Lian's shout echoed through the capital, reaching every ear and sending a clear signal.
Rex, the Northern Marshal, had chosen loyalty to the court rather than seizing the chaos to plunder or rebel.
Tao's expression darkened, losing the calm composure he'd held earlier.
Even though he'd steeled himself, anger surged within him when it happened. Why was Rex, who dominated the northern province, so beloved by its people? Why did even Ming, in his near-mad final years, refrain from striking him?
If chaotic times produced heroes and the wilderness birthed true dragons, Rex was a hero.
A hero of the north!
A true hero who placed the people of the north in his heart, unwilling to let war's flames ravage his homeland. Unlike Ming's cold, imperial selfishness, Rex possessed a heart of great love for the common folk.
By sending his elite Yan Fu army and his only daughter, Lian, to the capital on the eve of the New Year, Rex had made his stance clear.
He wished to avoid war in the north and reconcile with the court.
Yet Tao scoffed, finding Rex's actions incomprehensible and contemptible. In his view, with Ming newly passed, a new emperor ascending, an unstable realm, and both righteous and demonic factions stirring, it was the perfect moment to strike. If it were him, he'd have seized the chance to rebel, perhaps even topple Bright Hua itself.
"My dear brother!" Tao murmured to himself. "It seems everything leans toward you: the righteous path, the scholars, the people, and now even the border armies pledge loyalty to you. Is it Father's favoritism, or do you truly command all under heaven?"
The position of the fourth prince seemed to carry a certain magic, an uncanny streak of fortune. Looking back on Ren's life, it was a dance between coincidence and luck.
In his youth, he married Mei, daughter of Sheng, the era's greatest Confucian scholar and literary titan, granting him status among the literati far surpassing Tao, the ninth prince, despite Tao's own brilliance and literary flair. The capital's imperial guard also favored him, offering no resistance during the throne struggle, allowing Ren to march into the capital effortlessly and proclaim Ming's final edict.
Even his younger brother Zan had secretly aligned with him early on, betraying Tao at the critical moment of the succession battle, leading to Tao's utter defeat.
Could it be that Ren was truly destined by fate?
Tao's face flickered between gloom and uncertainty.
"Merely the will of the people," the Evil King remarked dismissively.
He had witnessed firsthand how the previous dynasty fell from the grandeur of Emperor Wu's reign, when all nations paid tribute, barbarians were subdued, and lesser kingdoms bowed in submission, a golden age of phoenixes and dragons, where even immortal sects knelt and hailed the emperor as the Son of Heaven.
How magnificent had that peak been? Even Ming, reading historical records, would marvel at the splendor of that bygone era, a brilliance that inspired awe and longing.
But no feast lasts forever, and even the grandest eras fade. When the revelry ended and prosperity waned, that once-glorious dynasty crumbled under its own weight, collapsing entirely. From its ruins rose Bright Hua.
The Evil King tapped the wooden table lightly, producing a crisp sound, and said calmly, "They aren't loyal to your brother; they're loyal to Bright Hua itself."
"If you sat on that throne, the world would naturally gravitate toward you too. It's inevitable."
The Evil King understood this: Bright Hua's destiny had not yet run its course. With a new dynasty established, its nobles had not yet fallen into decadence, its armies remained uncorrupted, its scholars stayed upright, its politics were clear, and the land thrived with vitality. The dragon aura of the empire blazed like a newborn sun, brimming with life. The people's hearts still belonged to Bright Hua, content to live under its rule.
Only when natural disasters and human calamities struck, when ghosts and demons roamed, when harmony between yin and yang shattered, when injustice reigned, and the people could no longer survive, would a dynasty meet its end.
Bright Hua was far from that point. As the saying goes, "Endure for the sake of the nation." To maintain the empire's balance, all sides would naturally make concessions. Even if Tao ascended the throne, with his temperament mirroring Ming's harshness, the scholars and people might grumble about his severity, and a few scattered rebellions might flare up. But they wouldn't dare launch a full-scale uprising, plunging the land back into war and the people into misery.
Because no matter how much Ming had meddled, he had ensured the people were fed and housed, able to live in peace.
"I know," Tao said softly. "Ren is the one best suited to inherit Bright Hua. Father killed our eldest brother, second brother, third brother, and fifth brother, crippled the sixth, drove the eighth mad, yet spared Ren alone. He knew the mess he'd created needed an emperor with both ability and the patience to compromise, someone who could secure Bright Hua's future for generations."
In his later years, Ming's growing volatility and erratic temper stemmed from his impending death, not true incompetence. He was well aware of the chaos he'd sown.
