Chapter 156 – Great Thief!!!

The Seventh Prince’s warhorse galloped all the way to the Imperial Path before finally being halted. Two members of the Imperial Guard stepped forward, bowed, and said, “Your Highness.”

The Seventh Prince laughed heartily in greeting, calling out the names of the two guards with ease. With a natural air and a spirited brow, he smiled and said, “What now? Even I must be searched just to enter the palace?”

The two guards bowed again and replied, “It is our duty. We beg Your Highness’s pardon.”

“Haha, just teasing you.”

The Seventh Prince dismounted with a flourish, then spread his arms wide, allowing the guards to search him freely. That brocade-handled Jinzhou blade, however, was already hidden beneath his left wrist. As the search approached, he made a subtle movement with his fingers, and without a sound, the blade slipped down the loose, wide sleeve of his ceremonial robe, transferring under the control of his internal energy to his right wrist instead. This was a technique he had learned during the interrogation of a serpent tribe spy.

He had once used this very technique to personally infiltrate an enemy camp and singlehandedly dismantle a force of three thousand soldiers.

As for the killing intent?

A general of the battlefield was naturally steeped in a baleful aura.

If it were the hardened warriors stationed at the border, they might well have noticed something amiss. But these Imperial Guards—who merely circled around the capital in ornate armor, boasting of their titles—were little more than puppets guarding the gates of the royal clan. Should they ever face real combat, a thousand of them might not stand against three hundred border troops.

Thus, the Seventh Prince passed through the inspection with ease, lazily continuing his ride down the Imperial Path.

The Imperial Path was long, its walls towering high on both sides.

Watchtowers loomed at either end.

With both gates shut, it would become a walled deathtrap—under the suppression of Human Fortune and volleys of arrows from both flanks, even a True Person of the Daoist sects would be forced to perish with regret. The Seventh Prince slowed his mount, and the dashing youth, clad in splendid attire, turned to wave lazily at the two guards behind him. “When I return, let’s drink together.”

Only after crossing the Imperial Path did he dismount.

An eunuch arrived to guide him into a side hall.

He was told that the Sage was within. The eunuch went in to announce his arrival, and only after returning did he say, “His Majesty summons the Seventh Prince.”

The Seventh Prince placed both hands upon the heavy palace doors—crafted with immense labor and resources—and gave a sudden push. With a deep groan, the grand doors opened wide. Though this was but a side hall where state affairs were handled, it still possessed the majestic grandeur befitting the residence of the Human Emperor.

Palace lanterns lined either side, illuminating every inch of space. The Seventh Prince stood at the threshold. Sunlight from outside sliced through the dimness of the hall like blades, shattering its gloom. The young man’s gaze burned like a torch.

Within the side hall, the man hailed as the Sage of the world appeared no older than thirty. Upon the table before him lay a simple meal, yet he was still poring over memorials.

The Seventh Prince’s gaze was sharp. One who could draw a heavy bow naturally possessed keen eyesight—he could clearly make out the contents of those memorials from where he stood.

[In the various provinces and counties, harvests have been abundant. Every household has surplus grain. All thanks to Heaven’s boundless grace—truly the Sage’s benevolence.]

Below that, written in cinnabar ink:

[I see your fawning heart. Do not act wantonly. Should you dare to exploit the people, I shall make an example of you.]

Another memorial stated: [Regarding capital punishment under the criminal code—how many are to be executed, we ask the Sage to make the final judgment.]

The annotation read: [Law, whether it demands execution or fine, must be based on statute. Yet there must also be virtue in preserving life. Submit the full case files.]

There were many such memorials. The Sage gave a slight smile and said: “The end of the year approaches, and these memorials come flooding in. But since they concern the livelihood of the people and matters of law, none can be neglected. What can I do? I can only eat here while I work. Has my royal son eaten yet?”

He took a sniff, then chuckled and scolded: “Drunken Heaven Pavilion’s wine and dishes, eh? You—you’re spending too much time with those martial clans’ sons.”

“The noble families are entangled like a great net. If you grow too close, you’ll inevitably be dragged into it. Even if you serve as a general at the border, you’ll still be pulled into countless affairs. And right now, those sons of martial merit have yet to grasp real power, so you can still call each other brothers.”

“But once they’ve all become marquises of their own houses, their interests will clash. When swords are drawn, what will you do?”

“If you don’t draw your sword, then you are forming a clique—one made of military men.”

“I, your father, can still tolerate you. But your elder brother may not. Do you remember that?”

He offered a few words of admonishment, then reached out and swept the memorials off the table. Unpacking the dishes from the food box, he arranged them one by one and smiled. “But whether you’ve eaten or not, come and sit with me for a bite. It’s just as well—reading through these scrolls alone is vexing. Having someone to share a meal with is no bad thing.”

