Chapter 126.

The two were quickly dragged to the Qianqing Palace, but Gao Xian struggled like a rabid dog all the way there, his face twisted with indignation, while Yin Ciguang, ever composed, followed without resistance, exuding a quiet submission that was almost unsettling.

Inside the grand hall, they were forced to kneel. To their side knelt a disheveled and defeated pair—Yin Chengjing and his mother, Consort De.

Yin Ciguang cast a sideways glance at the pathetic duo, a mocking smirk curling at the corners of his lips. His voice, soft and laced with venom, sliced through the suffocating silence like a razor: "I thought I might miss this little performance. Tell me, dear Third Brother, how does it feel to finally get your hands dirty and murder your own father?"

Yin Chengjing turned his hollow eyes toward him, slow and mechanical, like a puppet with its strings cut. Days of starvation and utter despair had left him stripped of strength, his spirit shattered. He could barely muster the energy to rasp out a hoarse insult, “Madman,” before slumping back into his misery.

Yin Ciguang chuckled, entirely unbothered.

But the court officials standing in the hall were anything but unaffected. Their faces paled, their regret over meddling in this treacherous game growing with every second. It was too late to back out now.

Crown Prince Yin Chengyu fixed his steely gaze on Yin Ciguang. His tone was sharp, commanding: “Was it you, Prince An, who locked Yin Chengjing and Consort De inside the Emperor’s bedchamber?”

“It was.”

“Conspiring with eunuchs, holding the Emperor hostage, issuing false decrees, throwing the palace into chaos, and committing treason—do you admit these crimes?”

“I do.”

Yin Ciguang accepted every charge without so much as a flicker of emotion, as though confessing to nothing more scandalous than a late-night snack.

Gao Xian, standing nearby, shrieked like a cornered rat. “Prince An was coerced by the Crown Prince! His Majesty left a will on his deathbed, naming Prince An as his heir! You are the traitors, the usurpers!”

But who would believe the words of a eunuch clinging to the vestiges of his former power?

Emperor Longfeng was dead, and Gao Xian’s influence had crumbled into dust along with him. Now, he was little more than a traitor himself.

Desperate, he pulled a charred scrap of yellow silk from his sleeve and waved it like a drowning man grasping at straws. “The Emperor’s will! It’s real! Prince An burned it, but this proves it existed!”

His voice rose to a fever pitch, trembling with terror.

And then, like a flash of lightning, Xue Shu stepped forward. Two swift strides. A glint of steel. The blade sang as it left its sheath and returned just as quickly.

"If you can't speak, then don't speak."

For a moment, Gao Xian froze, his expression locked in stunned disbelief. Then, a thin, crimson line bloomed across his face, slashing from his left cheek to his right jaw. Blood spilled in hot rivulets as pain hit him like a delayed explosion. He clutched his ruined face, screaming—only to choke on his own agony when the gash at his mouth ripped further.

His pitiful wails filled the hall, a grim symphony that rattled even the most seasoned officials. Yet Yin Chengyu stood there, unshaken, his face carved from stone.

Soon, the eunuch was dragged away, his cries fading into the distance. He had no place in the affairs of emperors and kings—he was nothing but an unwelcome interruption in their bloodstained games.

When it came to Yin Ciguang, Yin Chengjing, and Consort De, the verdict was clear and ruthless: stripped of their titles, reduced to mere commoners, and locked away in the clan's detention house to await final judgment.

After these disgraced royals were dragged off, Yin Chengyu pinched the bridge of his nose, weary but composed. Turning his attention to the stunned court officials who had just witnessed the scandalous downfall of the imperial family, he offered a few placating words before dismissing them from the palace.

The aftermath demanded swift action: tightening palace security, cleaning up the chaos wrought by two uprisings, and ordering the Ministry of Rites and the Cabinet to draft the funeral rites for the late Emperor Longfeng.

Untangling the mess consumed days. By the time the dust settled, three days had passed.

Longfeng Emperor's body lay temporarily in the funeral palace. Conveniently, the deceased had been constructing his mausoleum before his demise, sparing Yin Chengyu the trouble. All that remained was to choose an auspicious date for the burial.

