"Your Highness, all you need to know is that those thirty thousand wronged souls have been waiting underground for ten years."
"They're waiting for justice."
"And I'm here to help them claim it."
The air in the private room seemed to freeze.
Zhao Li looked at the talisman on the table, then at Chen Ye before him. He suddenly understood that what he had obtained was not merely a scroll that could bring him the throne. It was also a double-edged sword, one powerful enough to turn the entire Great Xia Dynasty upside down.
Should he use it, or not?
Slowly, he placed his hand on the antique wooden box once more.
"Fine."
One word, heavy as a thousand catties.
"I accept."
Chen Ye disappeared beyond the door, swallowed by the deep night.
Zhao Li remained seated, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the cold wooden box. Its smooth touch now felt like a red-hot iron, making his fingertips tremble.
The candlelight flickered in the room, stretching his shadow into wavering shapes, just like his mood.
He had won.
From the moment Chen Ye produced this scroll of the Ziwei Baolu, he had won. His father believed fervently in the Mandate of Heaven, and his elder brother, Zhao Hong, had conveniently "gone mad," using a grand spectacle to drive the words "Mandate of Heaven" deep into everyone's hearts.
The position of Crown Prince was already his for the taking.
Yet he felt not the slightest joy. Instead, it was as if a cold, venomous snake had coiled around his neck, its tongue pressed against his skin as it hissed out icy breaths.
Chen Ye.
This man was like a dense fog that could not be seen through. Zhao Li had thought he controlled everything, only to discover in the end that he,