If he had truly set his mind to eliminate Ren, no amount of Ren's obedience would have saved him from the fate of his brothers.
Ming also knew that by refusing to name a crown prince, his death would spark a battle for the throne, even fratricide and bloodshed. Yet he chose to let it unfold, leaving only a blank edict in the palace. Whoever emerged victorious could write their name upon it, becoming the legitimate heir ordained by Ming.
A decree in black and white, utterly lawful.
Ren, now the emperor, understood this. Tao understood it too, as did Zan, which explained why Zan had switched sides to Ren on the day of Ming's death, enabling Ren to crush the succession struggle with overwhelming force and claim the throne as Bright Hua's undisputed ruler.
"Ren, I truly envy you."
Tao regained his composure. Lian's actions had briefly unsettled him, but years of discipline quickly steadied his mind. Closing his eyes, he spoke in a voice as calm as still water.
"But I can't accept it!"
Lian's words echoed through the skies, shaking the capital. They not only made some young women pale but also left one man grimacing, on the verge of tears.
"Lian," Feng sighed from atop a distant pagoda, where he was playing chess. A helpless, bitter smile crossed his face.
"Benefactor Feng, quite the fortunate man!"
Across from him sat a young monk with striking features: red lips, white teeth, a clear complexion, and eyes as distinct as black and white, serene yet profound like a bodhi leaf, unforgettable at first glance. The two were engaged in a game of chess.
A common saying went: "Handsome as a pine, refined as a forest." This described him perfectly.
Yet Mingxin's eyes held a trace of sorrow and bitterness, not despair or anguish, but a boundless compassion, grieving for the suffering of all beings, bearing the weight of their sins.
This monk was no ordinary figure. He was Mingxin, a direct disciple of the abbot of the Iron Shrine, a lineage founded by an ancient Buddha.
The temple's creed was: "All suffer, you and I alike. I cross the sea of suffering with my body, bearing the sorrows of the world."
Mingxin's words carried a hint of teasing, lightening the sorrow in his demeanor. His aura shifted from that of a weathered old branch to a vibrant young sprout, matching his youthful appearance.
"Master Mingxin, please don't mock me," Feng replied with a wry smile, his bitterness making it hard to tell who was the true monk of the Iron Shrine.
Their bond traced back years ago when Feng was still a novice. On his first venture, he encountered a rare ghost uprising that overwhelmed his inexperience, nearly costing him his life. Fortunately, the court and major sects acted swiftly to suppress the chaos.
But while other sect disciples cared little for a rogue cultivator like him, leaving him trapped and helpless, Mingxin treated all equally. Calling him "benefactor," the monk risked everything to save Feng's life.
Now, Feng's status had risen far beyond those days, a guest of kings and nobles, yet recalling those times still filled him with emotion.
A bond forged in life and death transcended status.
"I'm not mocking you, just marveling," Mingxin said with a touch of emotion. "Love between men and women is a source of sorrow and trouble in this bitter world. It's hard to break through the realm of desire, to see beauty as mere bones. Yet people revel in it, endlessly chasing it. This poor monk struggles to understand."
Of course you don't, you're a monk!
"With so many admirers, Benefactor Feng, is it a blessing or a burden?" Mingxin continued.
Feng's expression grew even more pained.
Sweet or bitter, how could an outsider fathom such feelings? They could only be savored in silence, a unique taste lingering in the heart.
The capital was a storm of activity, factions stirring, vying for power. But more pressing for Feng was that nearly all the women he knew with whom he shared some connection were gathered here.
Lian's proclamation, broadcast across the city, had put him squarely in the spotlight, or rather, on the roasting spit.
Not to mention the other women with whom he shared faint romantic ties; their suitors alone were enough to make his life miserable.
Feng was caught between pain and joy.
"The hardest debt to repay is a beauty's favor. Benefactor Feng, I hope you act decisively, lest it all become a fleeting dream."
Mingxin placed a piece on the board.
Feng didn't respond. Watching Mingxin's move checkmate him, he scratched his head and said, "Why do you riddle-loving types always enjoy chess?"
He recalled how Tao loved challenging others to chess, how the fiery-tempered Jun often stared at a board in a daze, and how Mingxin insisted on a game every time they met.
"I didn't understand why my master and seniors loved chess either," Mingxin said with a faint smile. "But whenever I see you, Benefactor Feng, my hands itch to set up a board."
So it's not just about riddles, you enjoy trouncing my terrible chess skills too?
Feng was speechless.
"A mouth can lie, but the mind cannot," Mingxin said, tapping Feng's scattered pieces. His chaotic moves reflected his troubled thoughts.
"Brother Feng, your heart is in disarray."
"Ha..."
