"Your Majesty."
The black-robed monk bowed deeply, his tone humble yet steady. "This humble monk has one request."
"What is it?"
Emperor Longqing gently waved his horsetail whisk. "Speak freely."
"Amitabha."
The monk's voice was soft but cold. "It is well known that His Majesty of the Great Sheng Dynasty seeks the Dao with a sincere heart—a ruler of rare purity and detachment. Now that this humble monk has seen Your Majesty in person, it is indeed as the rumors say. However…"
He paused, his tone shifting like the edge of a blade.
"Fish and bear's paw cannot both be gained.
"As the ruler of a nation, Your Majesty should prioritize the stability of the realm—that is your duty and burden.
"The path of cultivation and the pursuit of immortality—those should be left to people like this humble monk, those who dwell in mountains and live apart from the world.
"If Your Majesty truly wishes to continue down this path of immortal cultivation… then it would be better to relinquish the throne. Focus entirely on your Dao. Perhaps, in that way, you may achieve even greater enlightenment."
"Yes, Your Majesty," said an elderly minister, his voice trembling as he was helped forward by several attendants. His skin was wrinkled like old bark, his body bent with age.
This was Grand Preceptor Xu, the emperor's old teacher. Once titled Duke by Merit, his prestige in the court was second to none.
"Your Majesty," he croaked weakly, "throughout history, few emperors have reigned as long as you. Your name will surely endure for generations. If you now follow the ancient example of the Three Sovereigns and abdicate voluntarily—then you will truly become a monarch remembered for a thousand ages."
"Grand Preceptor Xu," Emperor Longqing said mildly, "did I not grant you the privilege of attending court without kneeling? Why perform such a heavy salute?"
Then, to the astonishment of all, he turned to the gathered rebels and gave an imperial command: "Why are you standing there? Help the Grand Preceptor to his feet and grant him a seat."
"This…"
Fan Tianfa and the others hesitated in confusion.
But in the end, they obeyed.
Once seated, Grand Preceptor Xu leaned on the armrest and continued stubbornly, "Whether I sit or stand matters not. What matters is that our Great Sheng realm needs rest."
"Enough," said Emperor Longqing calmly. "I understand what you mean."
He raised his gaze slowly, his tone still mild but carrying a weight that made everyone's chest tighten. "You think I am old, confused, and unfit to rule. You want me to abdicate. Very well. Then tell me—who do you propose should inherit the throne after me?"
"Amitabha," the monk answered without hesitation, fingers turning his prayer beads. "Naturally, it should be the Crown Prince. In emotion, in reason, and in ritual propriety, it is fitting that His Highness, who has already served as regent for over forty years, should inherit the throne. Only thus can the Great Sheng Dynasty remain prosperous and stable."
"The Crown Prince is indeed a fine choice."
Emperor Longqing nodded, speaking evenly. "Since childhood, he has been filial and diligent, with ambition and competence both. You are right. I should pass the throne to him."
The monk's fingers froze on the beads.
Since they had broken into the sleeping palace, everything had been too calm.
The old emperor showed no anger, no fear—he behaved as if this were merely a routine court debate, not an act of treason and rebellion.
But though he was old, he was certainly not senile.
Such turmoil in the palace—how could he not understand?
To most present, it seemed the emperor was merely being "graceful in defeat."
"If Your Majesty truly thinks so, that would be best for all," the monk said, pressing his palms together. "Then please compose the abdication edict. I vow that after you step down, you will be honored as Retired Emperor, free to cultivate in peace at Mount Kunlun, undisturbed by anyone."
As he spoke, one of the attendants stepped forward with brush, ink, and silk scroll—already prepared.
"Good, good," said Emperor Longqing, smiling faintly. "It seems you are all men devoted to the country's welfare. What you do today, you do for the sake of the Great Sheng Dynasty. With such loyal ministers and generals, this empire truly has nothing to fear. However…"
His smile faded. His voice did not rise, yet the words struck like thunder in the heart.
"Tell me… am I truly that old?"
Silence filled the hall.
The officials glanced uneasily at one another, none daring to answer.
In age, yes—he was old beyond question.
At ninety-nine, nearing one hundred, he was the oldest living emperor in Great Sheng history.
There's an old saying among the common folk: "Few live past seventy." Even nobles blessed with medicine and elixirs rarely survived beyond eighty. Anything past that was a miracle.
Grand Preceptor Xu himself was one hundred and two, but clearly fading.
