Chapter 129: Coup

"Wanyan Honglie, have you come today to kill me?"

Wanyan Jing's gaze was sharp as a blade, fixed intently on the son before him. At this moment, his heart was filled with boundless regret—regret that he had not mustered the resolve to execute this rebellious, unruly son long ago.

"Father, I am not merely your subject, but also your son. How could I ever dare act in rebellion? I have come only to purge the villains corrupting your court." Wanyan Honglie spoke with righteous indignation, yet it only made Wanyan Jing laugh bitterly.

The monarch who had ruled Jin for decades now regarded Wanyan Honglie with a hint of mockery, his eyes drifting lazily over him.

"Then tell me, my loyal subject, exactly who these traitors and villains are that you intend to eradicate."

Who in this Great Jin could be a greater rebel than you, who led troops into the imperial palace to threaten your own father?

"The Third Prince of Great Jin has been misled by Zhang Chu'an and Zhang Xiaofan—he has seized land from landlords, seized their property, and murdered those who petitioned against him. To govern the realm, one must place the people first; yet scholars are the foremost of the four classes. Will you wait until our people have turned against us and the scholar-gentry have driven us out before you act?"

"The scholar-gentry recognize us, these barbarians from beyond the passes, as their masters only because they fear our swords. They dare not rebel against Great Jin." Wanyan Jing sneered.

"If they dare not, then how could I have brought troops into your imperial palace? Father, the entire Zhongdu Prefecture is now under my control." Upon hearing this, Wanyan Jing clenched his teeth in fury: "I never thought these dogs would turn and bite their master."

"Yet, Honglie, the military power of Great Jin still rests in the hands of the Wanyan clan. What you've done will surely provoke their retaliation."

After speaking, Wanyan Jing stared silently at Wanyan Honglie, seeking even a flicker of fear on his son's face. Yet to his disappointment, Wanyan Honglie's expression remained unchanged, showing not the slightest trace of unease.

"Father, the entire Zhongdu Prefecture is under my control. The families and dependents of those generals are in my hands—they dare not move. Second, I must eliminate the villains within the court."

Wanyan Honglie's face was icy, radiating an unyielding resolve. He knew that once he stepped onto this thorn-filled path of politics, there could be no turning back. In this ruthless struggle for power, he must display cruelty and decisiveness—allowing no weakness, no hesitation. He understood: only thus could he survive this brutal contest and ultimately claim all he desired.

At this moment, Zhongdu was shrouded in an indescribable atmosphere of terror. Vast armies surged into the city like a tidal wave, their overwhelming might inspiring dread. Citizens cowered in terror, huddling in their homes, afraid that the slightest sound might draw the cold gaze of soldiers.

The troops advanced like an unstoppable force, charging straight toward Wanyan Hongxi's Wang Fu. Within moments, the mansion reeked of blood, and screams of slaughter echoed endlessly. Soldiers swung swords and blades without mercy, unleashing a brutal massacre. Blood stained every inch of the ground; the air thickened with the stench of death.

In this massacre, not one of Wanyan Hongxi's family or servants survived. Their cries and pleas echoed through the mansion, yet they could not move the soldiers' stone hearts.

Witnessing his beloved family members slaughtered one by one, Wanyan Hongxi's soul shattered completely. He could not fathom that in Great Jin, someone would dare treat him—the son of the Emperor, the noble Third Prince—this way.

"Do you know who I am? I am the Prince of Great Jin! You will be executed along with your nine clans for this!"

Yet before his stern rebuke, the arriving soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes flickering with hesitation and fear. But this brief pause was swiftly shattered by cold reality. One soldier hardened his heart, drew his sharp blade, and plunged it without hesitation into Wanyan Hongxi's body.

Instantly, searing pain spread through his entire body; he trembled uncontrollably. He struggled, but it was too late. Slowly, his body grew rigid, like a cold stone, heavy and still, lying in a pool of blood.

The surrounding soldiers watched as his life faded, their faces twisted with contempt. One even spat on his face, as if mocking his helplessness and misery. The saliva landed cold and biting upon his skin.

Now he lay in the blood, watching his life drain away. His eyes grew hollow and lifeless, while the soldiers stood nearby, cold and indifferent—as if none of this had anything to do with them.

For these soldiers, such a massacre was a wild feast. Like starving wolves, they stormed the Wang Fu, greedily ransacking every corner, determined to seize every last coin. In their eyes, the wealth of the Wang Fu was an endless treasure—anything they could take, they would never let go.

And those women who, in ordinary times, had been lofty and unapproachable, now became their objects of brutal abuse. They trampled their dignity without mercy, treating them as playthings. To these soldiers, the noble princesses and maids were no longer human—they were mere sacrifices to satisfy their beastly lusts.

In the mansions of Zhongdu, one bloody massacre followed another, horrifying all who witnessed. Wanyan Honglie, once the gentle Imperial Prince, now stood resolute, his eyes gleaming with cold fury. In his heart, there was only one thought: in this power struggle, only he would survive. All others—brothers, allies, confidants—must become stepping stones to his triumph.

He would not only kill his brothers who vied for the throne, but also exterminate every last soul of the two traitors—Zhang Chu'an and Zhang Xiaofan—and their entire households.

The bloody massacre lasted until dawn, when the first rays of sunlight pierced the clouds and fell upon the blood-soaked Zhongdu Prefecture. The sun, a symbol of warmth, now shone with cruel brilliance, illuminating the horrific scenes with unbearable clarity. Blood had pooled into rivers across the ground, like scars upon the earth.

Yet Wanyan Honglie paid it no mind. His hunger for power surpassed all moral restraint. To him, rivers of blood and the slaughter of countless lives were but trivial costs on the path to ultimate success.

Even as he gazed upon the blood-red Zhongdu, he nodded in satisfaction, thinking to himself:

"Zhongdu Prefecture is now as it should be. Those two rebels must be dead by now. It is time for the soldiers to bring me their heads."