Chapter 289

"If you weren't surnamed Chen, I wouldn't waste a single word on you."

Chen Guanlou wanted to punch Liu Xiaochuan right in the face for his smug expression.

"Are you certain no one has rebelled? Is your source reliable?"

"Why would I lie to you? I can swear to you—no one has rebelled. It's all just the old emperor's delusion."

Liu Xiaochuan spoke with absolute certainty; Chen Guanlou was half-skeptical, half-convinced.

"Did the old emperor really get poisoned?"

Liu Xiaochuan hesitated slightly. "It seems… maybe… he nearly got poisoned. Anyway, poison was definitely found inside Taiji Palace. Word is, the old emperor held it in, held it in, until he went mad. No one expected him to mobilize troops into the capital."

"What about the Crown Prince?"

"The Crown Prince is the prime suspect. Even if he didn't rebel, he'll be tortured into confessing and branded a traitor. No saving him! Ever since the Grand Tutor was imprisoned, the Crown Prince was doomed. Are you going to the Hou Fu or not?"

"No! What's the Hou Fu's stance? Do they support the Crown Prince?"

"Support him how? The head of the family isn't even in the capital, and he has no troops—does he plan to support him with his life?" Liu Xiaochuan sneered at Chen Guanlou for asking such a stupid question.

Chen Guanlou clenched his fist. "All this—you heard it from Liu the steward?"

"Mm. Some of it's my own deductions." Liu Xiaochuan smirked smugly.

Chen Guanlou let out a cold laugh and walked away decisively. The mist had lifted—every doubt had been answered.

He visited his elder sister. Her entire family was safe. Su Dacheng had indeed been well-informed—he'd arranged for them all to hide long before the military chaos reached them. That eased his mind.

But he didn't rush back to Tianlaomiao. Instead, he went home, ate a hot meal, changed clothes, and sat in the courtyard with wine prepared, waiting quietly.

In the dead of night, Qi Wuxiu climbed over the wall, exhausted. "Dead tired." He grabbed a cup of tea and gulped it down.

Chen Guanlou looked at him. "How many days have you been going without sleep?"

Qi Wuxiu held up three fingers. "Three full days. Borrow me a bed. Ask your questions fast." He yawned, tears streaming down his face, on the verge of collapsing into sleep.

"What's the situation now? The streets are still chaos—Shenrui Camp troops are wandering around, killing anyone at random. Isn't anyone stopping them?"

"No one can."

"What the hell are your Embroidered Uniform Guards doing?"

"Hah!" Qi Wuxiu drained another cup of tea before speaking. "We're in a bind too. Without orders from the palace, we can't do a thing."

"Who's really rebelling?" Chen Guanlou had asked this question to many people—each gave a different answer.

Qi Wuxiu froze, as if weighing whether to tell the truth. "All I can tell you is the Crown Prince is imprisoned in Donggong."

"What about the Donggong guards?"

"They're stationed inside and outside the Donggong gates."

"Any other developments?"

"The Shenrui Camp has surrounded Donggong entirely."

"No fighting yet?"

"The Crown Prince stopped the Donggong guards. But whether they'll fight in the end—no one can say."

Chen Guanlou lowered his gaze, lost in thought, his emotions indescribable.

Why hadn't the ministers simply seized this chance to overthrow such a mad emperor? Was there truly no one among them with the authority to sway the troops or command the army?

"What's the ministers' stance? Just watching passively, letting the Shenrui Camp ravage the capital? This is shaking the very foundation—don't they realize that?"

"Don't ask me—I know nothing. The ministers are all inside the palace, gathered outside the gates of Taiji Palace. The emperor is stubborn—he's already beheaded seven or eight ministers. Sigh..."

He downed a cup of wine in one gulp, his mood heavy with despair.

"What does the old emperor even want?" Chen Guanlou asked.

"To depose the Crown Prince!"

Qi Wuxiu sighed bitterly, his expression numb, his eyes filled with a despair so deep it made one want to cry.

"If this drags on, I fear the Crown Prince's faction will be slaughtered to the last man." He spoke mournfully, unable to look. This job had drained him utterly—yet he was powerless to change anything.

"Why go this far? Has the Crown Prince committed some unforgivable sin that demands his deposition?"

"I don't know. Much of the truth, I've only heard fragments. What secrets lie beneath—no one will ever uncover them."

Qi Wuxiu fell asleep, his brow still furrowed even in slumber.

Chen Guanlou gazed northward, toward the palace. In the darkness just before dawn, he moved like a bat, silent and unseen, crouching on a rooftop, not daring to move.

He sensed no trace of a Grandmaster's aura—but he was certain there was more than one Grandmaster inside. Qi Wuxiu had told him plainly: there was a Grandmaster inside Donggong, guarding the Crown Prince's safety; another outside, watching him; and surely one beside the old emperor.

The old emperor, so terrified of death, would never sleep without a Grandmaster guarding him.

He looked toward Taiji Palace. Below, no fewer than a hundred civil and military officials knelt, pleading with the emperor to rescind his order, to stop his madness. The effect was terrible—counterproductive. He smelled the stench of death drifting from Taiji Palace.

The ministers' severed heads had been left unburied, displayed openly before Taiji Palace's gates to intimidate the court. Some ministers couldn't bear the sight—they fainted on the spot and quietly withdrew from the siege.

"Enjoying the view?"

A clear voice sounded behind him.

Chen Guanlou's hair stood on end; sweat poured from his forehead like a waterfall, soaking his entire body.

Grandmaster!

He shouldn't have come to the palace. He was clearly eager to die. The man had appeared beside him without a sound—he hadn't sensed a thing.

His heart pounded like thunder. He didn't dare turn his head, frozen in place, his throat creaking like rusted metal as he forced out one word: "It's tragic."

"Tragic? Yes, indeed tragic. And utterly powerless."

The voice drifted—gone from behind him one moment, above him the next.

Chen Guanlou remained rigid. He truly dared not move. Even as sweat rained down, his brow itching fiercely, he didn't dare lift a hand to wipe it.

"You're nervous?"

"Your humble disciple acted rashly, offending you. I am filled with fear."

"Afraid I'll kill you?"

"Yes."

"You're surprisingly candid. You're a strange man—did you have some extraordinary encounter? Or is your cultivation art unusual? You don't seem like a Hidden Line cultivator."

Chen Guanlou braced himself. The real test had only just begun.

"Are you so tense because you fear I'll covet your cultivation art? Absurd!" His tone turned sharp; the air thickened, becoming viscous, almost tangible, making breathing difficult.

Chen Guanlou spoke quickly: "No! I fear I'll say the wrong thing and anger you, Elder!"

"You're quick-witted."

"Your Eldership flatters me!"

Chen Guanlou was drenched in sweat; a patch of moisture had already formed on the tile before his forehead.