There were neither stars nor moon tonight. The palace road was cold and pitch-black, while a single dim lantern floated low in the darkness like ghost fire, swaying as it traveled deeper into the inner palace toward Qianchun Hall.
This was supposed to be the secluded place where the King recuperated. Yet it was eerily deserted. Not a single Royal Army guard stood watch outside. The lights within the hall were faint and murky, while looming shadows clung to the low-hanging curtains like waving ghostly hands. Together with the faint sound of palace servants desperately suppressing their sobs, the place felt almost haunted.
When Yugong Ming arrived, someone had already reached the hall before him. Duanyang Shuchang’s aged, gaunt face twitched faintly, while the wild joy in his eyes burned like fire. Struggling to control his excitement and not daring to say too much, he called in a heavy, trembling voice: “Ming’er!”
The feeling that his greatest dream was finally coming true became increasingly clear. Yugong Ming calmly nodded, then walked at an unhurried pace toward the royal couch screened by sea-silk gauze curtains.
A rain-washed sky-blue porcelain bowl lay shattered before the bed. Cold noodle soup had half congealed across the golden-brick floor. Within the bed curtains, a thin figure lay motionless, completely undisturbed by the people moving around him.
Prince Xiaohui stood tall beside the couch, dressed in black, his face pale as jade. His features were refined, but his expression was icy, like an underworld reaper who had been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to collect a soul. Without asking whether Yugong Ming wanted to see, he swept up one hand and pulled the gauze curtain aside.
Yugong Lie lay on his back beneath the embroidered quilt. His eyes were tightly closed. His chest did not rise. His face and lips had turned a dark bluish purple.
“The King is dead.” Yugong Zhaoye delivered the news succinctly.
“…”
Yugong Ming stared blankly at his elder brother’s corpse. At first, only his fingertips trembled. Then the shaking seemed to spread through his blood until his entire body quivered. He suddenly swayed as though the ground had vanished beneath his feet. Before anyone could support him, he forced himself upright, then bent down with shaking hands and checked the corpse’s breathing.
“He’s dead?”
Unable even to trust his own senses, Yugong Ming turned toward Yugong Zhaoye for confirmation.
Those pale amber eyes, sharp as a bird of prey’s, looked down upon him. The undisguised mockery within them was just as cold, like an icy wind striking him full in the face. “Yes. He ate poisoned noodle soup. He was already dead when I arrived.”
With Yugong Zhaoye’s confirmation, Yugong Ming’s legs gave way. He dropped heavily onto the footstool, his back instantly soaked through with cold sweat, and let out one long, weak breath.
Yugong Zhaoye’s long brows drew together in distaste. He had never encountered a murderer so excitable and utterly lacking in guile. Yugong Ming might as well have written I killed him across his forehead.
“I knew this would happen.” Yugong Zhaoye urged him impatiently. “Get up. I summoned all of you into the palace so we could clean up the scene and decide what comes next. Otherwise, if Fuyu Wei and the others arrive and catch you red-handed, you’ll have a hard time inheriting the throne.”
Duanyang Shuchang had entered slightly earlier than Yugong Ming and had already adjusted to this earth-shattering piece of good news. Seeing Yugong Zhaoye’s unfriendly expression, he hurried over to help Yugong Ming up. “His Highness is right. Third Prince, the King died suddenly of illness and had no time to leave a posthumous edict. You are the prince with the strongest claim to succeed to the throne. We absolutely cannot leave behind any weakness at this final step.”
“I’ve already sent people to detain the cooks who prepared tonight’s food, together with the eunuchs and palace servants who were on duty.” Yugong Zhaoye asked: “What should be done with them?”
“Kill them.”
“All of them?”
Yugong Zhaoye did not explicitly ask, Even your own people among them? But the question itself made his displeasure obvious. Yugong Ming’s eyes shifted toward him. Suddenly, he grinned. “Royal Uncle, are you angry with me?”
The corner of Yugong Zhaoye’s mouth twitched. “What?”
