed in. Behind her were two maids carrying large and small bags of food boxes and tonics.

The chubby little boy in her arms was Ah Hu. He was a little over a year old and had just learned to walk. He was wearing tiger-head shoes and a tiger-head hat, and was wrapped up like a little winter melon that had come to life.

"Oh my, Nian'an is finally back!" Du Hengniang was a heartless woman who only cared about her child. She put Ah Hu down, walked a few steps to Shen Qiongju's side, and peeked at Nian'an.

Du Hengniang delivered Nian'an herself, and she felt so sorry for her that she kept crying. Nian'an had suffered so much these past few days.

"His little face has gotten so thin." Du Hengniang reached out and lightly touched Nian'an's cheek, then turned to Pei Zhihui, her courage growing as she teased, "Our Grand Secretary has finally done something admirable this time. He brought our young master back safe and sound. You've done a good job as a father."