Feng paused, falling silent for a long moment before letting out a deep sigh.
Mingxin was right, his heart was a mess.
Qing's serene, moonlit gaze seemed to hover before him, like the Taiyin Star above the heavens, with rivers and mountains paling beside the ripple in her eyes. Yet she stood so poised, a lady from the classics, a lotus swaying in the water's heart. Even when they met in dire straits, she remained calm, unshaken by anything, except for that fleeting tremor in her gaze, a moment so striking it etched itself into Feng's soul, unforgettable even in death.
Then there was Suya, her frail frame hiding a depth of feeling. Amidst a thousand poisons and retreating armies, that gentle yet resolute woman stepped into the deadly Sky Rift Valley without hesitation. "Mountains may crumble, heaven and earth unite, only then would I part from you." Her kindness, her devotion, Feng couldn't forget, nor dared to. How could he betray such a woman?
And Mira, beneath her enchanting allure, carried a heavy solitude. Burdened by her sect, coveted by demons, reviled by the righteous, she was a sprite dancing between reality and illusion, vivid yet fragile as a bubble. Her faint smile stirred his heart, filled him with both longing and worry. Was it love between them? Or a bond of foes and friends?
Feng couldn't say, but he knew he'd never let harm come to her.
And Lian?
He still remembered that snowy expanse by the Kunlun border a year ago, a thousand miles of silver white. A white horse, a boy, and a girl, pursued relentlessly by barbarians, huddling by a fire. That bold, spirited girl loosened her hairband, her dark locks falling free, her valiant face softening with a blush, three parts tender, one part shy. Was the flush from the firelight, or something else?
Lost in thought, he even recalled Li, that mischievous sprite. Her bright eyes twinkled like pearls, her lips always curved in a smile. Unlike Qing's cool, moonlit grace, Li was a spring blossom, radiant and youthful, her still-maturing face already breathtaking, a beauty to haunt a lifetime.
How could Feng not grasp Mingxin's meaning? A basket dipping water would end up empty. Indecision might cost him everything.
Yet he was too greedy to let any of them go.
A mix of melancholy and sweetness, a blend of flavors, who could truly understand?
If Lian's arrival stirred Tao's anger, twisted Feng's face into a grimace, and unsettled Qing and others, one person was undeniably delighted: Ren.
Ren was the happiest of all.
The Yan Fu army dismounted and shed their armor outside the city, and Lian personally entered the palace to pay respects, the greatest gesture of goodwill Rex could offer.
The north remained loyal to Bright Hua, to His Majesty. Rex had not chosen to become a disloyal vassal during the imperial transition. This was more than a mere easing of tensions between the central court and the north, or a personal reconciliation between Rex and the throne.
Its significance far exceeded ordinary imagination.
When Bright Hua was founded, it wasn't just through conquest; many local powers like Rex had willingly pledged allegiance, their strength varying but their numbers substantial. They held immense prestige locally and retained formidable military might.
In Ming's words, they were "feudal lords." Ming despised them, much as he did the righteous sects. He longed to cast them aside, but unifying the realm in his lifetime required their aid and compromise.
With their support, Ming unified the land by his thirties, remarkably young.
Though this spared widespread bloodshed, allowing Bright Hua to rebuild and muster an army rivaling the previous dynasty's peak, enabling Ming to campaign north against barbarians, south against tribal chieftains, west against desert kingdoms, and east against island nations, striking fear into all and earning tribute from countless lands, the drawbacks of rapid unification emerged decades later.
Tensions with these local powers plagued Ming's later years, and his conflict with Rex epitomized this struggle.
Efforts weren't fruitless; weaker lords were subdued, sent to the capital as idle nobles or stripped of power to retire home.
But a few remained, too strong even for Ming to touch. The mightiest, with the greatest prestige, was Rex, commanding thirty thousand cavalry in the north.
Now, Rex had chosen reconciliation, submitting to imperial authority.
Without Rex as a powerful ally, the remaining lords, no matter how unwilling, couldn't challenge the court that ruled the realm. It would be like an egg striking a stone.
The empire's stability was now assured.
Ren was overjoyed, overlooking Lian's loud proclamation outside the city as a breach of decorum. Instead, he issued edicts rewarding the Yan Fu army's meritorious soldiers with titles and promotions. For Lian, he sent three decrees, granting her estates, gold, silk, and lavish praise as a heroic woman of Bright Hua, a paragon among ladies.
Most crucially, he ordered Lian to continue leading the Yan Fu army, designating a plot outside the city as their independent garrison.
He arranged a grand welcome, letting Lian enter the capital under the gaze of thousands, proceeding to the palace to meet him.