“Even you were fooled by me, weren’t you?” Yugong Ming smiled smugly. “On the journey back, I told you Yugong Lie had leprosy. You thought I would seize that weakness, use every possible method to expose the truth, and force him to abdicate voluntarily.”
“But neither you nor those trusted ministers around him considered one thing.” “Even if Yugong Lie truly has leprosy, so long as he remains King, he still has the authority to choose his successor.” “He could adopt an heir from a collateral branch of the royal clan.” “I was never his only option.”
Yugong Ming smiled. “Isn’t ‘the younger brother succeeds the elder brother after his death’ far simpler than ‘abdication in favor of the worthy’?”
The expression upon Yugong Zhaoye’s face, ordinarily as still as an icy pool, finally rippled.
Apart from military rebellion, few threats in the world could shake an adult sovereign already seated upon the throne as powerfully as leprosy. Everyone had assumed that victory and defeat would be decided at the instant the truth came to light. Their attention had been held captive by the most fatal weakness of all. They had poured every ounce of concentration into dealing with the storm overwhelming the capital while anxiously waiting for Yugong Ming to make his move.
But that had merely been a diversion.
“When you told me you wouldn’t send your elder brother away, but would find some uninhabited place to ‘settle’ him and support him comfortably for the rest of his life, you were deliberately playing mad and stupid.” Yugong Zhaoye looked at him. “In reality, you had planned from the beginning to send him to his death.”
“You openly spread a prophetic rhyme, arranged for crows to attack the royal carriage, and had your maternal grandfather muddy the waters inside the Cabinet…” “Besieged on every side and pressed backward step by step, the King became so frightened that he hid deep within the palace and refused to see anyone.” “Day and night, he guarded against the enemies outside.” “He never imagined that the true killing intent would be hidden in something as insignificant as food.”
And thus, at the moment when Yugong Lie’s mind and spirit were exhausted, the timely arrival of one bowl of steaming noodle soup effortlessly took his life.
“Once he became neither human nor ghost, living would have been far more painful than dying.” Yugong Ming sounded delighted. “Wasn’t it kind of me to help him find release earlier?” “Just a little pufferfish poison. Silver needles can’t detect it. Maybe he even thought the noodle soup tasted especially delicious.”
“I see.” Yugong Zhaoye looked thoughtful. “I assumed Tian Qing was your man. So the insider was actually in the royal kitchen.”
Yugong Ming had no intention of revealing the entirety of his arrangements. No one might currently be capable of restraining him, but it would still be better if an accusation like poisoned his own elder brother never spread.
“Tell your people to clean everything up thoroughly.”
The words meant that he accepted Yugong Zhaoye’s submission. They did not mean that he trusted him completely. Yugong Zhaoye’s expression darkened. He said nothing, merely answering with a brief acknowledgment.
Yugong Ming watched every change in his expression with great interest. An indescribable pleasure rose within him. Royal Uncle surely had no idea how fascinating he looked right now—anger hidden beneath the surface, yet forced to bow his head and submit.
Smiling, Yugong Ming casually reassured him: “Those paltry little tricks could have been carried out by anyone. They can hardly compare with Royal Uncle’s great merit today in supporting a sovereign’s accession.” “Royal Uncle may put your mind at ease.”
Yugong Ming had always looked down upon the weak and incompetent Yugong Lie. Among all the princes and royal descendants, only Yugong Zhaoye—who had taken command of Bihua at the age of twenty—was worthy of his admiration. Yet this brilliant talent, radiant as a pearl, happened to be a false prince. He would never possess any claim to the throne. He was destined to walk the path of loyalty to a sovereign until the bitter end.
Yugong Ming was relieved that he did not have to compete with him. At the same time, some inexplicable resentment remained. Yugong Zhaoye was merely an outsider’s bastard, yet he dared put on the airs of an elder and lecture him. Even Yugong Ming’s own maternal grandfather, Duanyang Shuchang, had hurried to flatter and ingratiate himself once he learned his grandson might inherit the throne. Yet Yugong Zhaoye had never shown Yugong Ming a pleasant face. Every time he opened his mouth, it was to mock or ridicule him. He had never once treated Yugong Ming as though he were a sovereign deserving of respect and loyalty.
