When Ying Shao left the palace, a fine rain had begun to fall from the sky. Autumn wind and autumn rain could grieve a man to death. Beneath the gloomy gray clouds, white and red flashes of light faintly flickered, and thin, cold raindrops drifted down. The imperial city of the Blood Qin Empire, already dominated by iron hues, instantly became dark and damp. Those palace halls, towers, and city walls soaring into the clouds appeared all the more savage and abrupt, making everyone feel as though they had shrunk considerably.
Amid the endless autumn rain, Ying Zheng, clad in a red robe, stood with his hands behind his back atop a pavilion, watching coldly as Ying Shao slunk out of the imperial city with his head lowered. His icy gaze rested on Ying Shao for a long while before Ying Zheng finally barked in a low voice, "A pack of worthless descendants!"
A tall middle-aged man with the faint air of an immortal stepped out slowly. His eyes were extraordinarily bright, a strange azure-blue, and he held a feather fan in his hand. Gently fanning up a cool breeze, he smiled indifferently. "Your Majesty, every family has a few disappointments. Besides, the Blood Qin has endured for ten thousand years. The sharp vigor Your Majesty possessed when founding the nation has long since been worn away. As for these useless princes and imperial grandsons, if they die, then they die. What is there to fuss over?"
The fact that this middle-aged man dared say such things before Ying Zheng made his standing in Ying Zheng's heart self-evident.
Ying Zheng gave a "Heh heh" laugh and gently shook his head. "Forget it. They are not my flesh and blood; their deaths will not pain my heart. Since they have thrown