A jolt of clarity snapped him back.
His eyes widened, the world a haze of black and white, as he saw his sword buried in his father’s chest.
Emperor Jingxi gazed at him, silent, unflinching, his expression as calm as ever, as if he had foreseen this very moment.
Panic seized the Prince.
“F-Father—”
He tried to pull the sword back, but the Emperor’s fingers closed around the blade, holding it fast.
The Prince stared at the sharp steel and his father’s steady grip, then, trembling, lifted his gaze.
Emperor Jingxi smiled, a gentle, almost tender expression.
“Mo Yao, well done. To dare raise your sword against me proves you’re no coward. Our Yong clan carved its legacy from chaos, winning the empire on horseback. By my generation, you are my only heir. At least you’ve shown some spirit, sparing me shame before our ancestors.”
With a flick of his wrist, the Emperor tossed a silken scroll toward the Prince.
It sailed through the air, and the Prince, caught off guard, turned his head slightly as it landed with a soft rustle on the floor.
Unfazed, Emperor Jingxi stepped forward, letting the blade sink deeper into his flesh.
“Yong Mo Yao, today I give you a choice. Slay your father, ascend the throne over my bones, and claim my consort as your own. I’ve left a decree to clear your path, to shield your name from infamy in the annals of history. This is my final act as your father.”
The Prince’s heart burned with agony.
He yanked the sword free, blood spilling from the dragon-emblazoned robe, pooling on the floor.
Trembling, he picked up the scroll and unfurled it.
His vision blurred with tears as he read.
His father had already prepared a testament, naming him successor, arranging every detail with meticulous care.
Collapsing to his knees, the Prince’s chest heaved, tears falling to the ground.
He pressed his forehead to the floor, his voice raw with grief.
“Father!”
Emperor Jingxi pressed a hand to his lips, stifling a faint cough, masking the metallic tang in his throat.
With a weary smile, he rasped, “Mo Yao, at first, I didn’t know she was Lady Ning. I thought her some runaway performer, a fleeting amusement. I even cast her aside at Nanqiongzi, wavered, nearly took her life.”
The Prince stared, unblinking, at his father.
Emperor Jingxi’s tea-colored eyes held a trace of sorrow.
“You cannot fathom the torment I endured to embrace this stain on my name. Even moments ago, watching you, I felt a pang of regret. But—”
His face hardened, a fierce resolve breaking through.
“If I must bear this infamy, so be it. Let them curse me! I, Yong Tianze, will live freely. And anyone who dares speak against me will lose their head!”
The Prince’s fists clenched, knuckles cracking.
The Emperor’s voice grew sharp.
“Mo Yao, you had an uncle, the Second Prince. Do you know why he died?”
The Prince’s forehead pulsed with veins as he asked, “Why?”
Emperor Jingxi’s gaze was cold, unyielding.
“I shot him dead myself. My half-brother sought to usurp me in my youth, to seize the throne. So I killed him before our late Emperor’s shrine. His body was torn apart, his entire clan—over three hundred souls—wiped out by my hand.”
The Prince’s heart quaked, his trembling gaze lifting to meet his father’s.
This was the Emperor who ruled with iron and blood, his stern features etched with ruthless decisiveness.
“Throughout history, royal kin have slaughtered brothers, fathers, even their own children for the throne. Do you think, Mo Yao, that I should tolerate your insolence?”
The Prince’s voice broke, barely audible.
“Father, I don’t want the crown…”
The Emperor’s laughter was sharp, laced with scorn.
“You dare act so boldly only because you’re my sole heir! But what of it? I could strip you of your title with a wave of my hand. I have nephews—loyal, eager nephews—who’d kneel and beg to serve me, treating me as more than their own fathers. Even after I’m gone, who’d dare neglect my shrine? Any one of them would outshine you, obey me better than you ever have!”
His voice dropped to a growl.
“Do I truly need a useless son like you?”
The words struck like thunder, leaving the Prince pale and trembling.
He knelt, pleading, “Father, kill me. Grant your son a swift end.”
The Emperor’s voice was hoarse with fury.
“I’ve toiled to forge a prosperous Hui empire for you, poured my heart into shaping you to carry our legacy. And today, you speak such words? You are my heir, destined to inherit this realm. Besides your grandmother, who else holds a place in my heart?”
