Chapter Seventy-Three: The Former Emperor Is Dead

The Stet Empire, Imperial Capital Zhan Ge.

In the deep, ancient halls of the palace, a man clad in resplendent yellow robes stood before a vast sickbed.

“Brother, this is the ceremonial robe I intend to wear at my coronation. Would you raise your eyes and see how the tailor has done? If you are dissatisfied, I’ll have him executed and someone else will make it anew,” he said softly, gazing at the man lying on the bed.

The man on the sickbed had a sallow complexion, his eye sockets sunken, his cheeks gaunt. He looked almost like a skull draped in skin.

After all, if you have gone more than ten days without a single drop of water or grain of rice, your grave would already be overgrown with grass.

And yet this man still lived.

He could hear his brother’s voice at his ear, but he did not bother even to open his eyes.

The younger brother gazed at him in silence, finally sighing. “Why, even at this point, do you still refuse to die?”

As time passed, the Emperor of Stet found it ever harder to resist the poison within him. The medicine he once took to suppress his internal injuries could no longer hold back the combined assault of wounds and toxins, leaving him ever more frail and hollow.

In truth, it was not that his brother had deliberately denied him food and water in hopes of starving him to death; it was simply that he could no longer ingest anything.

Any practitioner, even at the earliest level of body refinement, would have long since trained their bones and nurtured their body, and by the blood-moving stage, each one could hibernate like a tortoise, enduring hunger as a matter of course—let alone a man who had reached the pinnacle of mortal cultivation.

But the footsteps of death drew ever closer.

At last, the man on the bed let out a hoarse laugh, like sandpaper scraping a file.

“Can’t wait any longer?” he asked.

“A man like you should not die in such a manner,” his brother replied calmly.

They had been together for many years; he understood his brother’s talents and ambitions well. Every emperor of Stet had emerged victorious from the struggle for succession—none of them were ordinary men.

And yet now he lay alone, for no one was permitted to see him, not even to tend to his most basic needs.

His brother, aware of this, had nearly ceased his bodily functions, keeping only the most fundamental processes alive.

“Or should I thank you for it?” the elder brother said with a wry smile, his voice grating even to hear.

“So you wish my conscience to be tormented for the rest of my life?” the younger brother answered, calm as ever. “But you should know, once I took that final step, conscience ceased to matter to me.”

A bout of coughing wracked the elder brother’s body, so violent it seemed he might die at any moment. Yet he managed to lift his right hand.

It was a hand like a withered claw.

His brother watched that hand in silence for a moment, then took a black pill from his robe and placed it in the other’s palm.

The emperor snatched it, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed fiercely.

Though the pill contained deadly poison, it was, after all, still medicine.

In that instant, the man seemed to regain a shadow of his former vitality. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling.

“Do you think I fear death?” he finally spoke, his voice steadier.

“I don’t know,” his brother replied.

For his brother’s lingering attachment to life, this clinging to the world, was itself a sign of fearing death.

“If I were to take my own life now, that would be true cowardice,” the emperor said with a laugh. “Only when one truly faces death does one realize the value of life. You and I both know, even for beings such as us, death is the everlasting end.”

“Even in these last days, life has brought me so much pain, yet compared to the eternal silence that follows death, I find this pain far more flavorful.”

“And now, at last, I have waited for you to ask me that question—for I, too, wish to ask you something.”

“Is Seventh still alive?” he asked quietly.

“He is,” his brother answered flatly. “Darkstar failed. The mission was not completed.”

“To survive Darkstar’s hand—truly my son,” the emperor said with pride. “Do whatever it takes. Use your remaining time to kill him.”

With these words, he lifted his head, gazing toward the sky he could not see.

“Do well,” he said, then closed his eyes.

And with that, all breath left him.

His brother raised a hand to his eyes and found his face wet with tears.

Yet a wild laugh escaped him, echoing in the dark chamber.

No one knew how long passed before he finally emerged, his face betraying not the slightest emotion.

“Your Majesty,” someone whispered as soon as he stepped out.

“I am not yet Emperor,” he corrected calmly. “But the Emperor has indeed passed.”

“And I shall succeed him.”

“By the way, have all those children killed.” When he spoke these words, there was not a trace of feeling.

…

…

On a golden tray rested two items.

A white knife.

A red cup of wine.

Each child in the hall stood before such a tray, waiting in silence for their choice.

A death bestowed.

When even death must be granted as a favor, life has fallen to its utmost humility.

“Did Uncle Emperor leave any last words?” The first to speak was a young lady of unearthly beauty—the eldest daughter of the Emperor of Stet, Princess Xixue.

She looked at the wine and knife before her and spoke.

“No,” replied the eunuch in red before her, his tone grave. “And, Your Highness, you should address him as His Majesty now.”

“A false emperor, nothing more,” Xixue said with a touch of self-mockery, then lifted the cup and drained it in one swallow.

Behind her, the other youths, older and younger, likewise raised their cups.

When your fate is to be granted death, resistance is meaningless.

If you cannot die with dignity, someone else will see to it for you.

The red-robed eunuch gazed impassively at the princess as she drank the poison, saying nothing.

“I heard that Fourth and Seventh are still out there?” Xixue, facing her end, seemed all the calmer.

“The fourth prince has been confirmed dead,” the eunuch said to her.

“So that troublemaker Seventh still lives,” Xixue said with genuine amusement.

“I believe,” she said, fixing her gaze on him, “that one day, he will return and kill every last one of you.”

“If the seventh prince survives to see that day,” the eunuch replied, cold and clear.

“He will,” said Xixue, resolute. “If you hang my head high upon a flagpole, I will witness that day myself.”

The eunuch looked at her in silence.

“How dull,” Xixue muttered, shaking her head.

A quarter hour later, the hall was filled with corpses.

The eunuch surveyed the bodies and gave his order.

“Burn them all.”

…

…

“My father is dead,” Su Ziye said calmly.

There was no hint of sorrow on his face.

“How do you know?” Liu Ru could not help but ask.

“I just know,” Su Ziye said, making no effort to explain.

With that, he strode out the door.

“There’s still one final trial—don’t forget.”

- End of Volume One: “Three Trials of Ye Ye.”

Tomorrow, I’ll write a postscript for the volume, and talk a bit about what’s to come. Rest assured, this story will be completed.