“Someone! Bring my son a set of bowls and chopsticks. And go prepare a few more dishes.”

“Understood.”

The Seventh Prince’s heart stirred slightly. Then he clasped his hands and said, “Your subject greets the Sage.”

The Emperor’s smile paused for a moment. He looked up at his tall son, not yet past twenty, and set down the food in his hand. Remaining seated, he shook his head with a wry smile and said: “So you call yourself ‘subject’, not ‘son’. It seems today you’ve come for official business, not just a family visit.”

“Speak, then—what trouble have you caused this time? Did you beat the son of some noble house again? Or did you quarrel with a senior official from the Hanlin Academy? Have they taken offense and are now preparing to submit a memorial against you in court? Speak.”

“When you were young, you brought me no shortage of headaches.”

“But now? Their fathers are no match for your father. So go ahead—cause trouble if you must. This time, your father can still shield you.”

“However—do not harm the common people. Do not commit evil or act unlawfully. Do not bully the good and honest.”

The Seventh Prince sat squarely across from the Emperor and said in a calm voice, “This subject was reading today and came upon a matter he could not resolve. Recalling the words of the Sage, I came here to seek guidance, hoping for an answer.”

The Emperor chuckled and scolded, “You? Reading books?”

“Now that’s rare indeed.”

Then he leaned back into his chair and said, “Very well, ask.”

The Seventh Prince sat upright and asked solemnly, “What is the duty of a younger brother?”

The Emperor couldn’t help but smile as he replied: “The elder should be kind, the younger respectful—that is filial and fraternal piety. One should revere one’s elder brothers. This is a great Dao, no different from the teachings of filial devotion.”

“Even a child of three would understand such things.”

“What now? Had a falling out with your elder brothers? But you’re all bound by blood, like the front and back of a hand. You should support one another. One day, when your father and mother are gone, the bond between you siblings will be the closest in the world. If anything happens, speak openly. Don’t let it become strife.”

The Seventh Prince lowered his gaze. “So that’s how it is.”

“Then—what of a father? What should a father be?”

The Emperor’s brows knit slightly. “A father must teach by word and by example, to guide his sons and grandsons.”

“There are those unworthy to be called sons and those unworthy to be called fathers.”

The Seventh Prince moved forward, not abruptly, but with solemnity—this was the formal seat of court, so he advanced on his knees, one step after another. Soon, only a single table stood between him and the Sage.

The Sage’s brows creased ever so slightly.

The Seventh Prince raised his head, his eyes burning with intensity, and asked in a hoarse voice: “Then—what of a ruler? What should a ruler be?”

The smile had entirely vanished from the Emperor’s face. His gaze rested on the Seventh Prince, who now knelt just three steps away.

Yet the prince did not suddenly erupt, like a beast pouncing from its lair. Nor did the Emperor fly into fury, nor rise with righteous anger. He did not bellow.

The air stretched taut, like the string of a drawn bow.

Both father and son held themselves in restraint. That restraint came from blood—shared blood—and from one final, fragile thread of hope.

At last, the Emperor answered: “The Way of rulership is nothing more than to love the people.”

“Love the people, love the people…”

The Seventh Prince suddenly let out a few cold laughs and said: “A general protects the nation and brings peace to the people, sweeping away the nation’s filth. And so I ask—”

“If a younger brother rebels and slays his elder, can he be executed?!”

“If a father commits monstrous sins, can he be executed?!”

“If a ruler slaughters his people in pursuit of wealth and glory—can he be executed?!”

The Seventh Prince fixed his eyes on his father, word by word, each syllable brimming with rising killing intent. His qi surged more and more violently. The Emperor’s expression finally shifted; he abruptly rose and roared: “Have you gone mad today?! Qilang! If you want to lose your mind, go to the border and throw your madness at the demon clans! Don’t bring it here! I still have memorials to review!”

The Seventh Prince said one word: “Jinzhou.”

The Emperor’s body went still for a breath. His gaze turned sharp as a blade.

The Seventh Prince continued, “What happened in Jinzhou—was it your doing…?”

Silence fell upon the grand hall, eerie and suffocating. The Seventh Prince’s voice came hoarse, trembling slightly:

“Your son only wants an answer, Father.”

The Emperor breathed heavily, then slowly sat back down. His eyes locked firmly onto the prince before him.

“Yes.”

The last shred of hope in the Seventh Prince’s heart scattered like ash. Blood and valor ran in the veins of a warrior—he nearly ground his teeth to dust as he forced the words through his throat: “Why!”

“Why!”

The Emperor snapped, “Why, you ask?!”

The Seventh Prince slammed his hands down on the table and rose to his feet. The unyielding courage passed down through generations of the martial path surged through him, and faced with utter despair and heartbreak toward his own father, he refused to retreat a single step:

“That was hundreds of thousands of innocent lives! How could you do such a thing?! Why!”

