As the Regent Prince's Family Faced Annihilation, He Acted Once More to Save His Wife and Son

The next morning, when the maid pushed open the door to serve tea, she found him sitting in a chair behind his desk, holding a short sword in his hand, the blade embedded in his chest.

Blood seeped from the wound, staining his robes and pooling into a small dark red stain at his feet.

His face was serene, his eyes slightly closed, as if he were asleep.

On the desk lay a letter with only eight characters: "A clear conscience, a worthy death."

When the news spread, the entire court was shocked.

Those ministers who had gone to great lengths to overthrow him were stunned and speechless for a long time.

They had prepared countless backup plans, waiting for Zhao Zheng to retaliate, waiting for him to get angry, waiting for him to reveal a weakness.

But he didn't fight back; he committed suicide.

His death put everyone in a precarious position.

The young emperor sat on the dragon throne, looking at the edict that bestowed upon the regent the title of "Loyal and Martial Prince," and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

He ordered a grand funeral, posthumous honors, and the erection of a monument for Zhao Zheng outside the Capital.

Every word in the imperial edict was sincere and heartfelt, as if the one who had died was his most beloved uncle.

But the first thing he did after the imperial edict was issued was to dismiss the commander of the Imperial Guards.

The commander of the Imperial Guards was surnamed Zhao, and he was promoted by Zhao Zheng.

The second thing was replacing the Minister of Personnel. The third thing was investigating Li Yuanji, the Vice Minister of War.

The situation at court suddenly became turbulent and unpredictable. On the surface, the young emperor was holding a funeral for the regent, with great honors and respect. But in secret, a purge was underway.

Officials who had previously sided with the regent were investigated and punished one after another.

Some were accused of "embezzlement," some had old accusations of "colluding with the enemy" dug up, and some were simply dragged out of their homes without any charges and never returned.

Within three days, more than 100 officials in the Capital were dismissed, exiled, or imprisoned.

Everyone in the imperial court was on edge, and no one dared to walk fast, for fear of being targeted by someone.

Meanwhile, the Regent's Palace, both inside and outside the imperial palace, gradually became deserted.

Zhao Zheng's wife and son still live in the mansion, but the number of servants in the mansion is decreasing day by day.

At first, the servants ran away, then the guards were transferred, and later, even the dogs kept in the manor were poisoned.

Zhao Zheng's wife's surname is Lin. She comes from a scholarly family and is a gentle woman.

My son, Zhao Heng, is twenty-seven years old and has just gotten engaged.

But these past few days have been getting harder and harder for them.

First, the cook in the manor was poisoned for no apparent reason, and no matter how much they investigated, they couldn't find the cause.

Next was Lin-shi's personal maid, who suddenly died in the night, bleeding from all seven orifices and with her face contorted in pain.

Later, even when Zhao Heng went out to buy books, people would throw stones at him in the street and curse him as the "son of a traitor."

Zhao Heng endured it. He remembered that his father had called them to his side before his death and said that he had made an agreement with the young emperor that after his death, he would never harm a hair on their head and would guarantee them a lifetime of wealth and honor. He believed him.

But now, only a few days have passed, and more than a dozen people have already died in the manor.

Some were poisoned, some "accidentally" fell into wells, and some were "accidentally" hit and killed by horse-drawn carriages.

He went to the Prefect of the Capital to report the case, but the Prefect refused to see him.

He went to see his father's former subordinates, but they either avoided him or gave him evasive answers.

He went to see the young emperor and submitted several memorials, but they all went unanswered.

Lin-shi fell ill. She was already frail, and the fright she had endured over the past few months finally took its toll, and she became bedridden.

Zhao Heng stayed by his mother's bedside, watching the mansion grow emptier each day, and the "why" in his heart grew stronger and stronger. He couldn't understand it.

Father had clearly arranged everything; he had clearly spoken to the young emperor.

Why? Why is it still like this in the end?

Five days after the Regent's death, the entire Regent's palace was draped in mourning.

White paper flowers hung down from the lintel, swaying gently in the wind.

White lanterns hung under the eaves, their candlelight flickering inside paper shades.

White mourning couplets were pasted on every pillar, the ink stains blurred by the rain, resembling wet tear tracks. The entire mansion was swallowed by white, looking like a tomb erected in advance from a distance.

Lin-shi and Zhao Heng, dressed in coarse hemp mourning clothes, knelt in the mourning hall to keep vigil.

In the center of the mourning hall, Zhao Zheng's coffin rested on a two-tiered wooden platform, the lid tightly closed, with three half-burnt incense sticks inserted in the incense burner in front of it.

Lin-shi was seriously ill; she would have to lean on Zhao Heng for a long time to catch her breath after kneeling for a while.

Zhao Heng supported her, saying nothing, his eyes were frighteningly red, but there were no more tears.

That night, Lin-shi had just taken her medicine and lay down when Zhao Heng stood guard in the mourning hall.

Suddenly, he heard a very faint sound.

The sound coming from outside the courtyard wall was like something climbing.

He suddenly raised his head. Immediately afterwards, several short, muffled groans came from the corridor outside the mourning hall.

Those were the few remaining guards of the Prince's mansion.

Zhao Heng rushed out and saw several dark figures leaping down from the courtyard wall. They were dressed in black, masked, and holding short blades, rushing towards the mourning hall without touching the ground.

He grabbed Lin-shi and dragged her deeper into the mourning hall.

Lin-shi woke up with a start and saw the men in black. She was so frightened that she couldn't even scream. She just clung tightly to Zhao Heng's arm.

Zhao Heng pulled her around the coffin and ran towards the back door of the mourning hall.

Behind me, the footsteps of the man in black grew closer, and the sound of a blade slicing through the air brushed against the back of my head.