Yet the emperor—
Years ago, his body had been frail, plagued by illness. Even after turning to Daoist cultivation, he often took ill. Five or six years ago, he'd looked close to death. Yet somehow, in the past two years, his health had improved.
More than improved. He seemed stronger.
Only days ago, he had climbed a mountain with all his ministers to enjoy the scenery—without fatigue.
"None of you speak? Heh…"
Emperor Longqing's quiet laughter was like frost sliding down the spine. "So, in your hearts, I am not that old, nor dying soon. Then why press for abdication? Are you not afraid that once I step down, the world will fall into chaos?"
"Your Majesty, what do you mean by this?" the monk asked. "The Crown Prince's succession is the will of Heaven and the people. How could chaos arise?"
"The Crown Prince is indeed the rightful heir," the emperor said softly. "But tell me, my loyal ministers—have you forgotten?
"The Crown Prince is gravely ill. He's been unwell for years. Today's disturbance has only worsened his condition. He just relinquished his regency to rest and recover, and yet here you come—forcing this spectacle upon him.
"Do you mean for him to bear the weight of empire in his frail state, and die from overwork?
"He is the Crown Prince, yes—the heir apparent, and my son besides.
"You may not care, but I, as his father, do.
"If you insist on dragging him into this, then I must truly wonder…
"Among you so-called loyal ministers and righteous men, are there not one or two treacherous souls hiding in plain sight?"
He turned his head slowly, gaze falling on a young man trembling in the shadows.
"Cao Fan," he said evenly, "tell me—your grandfather, am I right or wrong?"
"Grandfather Emperor…"
Cao Fan had sworn to himself before coming that he would remain steadfast. But standing before this old man—this terrifying figure who ruled the realm with a glance—his courage faltered. He sank to his knees.
"Grandfather Emperor is right," he said softly. "Father has been unwell for a long time."
"You see?"
Emperor Longqing's lips curved faintly. Though seated cross-legged on the ground, his gaze seemed to descend from the heavens.
"I recall… the Emperor Xiaozong of Yan, in the previous dynasty, did the same. When illness struck, he forced his way to the throne. Within two years, he died from exhaustion. He left behind a young crown prince, a weak ruler surrounded by overmighty ministers—and that was when the realm began to crumble."
"The fall of the Former Yan began from that very moment of decline. Not long after, the Rebellion of the Seven Kings erupted."
Emperor Longqing's gaze swept slowly across the hall. His tone was calm, almost casual, but every word struck like thunder. "It seems," he continued softly, "that among you, at least one or two have read some books—and even learned to apply what they've read."
The entire coup, meant to be fierce and decisive, had become strangely stagnant.
From the moment they entered the hall, something had felt wrong.
Now, after only a few exchanges, those who had come invoking "the fate of the realm" to force abdication were losing momentum. Their righteous fury faltered. Their arguments collapsed. None dared to answer.
"Your Majesty," someone stammered at last, "we harbor no such intent!"
"We are loyal subjects, our hearts as clear as the sun and moon! Everything we've done is for the sake of the Great Sheng Dynasty, for the peace of its people!"
"I believe you," Emperor Longqing replied in a low, steady voice. "You've merely been misled by traitors and momentary confusion."
He waved his whisk gently. "It's not too late to awaken. All of you—leave. Whatever remains to discuss, we'll do so at court tomorrow. I am weary and intend to rest."
"Th–this…"
The assembled officials hesitated, unsure what to do.
"Amitabha! Your Majesty truly is a master of deceitful words!"
The black-robed monk's tone hardened, his voice rising. He knew there was no longer any point in maintaining courtesy.
"Then let us speak plainly of the seven crimes committed under Your Majesty's rule—sins so grave that they demand abdication!"
He stepped forward, his voice echoing across the vast hall.
"First, decades ago, Your Majesty decreed that the entire empire must plant the useless spiritual grain, seizing one-tenth of all farmland! That tenth was precisely the surplus that sustained the people through the year. From then on, even in times of abundance, they barely survived—every winter, homes were stripped bare. In years of famine, corpses lined the roads, the people starved and died!
"What purpose did this 'immortal grass' serve, Your Majesty? Every year, it filled the national granaries—but to what end? Did it strengthen the nation? No! It only weakened Great Sheng's vitality!
"Second, twenty years ago, the construction of Wanshou Palace consumed half the national treasury. The timber came from thousands of li away, costing countless lives. That same year, there was not enough silver left to relieve famine, sparking three separate rebellions!