With the treasury nearly empty, Yin Chengyu ordered the funeral arrangements to be kept simple. The Ministry of Rites, following the Imperial Astronomer’s calculations, set the burial date seven days later—a mere nod to formality for an emperor who had met such a disgraceful end.

Yet, there was still the matter of the three detained in the clan prison.

For Yin Chengjing and Consort De, the decision was already made—one length of white silk would seal their fate.

But Yin Ciguang’s punishment remained unresolved.

“Yin Chengjing and Consort De will meet their end today,” Xue Shu remarked. “But how does Your Highness intend to deal with Prince An?”

Yin Chengyu paused, his expression dark and unreadable. After a moment, he replied, “I never wished for it to come to this, but what’s done is done. There’s no turning back. I’ll see him off myself.”

The two made their way to the clan’s detention house.

When they arrived, the jailer unbolted the cell door. Yin Chengyu ordered Xue Shu to stand guard outside and stepped into the dim, musty cell alone.

The prison was crude, with only a wooden plank serving as a bed. Yin Ciguang sat against the wall, calm and composed, as though the weight of his circumstances had not touched him.

“Your Highness, what business brings you to such a filthy place?” Yin Ciguang’s tone was almost mocking.

Yin Chengyu scrutinized him, his gaze piercing yet searching. “If you resented Consort Rong’s unjust death, I could have helped you avenge her. Why do you went this far?”

He knew Consort Rong’s death had shattered Yin Ciguang. He, too, had endured the agony of losing a mother in his past life. He understood the depths of grief.

But revenge? There were countless ways to achieve it.

Why choose the path of mutual destruction?

“I didn’t just want them dead.” Yin Ciguang’s eyes met his for a fleeting moment before shifting away. The mask of serenity fell, revealing the twisted, seething hatred beneath. “You’ve done more than enough for me, Your Highness. Why burden yourself further? I’ve spent my whole life swallowing my pride, giving way. I’m done with that.”

His hands, trembling faintly, clenched into fists as if trying to grasp something—only to release, empty and powerless.

Yin Chengyu stood in silence.

It was Yin Ciguang who finally broke the stillness. He kept his gaze fixed on his pallid fingertips as he spoke. “Do you regret helping me regain my identity?”

“Never.” Yin Chengyu’s reply was immediate, firm.

He had foreseen the possibility of Yin Ciguang turning against him when he extended his hand back then. But the man had once aided him, and Yin Chengyu had been sincere in treating him as a brother. Trust, once given, was given fully. He had made his choice and was prepared to bear the consequences.

Even now, faced with this bitter ending, he did not regret it.

“And you? Do you regret it?” Yin Chengyu countered.

Yin Ciguang’s face turned ashen. He shook his head, but said nothing.

They were fundamentally different.

One stood untainted, like the bright moon shining in a clear sky. The other, trapped beneath its glow, had succumbed to his own delusions.

Yin Chengyu bore no regrets, but Yin Ciguang regretted every step that led him here.

If only he hadn’t sought out Yin Chengyu at the pavilion corridor. If only he had stayed in Yongxi Palace with his mother, quietly living as the eldest princess. Perhaps then, he wouldn’t have been consumed by bitterness and longing.

But the world offered no “if only.”

Yin Ciguang clenched his fists again before letting them fall limp. His voice, now calm, broke the silence. “I know my crimes are unforgivable, and death is inevitable. But last winter, I stored a jar of snow water and a tin of fine tea. I’ve yet to taste them. Could Your Highness grant me this last indulgence? Better that than the poison here.”

“I’ll have it brought to you,” Yin Chengyu replied.

Yin Ciguang offered a faint smile of gratitude. “Thank you. I am a criminal and unworthy of the royal tomb. There’s no need to waste land burying me. Burn my body, and scatter my ashes in the wild.”

Yin Chengyu nodded. “I’ll see to it that it’s a place of beauty—where mountains and rivers meet.”

Yin Ciguang bowed low, his forehead touching the ground. “Thank you, Your Highness. Take care.”

