Prince Ninghe had his servants set out an incense table and invited the eunuch bearing the decree to read the imperial edict.
His forehead pressed lightly against the stone slabs. All he could see were the eunuch's boots, and his heart was as cold as the stone beneath him.
Ever since that night, Prince Ninghe had lived in constant dread. Now that the blade hanging over his head was finally about to fall, he felt no relief—only greater terror.
Life and death, disaster and fortune, all rested on another's whim. Had he known this day would come, why had he acted as he did?
Yet that thought flashed through his mind only briefly.
Prince Ninghe himself understood that he could only entertain such thoughts because he had fallen so low.
If he were given another chance, he still would not be willing to accept it.
Born into the imperial house, and once having had an opportunity—who could truly resign himself to fate?
He felt only desolation.
"The decree reads: Prince Ninghe, son of the late emperor, has acted perversely and willfully. The late emperor, mindful of the bond between father and son, granted leniency and pardon. Yet his madness has not been cured. He cannot distinguish right from wrong and has greatly lost the people's hearts. The foundation laid by Taizu and Taizong was forged through ceaseless toil from dawn till dusk and the exhaustion of their very lifeblood, and has now been passed to Us. At the very moment when We seek to cleanse the customs of the Nine Provinces and establish a foundation for ten thousand generations, how can such a wayward man, devoid of public support, go unpunished? Strip him of his title of prince and reduce him to Duke Ninghe. Respect this."
When the decree was