Chapter 506: Sovereign

What a slaughter!

What a brawl!

What a show!

Hands and feet were used, fists were used; sworn brothers in ordinary days struck from the shadows, teachers and lords who once called each other such showed no mercy. Blood rained down across the Golden Chariot Hall, the sounds of screaming, the sounds of blood falling, the stench of gore nearly twisted the very air itself.

Chen Dingye tapped one hand against the white-bone pipa resting beside him, no tune, naturally no tune at all, for he was merely striking it at will, letting the white bones tremble, the hollow, deep pipa notes mingling with the sounds of screaming and wailing.

He trampled benevolence and righteousness, and used them to wash down his wine.

It went down his throat like fire—the rapture of a realm shattered to pieces!

This was the bearing of a fierce and ambitious overlord.

It was nearly enough to shatter the literary gall of every scholar.

Blade and sword showed no mercy, blood and tears fell mute; the lords who wielded power, pressed by life and death, swung their fists, tore off their refinement, smashed their dignity to bits, casting benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and shame to the ground and trampling them underfoot.

Trampled into the mud, soaked with water, smeared with filth.

Let it be a bit of play, let it draw a smile from the lord.

Desolate, absurd, preposterous.

All of it fell into the wine, and was drained in one gulp by the white-haired sovereign.

Yet half a shichen ago—

Feng Yuning had been led away by the Master of Ceremonies eunuch, carried off in a sedan chair.

His nephew Min Siheng watched his uncle depart and breathed a sigh of relief; in truth, with his uncle going off to the palace, he too could relax. Facing his uncle's fury just now, he had felt the sweat soaking straight through his back.

But he knew well enough that reaching out to take that thing this time had been a blunder, neither small nor great, so even though he was usually spoiled and willful, this time he kept his head lowered, behaved obediently, and did not dare utter a single word.

Only after Feng Yuning had left did Min Siheng finally breathe easy.

Under the menace of Qin Wang's armed might and his uncle's authority, he finally roused his spirits, secretly vowing that his uncle's arrangements this time must be carried out flawlessly—he could not disappoint his uncle again.

Yet the surrounding retainers and household-born servants did not stir.

A certain displeasure began to rise in Min Siheng's heart.

He would never dare face Qin Wang's majesty; before his furious uncle the Right Chancellor, he couldn't squeeze out so much as a fart even if you beat him with three sticks. But those two he could not touch—they were sons of heaven's own line, the finest figures under heaven.

What could these house-raised dogs possibly dare!

If I don't dare speak harshly to them, do I still not dare lay a hand on you lot?

What a joke!

The pent-up frustration from before, along with a certain strange sense of humiliation at "being scolded by an elder and losing face," instantly drove him past the brink of rage. Furious and enraged, he drove a kick laden with true qi into a retainer at his side, snapping the man's leg clean in two.

"Good dog, good dog!"

"What are you gawking at!"

He cursed loudly.

Accompanied by a tearing sound.

The retainer's leg twisted at an unnatural angle, the fine satin garment split open, the white bone stabbed through, still trailing white flesh; only on the next breath did that patch of white flesh bloom into a blinding scarlet.

That vicious kick had been meant to kill, and it had vented his emotions with splendid satisfaction.

Only now did Min Siheng feel that rush of the strong—towering above the weak, freely indulging his desires—and the pent-up frustration and displeasure slowly began to ebb away.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he ordered: "What are you still gawking at?"

"Hurry up and dispose of these two corpses. Whoever dawdles, this young master won't mind turning the number of corpses needing disposal into three!"

But still no one spoke.

Even the retainer whose leg had been broken was only deathly pale, trembling all over.

Someone spoke up: "M-my lord…"

"There are still several lords present."

Min Siheng froze. He turned around, only then noticing that when the Master of Ceremonies eunuch had departed, six Imperial Guards had been left behind. They wore deep-blue armor, and when their battle robes hung down, they carried a chill wind with them.

Red silk cords drooped from their shoulders, hung with jade tablets.

Ranking above the Golden Guard, true Imperial Guards, the true force charged with protecting the Emperor—even having witnessed all that had transpired at the Right Chancellor's residence, the six guards showed not a ripple on their faces, merely gazing ahead with calm indifference.

They had even controlled their breathing and qi; just now, even Min Siheng, his mind in turmoil, had failed to detect their presence, and for a moment the atmosphere took on a certain heavy, stagnant quality.

After a long while had passed.

Min Siheng forced a smile and said: "Several lords…"

"Do you have any further instructions?"

