After being reborn, the aloof prime minister was once again forced by a tyrant.

The next day at 3:45 AM, the morning water clock in Xuanzheng Hall stopped dripping.

Civil and military officials lined up on both sides, their whispers echoing in the empty hall.

Prime Minister Xie did not come today. Prince Rui also did not come.

These two men, one a pillar of the court and the other a prince regent, both missed the morning court session.

Rumor has it that Prime Minister Xie is so preoccupied with the Emperor's affairs that he has no time to eat or sleep and has no interest in state affairs. But Prince Rui has been unusually diligent lately, so why is he also absent from the morning court session today?

"What exactly is going on?" The official in the back row covered his mouth with his ceremonial tablet, his voice trembling. "Prime Minister Xie has not attended court for many days, and Prince Rui is also nowhere to be seen. Who... will preside over this court session?"

Before he could finish speaking, a sound came from outside the hall.

It wasn't the high-pitched voice of an ordinary eunuch announcing things; it was the crisp sound of armor plates clashing together, the deep thud of heavy boots on golden bricks, and the faint hum of a blade brushing against its sheath—these sounds overlapped, pressing inward from the palace gates, growing heavier and heavier.

The entire hall turned its head in unison.

Xiao Jingheng stepped into the Xuanzheng Hall.

He wore a bright yellow dragon robe, the gold-embroidered brocade dazzling in the morning light. The five-clawed golden dragon embroidered on it hung down his shoulders and back, its scales and claws flailing as he walked, like a poisonous snake coiled around his gentle and refined appearance.

Behind him followed dozens of private soldiers in black armor, their swords drawn half an inch from their sheaths, their cold glint sweeping across the faces of the officials below.

The palace was in an uproar.

"King Qi! You dare to wear the imperial robes without permission—this is treason!"

"Where are the Imperial Guards?!"

Xiao Jingheng stopped beneath the steps and slowly turned around.

His face still held his usual gentle smile, and even his voice was soft and gentle. "Please be patient, everyone. My ninth brother was practicing martial arts at the training ground yesterday when he accidentally fell from his horse and injured his leg. Last night, he sent someone to deliver a message, entrusting the affairs of state to me for the time being. As his elder brother, I cannot refuse."

"Bullshit!" Zhang Jian, the Vice Minister of War, stepped forward from the crowd, pointed at Xiao Jingheng, and cursed, "His Highness Prince Rui is unparalleled in riding and archery among the imperial family, how could he have fallen from his horse for no reason! It was clearly you—"

"Minister Zhang, be careful with your words." Xiao Jingheng raised his hand, his smile undiminished, but his eyes were devoid of any warmth. "During my ninth brother's recovery, I have been managing state affairs on his behalf, which is in accordance with the rules of the imperial clan. Once he has fully recovered, I will naturally return power to him."

As he spoke, he turned and walked towards the steps of the imperial palace.

The hem of the dragon robe swept across the white marble steps, the rustling sound echoing in the deathly silent hall, making one's heart ache. Everyone could see that this was not a matter of acting as regent, but rather an attempt to seize the throne.

"Where is Prime Minister Xie?!" Han Zheng's voice boomed through the hall. He thrust his single arm forward, his black court robes taut. "What have you done to Prime Minister Xie?"

Xiao Jingheng paused, turning back to look at him. His smile deepened. "Prime Minister Xie... he misses His Majesty terribly, he's been following him around."

"You're talking nonsense!"

Han Zheng's eyes were bloodshot as he swung his one arm to shove aside the private soldiers who tried to stop him. He only had one right arm, but he was as fierce as a mad tiger. He first took the back of a knife with his shoulder and back, then used his elbow to smash the first man down. He spun around, grabbed the wrist of another man, and twisted it sharply, causing the steel knife to crash onto the gold bricks with a clang.

In an instant, he knocked down three or four people, but ultimately took two blows to the back of the knife on his shoulder and back, and was kicked in the back of his leg, slamming heavily to the ground.

Several private soldiers rushed up and pinned him down. He was still struggling when the back of his neck was hit hard by the hilt of a knife. He groaned and froze, blood seeping from the corner of his lips.

Xiao Jingheng withdrew his gaze with satisfaction and turned to continue walking uphill.

"Xiao Jingheng! This is treason!" Zhang Jian, Li Yun, and others stepped forward, pointing at the imperial steps and shouting angrily.

