The old chancellor stiffened all over and lowered his head. A snow-bright blade tip protruded from his chest.
Blood trickled down the blade, blossoming into scarlet flowers across the blue-brick floor.
He opened his mouth, wanting to shout something, but only a faint, indistinct sound escaped him.
The blade was pulled free, and his body slumped limply to the ground. His eyes remained open, staring at the swaying Soul Guidance Lamp overhead as he died without closing them.
At dawn, the sky was bright.
The golden hall was empty, with Zhao Linchuan alone on the dragon throne.
He held a thick stack of papers in his hands, flipping through them one by one, a peculiar smile on his face.
The papers were densely covered in writing. Every one of them was a surrender petition.
One after another, they were neatly written and full of earnest pleas. Some even used flowery language and cited classical texts, making surrender sound more dignified than dying for one's country.
"Xue'er." Zhao Linchuan's tone held a hint of mockery. "I have to say, these people are truly gifted writers."
"These surrender petitions are more polished and moving than the last."
"Look at this one. They even wrote 'willing to have my liver and brain smeared across the ground.'"
"Tsk, tsk. You'd think they were about to lay down their lives for their country."
Qian Renxue stood in the hall, back in her male attire and dressed in plain white mourning clothes. She held an Imperial Seal wrapped in bright yellow cloth.
Her expression was rather grim, as though she were holding in a bellyful of anger.
"A bunch of scoundrels." She gritted her teeth. "Once Sister Zi Nu is ready, we'll begin."
"I never want to wear these clothes again. I can't stand the