"Third, the southern lands—"
He paused briefly before continuing coldly, skipping ahead.
"Seventh, and most unforgivable of all—the Ten Days of Yunzhou! At that time, the entire prefecture of Yunzhou was swallowed by inexplicable chaos. Within ten days, its gates stood open, and the barbarian tribes slaughtered the citizens of Great Sheng without restraint!
"Before the war began, Your Majesty met privately with the barbarian envoys!
"Tell me, did you collude with the Witch God Sect? Did you sacrifice your own people as blood offerings in exchange for forbidden power?!
"After the Ten Days of Yunzhou, the barbarians grew stronger than ever—was Your Majesty aiding the enemy, betraying your own dynasty?
"Your Majesty, why have you betrayed your own nation?!
"These are the seven sins of the throne!
"With such crimes, what face have you left to call yourself 'Father of the People'? What right to bear the title 'Son of Heaven of Great Sheng'?!"
One accusation after another fell like hammers.
The officials who moments ago had hesitated under the emperor's composure now found their fury rekindled. Their breathing quickened, eyes blazing with renewed zeal.
Emperor Longqing listened without interruption, letting the monk finish. Then, at last, his expression shifted—not to guilt, nor anger, but to scorn.
"Immortals have their matters. Mortals have their chaos.
"Ministers have their duties, and a ruler has his burdens.
"You claim the spiritual grain was useless?"
He let out a short laugh.
"Do you fools not know that both Western Qi, Eastern Qing, and even Southern Xu have also planted spiritual grain? Are they too deliberately weakening their nations?
"If not for me, if not for my communion with the immortals, this world would have fallen into ruin long ago!
"I bore the burden, I endured the slander—for the sake of all under Heaven, for the sake of you—my ungrateful ministers!
"As for the rest—" His eyes turned icy. "I am the ruler. I owe you no explanation for every decision I make.
"Now… all of you—withdraw!"
His final word thundered like a dragon's roar.
The sound reverberated through the golden hall, shaking the pillars. Several men at the rear of the assembly fell to their knees in terror.
"Amitabha! Greedy and shameless old man—you still dare to argue!"
The black-robed monk's voice rose to match the roar. "Gentlemen, do not hesitate! I beseech you—urge His Majesty to abdicate!"
"Please, Your Majesty, abdicate!"
At that point, there was no going back.
Even those trembling in fear understood retreat was death.
Their voices joined together in a deafening chorus, echoing like thunder across the hall.
"Leave the Nine Heavens and follow Heaven's decree,
Rule the Four Seas and grieve for mankind…"
Emperor Longqing said nothing.
He merely recited two quiet verses, then closed his eyes again, as if all that transpired before him no longer concerned him at all.
"Clang—"
The sound of weapons being drawn filled the air.
"Your Majesty," the monk said coldly, "today, you cannot escape with words.
"If you refuse dignity, then this monk shall grant you a dignified end!"
He gestured lightly. "Do it!"
"How dare you!"
At that instant, a harsh voice rang out.
From behind the palace emerged Chief Eunuch Huang Hong, followed by more than a dozen senior eunuchs.
Behind them, the Embroidered Uniform Guards—already lying in wait—sealed off every exit.
At their head stood none other than the Martial Saint Changsun Xusheng.
And finally, twelve masked dead guards stepped forward silently, their presence chilling the air.
"So, His Majesty knew of tonight's plot all along."
The black-robed monk's expression turned grim.
These men had clearly been prepared long beforehand. Someone had leaked the plan.
Was it Zhang Laizitou?
No—it couldn't be.
That scabby-headed knight had gone after the Founding Emperor relics. With the emperor's temperament, he would never share anything belonging to the Cao family with an outsider.
It didn't matter.
These hidden forces were within the monk's calculations. The only difference was the battlefield—it was not the outer palace, but the inner one.
And in sheer strength, they still held the advantage.
Eunuch Huang Hong narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp as needles stabbing into the eardrums.
"Traitors of the realm, kneel at once and await judgment!"
"Eunuch!" Fan Tianfa roared. "I've long despised you!"
"Boom!"
In an instant, Fan Tianfa vanished from sight.
When he reappeared, he was already above Huang Hong, wielding a massive guandao. The power he unleashed shattered the very dome of the hall, splitting open a huge hole in the roof. The gale that followed tore through the chamber, toppling screens, splintering tables, shattering ornaments into flying debris.
Huang Hong met the blow barehanded.
"Boom—!"