"Treason?" Xiao Jingheng chuckled softly, his voice echoing down from the palace ceiling, carrying an air of unwavering certainty. "His Majesty fell off a cliff three months ago, his body never recovered. A country cannot be without a ruler for even a day. Xiao Jingchen is nothing but a spoiled brat, incapable of upholding the vast empire of Beishuo. This position—"

He walked to the dragon throne, turned around and looked down at the crowd below. The gentle shell on his face finally shattered, and naked greed and ambition surged in his eyes. The ambition he had hidden for more than ten years was completely exposed.

"I, the king, will not shirk my duty."

"Pah!" Han Zheng, pinned to the ground, looked up and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "You dare to challenge me!"

"It seems many of you are dissatisfied."

Xiao Jingheng clapped his hands slowly.

The palace gates burst open with a roar, and a large number of private soldiers filed in, their swords and spears arrayed, completely surrounding the Xuanzheng Hall. The cold blades reflected the morning light, making the faces of the officials on the steps turn deathly pale.

Immediately afterwards, another series of footsteps sounded.

This time, it wasn't soldiers who came in, but a group of elderly, weak, women, and children being pushed and shoved.

An elderly woman with white hair was being led forward, staggering along, while the young child in her arms clutched her clothes, crying so hard that his sobs echoed throughout the hall; a young woman was pushed and stumbled, her silver hairpin falling onto the gold bricks and rolling several feet away; and there were also children with their hair in tufts, their arms being pulled by soldiers, their faces turning purple from crying.

"Xiao Jingheng! You are despicable and shameless!"

"Let go of my mother!"

"Release my wife and children!"

The court erupted in chaos. Several ministers, their eyes red, charged forward, only to have gleaming swords and spears held to their shoulders, the blades grazing their necks, drawing blood just half an inch further.

Xiao Jingheng stood beside the dragon throne, looking down at the chaos below, a cold smile playing on his lips.

That laugh shattered his decades-long facade of gentleness and refinement, revealing his sinister true nature.

"Gentlemen, there is no need for anger." His voice was not loud, but it clearly suppressed all the crying and cursing. "If you are willing to support my ascension to the throne today, your families will naturally be safe and sound. If you are not..."

He didn't finish speaking, but the unspoken words pierced everyone's hearts like icicles.

The hall fell silent.

Anger, resentment, and humiliation choked him, making it hard to breathe. A knife was held to his neck, his family was in the enemy's hands. It was easy to risk his life, but what about his wife, children, and elderly mother?

Someone gripped the tablet tightly, their knuckles turning white, and finally slowly lowered their head.

One, two, three... most of the civil and military officials bowed their backs.

Han Zheng gritted his teeth and glared at Xiao Jingheng with red eyes.

Given the current situation, it is clear that Xiao Jingheng has completely taken control of the palace, and Prime Minister Xie has most likely met with misfortune.

He was so angry he wanted to grind his teeth to dust, but he was pinned to the ground and couldn't even stand up.

Looking at the rows of heads bowed below, Xiao Jingheng felt a surge of intense pleasure rising in his chest.

He waited for more than a decade. From the struggle for the throne among the ten princes to Xiao Jingyuan's ascension to the throne, he waited until now. He had played the role of a leisurely prince for more than a decade, and acted as a gentle, kind, and frugal prince for more than a decade. Finally, he waited for this day.

He took a deep breath, the hem of his bright yellow dragon robe sweeping across the last step.

The dragon throne is right in front of us.

The gilded armrests were engraved with five-clawed golden dragons, their claws outstretched and their surfaces gleaming with a cold, hard light. It was the most prestigious position in the world, something he had dreamed of for half his life.

He reached out, his fingertips touching the cold handrail, as if touching the vast land and supreme power.

Xiao Jingheng smiled and slowly sat down.

"You think you're worthy of usurping the throne?"

A voice came from outside the hall.

The sound was soft, like ice crystals falling on a jade plate, clear and crisp, yet it pierced the deathly silence of the hall, striking everyone's ears.

Xiao Jingheng's movements suddenly stopped.

All the private soldiers in the hall turned their heads at once, their swords and spears aimed at the hall door, their cold glints gathering together.

A figure in moonlight crossed the threshold.

Xie Qinglan stood there, his black hair tied up high, the jade hairpin gleaming coldly, his moon-white brocade robe spotless, without a trace of dust. The Guilan sword in his hand was already drawn, its light as frost, reflecting his cold and sharp eyes, like a crescent moon scooped from a cold pool.

"Have you asked my sword?"

Before he finished speaking, he raised his hand and threw it.

The Guilan Sword pierced through the air, its blade grazing Xiao Jingheng's cheek, drawing a line of hot blood.

With a loud "clang," the sword was driven deep into the center of the dragon throne backrest, its blade trembling and humming around the beam for a long time.

Xiao Jingheng froze on the spot, his body instantly soaked with cold sweat.