The Prince knelt, speechless, tears streaming down his face.
He knew—how could he not?
His father had only him and Princess Dening, but as a daughter, she was kept at a distance, leaving him as the sole focus of his father’s hopes and teachings.
Emperor Jingxi’s voice softened, heavy with finality.
“If we’ve reached this point, it’s not because I fear you, but because you are my flesh and blood. If I die by your hand today, it’s my retribution for seizing my son’s beloved. I accept it.”
The Prince’s hands shook, his sobs choking his breath as he wept, broken.
How could he possibly choose?
To slay his father, the Emperor, and claim the throne would be unthinkable—how could he face the vast empire of Hui with such a stain on his soul?
Yet A wu, his beloved A wu, the woman he would give everything to protect, stood at the heart of his torment.
Caught in this impossible bind, Emperor Jingxi’s voice cut through the silence.
“Yong Mo Yao, I grant you one chance.”
The Prince, his face streaked with tears, stared at his father in a daze.
The Emperor’s expression was unreadable, his voice cold as steel.
“You may see A wu. Persuade her. If she chooses to leave with you, then go—far away.”
The Prince froze, the weight of his father’s words sinking in.
To take A wu meant vanishing, forsaking all he was born to inherit.
Emperor Jingxi’s tone hardened further.
“You can remain my son, live dutifully, and inherit the Hui empire after my time. Or you can abandon everything for the woman you love.”
The Prince lifted his gaze, meeting his father’s eyes—cold, resolute, unyielding.
He knew the depths of his father’s ruthlessness.
The Emperor sought an heir to carry forward the legacy of their ancestors, not a son lost to passion and indulgence.
In his father’s heart, it was never about him—it was about the enduring glory of Hui.
A bitter smile twisted the Prince’s lips as he nodded, his voice faint.
“Very well. I wish to speak with A wu.”
“Go,” said the Emperor.
The Prince turned to leave, his steps heavy with resignation.
But then, his father’s voice halted him.
“Your Princess Consort is with child. Two months along.”
The Prince stiffened, his steps faltering.
A tumult of emotions churned within him, indescribable in their complexity.
He recalled that day at Nanqiongzi, after A wu had been banished to Yan Yang Temple.
His father had inspected his archery, spoken earnestly of his duties as heir, and urged him to honor his responsibilities to his Consort, the future mother of the imperial line.
Reluctantly, he had seen the wisdom in his father’s words, knowing defiance would only mark him as reckless in the Emperor’s eyes.
So, upon returning, he had lain with his Consort—once, perfunctorily, after months of distance.Â
Afterward, when A wu vanished, he had scoured the land for her, learning later that his Consort had schemed against her.
From that moment, he had sworn never to touch his Consort again.
And yet, that single night had left her pregnant.Â
What would A wu think?
She must have misunderstood, believed he had betrayed her.
Her cold resolve today, her cutting words—surely they stemmed from this.
Panic and regret surged within him, clawing at his heart.
The Emperor’s voice broke through again.
“The Imperial Physician, Hu Jingshan, has confirmed it’s likely a boy. I will soon have a grandson.”
The Prince’s breath caught, his pupils contracting as the implication struck him.
If his father had a grandson, then he, the son…
His thoughts faltered, a chill creeping down his spine.
He dared not dwell on it.
Emperor Jingxi observed his son’s reaction, his voice measured.
“Are you wondering why I didn’t mention this earlier?”
The Prince’s lips trembled.
“Why?”
The Emperor’s gaze was complex, a blend of severity and something deeper, almost tender.
“You are my son, Mo Yao. Do you truly believe I would use my own grandson to corner you, to drive you to despair?”
Tears welled in the Prince’s eyes, spilling over.
Through the blur, he saw his father’s gaze—stern yet encompassing, loving yet distant.
The man above him, cloaked in imperial authority, carried emotions so intricate they seemed to flicker like shadows.
The Emperor, too, must have wrestled with this choice, torn before making such a merciless decision.
A wu’s allure was undeniable.
The Prince loved her, and his father, too, had been captivated.
A woman like her, once known, was impossible to relinquish.
Swallowing a sob, the Prince forced out his words.
“Father, I… I still wish to see A wu. To speak with her.”
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