Two forces collided, shaking the entire Ziwei Palace.
The floor beneath Huang Hong's feet suddenly sank by several inches with a dull crash. His other hand twisted unnaturally, clawing forward like a white-boned specter. The target sidestepped, and those skeletal fingers struck the wooden floor instead, sizzling with a sharp "zzzz" sound.
"You eunuchs always love your dirty tricks!"
Fan Tianfa's eyes blazed red with fury.
"Attack!"
Changsun Xusheng, Deputy Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, drew his Xiuchun Blade. His subordinates, together with the twelve masked death guards, charged at the black-robed monk's followers. In an instant, dozens of fighters clashed in a brutal melee.
Within the Incense God Sect, an old follower with snow-white beard and hair stepped forward. His martial cultivation barely reached the Profound Manifestation Realm, yet he charged directly toward Changsun Xusheng, a Martial Saint, wielding a flexible sword that flickered like a living serpent.
"Clang!"
Changsun Xusheng's eyes glimmered with disdain. "Courting death!"
The Xiuchun Blade slashed out, wrapped in the solidified True Force that only Martial Saints could wield. It was about to slice the serpent-shaped gang qi clean in half—but just before they collided, ripples of violet light pulsed from the old cultist's body.
The light twisted into an incomprehensible power that wrapped tightly around his sword. The flexible blade transformed completely—the serpent of energy seemed alive, its fangs biting down onto the edge of the Xiuchun Blade.
The shock nearly ripped the weapon from Changsun Xusheng's grip. He staggered back several steps, his expression filled with disbelief. "Demonic sorcery?!"
"This is the Incense God Path!" the old cultist roared. "Mortal man, die now!"
Not only his sword but his entire body pulsed with divine purple light. Each movement left trails of shimmering radiance. He lunged again, the flexible sword darting like lightning, while his other palm formed a violet claw that struck from the opposite side.
"Bullshit 'God Path'!"
Changsun Xusheng showed no fear. His True Force exploded outward, lifting his robes upright in the wind.
This time, he met the attack head-on. Both forces collided, their might nearly equal.
"Amitabha, good, good."
The black-robed monk spoke calmly from above. "General Lü, please go assist Master Miao. Subdue Changsun Xusheng as quickly as possible. The sooner we crush them, the better our chances of victory."
"I understand."
The towering Lü Ji, clad in crimson mystic armor, nodded and stepped forward. Yet after only two strides, his body erupted with an overwhelming, domineering True Qi. Without warning, he swung his Fangtian Halberd backward like a collapsing mountain.
"Boom—boom—boom!"
The impact made the entire sleeping palace tremble violently, as if the earth dragon itself had rolled over beneath it!
Where the halberd struck, a pit more than ten feet deep formed instantly. Cracks spread out like spiderwebs for several yards in every direction. The marble floor shattered; foundations burst apart, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air until half the hall vanished in smoke.
And then—
"Amitabha, good, good!"
The black-robed monk stood upon the beam overhead, looking down coldly. "General Lü, why betray me?"
"Traitors!"
Lü Ji raised his Fangtian Halberd slowly, his voice thunderous. "All who rebel—must die!"
"Big Brother, y-you…"
Cao Fan's face turned pale. "How could you betray us like this?!"
Now everything made sense.
No wonder something had felt off since they entered the sleeping palace.
The traitor—the one who leaked their plan—was Lü Ji!
The black-robed monk sighed faintly. "I warned His Highness before, but he trusted you. Sadly, it seems the prince's trust was misplaced."
He shook his head slightly. "Since General Lü is a man without faith or loyalty, don't blame this poor monk for showing no mercy."
The monk's Buddhist prayer beads erupted in violet light, trembling violently. With a gentle push of his thumb, one bead, carved with Buddhist runes, shot downward like a comet.
"Let's see just how powerful your demonic tricks really are!"
"Boom!"
Lü Ji's overbearing True Qi, the strongest among mortals, collided head-on with the bead. The shockwave was devastating. A massive pillar—thick enough for two men to wrap their arms around—splintered into fragments. The force tore through the palace roof, sending chunks of the dome crashing down.
Moments later, the bead was blasted backward—but instead of falling, it hovered midair, spinning within a shroud of violet mist before flying neatly back to its master's hand.
"Go."
The monk flicked his wrist.
This time, five beads shot out one after another like cannon fire.
Lü Ji didn't flinch. As before, he took every attack head-on, blocking and countering each strike.
