Jing Yuan did not slip away quietly until the latter half of the night.
The Attendant brewed the medicine and brought it for the Duke of England to drink.
Looking at the empty bowl in his hand, the Duke of England gave a bitter laugh. "I say Wang Zhen has a small head and no brains, yet all of us have been kneaded in his hands. No matter how much wisdom and strategy we possess, there is nothing we can do."
The Attendant said in a low voice, "His Majesty has lost his mind..."
The Duke of England stiffened and said quietly, "Shut up. Is that something you can say aloud?"
The Attendant lowered his head. He could not say it aloud, but he could think it in his heart, couldn't he?
That meant the Duke of England agreed with him too.
The Duke of England did not refute him. His gaze was deep, and only after a long while did he softly say, "His Majesty... still has far-reaching vision. He is simply too willful."
For an emperor, willfulness was muddleheadedness.
The Duke of England handed the empty bowl to the Attendant, lay back down on the bed, and stared blankly at the mosquito net with hollow, unfocused eyes.
He had sent Jing Yuan to find the emperor, but even then, there was only a fifty-percent chance of success.
Fifty percent. In his lifetime, he had fought battles with only a ten-percent chance of survival and had clawed his way out of them, nine deaths and one life. Yet he had never felt so weary.
A sense of powerlessness rose from the depths of his heart. Was it because he had grown old, or because His Majesty would not even give him that one chance in ten?
The Duke of