Yin Chengyu took one last look at him before turning and leaving. Behind him, the cell door creaked shut.

*

The day Yin Ciguang was executed, Yin Chengyu didn’t bother to see him off.

Instead, he sent a simple order to the Clan Affairs Office: collect the body, handle it with care, cremate it, and bury the ashes behind Jinyun Temple. That spot, lined with peach trees and echoing with the peaceful chants of monks, far removed from the chaos of the world, was a fitting place for an eternal rest.

Another day passed, and it was time for the burial of the late Emperor.

Two lifetimes of bitter coexistence had long since worn out any affection Yin Chengyu had left for the Longfeng Emperor. On the day of the burial, Yin Chengyu followed protocol with mechanical precision, fulfilling every duty without a hint of grief. His heart was as cold as the ceremony itself.

Once the late Emperor was in the ground, it was time to prepare for the ascension of the new one.

As Crown Prince, Yin Chengyu was the rightful heir to the throne. After three formal petitions from the court, led by the Grand Scholars of the Inner Cabinet, Yin Chengyu graciously accepted. The Ministry of Rites wasted no time in beginning preparations for the coronation.

The ceremony was to be solemn but restrained. The Imperial Astronomers had double-checked and triple-checked the stars before settling on the sixth day of the sixth lunar month as an auspicious date.

That left more than half a month in the interim. As the acting emperor, Yin Chengyu had already taken on the full weight of imperial responsibilities. His days were consumed with the overwhelming workload of a fresh transition of power, far more chaotic and intricate than anything before.

The court was on edge. The nation was still reeling from the scandal of Xie Wendao’s corruption in the imperial examination system, now under fresh investigation following the mourning period. The case implicated numerous officials, leaving many anxious about the new emperor’s potential reckoning.

Yin Chengyu spent his days tirelessly managing the court, calming nerves, and tackling an endless stream of state affairs. He had no time or energy to spare for anything—or anyone—else. As the coronation day drew near and the chaos began to settle, Yin Chengyu finally found a rare moment to breathe. Only then did he notice that Xue Shu, who was once inseparable from him, seemed to have grown distant.

Not yet formally crowned and still disliking the gloomy air of the Qianqing Palace, Yin Chengyu remained in Ciqing Palace. In the past, Xue Shu would find any excuse to linger in his bedchamber, shamelessly refusing to leave. But now, his presence had become a rarity.

Frowning, Yin Chengyu reflected on this shift and realized it had been three nights since Xue Shu last shared his bed.

The man who used to cling to him like a shadow was suddenly nowhere to be found.

Yin Chengyu didn’t think too deeply about it, assuming Xue Shu was dealing with some troublesome matter. Glancing at the stack of finished paperwork on his desk, he decided not to summon anyone. Instead, he rose and went to find Xue Shu himself.

It didn’t take long. Xue Shu’s influence in the palace had grown stronger than even that of the eunuch Zheng Duobao. A casual inquiry with a nearby servant revealed that Xue Shu was at the Jianxiang Pavilion.

What business could he possibly have there?

Curious, Yin Chengyu headed to the pavilion.

When he arrived, he found not only Xue Shu but also Xie Yunchuan. The two sat across from each other, a tea set placed between them, their conversation light and full of laughter.

The scene was strikingly harmonious—nothing like the hostility they’d shared in the past life.

Yin Chengyu had never seen Xue Shu so amicable with anyone other than himself.

His sharp eyes narrowed as he stood there, watching for a long moment without stepping forward. Then, with a flick of his sleeve, he turned and returned to the Hongren Hall.

Clearly, he’d been fooling himself.

———TN: Ci Guang knew full well he stood no chance in the ruthless fight for the crown prince's title, but that didn't stop him from lighting fires just to watch the world burn.

He wasn't the type to bow out gracefully—hell no. Stubborn to the core and done with caring whether he lived or died, he picked his own twisted path to destruction. The guy's a walking tragedy, through and through.

Sure, it would’ve been nice to see him lounging as a spoiled, wealthy prince, living the high life. But let’s be real—this grim, gut-punch of an ending suits his fierce, self-destructive nature perfectly.