The vermilion paint peeled off, the golden tiles covered in dust, the entire Imperial Palace lay prostrate like a dying beast in the blood-red sunset.
Ying Zhi lacked patience and couldn't stand seeing Emperor Qian at a critical moment, his hands shaking yet maintaining composure on the surface, how could his twisted heart be satisfied?
He was willing to kill his own son, let alone this old fool?
The people of the Ying Family were cold and indifferent, nothing good. Rather than saying he resembled Emperor Qian, it would be better to say he resembled the late Emperor.
He was harsher to himself than to outsiders.
Outside the hall, the sounds of killing were deafening, the clash of blades and swords unceasing.
Ying Zhi's long sword was pressed against Emperor Qian's throat.
Just as Emperor Qian had said, if he failed, then this old fool Emperor Qian should go before him.
Ying Zhi exerted force.
A bloodstain appeared on Emperor Qian's neck.
