Chapter 114: Turmoil and Upheaval Within the Court

Thirty miles north of Licheng lay Sunset Valley, the main camp of the Beidi garrison. Before the commanding general’s tent, a lone rider stood silently amidst the boundless night.

A young general, exuding heroic vigor, sat astride his warhorse. His eyes shone like cold stars, blazing as they fixed on the northwest horizon.

That was the direction of the Snow Ridge.

Falling from a peak thousands of feet high—surely survival was unlikely.

A faint, wicked smile curved his handsome features.

It seemed his plan had succeeded.

Meng Tianluo was dead; Shen Qianmo was likely lost as well. Rumor had it that Meng Yuanheng had already ordered the massacre of nearly fifty thousand imperial troops.

He had underestimated Meng Yuanheng’s feelings for this woman. To protect her, he had gone to such lengths.

The Great Sheng imperial court would never let the Xuān princely manor off so easily. The Xuān manor had become untenable within the empire. And judging by Meng Yuanheng’s character, he would not sit idly by to be slaughtered.

The Xuān manor and the Great Sheng court were now mortal enemies, irreconcilable. The Beidi only needed to watch the tigers fight, sharpen their weapons, and quietly await the opportune moment to reap the rewards.

Hmph—Mo Hanshan was a treacherous man, ambitious and ruthless in execution. If properly utilized, he would be a valuable pawn.

Everything was proceeding smoothly, seemingly under his control. Yet why did he feel no joy, only a heavy stone pressing down on his heart?

He instinctively turned his head. The lofty city tower of Jinyang Pass loomed faintly in the dim night, but stubbornly before his eyes appeared a delicate, slender figure—the peony blossoms embroidered on her cloak so dazzling they stung his eyes.

He lifted his chin, closed his eyes briefly, and after a moment’s silence, raised his hand and commanded aloud, “Withdraw the troops. Return to court.”

The purpose of suppressing the Xuān manor and Meng Yuanheng had been achieved, and with the supplies destroyed during the Flying Cloud Cavalry’s nocturnal raid on Licheng, withdrawal was the wisest choice.

************

Winter, the ninth year of the Qing’an reign of Great Sheng.

That day, news from Jinyang Pass thundered through Shengjing like a bombshell.

The famed Xuān princess consort, known for her unparalleled wisdom and martial skill, had been forced off a cliff by Prince Luo during her defense and retreat at Jinyang Pass. Her fate was unknown. In a fit of rage, the Xuān prince not only slew Prince Luo but also ordered the slaughter of nearly fifty thousand imperial soldiers.

Forty-seven thousand five hundred lives were lost at his command. Blood flowed like rivers in Licheng, dyeing the White River red. The stench of death hung over Jinyang Pass for three days and nights.

The Xuān manor had rebelled!

The news spread like lightning, shocking the world.

To the people of Great Sheng, the Xuān manor was a guardian deity, having repelled countless invasions for generations and steadfastly protected the common folk.

Yet now, this guardian had turned the blade inward.

How could the world accept this?

During the morning court session, the Golden Throne Hall gleamed with its usual splendor and solemnity, but the atmosphere was oppressively heavy.

Rows of civil and military ministers stood with bowed heads, barely daring to breathe.

Emperor Mingde, seated upon the Dragon Throne, looked suddenly aged by decades, his face pale and spirit broken, no longer the vigorous sovereign of old.

Lately, his health had deteriorated, his energy waning. This latest calamity dealt a crushing blow, leaving him frail and weakened.

After a long silence, Minister of Revenue Yao Chong stepped forward and spoke vehemently, “Your Majesty, Meng Yuanheng has killed Prince Luo and massacred nearly fifty thousand of Great Sheng’s soldiers. Such treason merits death. If we do not punish him, what face and authority does Great Sheng have? We beseech Your Majesty to issue a decree for the severe punishment of the Xuān manor and Meng Yuanheng!”

Yao Chong’s words were fierce and righteous. Understandably so; with the eldest prince gone and his nephew Yao Wentao killed in the Licheng massacre, his hatred for Meng Yuanheng ran deep.

As his speech ended, ministers already harboring resentment toward the Xuān manor and Meng Yuanheng voiced their agreement.

“Your Majesty, Minister Yao speaks rightly. Meng Yuanheng’s unauthorized slaughter of our soldiers is reckless and must be punished without mercy!”

“Your Majesty, this is outright rebellion by Meng Yuanheng. We implore you to order his immediate arrest and show no leniency.”

...

Amid the chorus of accusations, a calm, serious voice emerged in dissent.

“The Xuān manor has always been loyal and devoted to the people. This aberrant behavior must have a cause. Everyone knows the Xuān prince loved the princess consort deeply and valued her greatly. She led troops to recapture Licheng and repel the Beidi at Jinyang Pass, earning great merit. Yet Prince Luo forced her off a cliff, and she remains missing—perhaps already dead. It is truly heartbreaking.”

Lu Ziqing’s face was cold and grave, his deep eyes harboring a faint sorrow. His calm words interrupted the heated debate.

He still struggled to accept Shen Qianmo’s loss, haunted by memories of her gentle smile, her furrowed brows in thought, and her focused diligence in forensic work.

Had this exquisite and unparalleled woman truly departed forever?

His hands clenched tightly within his wide sleeves, nails digging into his palms to keep his reason intact.

Suddenly, he understood Meng Yuanheng’s actions. If even he could not bear the truth, how much more so Meng Yuanheng, who loved her so deeply?

Meng Yuanheng had gone to such lengths for her. If it had been him, would he have had the same determination and courage?