The leading Imperial Guard replied: "There remains military business yet unfinished."

Min Siheng said: "Military business?"

"Mm."

Here, before the Right Chancellor's residence—

The well-trained retainers, the guest counselors the household had recruited, the young masters and young ladies living out their peaceful days.

The six Imperial Guards, clad in full heavy armor and well-drilled, laid their palms upon their sword hilts. The blades were heavy, and as they were slowly drawn, the edges scraped against the scabbards, stirring the air, sending out a low, murderous hum.

"Yes."

"【Sovereign】 business."

……………

Accompanied by the heavy thud of a body—once consciousness was lost, it collapsed to the ground like a lump of rotten flesh of equal weight—the entire great hall fell silent. Chen Dingye, who had been calmly drinking his wine, looked at this final survivor.

Feng Yuning.

The Right Chancellor, a so-called frail scholar.

He had actually been the one still standing here in the end. He had lost an arm—torn off by the very friend he had counted as a confidant, with whom he used to boat and sip tea in ordinary days. His other palm was drenched in blood—the price of gouging out his own student's eyes with his bare hands.

First-rank Duke, Prime Minister of the realm—this crimson robe of his is soaked in blood.

The reputation is well deserved.

At this moment, Feng Yuning gripped that sword in his left hand. Truth be told, it was precisely because he held this sword that he had managed to survive the chaotic and yet absurd great battle that had just taken place. But even so, after surviving, his spirit was on the verge of collapse.

Prime Minister Feng Yuning's topknot had come undone, the once neatly arranged hair now in disarray. He gripped his sword, its edge pointed at the monarch seated above, his body stained with blood, his eyes reddened, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably.

In that brief span of time just now, he had killed his friends, killed his teacher, killed his comrades, killed his disciples, killed his political rivals—and in a manner that a gentleman would never stoop to, absurd, laughable, using his fingers, using his mouth and teeth.

Like, like…

Like a beast!

All that they had cared about, all that they had striven to uphold, had been torn apart beneath the monarch's cruel whim in the most naked fashion, thrown to the ground, and then left for them to personally tear apart and trample underfoot.

He understood now—Chen Dingye meant to spell it out plainly for these civil and military officials in crimson and purple.

They were beasts.

"Ha, hahahaha, you, you mean to tear off the faces of these gentlemen and renowned ministers, to trample them all to pieces? Hahahaha, what, what exactly are you trying to do!?! Chen Dingye!"

Feng Yuning staggered forward, shouting angrily: "They are all pillars of Great Chen, the cornerstones of the realm! They, they were already in the court when you were not yet monarch, already exhausting themselves for Great Chen!"

"They have all served through the reigns of the late kings!"

"For my Great Chen, they have rendered countless, toilsome meritorious deeds!"

"And you would humiliate them so!"

Chen Dingye said: "I am the sovereign, they are the subjects."

"You all say, when the sovereign demands a subject's death, the subject must die. So why is it that now, when I truly demand your deaths, you are unwilling?"

"Besides, it was you who killed them, Right Prime Minister."

"It was you, this renowned scholar of our age, this Prime Minister, who personally killed these loyal ministers and good generals who toiled for my Great Chen, one by one!"

"How then can you refute me?"

Feng Yuning's hands were trembling: "You, it's only death, why go to such lengths?"

Chen Dingye said: "As you say, if it is only your lives that are wanted, in the end it is merely death—simply taking your lives like that would be too plain."

"It would not satisfy me."

Feng Yuning's face flushed red—grief, fury, despair, agony. At last he pointed at Chen Dingye, gritting his teeth, wanting to spew forth all his resentment and hatred, his killing intent and unwillingness from between his lips, and said: "Tyrant! Tyrant!"

"A tyrant like you—generations of descendants will all curse you!"

"Your posthumous name shall surely be 'Yang'!"

Chen Dingye burst into long laughter, casually setting down the cup in his hand, sweeping his sleeve, rising tall, and said: "Tyrant? Wrong, Prime Minister. I am not a tyrant of ignorance, but—"

"A tyrant of cruelty!"

"As for Yang."

White hair flying, in this imperial palace hall that had once been the seat of Chen's dignity and supreme authority, now shrouded in splashed blood, carrying a sense of bloody, absurd terror, the monarch said indifferently: "Yang is too mild."

"I should bestow 'Li' upon myself."

Feng Yuning's body trembled once.

Li.