The back-and-forth exchange continued over ten rounds, until the number of glowing beads had increased to eight.
"General Lü truly deserves his reputation as one of the foremost Martial Saints in the world," the monk admitted coldly. "It seems this poor monk cannot defeat you so easily."
"Then I shall make you rest for a while."
A low hum filled the air.
With both hands, he pulled apart the prayer beads—the entire strand burst apart. Seventy-two beads floated into the air, filling the hall like a cloud of stars.
They encircled Lü Ji completely.
Under the monk's control, the beads resonated with one another, weaving a circular violet barrier like an enormous bowl flipped upside down, trapping Lü Ji inside.
"Bang! Bang!"
Each strike from Lü Ji's Fangtian Halberd cracked the glowing surface, but the barrier refused to break. For now, he was trapped within it, unable to escape.
Amid this chaos, Emperor Longqing, still dressed in his Daoist robe, sat cross-legged on the floor, unmoving.
Even when stray weapons grazed past his face, he didn't flinch. His expression was calm, serene, as if the storm of bloodshed around him was a distant dream.
The black-robed monk extended his right hand. A monk's staff materialized from thin air.
He floated down from the beam like a sheet of paper caught in a breeze. Without another word, he swung the staff downward toward the emperor's body.
Emperor Longqing still didn't move.
But before the blow could land, a massive imperial seal materialized in front of him, releasing a wave of transparent mystic qi that surged upward to meet the killing strike.
"Hummmm—"
The black-robed monk's staff trembled violently, nearly slipping from his grasp. His body slid backward across the cracked tiles until his heel slammed down, punching a hole through the floor before he finally steadied himself.
His eyes widened in shock. "The Nation-Stabilizing Imperial Seal?!"
That name alone carried the weight of legend.
The Nation-Stabilizing Imperial Seal was an heirloom of the ages—a treasure passed down since the time of the Three Sovereigns of Antiquity, carrying over several thousand years of history.
It was said to embody the mandate of Heaven itself, yet for generations it had been little more than a symbol of power. No one had ever truly witnessed its divine might.
And now—
In the hands of the old emperor—it had become a true artifact!
"Again!"
The monk's Incense God Power surged to new heights. The end of his monk's staff swelled under the radiance of violet light until it loomed enormous, descending like a meteor from the heavens.
"Boom!"
The impact resounded through the hall, but no matter how many times he struck, pouring his full strength into each blow, the emperor remained untouched—calm as ever.
"Huang Hong!"
Emperor Longqing spoke at last. His eyes were closed, his long beard fluttering in the raging wind. "I am already a hundred years old. What dignity remains in brawling like a commoner? I grant you the Nation-Stabilizing Imperial Seal. Use it to crush these traitors."
"Boom!"
The imperial seal shone with blinding brilliance, releasing an even more terrifying power. The monk was blasted backward. The seal then streaked across the air, descending like a comet over the ongoing duel between Fan Tianfa and Chief Eunuch Huang Hong.
The tide turned instantly.
"Boom!"
Fan Tianfa barely managed to raise his guard as the seal came crashing down. Distracted, he failed to block Huang Hong's counterattack. The eunuch's left hand seized the edge of Fan's guandao, while his right palm—imbued with venomous true force—slammed into Fan's chest, the poison seeping through his armor and flooding his body.
The double strike was devastating.
Hit first by the seal and then by the toxic palm, Fan Tianfa was sent flying like a kite with its string cut. He crashed through the wall and hit the ground hard, coughing up mouthfuls of dark blood. Desperately, he jabbed at his own meridians to suppress the spreading poison.
Huang Hong did not chase. Instead, he lifted the imperial seal in one hand and turned to face the black-robed monk, meeting him in direct combat. Though unable to gain a decisive advantage, he successfully bought precious time.
Meanwhile, the violet barrier that trapped Lü Ji was riddled with cracks—like shattered porcelain on the verge of breaking apart. One more solid strike, and it would collapse completely.
Changsun Xusheng, having discerned the trick behind the monk's "demonic techniques," began to push his opponent back with growing dominance.
Elsewhere, the twelve death guards fought with lethal precision, steadily gaining the upper hand.
At this rate, it was clear: the rebellion would soon be crushed, its leaders executed, and peace restored.
"Rebels!" Changsun Xusheng's shout thundered across the battlefield. "Lay down your arms!"
Outside Ziwei Palace, the night burned bright with flames.
"Stop him!"
