At the end of the formation, his gaze settled on a figure: Emperor Jingxi, adorned with a carved cloud-patterned jade hairpin and a black robe embroidered with soaring dragons.
He stood calm and composed, hands clasped behind his back, the sun-and-moon embroidery on his shoulders blazing under the firelight.
A wu’s tears spilled over as she cried out, “Your Majesty!”
Her voice was a desperate plea, begging him to believe her—she had not chosen this, had not sought to flee with the prince.
It was he who had seized her.
The Crown Prince stared at his father, emotions swirling in his eyes—anger, pain, defiance.
He tightened the cloak around A wu, gripping the reins, and raised his voice.
“Father, as I walked through the palace, I saw my former concubine. She lacks decorum, so I intended to take her back to my residence.”
Emperor Jingxi’s gaze flicked to A wu’s dark hair, spilling from the cloak that enveloped her, framing the half of her face visible against the prince’s arm.
His voice remained even, unruffled.
“You’re mistaken. She is not your concubine. She is my newly welcomed consort. Release her.”
The Crown Prince’s jaw tightened as he replied, “She is not.”
With a glance from the Emperor, the Dragon Guards surged forward like a rolling cloud, their iron boots pounding the patterned tiles.
In an instant, they encircled the prince and A wu, their blades catching the torchlight, their presence heavy with menace.
The prince’s own retinue from his residence had already been subdued, leaving him isolated, without aid.
Though he held the Dragon Guard’s jade token, it was powerless before the Emperor.
Dahui was his father’s realm, and none could defy his authority.
Veins pulsed at the prince’s temples, despair choking him, yet a fire burned in his chest, searing him to the bone.
Emperor Jingxi raised his eyes, regarding his son with faint indifference.
“Mo Yao, you’re no longer a child. I expect you to act with sense. If you seek your concubine, I’ll help you find her. But to barge into my harem and cause a scene?”
The prince’s face, once as smooth as jade, twisted with jagged fury.
He bit out, “You—”
The words caught in his throat, his rage too vast for speech.
His father had gone too far.
The Emperor’s gaze shifted to A wu.
She lifted her head from the prince’s cloak, her hair disheveled, her skin pale as snow, her lips stained with that vivid streak of blood.
Her tearful eyes met his, piteous and pleading, stifling sobs.
He lowered his gaze, a flicker of understanding passing through him.
Had it not been for his own actions, these two might have been a fitting pair.
A mocking smile curved his lips as he chuckled softly.
“Child, next time you seek your concubine, look carefully. Don’t make such a mistake.”
With calm authority, he extended a hand toward A wu.
“Come, Noble Consort Ning, to my side.”
Hope flared in A wu’s heart.
She pushed against the prince, but his arm tightened around her waist, unyielding.
She clawed at his grip, but it held fast.
Before the watching Dragon Guards, her heart shattered.
Sobbing, she cried, “Let me go! I want the Emperor! Only the Emperor…”
In the dim night, a fragile young woman was locked in the arms of a powerful youth, her sobs soft and wrenching, her tear-streaked face radiant yet broken.
The scene carried an unspoken intimacy, and every Dragon Guard averted their eyes, their discipline absolute.
These were the Emperor’s hand-forged elite, loyal and unyielding, silent as stone, steadfast as iron.
Emperor Jingxi’s gaze lingered on his son—the son he had nurtured with care and high hopes—now clutching the woman he cherished most.
For a fleeting moment, confusion stirred within him, a tremor of emotion beyond his control.
Why had it come to this?
This was his own flesh and blood.
He had poured everything into raising this son, yet here he stood, defiant, demanding what he could not have.
Why could he not yield?
A wu’s struggles faltered, her tearful eyes turning to the Emperor in desperation.
He stood distant, his expression unreadable, shadowed.
Panic seized her—why did he stand by, unmoved?
She needed him to save her.
Her delicate hand reached out, trembling in the torchlight, fragile as porcelain yet pleading for rescue.
“Your Majesty, save A wu…” she begged, her voice breaking.
“I don’t want to leave. I only want to stay by your side…”
Her hand, pale and soft, glowed faintly in the firelight, a delicate thing that seemed it might shatter at a touch.
Yet it stretched toward him, seeking salvation.
Emperor Jingxi’s eyes fixed on that trembling hand, but his words were for his son.
“Do you see? She is my consort, not your concubine.”
The Crown Prince stared at A wu, disbelief warring with anguish.
If his father’s actions had pierced his heart, A wu’s words tore it to shreds.
The Crown Prince’s bloodshot eyes burned with fervor, his voice raw and anguished.
“A wu, don’t be afraid. Tell me you want to leave, and this time, even if it costs my life, even if I must forsake everything, I will take you away.”
