"My lord! My lord! Something has happened!"
A panicked voice rang out from afar.
It was Wen Fu, the steward of the Chancellor's Residence.
Wen Zhong gave the young man a meaningful glance. The young man nodded and vanished.
Wen Zhong raised his eyes toward the garden entrance.
Wen Fu came stumbling into the pavilion.
"My lord."
Wen Zhong remained calm. "Wen Fu, what has you so flustered?"
Wen Fu dropped to his knees with a thud, tears streaming down his aged face. His voice was hoarse. "My lord... the young master... he..."
"Speak."
Wen Fu was choking on his sobs. He pressed his forehead to the ground. "The... the young master has perished... in Eastern Prefecture! An urgent dispatch just arrived. The rebels surrounded the prefectural capital and demanded his surrender. He fought to the death without retreating. After the city fell..."
He raised his head and stole a cautious glance at Wen Zhong.
"What happened after the city fell?"
Neither joy nor anger could be heard in Wen Zhong's voice.
"After the city fell, the rebels chopped the young master into mince."
Having said this, Wen Fu pressed his forehead to the ground and trembled.
"Heh..."
Wen Zhong slowly rose.
"Mince..."
His expression remained as calm as ever, so calm that it sent a chill through Wen Fu's heart.
"Very well. I understand. You may leave."
Wen Zhong waved him away.
"Yes, my lord."
Wen Fu all but crawled and scrambled out.
Wen Zhong sat back down on the stone stool. He gazed silently at the chessboard, his thoughts unreadable.
The imperial palace.
Song Wuya came before the emperor. Seeing him resting with his eyes closed and his head propped on one hand, Song Wuya bowed and said softly, "Your Majesty, fuel has been added to the