The winds that whispered through the streets of the capital seed colder than usual, as if they carried the breath of death itself.
The air hung heavy with mourning, and an eerie stillness blanketed the imperial city.
Flags of white fluttered solemnly on every building, and the palace gates, once adorned with scarlet banners and gilded finery, now stood stripped, their austerity casting a shadow across the hearts of all who passed.
News of the Emperor’s death had swept through the empire like wildfire, but it was not grief alone that stirred the masses. No—rumors, vile and persistent, slithered through the alleys and markets, whispered from mouth to mouth with both terror and glee.
The Empress and the Pri Minister—was it true? Had they truly been lovers all these years? Had they conspired to poison the Emperor and take the throne for their illegitimate son, Zhao Ling Xu?
In teahouses, custors huddled together, voices barely above a hush. "I heard they say the Empress wasn’t even with His Majesty when he died," one old man murmured, his beard quivering as he took a sip of bitter brew. "She ca late, wailing like a banshee, but not a tear in her eye."
"My cousin serves in the palace," another chid in. "He said the Crown Prince—our new Emperor to be, I suppose—accused her outright! Said she and the Pri Minister were nowhere to be found when the Emperor breathed his last."
The marketplace buzzed with talk of betrayal and hidden truths. Children, oblivious to the weight of it all, played funeral gas with white ribbons in their hair, while adults speculated freely. "The Empress before her, Zhao Yan’s mother, died too suddenly," a woman selling silks whispered. "Didn’t they say it was illness? Bah! Illness, my foot. I always said sothing was off about that woman."
Others nodded gravely. "It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? The Pri Minister and the Empress plotted this long ago. Zhao Yan was never ant to take the throne in their eyes. They wanted their bastard child to rule. But look how it turned out. Karma has sharp claws."
Inside the palace, the transformation was even more jarring. Where once the grand corridors echoed with laughter and the scents of blooming orchids, now there lingered only the faint scent of incense and the soft shuffle of mourning steps. Every servant wore white. The walls bore the mark of sorrow. And in every corner, eyes watched, whispering, suspecting.
Officials gathered in anxious circles, debating the storm of gossip. So were loyal to Zhao Yan and stood firm, but others—those who had once bent knee to the Pri Minister—looked pale and uncertain, their alliances shaken by the spectacle they had witnessed in the mourning hall.
"His Highness unsheathed his sword on the Pri Minister himself," a young minister said, his voice barely a breath. "Called him a traitor. Right in front of the royal family."
"And the Empress... She has been banished to the Cold Palace," another added. "What a fall from grace."
"What do you expect? Treason does not go unpunished," soone muttered darkly.
Through it all, the city remained wrapped in a haunting silence, like the mont before a thunderclap. The people waited, breathless, for the next move in the ga of power. For it was clear to all—this was only the beginning.
And in quiet corners of the empire, unseen eyes were watching, and old plans were being rewritten.
Because in the land of dragons and crowns, the death of a king was not an end. It was only the first act.
On the other side...
Zhao Yan had not breathed easy, nor closed his eyes for even a blink of rest since the emperor’s death. He sat, silent and unmoving, beside the cold body of the man who had raised him, guided him, and in the last monts, entrusted the future to him. The Crown Prince looked like a ghost himself—eyes red from unshed tears, his handso features drawn tight with fatigue and grief. His robes, still laced with the scent of incense and blood, clung to his body like a mory he couldn’t shake.
He refused to leave.
Everything had happened too fast.
The emperor’s death had not been anticipated—not now, not yet. Zhao Yan had felt it in his gut. It was too sudden, too clean. It felt like soone had rushed to finish the job, pushing events forward before they were ready. And in the one mont he had been drawn away—to save Hua Jing—his father had slipped away forever.
"If he had heard she was in danger..." Zhao Yan whispered to himself. Of course, he would’ve gone. And whoever orchestrated it knew exactly what string to pull.
His hands balled into fists.
He had left the emperor under heavy guard. Trusted n. Trained n. And yet, the emperor had died in his absence.
Was there a traitor among them?
That thought coiled in his chest like a serpent, wrapping around his lungs until each breath beca a struggle. He didn’t speak of it, but the question thundered behind his eyes.
Now, he sat with the chief imperial physician, who knelt beside the emperor’s lifeless body, preparing the autopsy.
The old physician’s hands trembled.
"Do it once and do it well," Zhao Yan said coldly. "I want to know what killed my father."
The physician nodded, swallowing thickly. He took a breath and carefully began his examination, cutting through layers of silence and tension as much as skin and cloth.
Minutes passed. The physician moved slowly, reverently, but with a precision born from decades of experience. Zhao Yan watched every flick of his hand.
And then, the physician paused.
His brow furrowed as he shifted the emperor’s robe and pointed at a mark just above the thigh—a single red dot, barely visible, like a blood pinprick.
"This... This wasn’t here before," he muttered.
Zhao Yan stood imdiately, his shadow falling over the physician like a storm cloud.
"What did you say?"
The physician pointed again. "Your Highness, when I tended to His Majesty before, this mark wasn’t here. It’s recent. Very recent."
Zhao Yan dropped to one knee beside him, inspecting the small blemish.
It wasn’t just red. The skin around it was faintly bruised, almost like it had been punctured.
"What does this an?" he asked.
The physician leaned in closer, fingers gently pressing around the mark. He sniffed the air lightly, then pulled back, his face grim.
"This... This appears to be the point of injection. Poison, Your Highness."
Zhao Yan’s face darkened.
"What kind?"
The physician hesitated.
"This is different from the poison administered before. That one worked slowly, weakening His Majesty over days. This... This one was quick. A finishing blow. Whoever did this didn’t want to wait any longer."
Zhao Yan was silent for a long mont, his eyes still fixed on the mark.
"Whoever did this," he said finally, "knew I would leave."
The attack on Hua Jing had been too sudden. It is a safe the person wanted Zhao Yan to leave The emperor’s side so that they could orchestrate their final blow!
The prince had not heard any news of the seventh consort being attacked and when he left The emperor’s side it was because of a nagging feeling deep inside his heart.
He did not know what it was but it felt heavily like she was in danger and she needed him right at the mont.
Who knew that the only ti he left The emperor’s side since the whole poison thing had began was the also the ti that he would lose him forever!
In this world, he had no attachnt to this father of his but he was still his father nonetheless and his death hurt and stung so badly that the prince did not know what to do with himself!
The physician suddenly thought of sothing and looked at the Prince and asked, "I need to check sothing."
Zhao Yan gave him the go ahead.
The physician moved to inspect the emperor’s mouth. As he pried it open gently, his hands froze.
Zhao Yan noticed imdiately. "What is it?"
The physician didn’t respond at first. His face paled, and he glanced back at the prince with a horrified expression.
"Your Highness... the tongue... it’s rotting. And the color of the gums... the inside of the mouth... This... This looks like..."
Zhao Yan’s voice cut through the air like a sword.
"The late empress."
Silence crashed into the room.
Everyone present felt it—the weight of those words.
The physician nodded slowly, almost unwillingly. "Yes... Your Highness. It’s the sa poison that killed Her Majesty the Empress..."
Zhao Yan stood, his body still as stone, his mind reeling. The room, the grief, the politics—all of it blurred for a mont.
The sa poison.
The sa killer.
And the implication?
The one who killed his mother... had now killed his father too.
How could he remain sane after this?
How could he ever let go of those that did this to him?
He was going to make them suffer!
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