They rushed out the back door and stumbled as they ran deeper into the mansion.

Lin-shi couldn't run anymore and fell to the ground.

Zhao Heng picked her up and rushed forward, gritting his teeth.

He didn't know where to run; there was no one left in the mansion.

The guards were transferred, the servants all ran away, and even the gatekeepers were replaced by the young emperor's men a few days ago.

They were trapped in the empty mansion, with no way to escape.

Zhao Heng carried his mother through a moon gate, around a withered lotus pond, and finally rushed into the main hall of the mourning hall.

He rushed in, trying to close the door.

Before the door could even be closed, the men in black had already chased them into the courtyard.

Seven or eight dark figures landed in the courtyard and approached the main hall.

Zhao Heng leaned against the door, trembling all over.

He glanced back at his mother's coffin.

My father is inside.

But he couldn't even save his father's body.

Then, he saw that person.

In the deepest part of the main hall of the mourning hall, in front of Zhao Zheng's coffin, there was someone else who had appeared at some point.

The man, dressed in white mourning clothes, had his back to the door and was holding three incense sticks in his hand, respectfully bowing to the coffin.

The embers on the incense sticks flickered in the dim candlelight, reflecting off his gray hair and slightly hunched back.

Zhao Heng was stunned. He recognized the old robe and the hunched back.

That's the painting hanging in my father's study; it depicts this very person.

The man in black saw it too.

They stopped and looked at each other.

The lead assassin narrowed his eyes and asked coldly, "Who are you?"

The man in white placed three incense sticks into the incense burner, then turned around, revealing an aged face, cloudy old eyes, and deep wrinkles.

He was wearing a faded old robe with a white mourning garment over it, which looked somewhat ill-fitting.

He looked at the men in black in the courtyard and said in a hoarse voice, "A person who is late in offering incense."

The men in black exchanged glances and said no more. The leader waved his hand, and seven or eight black figures sprang up simultaneously, their short blades stabbing towards the man in white like venomous snakes.

Zhao Heng instinctively closed his eyes, but the next moment, he heard a sound, just a few very soft and short muffled sounds, like something being crushed.

He opened his eyes; the courtyard was empty.

The men in black had vanished, leaving only a few wisps of blood mist slowly drifting in the air, which dissipated with a gust of night wind.

The man in white remained standing in the same spot, without even moving a step.

His hands hung at his sides, a faint glimmer of light still lingering on his fingertips.

Zhao Heng's lips trembled, and he couldn't utter a single word.

The man in white walked towards him and stopped in front of him.

Zhao Heng looked up at that aged face.

He suddenly noticed a light in those cloudy old eyes that he had never seen before.

That wasn't the light of an old man; it was a bottomless light that made one feel insignificant at first glance.

"Are you Zhao Heng?"

The man in white asked.

Zhao Heng nodded. The man in white glanced at Lin-shi on his back, then turned and walked out of the mourning hall. "Follow me."

Zhao Heng hesitated for a moment, then carried his mother on his back and followed.

Outside the mansion, the night was thick.

The man in white walked ahead, his steps slow, yet with each step, the surrounding air seemed to be flattened by something.

Zhao Heng carried his mother on his back and followed behind, panting heavily, but he could never catch up with that hunched figure.

They passed through the mansion gate, across the long street, and through the deserted alleyways.

Zhao Heng dared not ask where they were going, nor did he dare turn around.

All he knew was that the pursuers behind him had disappeared.

Just as they were about to leave the neighborhood where the Regent's Palace was located, a figure descended from the sky and blocked their way.

He was a middle-aged general dressed in black armor, with a burly build, a stern face, and an aura as solid as iron, possessing the cultivation level of the Tenth Realm.

He was sent by the young emperor. Zhao Heng recognized him. The man's surname was Zhou. He was the deputy commander of the Imperial Guards and had been a subordinate of Zhao Zheng before defecting to the young emperor.

He stood in the middle of the street, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his gaze passing over the man in white and landing on Zhao Heng and the Lin-shi on his back. "Leave them here."

He spoke, his voice low and deep.

I'll spare your life.

The man in white stopped, looked up, and glanced at him. Just one glance.

Commander Zhou suddenly felt his whole body stiffen. He had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood and had seen countless powerful figures, but he had never felt such an aura before.

The old jailer in white stood before him, his body hunched and his face aged, but what shone through his cloudy old eyes made him feel like an ant looking up at a dragon's claw reaching out from the clouds.

The hairs on his body stood on end. He wanted to draw his knife.

But his hands trembled so much that he couldn't hold the knife handle.

He tried to back away, but his legs felt like they were nailed to the ground.

The man in white didn't move; he simply raised one hand and gently brushed it away.

The movement was extremely light, like brushing a speck of dust off a robe.

Commander Zhou felt as if an invisible mountain had struck his chest, sending him flying backward. He crashed through a courtyard wall and rolled several times in the rubble before finally coming to a stop.

He lay on the ground, blood gushing from his mouth, his bones feeling like they were falling apart.

He struggled to lift his head and saw that the man in white had already walked up to him and was looking down at him.

"Go back and tell the young emperor that I have protected the Regent's wife and son. If they come looking for him again, I will personally go to the Imperial Palace to meet them."

Commander Zhou lay on the ground, trembling all over, his lips quivering, unable to utter a single word.

He only saw the man in white turn around, wave at Zhao Heng, and then disappear into the night with the mother and child.

He lay prone in the rubble for a long time before finally managing to get up, his back soaked with cold sweat.

He leaned against the broken wall, his legs still weak.

He suddenly recalled the last days of Zhao Zheng's life, when he would always sit alone in his study drinking, seeing no one, and vaguely observing a painting.

But now, he suddenly understood.

Zhao Zheng wasn't drinking alone; there was actually a peerless expert behind him.