That single character, spoken from the monarch's own mouth, yet carried a sinister, chilling air. The blood staining Feng Yuning's body grew cold, he felt a stinging pain arise, a faint, indifferent chill creeping up from his back, stiffening his whole frame.

"Abandoning propriety and keeping distance from the masses is called Yang—speech that does not follow propriety, that does not honor elders."

Chen Dingye paced calmly downward. The monarch stepped upon the white jade stairs, emitting crisp sounds that echoed through this blood-soaked place, falling into Feng Yuning's heart, and conjuring in his mind the records in the classics regarding posthumous names.

Step by step, the footsteps cold and murderous.

"Killing the innocent is called Li!"

"Brutal and heartless is called Li!"

"Stubborn, vicious, and unreasonable is called Li!"

"Upholding evil and opposing righteousness is called Li!"

Absolutely ruthless, absolutely brutal posthumous name. Chen Dingye walked up to Feng Yuning. The sword in Feng Yuning's hand had originally been meant to rise, meant to point directly at Chen Dingye's heart, but beneath that immense pressure, he did not even have the courage to lift the sword.

The blade gradually drooped. Chen Dingye stepped forward, Feng Yuning staggered backward.

Chen Dingye said lightly: "Right Prime Minister, your talent reaches heaven and earth, you discern right from wrong clearly—might you know, under such detailed circumstances, how it is that I came to know of so many of your secret letters?"

Feng Yuning's body trembled.

Chen Dingye swept his sleeve, raised his hand, and struck the back of his palm across Feng Yuning's cheek. It looked ordinary, but in truth it was a vicious slap. He had cultivated a forbidden art that burned lifespan in exchange for power, and this strike carried tremendous force.

The sword in Right Prime Minister Feng Yuning's hand he could no longer grip—it flew from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

Chen Dingye said lightly: "Come out, Right Prime Minister. Let me introduce to you my Great Chen's secret agent, a loyal and steadfast gentleman, the great meritorious minister who secretly reported all your deeds to me."

Feng Yuning slowly turned his head and saw a familiar face. Even at this moment, with all his dignity in tatters and nothing left, an intense pain still surfaced in Feng Yuning's eyes.

Feng Jingxiu.

His son—his own flesh and blood, on whom he had placed great hopes, whom he had personally raised.

Feng Yuning's lips trembled as he murmured: "How could it be you, how could it really be you!"

Feng Jingxiu's eyes reddened as he looked at the old man before him—so utterly unlike the composed, elegant Right Prime Minister in his memory. His voice was hoarse as he choked out: "Father, you were wrong."

"You should not have diverted the military funds from the front lines, nor should you have embezzled the common folk's land."

Feng Yuning suddenly burst into laughter, wild and desolate, then gradually turned to fury, shouting loudly: "Ha, hahaha, I was wrong?"

"I was wrong!"

"Wrong about what?! The food in your mouth, the silks on your back, the carriage you ride in, the jade wares and famous vessels you use—which of them did not come from silver, which of them not from what you yourself call the fat and marrow of the people?!"

"Do not think that reading a few so-called books of gentlemanly conduct means you have seen through the principles of this world. Do not let your reading make you a fool!"

"Power is reason!"

Feng Jingxiu only wept, unable to utter another word.

Chen Dingye said calmly, "Only one person can leave here alive. The rules still stand."

Feng Yuning's body trembled. He finally realized something.

A tremendous fear, fury, and unwillingness surged through him. His mental defenses shattered, and he shouted loudly: "It's me, it's my fault, I was the one who devoured the flesh and blood of the people, me, me, I beg you, Your Majesty, Your Majesty!"

Chen Dingye walked out of the place with composure. Feng Yuning turned around, saw his tear-streaked son gripping a sword, raised the gentleman's long sword, pointed it at the father ahead, and said: "We of this generation must punish the wicked and slay the traitor for the nation, severing kin for the greater cause."

Feng Yuning felt the world spin, felt that all things were absurd—absurd enough to make him want to laugh out loud, yet also want to weep.

Chen Dingye—what a tyrannical sovereign.

He roared out:

"Chen Dingye, you will surely be reviled for ten thousand years, you will surely be reviled for ten thousand years!!"

Then he still gripped the sword. This battle between a father who was a corrupt official and a son who was a secret agent became the final entertainment of this so-called palace banquet, and the victor was soon decided.

Feng Yuning's experience was seasoned; he actually possessed a rather formidable sword art, nearly landing on Feng Jingxiu's body, but at the very last instant it stalled, and Feng Jingxiu's sword pierced through Feng Yuning's body in a flash.