Amid the chaos, Gao Bo rolled up his sleeves, charging after the fleeing figure of Yan Maoxing, who stumbled ahead in panic.
"Catch him!" Gao Bo roared to the nearby Golden Crow Guards.
But most of the guards were locked in combat with the Eastern Garrison Troops, leaving only a few formation grunts to respond—and those few were quickly slain by Gao Bo, whose cultivation had reached the Tempering Organs Realm.
He snatched a fallen willow-feather blade from the ground and pressed his pursuit.
"Ahhh!"
Yan Maoxing's foot caught on a root; he tumbled down a steep slope, rolling head over heels. His robe tore against branches and jagged stones, leaving bloody scratches all over his body.
"Yan the traitor! Prepare to die!"
Gao Bo raised his blade high and brought it down.
"Clang!"
A spear intercepted the strike mid-air, locking his blade in place. Gao Bo's eyes widened. Slowly, he looked up—and froze.
"Lord Chen? The Black-Armored Army?!"
There stood Chen Sanshi, returned to Ziwei Mountain without anyone noticing.
Behind him, the three thousand troops of the Black-Armored Army were marching up the slope, the sound of armor and boots like rolling thunder.
"Lord Gao," Chen Sanshi said evenly, "what hatred lies between you and Lord Yan that you'd raise your blade against him? And what's with all this chaos and fire? Don't tell me the Qing Kingdom's army has invaded?"
"General Chen!"
Yan Maoxing, wild-eyed and desperate, scrambled to his feet. "Rebellion! Gao Bo and the Crown Prince—they're leading a coup! You arrived just in time! Arrest him, quickly!"
"Oh?" Chen Sanshi arched a brow. "Lord Gao, is that true?"
With a dull clang, Gao Bo dropped his blade. He knew resistance was useless. "General Chen, don't twist my words. We are not rebelling—we're cleansing the court! We're ridding the throne of treacherous ministers to restore light to the Great Sheng Dynasty!
"You've come at the perfect time! Join us, and your merit will shake the world!"
"Sorry, Lord Gao."
Chen Sanshi's tone remained calm but firm. "I don't know who's right or wrong yet, and I've received no official orders. Until I do, I'll investigate first. Men—escort both lords down to rest."
"Yes, sir!"
Zhao Kang and the others stepped forward immediately, taking custody of both Yan Maoxing and Gao Bo.
"My lord!"
Xia Cong rushed up, his face pale. "My lord, who's rebelling? We must protect His Majesty!"
"How would I know who's rebelling?" Chen Sanshi replied briskly. "Don't act rashly. Try to find out what's happening first. I'll head ahead and check myself. Listen for my arrow's whistle for orders!"
"Yes, sir!"
After issuing his command, Chen Sanshi moved alone, swiftly advancing toward the imperial residence.
Along the way—
He caught sight of Jiang Yuanbo and Meng Quji, two Martial Saints locked in combat. Their clash was like mountains collapsing and the earth splitting apart. Not far away, two more figures were hurrying forward, escorting an old man who looked frail and aged.
Yan Liang!
Things were getting even livelier.
Chen Sanshi ignored them and, taking advantage of the chaos, slipped quietly into the imperial residence.
"Boom—!"
Jiang Yuanbo and Meng Quji had exchanged over a hundred blows. Both were wounded, yet neither could gain the upper hand.
"Stop!"
"Stop it, both of you!"
"Don't fight anymore!"
Yan Liang coughed heavily as he approached.
"Lord Yan!"
Meng Quji's bloodshot eyes glared at him. "No point talking! Nothing you say can change it!"
"Ergou!"
Yan Liang stomped his foot in frustration. "Will you at least listen to an old man's words? Commander Jiang, you too—hold your hand for a moment!"
A resonant hum echoed as Jiang Yuanbo sheathed his blade. The two warriors stepped back, keeping a safe distance, both catching their breath.
"Ergou, come here."
Yan Liang beckoned him closer, then pulled him toward a quieter corner. "You've always been loyal to the court. So why now? Why take this path? Is it because of the Ten Days of Yunzhou?"
"Exactly!"
Meng Quji's voice shook with anger. "Everything I have came from the court! I've always served loyally! But the one I served—stabbed us in the back!"
"So that's why you followed Gao Bo and the others into rebellion?"
Yan Liang's breathing grew labored; every few words required him to pause for air. "Ergou! Let's set aside for now who planned Yunzhou's massacre. I'll tell you just one thing!
"Do you really think Gao Bo and his men had no chance to stop it back then?"