No matter how capable Yugong Zhaoye might be, he was still only an assassin. Something that could never be brought into daylight. Bihua was certainly important. But when a weapon turned upon its master, it ceased to be a divine weapon. It became a murderous blade.
“Royal Uncle.” Yugong Ming ran his tongue over the tips of his teeth and suddenly stopped him. “With the methods I displayed today, if I were in Bihua, surely I’d at least be worthy of a place among its ranks?”
Duanyang Shuchang: “…”
Has my precious grandson become so overjoyed that he’s lost his mind? He’s about to become King, and he’s still thinking about competing with an assassin? Does he want Yugong Zhaoye to recruit him as a subordinate? Isn’t that backward?
Yugong Zhaoye stopped. He turned around. For once, he properly examined Yugong Ming with open curiosity.
After meeting his gaze for a moment, Yugong Zhaoye finally revealed the faintest trace of a smile—rarer than a night-blooming flower and almost generous enough to be called tolerant.
“You needn’t worry.”
With a sweep of his hand, he tore down an opaque curtain beside the bed. Behind it stood several Cabinet ministers, their faces twitching with expressions of every description— together with the very much alive Yugong Lie, whose face had turned livid with disgust after hearing the words support him for the rest of his life.
The lights outside the windows blazed to life. In an instant, the hall became as bright as day.
Yugong Zhaoye patiently finished his sentence: “Yeguang doesn’t recruit anyone this stupid.”
Yugong Ming: “…”
Poor Duanyang Shuchang was already advanced in years and simply could not endure such a shock. His eyes rolled backward. Thud. He collapsed.
“When committing a crime, the most important thing is to deny everything to the bitter end.” Yugong Zhaoye instructed him solemnly. “Someone like you, who bites the instant bait is lowered and starts spilling his heart before he’s even succeeded, generally wouldn’t survive past the second day in our profession.”
The former Bihua operative and present head of Yeguang formally rejected his application. “Assassination isn’t the profession for you.” “Find another path.”
“You… all of you…”
Yugong Ming no longer cared about Bihua or Yeguang. He stared in terror and hatred at that pale, refined face. His complexion turned ashen. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. “You tricked me…” “You’re not dead!”
He abruptly twisted toward the “Yugong Lie” lying upon the bed. Afraid he had failed to understand, Yugong Zhaoye kindly reminded him: “It’s fake.”
He had fallen into their trap.
Yugong Zhaoye had used a false corpse to coax the truth from his mouth, allowing Yugong Ming to smugly perform an entire drama of murdering his sovereign before a live audience like a clown upon a stage. He had completely destroyed his own hope of succeeding to the throne.
Yugong Ming clutched his forehead. His eyes bulged red. Broken sentences poured chaotically from his mouth. “You… when did… why… No, how could you possibly have known I would poison you?!”
Yugong Lie lowered his eyes and looked coldly upon the soaked dog twisting upon the ground. “When chaos broke out during the journey back to the city that day, Royal Uncle rescued me and suspected that someone might be creating a diversion.” “He therefore arranged for me to be protected at another palace residence and had someone impersonate me, waiting to see who would jump out at such a moment.”
When Yugong Lie first learned Yugong Ming had returned, rage had indeed driven him nearly out of his mind. He knew that beneath the anger was fear. Every nightmare he had suffered over the years was the same: His illness was discovered. His ministers drove him from the throne. He was locked away in some lightless ditch.
But on the day the crows attacked, Yugong Zhaoye had descended like a divine warrior, dragged him safely from the flock, and carried him back to the palace. His attitude remained exactly as calm as always. He showed not the slightest disgust. He simply sat down with Yugong Lie and openly discussed how to deal with the difficulties ahead. And suddenly, Yugong Lie had not been quite so afraid.