After piercing Feng Yuning's vital point, he only then realized that his father had held back at the end. Feng Yuning's hand trembled, and that sword, stained with too much fresh blood, dropped down, landing on the ground with a clear ringing sound.

Feng Yuning reached out and stroked his son's hair, murmuring: "Absurd…"

"Far too absurd."

He closed his eyes and toppled backward. Feng Jingxiu reached out and caught his father, but because of the battle just fought, because of what had just happened, his entire body was taut, and now he could not relax.

Feng Yuning fell to the ground, dead with eyes unclosed. Feng Jingxiu stood dazed and lost, wailing, stumbling as he cradled his father's body, sword in hand, walked out, saw the white-haired sovereign's back, halted his steps, and raised his head.

Chen Dingye's voice was deep and even, as if asking:

"Scholar, the Sage has words: 'When the granaries are full, one comes to know propriety and modesty.' How would you explain it?"

Feng Jingxiu murmured: "Only when the people's granaries are full, when they are well-fed and well-clothed, can they attend to propriety, can they understand moral instruction and cultivation."

Chen Dingye said: "Correct, but that is merely the ordinary scholar's answer. Like a building, only when the granaries below are full can propriety above be spoken of. But if the granaries below are themselves filthy as flesh and blood, can the gentleman standing above truly be pure?"

"Feasting on the people's fat and blood earned by father and elder brother, the gentleman fair and clear—is he truly as jade?"

Feng Jingxiu's lips trembled, and he suddenly laughed bitterly.

Chen Dingye swept his sleeve and said calmly: "All who departed this great hall were of my Great Chen."

"Loyal ministers and worthy generals."

"When the state ceases to be a state, the loyal minister's heart grieves; thus, all chose death to make their will known."

"Loyalty. Martyrdom for the nation."

These four words, simple and composed, yet seemed to carry an inexpressible meaning.

Chen Dingye walked away unhurriedly. Before the great hall behind him, Feng Jingxiu sat in blank misery for a long time. He laid his father's body down properly, then suddenly said: "Right now, I truly hope I could return to the past—to when you taught me to read the Sage's books by candlelight."

"But how could that be possible?"

"What I wear and use is the people's fat and blood; what I drink and eat is the people's blood and flesh."

"And I've slain my father, killed my kin. Ha, hahahahaha…"

Feng Jingxiu drew his long sword, placed it against his neck, and with a sudden forceful thrust, fresh blood spurted forth. His body swayed and collapsed atop Feng Yuning. Father and son perished together. And though such a loyal, sincere man died in this manner, Chen Dingye did not pause.

The palace of Chen had once been protected by a great formation, but since that incident seven years ago, the formation here had served no further purpose. Chen Dingye went to the place where the Empress was at this moment, where the sound of children laughing and playing came through.

"Mother, Mother, this thing is so fun, so interesting!"

"When is Father coming?"

Chen Dingye laughed and said: "Tianyi, do you miss your father this much?"

"Ah, it's Papa!"

A delighted cry came from over there, and then a child ran over happily. The Empress Xue's face went deathly pale—Xue Daoyong had arranged and prepared an escape for his daughter, but this time, Xue Daoyong's arrangements could not once again prevail over Chen Dingye.

The Empress had already been restrained. Chen Tianyi was only a few years old and could not discern the tense atmosphere at all. As Chen Dingye approached Chen Tianyi, the Empress's face lost all color; she stared fixedly at her son yet could not move.

Chen Dingye crouched down, reached out, stroked his son's hair, and said: "Mother is just a little tired, it's nothing. You must be considerate of her."

Chen Tianyi nodded vigorously, hugged Chen Dingye's arm, and said: "If I'm good, will you, Father Emperor, keep playing with me?! You've been so busy lately, it takes forever before you come to play with me even once."

Chen Dingye looked at the child and said with a slight smile: "Alright, but Father still has one thing to do. Once Father finishes all of this, there will be no more difficult matters then, and I can continue to accompany you."

Chen Tianyi was overjoyed: "Yay!!!"

Chen Tianyi held out his finger and said: "Then let's make a promise!"

"A promise?"

"Mm-mm, it's what Mother said, what the children of the common folk in the marketplace say when they're little." Chen Dingye smiled slightly, reached out his hand, pressed it against his son's palm, and listened as the child spoke innocent, childish vows.

"Then, Papa, you must come find me to play."