Almost. Just an inch away, and the sword would have pierced his brow.

The officials below were initially deathly silent, then erupted in a thunderous uproar.

"Prime Minister Xie! It's Prime Minister Xie!"

Han Zheng looked up abruptly and saw the figure in moonlight; his eyes instantly welled up with tears. His voice was hoarse, and he almost shouted, "Prime Minister Xie! You're not dead!"

Seeing that Xie Qinglan was not dead, he suddenly felt a surge of strength, broke free from the two private soldiers who were holding him down, and stood up.

Xie Qinglan glanced at him, her lips twitching slightly: "What are you saying?"

Immediately, his gaze returned to Xiao Jingheng, his eyes cold and piercing.

"Xie Qinglan, you didn't leave?" Xiao Jingheng's voice trembled as he took a half step back and bumped into the armrest of the dragon throne.

"I'm leaving." Xie Qinglan walked slowly into the hall, the corner of her moon-white robe sweeping across the gold bricks without stirring up a speck of dust.

"If I don't leave, how can I lure you out of your hiding place, you venomous snake?"

Xiao Jingheng's face instantly darkened. He swung his hand sharply and roared, "What are you standing there for! Take him down!"

The private soldiers inside the hall responded to the call, raising their swords and spears, and rushed towards Xie Qinglan like a tidal wave.

Xie Qinglan didn't even lift her eyelids.

"Whoosh—"

Countless dark figures leaped out simultaneously from the beams, pillars, and curtains of the palace, clad in dark clothes and carrying short swords, their blades gleaming like snow.

Before the private soldiers could even see the figures clearly, their wrists were severed, and their swords and spears clattered and fell to the ground. In just a few breaths, they lay sprawled on the ground.

Ling Feng flipped down from the palace beam and knelt on one knee beside Xie Qinglan, his voice deep and cold: "My lord, all the rebels inside the palace have been subdued."

Xiao Jingheng's face turned completely pale.

He staggered back another step, his back pressed firmly against the dragon throne, his voice trembling: "Guards! Guards!"

"Stop shouting." Xie Qinglan looked up at him, her gaze calm, as if she were looking at an ant trapped in a trap. "Those private soldiers outside have been surrounded by the three thousand garrison troops from the capital that I have dispatched."

"Impossible!" Xiao Jingheng screamed, "You have no right to mobilize the capital's garrison! You're just a surrendered official from Nanyue—"

Xie Qinglan took out a gold token from her sleeve.

Made of pure gold and engraved with the Northern Shuo dragon pattern, it gleams with a deep light in the morning light.

He twirled the golden token between his fingers, his tone nonchalant: "Unfortunately, His Majesty's golden token is in my hands."

Xiao Jingheng's eyes widened, his face drained of all color, and even his lips trembled: "How dare he... how could he give you the golden token!"

This imperial edict can mobilize 30,000 garrison troops in the capital region; entrusting the imperial edict to the emperor is no different from handing over the reins of power to the country.

"Alright." Xie Qinglan interrupted him, her voice still calm, but beneath that calmness lurked a surging chill. "I don't have time to listen to your nonsense."

He stepped onto the steps of the imperial palace.

Step by step, the moon-white hem of her dress swept across the white marble steps, bringing with it a chilly breeze.

Xiao Jingheng was so overwhelmed by the aura surrounding him that he could hardly breathe. It took him a while to react. He hurriedly tried to pull the Guilan Sword from the dragon throne. The sword was driven very deep into the ground. He gripped the hilt with both hands and pulled hard until his knuckles turned white, but the sword did not budge.

Xie Qinglan had already walked up to him.

Xiao Jingheng was forced to take another step back, his back slamming heavily against the back of the dragon throne, with nowhere left to retreat.

His face was pale and ashen, his lips trembled violently, and his eyes were filled with resentment and madness; he was a desperate and out-of-control person.

"Xie Qinglan, why must you do this!" he shouted hoarsely. "Xiao Jingyuan is dead! He fell into Broken Eagle Ravine, and his body is nowhere to be found! This land must have an emperor, and besides me, who else is worthy to sit on this throne!"

"He's not dead."

Xie Qinglan spoke, her voice not loud, but every word struck a chord in people's hearts.

"He's not dead." He repeated, his voice lower, as if speaking to Xiao Jingheng, yet also to himself. "He won't die."

Xiao Jingheng stared at him, then suddenly laughed. His laughter was twisted, manic, tears welling in his eyes: "You're insane... Xie Qinglan, you're insane! What's the point of guarding this position for a dead man? Once I sit on this throne, you can still be your prime minister, second only to the emperor. Isn't that better than clinging to an empty dream?"