"You—what do you mean?"
Meng Quji frowned. "Elder Yan, the Crown Prince didn't know anything about Yunzhou! If he had, he'd never have allowed it to happen!"
"They may not have known in the beginning," Yan Liang said quietly, "but later—they definitely did. As for why they didn't intervene… it's simple."
He lowered his voice further. "Because it became their evidence. Their leverage to destroy me. If tonight's rebellion succeeds, they'll claim the moral high ground—champions of justice—while we'll be condemned as sinners. No matter what happens to us, they'll win completely."
"What?!"
Meng Quji's eyes widened in disbelief. "You mean Lord Gao and the Crown Prince knew and still let Yunzhou fall, just so they could hold it against you? Letting thousands of brothers die for that?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
Yan Liang's tone hardened. "That's why you switched sides, isn't it? Because of Yunzhou. Without you, a Martial Saint, how much weaker do you think their chances would be?"
"That's impossible!" Meng Quji snapped.
"What's impossible about it?"
Yan Liang sighed deeply, his voice filled with weary conviction. "Ergou, when I was young, I was just like you—charging forward, believing in reform, believing in righteousness. But I learned the hard way that many things are beyond our control.
"To survive in court, you must play every card, no matter how ruthless.
"Gao Bo and the so-called Pure Faction love to parade their virtue—but it's a façade! They smear men like us to stand higher on the moral ground, while behind closed doors, their hands are just as filthy!
"I'm telling you this to make you stop now. You're a Martial Saint—your life is precious. If you surrender, I can still plead for you. At worst, your family won't suffer for your mistake."
"I don't believe you. I'll see for myself!"
"Boom—!"
Meng Quji suddenly vanished, his figure darting away in a blur.
"Elder Yan!"
Jiang Yuanbo scowled. "You said you came to persuade him to surrender—how could you just let him go?! If he storms into the sleeping palace and harms His Majesty, what then?!"
"I've already persuaded him," Yan Liang replied calmly as he sat down with help from his attendants.
"What?"
Jiang Yuanbo frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I know Ergou," Yan Liang said, his cloudy eyes flashing coldly. "He only joined Gao Bo for an answer. If that answer no longer exists… then he's already as good as dead."
Inside the sleeping palace—
"So lively, huh?"
Chen Sanshi hadn't even gotten close when he heard the roaring explosions from within. The palace itself was half-collapsed; it wasn't just a skirmish—it sounded like two armies clashing.
He didn't dare go any closer. Instead, he climbed a nearby tree, activating his Qi Observation Technique to confirm that no one had noticed him. From there, he peered through a broken section of the palace wall.
"What the hell…?"
"Did the senior brother turn traitor?"
"Boom—!"
The Fangtian Halberd came crashing down again, finally shattering the barrier of Buddhist prayer beads that had trapped Lü Ji.
Lü Ji and Huang Hong now fought side by side, wielding the Nation-Stabilizing Imperial Seal.
The black-robed monk was being overwhelmed.
And though the seal appeared to be in Huang Hong's hands, it was clear that the old emperor was the one secretly controlling it from behind.
One strike landed.
The imperial seal smashed against the monk's staff, locking it in place. At the same time, Lü Ji and Huang Hong moved in unison, both attacking with full force.
The monk's protective violet aura began to shatter, flickering and unstable.
"General Lü!" Huang Hong shouted.
Lü Ji's Fangtian Halberd, empowered by surging True Qi, transformed into the image of a massive lion-tiger hybrid—more than ten feet tall—its roar shaking the air. The beast, like a god or demon descending from the heavens, charged forward, its ferocious power crashing down upon the monk.
This time, the black-robed monk could no longer hold on. His protective Incense God Power shattered completely, and his body spun through the air like a broken top before crashing to the floor. He tried several times to get up, but his limbs failed him.
'Such overpowering true qi…'
He struggled to lift his head and saw Lü Ji dragging his Fangtian Halberd, walking toward him step by step.
"You treacherous rebels," Lü Ji roared, "are you still not ready to face your execution?!"
"Vice Hierarch!"
"Holy Monk!"
Everyone turned toward the black-robed monk, panic flashing in their eyes. Even the civil officials who had come to lend support turned pale.
The situation was painfully clear—
They had lost.
And everyone knew what failure meant for rebels.
"Stop!"
Huang Hong's voice rang out sharply. "His Majesty is merciful! Lay down your arms now and you might still keep your lives. Your families won't be dragged down. But if you continue, you'll doom nine generations—none will survive!"