"You must just be too busy usually, that's why your hair turned white so fast. When we're together, I'll take you, Papa, to see the flowers during the day, to watch little ducklings swimming in the water, and at night to look at the stars and tell stories."

"Your hair will turn black again in no time."

Chen Tianyi let go. Chen Dingye half-knelt, reached out to smooth the creases on Chen Tianyi's collar, and said with a smile: "Mm, when the time comes, you can go find your elder brother."

"Elder brother?"

"Mm."

Chen Dingye said: "He… hehe, when the time comes, you will know."

Chen Tianyi was bewildered. Chen Dingye held Chen Tianyi, and his fingers suddenly rose, pressing onto the great acupoint on Chen Tianyi's neck. The Empress's face changed drastically; she actually broke free of her restraints and lunged toward her child, but was stunned by an immensely powerful aura.

Ripples spread across the void, and a Dharma Form appeared.

A fierce tiger with wings sprouting from its back—that was the blood of the vicious beast Qiongqi hidden within the Chen clan's lineage—but in the void, there also appeared a one-horned dragon, its cold gaze looking down upon the place.

The aura was so overwhelmingly strong that it forced the Empress unable to advance a single step.

She could only watch her child in panic, hating herself in her heart for not heeding her father's arrangements in time, still thinking she could wait a while longer. Chen Dingye seemed not to have heard the Empress's movement, merely holding his son gently as the power of the Dharma Form swept across the primordial spirit.

Chen Tianyi had been happy because his father had picked him up, flying high.

But suddenly he grew sleepy. With one hand he hugged Chen Dingye's white hair and neck, with the other he rubbed his eyes, and said: "Father, I'm so sleepy…"

"Sleepy? Then you rest well."

"I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Because you always do this—I just close my eyes, and you're gone. You don't come back for so long!" Chen Tianyi threw a tantrum. Chen Dingye smiled and said, "This time, Father won't go anywhere."

"Really?"

"Of course it's true."

"Pinkie swear!"

"Alright, pinkie swear—if I break it, may Chen Dingye die without a grave…" Chen Dingye watched his child slowly close his eyes; the wind at his ears made his white hair gently fall. What a naive, innocent child—his heart was too soft.

Yet such a soft child suddenly made Chen Dingye think of that rain from his youth.

A torrential downpour—the Imperial Prince knelt inside the palace, pleading for a eunuch who had made a mistake. Around him, imperial relatives and elder clan members sighed, saying this child was too soft.

Chen Dingye looked at his son, and in a daze, he was back in that youth—seeing the boy kneeling in the torrential rain, his face gentle. Long, long moments passed, as if he heard his father's question then:

"With your demeanor, what do you even intend to do?"

"Have you lost all princely dignity, all royal methods?!"

"What can you ever become? You can't be a general, you can't be a Wang Hou—what can you do?"

The thirteen-year-old boy clenched his lips and answered stubbornly:

"I'll be a good man."

Chen Dingye silently watched the boy in the pouring rain, his eyes deep and complex, filled with quiet pity. This vision within his heart was but a fleeting illusion—he used his Wu Gong to erase Chen Tianyi's memory.

Chen Tianyi finally fell asleep.

His eyes reflected the last trace of his father's silhouette.

"From today on, you will still welcome a new day—but after today, you will no longer remember you ever had a father like me…"

"Heh, if I'm a tyrant, then let me be this father."

"Not a very competent one."

"Just be a father who breaks his word and fails his promise."

Chen Dingye carried the child to Empress Xue, who snatched him away violently, her body trembling. Chen Dingye merely extended his finger and gently tucked the boy's temple hair behind his ear.

He turned and strode away, but paused mid-step, glancing sideways to see the eunuch with a smooth, beardless face and delicate aura still beside him. Chen Dingye said, "Are you still following me?"

The eunuch replied, "Since ancient times, tyrants have always had sycophants."

"You are heading into the coming battlefield—how could I not be by your side?"

Chen Dingye burst into loud laughter:

"Hahahaha! What a tyrant! What a sycophant!"

"Good!"

The roars of the Poisonous Dragon and Qiongqi were low and deadly. Chen Dingye laughed aloud: "We who have come this far can say nothing more—but this is our ancestral legacy, it is the realm of Great Chen!"

"How could we surrender it to others!"

"The world surges, heroes clash in chaos—the loyal ministers are gone. How can I, the Emperor, not die for my nation? Not perish for my state?!"

The Emperor of Chen walked calmly, gripping his sword.

"I, too, will fight to the end."

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