Xie Qinglan suddenly raised her hand.

He gripped Xiao Jingheng's throat, his knuckles cold and hard as iron. With his other hand, he twisted down Xiao Jingheng's shoulder and arm, and with two soft "clicks," both arms dislocated and hung limply.

Xiao Jingheng groaned in pain, his face turning purplish-blue. He couldn't utter a single harsh word, only gasping for breath.

"I'll only ask you one question," Xie Qinglan said in a very low voice, her eyes flashing with coldness, "Was His Majesty's ambush at Duan Ying Ravine your doing?"

Xiao Jingheng struggled to breathe, shaking his head desperately, squeezing out broken words: "No...it's Pei...Pei Nanchi..."

Xie Qinglan sneered, already understanding the situation.

He had already sent people to investigate and verify the detailed process of Xiao Jingyuan's ambush. The ambush at Duan Yingjian was based on accurate calculation of the marching route, and even a trap was set in advance; there must be a traitor within the army.

There was no one else besides the Prince of Qi, who had been lying low in the capital for over a decade, who could plant spies within the Northern Shu army and accurately transmit messages.

It must have been him who delivered the message that Pei Nanchi had sent assassins to join forces with Xiao Jingyuan to kill him.

Xie Qinglan's fingers tightened as she looked at Xiao Jingheng's face, which was turning purple from holding his breath, her eyes filled with a chilling coldness: "You'd better pray that he comes back safely."

He raised his hand, gripped the hilt, and with a pull, drew the Guilan Sword from the dragon throne.

With a flash of light, the sword pierced Xiao Jingheng's shoulder.

Blood instantly stained the bright yellow dragon robe, and Xiao Jingheng let out a shrill scream.

Xie Qinglan suddenly drew her sword and kicked him in the chest, sending him flying off the steps.

Xiao Jingheng rolled onto the gold bricks, vomited a mouthful of blood, and felt as if his internal organs had been kicked and shattered, writhing in pain.

"Night Seven." Xie Qinglan took out a plain handkerchief from her sleeve and slowly wiped the bloodstains off the sword. "Capture the traitorous Prince Xiao Jingheng and imprison him in the Heavenly Prison to await His Majesty's judgment."

"Yes."

Ye Qi leaped down from the palace beam, his hands gripping Xiao Jingheng's shoulder like iron clamps, and dragged him down.

Inside the hall, you could hear a pin drop.

The entire court was silent, especially those who had previously discussed His Majesty's death and advocated for the establishment of a new emperor. Cold sweat streamed down their backs, soaking their official robes, and they dared not even raise their heads, fearing that the cold gaze would fall upon them.

When Xie Qinglan's gaze swept over them, everyone knelt down with a "plop," bowing their heads and prostrating themselves on the ground, not daring to make the slightest move.

"Please rise, my lords." His voice remained calm, revealing neither joy nor anger. "His Majesty has not yet returned, and the court cannot afford to be lax for even a day. I hope that you will each perform your duties, overcome these difficult times together, and await His Majesty's triumphant return."

"Your Majesty, we obey!"

The resounding response echoed throughout the Xuanzheng Hall, more orderly than ever before.

Xie Qinglan sheathed his Guilan sword and turned to walk out of the palace. His moon-white robes swept across the golden bricks, stirring up a cool breeze. His slender, upright figure, solitary and resilient, steadily supported the crumbling palace.

Outside the hall, the morning light was just right.

A ray of golden light pierced the eastern horizon, landing on the glazed tiles and shattering into a dazzling display of light.

Xie Qinglan stood on the white marble steps of Xuanzheng Hall, looked up at the western sky, and took a deep breath.

He didn't die.

He will not die.

He must still be waiting for him somewhere in Xirong.

Xie Qinglan mounted his horse and turned it around. The horse's hooves shattered the morning light as it galloped towards the west gate.

Passing through Chang'an Street, exiting Zhuque Gate, and glancing past the ancient road of Changting, the capital city behind us gradually recedes into the morning mist, while ahead stretches an endless road and beyond, into the Gobi Desert and deep ravines a thousand miles away.

A cool morning breeze swept into my collar. The only sounds were the wind and the clatter of horses' hooves; my heart pounded in my chest like a drum, each beat faster than the last.

"Xiao Jingyuan".

He repeated that name in his heart, over and over again.

Wait for me.

You must wait for me.

The rushing wind whipped up dust and sand, stinging my face and making my eyes sting. A tear finally fell, silently sliding down my pale cheek, carried away by the wind, and shattered in the swirling dust, leaving no trace.