“It was not negligence,” Su Ruhan said evenly. “It was my private will.”
“What private will?” the Third Prince asked coldly.
Su Ruhan held his gaze but did not answer.
A palm strike crashed into his chest. Blood spilled from his lips. Yet he did not sway, still kneeling upright.
“You dare defy me?”
The Prince’s fury stemmed not from Su Ruhan’s divided loyalties—but from his attempt to shatter his own meridians before his very eyes. Had the Prince not interrupted the flow of his internal energy, Su Ruhan would already be dead.
With that single act, Su Ruhan had destroyed most of his martial foundation. To the Prince, he was now little more than a cripple. His Yingjue Sword lay broken—symbol that Su Ruhan himself was already dead.
He closed his eyes, awaiting the fatal palm.
The Prince had once said: others might die by Su Ruhan’s blade—but Su Ruhan could only die by his hand.
Silence stretched.
Then came the sound of tearing cloth.
Su Ruhan opened his eyes. His garments lay scattered. Behind him, the Third Prince had already begun unfastening his own robes.
What followed was like a tempest—no words exchanged, only raw exertion, as though they were sparring in combat.
When it ended, the Third Prince dressed with composure, leapt from the pavilion, and landed lightly below.
At the moment of release, he had murmured:
“You saw what you should not have seen. I spare you only because you no longer possess the strength to die.”
A cold wind swept across the artificial hill. Su Ruhan, his meridians ruined, felt strangely clear-headed.
He recalled the youth glimpsed during a night patrol—beautiful beyond mortal measure, yet lacking the quiet grace of the one who truly dwelled in his heart.
So even the Third Prince could err.
A faint, cold smile curved his lips.
Meanwhile, within the bedchamber, Mu Xueshi had awakened the moment the Prince departed.
He crept about the room searching for books.
He could no longer afford to live recklessly. His fate hung by a thread. One misstep, and he might invite death.
Memorials lay piled upon the desk—the Emperor had already designated the Third Prince as heir apparent, often sending documents for his review.
Mu Xueshi spread them all out, struggling through the unfamiliar script. From the red seals he gleaned hints of the era—but the titles and references were utterly unknown to him. He flipped through historical chronicles, yet the events described were things he had never heard of.
He stared blankly.
“Am I… still on Earth?” he muttered, despair flooding his face.
Futile Devices Scans 
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