Pity, guilt, and an uncontrollable surge of love scorched his chest.
His voice cracked, hoarse with desperation.
“I want nothing else… Whoever dares to harm you, I’ll fight them with my life.”
A wu’s heart clenched at his words, pain twisting through her like a blade.
Why did he have to say such things?
She didn’t want to hear them.
His raw devotion crashed over her, overwhelming, unbearable.
She couldn’t face it, couldn’t respond.
All she wanted was for him to let her go, for them to part ways and find peace.
Was that too much to ask?
His voice grew strained, faltering.
“Is someone forcing you? Are you scared? Has my A wu been wronged? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nearby, the eunuch Futai stood frozen, his face ashen, the scene before him unfolding like a tragic tableau of star-crossed lovers torn apart by an emperor’s decree.
He held his breath, stealing a cautious glance at Emperor Jingxi.
Torchlight flickered across the Emperor’s face, casting it in stark contrasts of light and shadow.
He stood tall, imposing, silent, his gaze fixed unyieldingly on the young pair.
Though his demeanor was calm, Futai sensed a storm brewing beneath—a terrifying restraint, the quiet before an emperor’s wrath could unleash rivers of blood.
The Crown Prince, clutching the sobbing A wu, tightened his grip on the reins.
Memories flooded him, vivid and cruel.
That morning, separated by a mere tent, he had heard the entwined voices of lovers—his A wu, claimed by his own father.
The image pierced his heart like a dagger.
He could have changed it all.
If only he had been sharper, more vigilant, it would never have come to this.
Pain blurred his senses, his expression dazed as he lifted a trembling hand to hold A wu closer, murmuring, “A wu, come with me.”
She ignored him, her pleading eyes turning to Emperor Jingxi.
“Your Majesty, save me! He won’t let me go—make him let me go!”
Why did he stand there, watching her as if she were a stranger?
Why wouldn’t he help her?
At last, the Emperor spoke, his voice steady.
“Release her and come with me.” No longer “We,” but “I”—a shift that carried the weight of personal command.
The Crown Prince raised his reddened eyes, meeting his father’s deep, impassive gaze.
Though he sat high atop his horse, his father, standing casually below, seemed to tower over him, exuding the unassailable dominance of both father and sovereign.
It was the majesty of an emperor, unbreakable, commanding.
All his life, the prince had bent beneath this man’s authority, the father he revered and admired.
But now, he knew he had to resist.
In his arms was someone he needed to protect.
This was a battle between men, and he could not surrender without a fight.
Emperor Jingxi’s lips curved faintly, a trace of mockery in his tone.
“What, are you afraid? Mo Yao, do you lack the courage to release her and face me alone?”
He tilted his head, his pale amber eyes glinting with disdain.
“Or do you only have the nerve to confront your father when you’re hiding behind a woman?”
The prince’s emotions churned, sharp and defiant, his eyes stinging, his body trembling.
The chestnut stallion pawed restlessly at the tiled ground, its hoofbeats ringing out in the oppressive silence of the palace, stark and jarring.
A wu bit her lip, stifling any sound, her heart torn.
She hated the prince for this, yet feared for him, dreading the irreversible consequences of his defiance.
Despite everything, she couldn’t bear to see him ruined.
From his distance, Emperor Jingxi caught the flicker of reluctance in her tear-filled eyes.
She was weeping for another man—a man she had once shared intimacy with.
Then, the prince’s voice, cold and resolute, cut through the night.
“Fine.”
At his word, the Dragon Guards’ drawn blades slid back into their sheaths with a synchronized clatter, the sound rising and falling until it faded into silence.
The palace held its breath, broken only by the measured steps of the guards as they parted like a stream, clearing a path for the prince.
Fang Yue, clad in resplendent brocade, stepped forward with a respectful gesture.
“This way, Your Highness.”
Another Dragon Guard commander’s voice rang out in the dark.
“An assassin infiltrated the forbidden court, intent on treason and murder. The Crown Prince heroically protected His Majesty, slaying the intruder before the hall.”
The words echoed, met with solemn agreement from all present, their postures rigid, unquestioning.
The prince froze, realization dawning.
As emperor, his father held absolute control within the court.
All defenses had been sealed off, every gate barred, leaving only the Emperor’s personal guard—loyal, handpicked, and utterly under his command.
In this moment, his father could twist truth itself, calling a deer a horse with effortless mastery.
The prince’s attempts at composure, his calculated maneuvers, felt childish and laughable before this man.
His father wasn’t afraid of his rebellion; he wanted him to see the futility of it.
‘You cannot take her. You can only yield.’ The Emperor had even offered him a graceful exit, a step to descend.
But the prince’s heart roared with defiance.
Why?
Why must he yield?
He refused.