“Why is Little Uncle still willing to help me?” He had asked haltingly. “I have that kind of illness. I’m unfit to be King…”
Yugong Zhaoye lifted his eyelids and glanced at him. His expression seemed to combine At least you possess some self-awareness with Why am I being forced to coax a child? “Of two evils, choose the lesser.”
Yugong Lie: “?”
“Compared with selling out the country, your problem is minor.” Yugong Zhaoye picked up an orange and handed it to him, attempting to plug his mouth with food. “Whether someone is fit to rule a country depends on his ability to govern.” “Haven’t you done very well these past few years?”
He waved one hand, signaling for the King to entertain himself, then turned away to supervise his subordinates.
Yugong Lie sat there blankly holding the orange. Even his way of comforting people is remarkably clumsy. He blinked. Only then did he realize that his aching eyes had already begun shedding tears.
“Little brother, I am deeply disappointed in you.”
“Ha…”
Yugong Ming laughed in disgust. “You have the nerve to be disappointed?” “You filthy monster stole the throne and deceived everyone beneath heaven! How dare you stand there pretending to be benevolent!”
Yugong Lie sighed sorrowfully. He gazed with pity upon his disappointing, wayward younger brother. That tolerant expression was astonishingly similar to Yugong Zhaoye’s.
“Years ago, Yanyuan’s army reached the city walls. Longsha stood on the verge of destruction. Once their forces broke through, the King and crown prince would have been nothing but fish upon their chopping block.”
“I accepted the appointment in the face of crisis and was named crown prince because I was the eldest son, because I was your elder brother, and because…” He paused. “…I was someone who would die sooner or later.”
“Father sent you to Dongyu in order to preserve the Yugong bloodline.” “If all of us died for the country, you would have been Longsha’s final hope.”
“Unfortunately, you understood neither Father’s painstaking intentions nor mine.” “Instead, you nursed resentment, colluded with a foreign nation, and attempted to murder your sovereign and rebel against your superior.”
“You have been terribly foolish…”
Even under such malicious attack, Yugong Lie never spoke one cruel word to his brother from beginning to end. He looked every inch the forgiving elder brother and compassionate ruler.
Yugong Ming was arrogant and conceited, fawning upon those above him while despising those below. He could hold his nose and endure Yugong Zhaoye insulting him, even seizing every possible opportunity to reclaim some dignity. But he could not endure being looked down upon and reprimanded by Yugong Lie— the man he himself despised.
All the blood in his body surged into his head. He wanted to tear away Yugong Lie’s painted skin with his own hands and show everyone the monster underneath. “Shut up!” “You monster!” “You liar!”
A cold blade flashed from his sleeve. Yugong Ming suddenly lunged toward the frail young man standing among the crowd.
Yugong Lie met his blood-red gaze. Then, for the first time that night, he smiled.
A heavy force struck Yugong Ming’s wrist. Pain forced his fingers open. The blade, flashing white as silk, fell— and was effortlessly caught by someone else. Only then did Yugong Ming finally see the black shadow sweeping across his vision. It was already too late to turn and flee.
Yugong Zhaoye intercepted the falling blade with one hand and swept a whip kick into Yugong Ming’s ribs. The impact launched him several feet away.
A deafening succession of crashes filled the room as tables, desks, and screens collapsed into a heap.
Every sound became a high or low ringing hum. Yugong Ming lay sprawled across the cold golden-brick floor, dizzy and disoriented, feeling as though his spine had snapped in half. A hot, bloody taste flooded his throat. He vomited a mouthful of blood.
Black boots landed soundlessly. They approached at an unhurried pace. The swaying hem of a robe rolled like waves upon a deep sea as a mass of pitch-black night descended over him.
“The rebel has been subdued.” “Take him away.”
Yugong Ming desperately forced his eyes open. His scattered vision could no longer make out the other man’s expression. He had never truly seen this person clearly.
Only when Yugong Zhaoye turned away did he catch a final glimpse of the faint sheen flowing over those black robes.
Like pale moonlight scattered by a cold wind through the depths of an endless dark night.
Moonlight could kill.