On the second night after Fang Mo had sent no reply, the Death Qi in the Imperial Palace grew so thick that the entire Divine Capital could smell it.
The smell was not a stench, but something deeper, like rotting wood growing mold, like pond water turning foul, like some ancient vitality leaking out of a vessel little by little.
The Heavenly Prison's Duty Room.
Fang Mo sat in a chair with his eyes closed, resting his mind. Beneath his feet, the Prison Suppressor Patterns pulsed faintly under the floor, each pulse conveying every movement within a radius of two thousand three hundred zhang to his perception.
Old Yan pushed the door open and came in, carrying a bowl of hot noodles.
"Boss, have something to eat. You haven't had a bite since your breakthrough yesterday."
Fang Mo opened his eyes, took the bowl, and lifted two chopstickfuls of noodles into his mouth.
Before he could swallow, the Prison Suppressor Patterns sent out a burst of rapid pulses.
Fang Mo's chopsticks stopped.
"Nian Nu'er."
"Large numbers of troops are moving from the Eastern Palace. They aren't heading for the city gates, but for the inner palace."
Fang Mo set the bowl on the table.
"How many?"
"About two thousand in the vanguard. The rear force is unknown. They're flying Imperial Guards banners, but their presences all belong to the Eastern Palace Personal Guards."
"The Crown Prince switched banners to slip them in."
"Yes. After taking control of the Nine Gates, he has the Imperial Guards' banners and Tokens in his hands. Changing banners isn't difficult."
Fang Mo rose, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
The night wind swept in, carrying that decaying smell. On the distant skyline toward the Imperial Palace, a mass of dark clouds hung low