"This…"
"What do we do?"
"The Holy Monk's been defeated!"
Amid the confused murmurs, a fit of coughing suddenly echoed from outside the hall. It was harsh, ragged—so violent it sounded as if the person might stop breathing at any moment.
At that exact instant, everyone's movements halted. The coughing grew louder in the silence.
Tap, tap.
The sound of a cane striking the stone floor followed, slow and deliberate.
All eyes turned toward the entrance of the grand hall.
A moment later, a bent figure appeared in the doorway, emerging from shadow into light, struggling to step over the threshold. His face, pale and worn, was unmistakable.
"Your Highness!"
"Why are you here?!"
Fan Tianfa, still bleeding, forced himself upright. "The battle isn't over yet! Your Highness shouldn't show yourself!"
"Enough," the Crown Prince said softly, lowering the handkerchief from his lips. "You are all pillars of the Great Sheng Dynasty. If you keep fighting, both sides will only bleed—and it will be the dynasty that suffers."
Emperor Longqing looked at him quietly, saying nothing.
"Your son greets Father Emperor."
The Crown Prince bowed deeply, lowering himself to the ground until his frail body trembled.
"Rise," the emperor said slowly. "You shouldn't have come. Attend him—my son's health is frail. Take him back to rest."
"Father Emperor!"
The prince raised a hand, motioning for the attendants to stay back. "I haven't finished speaking yet."
"Speak."
The single word from Longqing was calm, almost detached.
To everyone else, it was already over. The rebellion had failed. What remained was the cleanup—punishments, confessions, and executions.
Even if the Crown Prince confessed or begged now, it would change nothing.
"Father Emperor, I ask you to abdicate!"
The prince's voice rose sharply. "The Great Sheng Dynasty cannot continue like this! The people are starving, corruption runs rampant, and grievances fill the land. Too many suffer without justice! Too many wounds need healing! It's time for a change!
"Father Emperor, if you step down to become the Retired Emperor, your son will fulfill his filial duty and honor you forever!"
For the first time, Emperor Longqing's calm expression cracked. "Prince, have you not caused enough chaos?"
"Father Emperor, please abdicate! Otherwise…"
The prince pushed himself upright, his thin body shaking, but his voice thundered through the hall. "Otherwise, for the sake of this realm, your son will commit unfilial deeds!"
"Your Highness!"
Huang Hong, the chief eunuch, spoke urgently. "Can't you see? His Majesty has already contained the damage to protect the royal bloodline! The matter is settled. Even if you persist, what can you change now?"
The Crown Prince—without his title—was just an old, frail man, his strength all but gone.
No one understood why he had come.
Royalty cared about dignity.
If he'd stayed hidden, there might still have been room for negotiation—perhaps even mercy. But now, by stepping forward himself, he had shattered all pretense and left no path of retreat.
"Hierarch!"
The black-robed monk's hoarse voice broke the tense silence. "Do not hesitate any longer! Act now!"
"Hierarch?!"
Everyone in the hall froze.
That sickly, hunched old man—the Crown Prince—was the Hierarch of the Incense God Sect?!
Even Fan Tianfa looked stunned. He hadn't known.
A deep hum filled the air.
A bronze incense burner floated silently before the Crown Prince. Strange runes began glowing one by one on its surface, shining with violet light until they linked together into a blinding brilliance that filled the entire hall—like a miniature purple sun.
Above it, an illusory divine shrine took form in the air.
Then the shrine shattered into countless wisps of violet qi that poured directly into the Crown Prince's crown and temples.
"Stop him!"
Huang Hong and the others didn't know what exactly was happening, but instinct told them they couldn't let it continue.
Lü Ji swung his Fangtian Halberd, unleashing several strikes in a row, yet each one was blocked by the strange power emanating from the incense burner.
"Father Emperor, this is the Evil God Path!"
The Crown Prince's voice now overlapped with another—low and alien—two tones speaking as one. "Once I begin, I'll lose control of myself! This is my last question, Father Emperor—will you abdicate?!"
Emperor Longqing's silence was answer enough.
The prince's expression hardened. He surrendered completely to the violet light.
The shrine dissolved into him. His eyes turned entirely purple, his frail frame straightened, and a new aura—cold, regal, and terrifying—radiated from him.
His voice, now both his and not his, echoed through the shattered palace:
"Then I have no choice…
"Father Emperor—prepare to die!"