He shook his head and sighed, realizing bitterly that between him and Shen Qianmo there could never be a future.

Yao Chong snorted coldly, objecting with righteous indignation: “Hmph! Even if the princess consort is lost, can that justify Meng Yuanheng’s wanton slaughter and contempt for the court? Is only her life worthy, while the lives of fifty thousand soldiers are not?”

His words stirred righteous anger, and the Golden Throne Hall once again erupted in fierce denunciations of the Xuān prince.

Emperor Mingde felt overwhelmed. Though furious at Meng Yuanheng’s deeds, he was uncertain about suppressing the Xuān manor by force.

After all, Meng Yuanheng controlled nearly half of Great Sheng’s troops, mostly stationed at the borders. A rebellion would leave the frontier exposed, with dire consequences.

While hesitating, Chief Minister Lu Hengshan stepped forward to advise, “Your Majesty, the Xuān prince grieves the loss of his beloved wife and is surely distraught. We should comfort rather than suppress him. With the Beidi retreating and Jinyang Pass secure, it would be wise to summon the prince back to the capital and consider matters carefully.”

As chief minister, Lu Hengshan was pragmatic and insightful. The realm was unstable; besides the Beidi, neighboring states like Xiliang and Nanzhan lurked with ambition. Provoking civil strife now would be unwise.

“I concur with Minister Lu,” said Marquis Ning, a general focused on military affairs. “Most border forces are under Meng’s command. If we rashly crack down on the Xuān manor, the border will be in peril.”

“Do you mean to let Meng Yuanheng run rampant, defying the emperor so brazenly?” an official protested.

The hall descended once more into heated debate.

Suddenly, the sharp, panicked voice of eunuch Li rang out, “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! What is happening? Someone summon the imperial physician!”

The previously composed Emperor Mingde suddenly fainted without warning!

Chaos erupted in the Golden Throne Hall. The most tumultuous morning court in Great Sheng’s history ended amid disorder.

That night, all was silent except the howling wind outside, stirring falling leaves in the dark.

Not far from the palace, in the study of Prince Xuān’s manor, Third Prince Meng Tianluo stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Flickering candlelight illuminated his pale, delicate yet handsome features. His phoenix-like eyes were deep and shadowed with a strange gloom.

Behind him stood a man in black robes—thin-faced, with graying whiskers and a sinister glare—the head of the Shadowless Sect, Mo Hanshan.

In a hoarse voice, Mo said lowly, “Congratulations, Prince Xuān. Your great enterprise is nearly complete. The emperor’s coma may be permanent. With Prince Luo dead, the Xuān manor in rebellion, and the Seventh Prince no longer a threat, the empire is yours for the taking.”

Meng Tianluo turned slightly, a flicker of excitement in his eyes before concern crept in. “Sect Master Mo, are you certain the imperial physicians won’t discover any foul play in the emperor’s medicine?”

“Your Highness, rest assured. The dosage was carefully controlled, and the physicians have remained unaware all this time. It is unlikely they will suspect anything.”

“Well done.” Meng Tianluo nodded, then said to Mo Hanshan, “If I ascend the throne smoothly, the position of First Sect Master of the empire’s premier sect will belong to no one but you.”

“Thank you, Prince Xuān.” Mo Hanshan chuckled softly, though the smile never reached his eyes.

Meanwhile, far away in Suzhou, the Xie family faced a sleepless night.

Master Piaomiao stood in the courtyard, hands behind his back, white beard and hair like an immortal. He gazed intently at the night sky, wise and calm, yet worry shadowed his eyes.

“Father.”

“Grandfather.”

Behind him, Xie Chun and Xie Mingyu, father and son, emerged and bowed respectfully.

“Hmm,” Piaomiao responded, asking, “Any news of Mo’er?”

Xie Chun shook his head with a sigh. “None yet.”

He, too, looked up at the sky, concern in his voice. “The imperial star dims, while ill omens appear in the north. The world may soon be thrown into chaos...”

A faint sigh answered him.

Master Piaomiao, skilled in astronomy, had long understood. He had seen that Shen Qianmo carried a special aura capable of influencing the fate of nations. Yet he had not expected that such power would come at the cost of her life.

“Grandfather, Father, Mingyu wants to go to Licheng,” said Xie Mingyu, usually gentle-faced but now full of anxiety.

He could not believe Mo’er had simply vanished and felt he must see Licheng with his own eyes to be at ease.

“Go,” Piaomiao sighed. “The north will no longer be peaceful. Be cautious in all things.”

At dawn the next day, while morning mist still lingered, Xie Mingyu set out on horseback. Alone, carrying only a simple bundle, he left without even his personal attendant, Bi’an.

At the city gate, he spotted a beautiful figure astride a white steed in the early light. A gentle smile spread across his refined, scholarly face.

“Shuang’er,” he called softly, and spurred his horse to ride beside her.

The woman was exquisitely beautiful, her features flawless—truly deserving of the phrase “fairer than flowers, shyer than the moon.” She was Leng Aoshuang, the mistress of the Flower Moon Palace.

After months together, Xie Mingyu and Leng Aoshuang’s affection had deepened. The Xie family tacitly accepted their relationship, and Madam Xie had even begun secretly preparing the wedding. Xie Mingyu was already twenty-eight; she was growing anxious.

Perhaps warmed by love’s bloom, Leng Aoshuang’s once icy demeanor had softened into serene gentleness. Yet her beautiful face now bore a worried expression.

“Mingyu, do you think Qianmo... will be all right?”

Xie Mingyu took her hand, smiled gently, and said resolutely, “Mo’er is strong-willed. She will not fall so easily. Let us go. We must leave now.”