The Emperor swept his sleeve across the table, sending food and dishes crashing to the ground, staining the scattered memorials. His gaze was sharp as a knife, unmoving, and he bellowed: “What do you think a decision is?!”

“What?! Some luxury you can deliberate and reconsider endlessly?!”

“That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in war!”

“The moment would have vanished in a breath!”

“When the time comes to decide, you have only a single instant—one instant, do you understand?! You’re human. I’m human. All men know this—when emotion strikes, when the moment surges, it’s impossible to fully control yourself. The decision you made at that moment may seem righteous and resolute, but tell me—who hasn’t regretted it afterward?!”

The Emperor seized his son’s collar, dragging him forward and pointing directly at the memorials scattered across the floor.

“Come here and look at these memorials!”

“Then look at this world!”

“Look at this court—filled with blue-and-purple-robed officials. Look at this empire—overflowing with the scholarly and refined, with Confucian gowns and lofty hats. And the common folk—everywhere beneath Heaven!”

“A few thousand taels of gold are enough to drive friends to turn against each other. An inheritance—just a few houses—is enough to make blood brothers part ways and never speak again. A single county magistrate’s post can drive scholars who’ve studied the classics for ten, twenty years into bloody frenzy. Their brains will be bashed out fighting over it. Now tell me—if they were in my position, what do you think they’d do?!”

“And the seat I once faced was the greatest seat beneath Heaven. Right before me. All you had to do was nod, and it would be yours.”

“Ask your heart: who could resist such a thing?”

“Even a sage has moments when their mind wavers. And once you’ve gone mad and made your decision, there’s no time left for regret.”

“I gave the order to be sent out with the utmost speed. And by the time I wished to reverse it, it was already too late. Too late, do you understand?! One misstep—and it’s eternal damnation. At that time, six hundred thousand cavalrymen were already deployed and unmoving. If I had dared to look back then, the only fate awaiting me was death—to use my death to beg forgiveness from all under Heaven!”

The Emperor locked his eyes on his son.

The Seventh Prince whispered, “But that was millions of lives…”

“Millions. Yes.”

“But tell me—who would trade their own life to save another’s?”

The Emperor slowly released his grip. His voice softened: “To let the world die, and let me alone live—that is the path of an emperor. The Son of Heaven is called solitary not without reason. If one does not bear such resolve, how can one be Emperor?”

“The scholars say: ‘A gentleman stays far from the kitchen’—because he cannot bear to witness life become death. They call that compassion. Ha! What a joke. Don’t they still eat meat? If they think eating without seeing slaughter is benevolence—then I, having never seen those three million souls in person, consuming their blood and flesh for the sake of the realm—isn’t that [Great Benevolence]?!”

“And so you understand—the so-called ‘people of the realm’, the hundreds of thousands of scholars in this world, are nothing more than beasts in scholar’s robes, cloaked in pomp and righteousness.”

“Their blame toward me is simply because they weren’t the ones eating the meat.”

The Emperor continued: “If, in those days, the people of Jinzhou had stood before me—I would still have made the same choice your eldest brother did. And if the me of today were again faced with the decision of then, I would have had the cavalry march into Jinzhou. Because now I understand—the cost to the cavalry would have been immense, but we could have worn down your elder brother’s power without sacrificing so many lives here. But we didn’t. We failed.”

“But no, at that moment before me stood only that supreme throne, and a single number.”

“And at that time, I lacked the experience and composure I have now.”

The Seventh Prince asked, “A number?”

“Yes, a number—exchanged for the highest authority.”

“Even if beneath it lie over three million piled bones?”

The Emperor scolded sharply, “Foolish son!”

His tone brimmed with arrogance: “Since ancient times, beneath every hero’s feet lie countless bones.”

“Only by standing here can I fulfill my grand ambition.”

“To die for this ambition—they deserve it. No regrets.”

“No regrets? Countless bones?”

“Hero?”

The Seventh Prince murmured these words repeatedly. Suddenly, he burst into harsh laughter, raging uncontrollably.

A strategist and commander assesses the times, knows when to advance or retreat, understands patience; but a warrior’s nature is like a blade—sharp, never broken. With a roar fueled by fierce bloodlust, he suddenly slammed the table aside.

Three steps away was but a single stride. The fury and injustice in his heart, the despair and agony, merged like molten steel in a furnace and erupted into a furious roar:

“TRAITOR!!!”

Behind him, the flow of fate surged with a sudden roar, transforming into a fierce tiger. The tiger’s roar echoed again and again, growing more vivid and real.

“DIE!!!”

The bloodthirsty spirit of war exploded forth.

Father and son’s bond was severed, flesh and blood affection broken in an instant.

At that moment, accompanied by the sharp sound of a blade piercing flesh, fresh blood splattered across the memorials.

A dazzling, crimson red.