Wearing the old eunuch's face, Chen Ye traveled through the imperial city without obstruction.
Along the way, every palace maid and eunuch who saw him kept their distance, bowing their heads and bending at the waist, not daring to breathe too loudly.
The old bastard's long-established authority in the palace had reached such heights.
Before long, the imposing outline of the Hall of Mental Cultivation appeared before him.
The hall was brightly lit, its lamps casting a brilliant yellow glow through the paper windows.
Chen Ye climbed the steps. The two young eunuchs guarding the hall were so frightened at the sight of him that they hurriedly bowed and stepped aside.
"O... Old Ancestor!"
Without so much as a glance at them, Chen Ye gave a cold snort and pushed straight through the doors.
The moment the doors swung open, a strong reek of alcohol mixed with the scent of precious incense rushed at him.
On the low table beside the dragon throne, a jade wine pot lay on its side, wine spilling across the surface.
Yang Zhao slumped drunkenly in his chair, his eyes clouded and his face pale and puffy. Not a trace of imperial majesty remained.
Hearing the noise, he blearily raised his head. When he saw Chen Ye disguised as the old eunuch, he chuckled and beckoned him over.
"Just in time! Come, come have a few drinks with me!"
As the situation had fallen apart, Yang Zhao had stopped trusting anyone. The only exception was the old eunuch, whose formidable martial arts had repelled assassins time and again and kept him safe. For him alone, Yang Zhao retained a measure of twisted trust.
Looking at the emperor, whose soul had been utterly hollowed out by fear, Chen Ye felt not the slightest ripple in his heart.
The collapse of Great Zhao had admittedly been inevitable to some extent, but as its ruler, Yang Zhao had not only failed to try to turn the raging tide; he had instead swung his butcher's blade at his most innocent subjects.
For the decree ordering a thousand young women rounded up to refine pills alone, he deserved to die ten thousand times.
"All of you, leave," Chen Ye said, turning and waving to the other palace maids and eunuchs standing in attendance.
As if granted a great pardon, they hurried out, not daring to linger for a moment.
Soon, only Chen Ye and Yang Zhao remained in the vast Hall of Mental Cultivation.
Expressionless, Chen Ye walked over and sat down on a brocade stool opposite Yang Zhao, discreetly observing the dying man's every move.
Yang Zhao seemed to be utterly drunk and paid no attention to such details.
He even picked up another wine pot himself and, swaying unsteadily, filled the jade cup in front of Chen Ye. A sickly fervor and excitement showed on his face.
"Heh heh... guess what Immortal Master Xuanjizi told me?"
"He said... in two more days, just two more days, everything will be ready. Then he'll fire up the furnace and refine pills for me!"
Yang Zhao's voice grew louder and louder, an unnatural flush spreading across his withered face. "Once that immortal pill is complete, I'll live forever! I... will be the first true immortal emperor in all of history! When that happens, I'll be able to destroy those mere grassland barbarians with a snap of my fingers!"
The more he spoke, the more excited he became, until he was waving his arms and legs about.
Chen Ye watched him quietly, as though watching a clown hopping about.
A moment later, he raised his wine cup, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking smile.
"Then allow me to congratulate Your Majesty in advance."
His voice was clear and clean, with a magnetic quality unique to a young man.
It was certainly not a voice the old eunuch should have had!
Yang Zhao's wild laughter stopped short. He froze, his clouded, drunken eyes full of confusion as he stared fixedly at the "old eunuch" before him.
"You..."
He had barely uttered that one word.
A hand clamped around his throat.
The terrifying force instantly trapped every word and every breath in his throat.
"Ugh... ugh..."
Yang Zhao's face turned the color of pig liver in an instant. His face full of terror, he struggled with both hands and feet, but the hand around his neck was like an iron vise, not budging an inch.
Holding him by the neck, Chen Ye dragged him as easily as a dead dog into the bedchamber behind the Hall of Mental Cultivation.
This was where the emperor rested when he grew tired from attending to state affairs. To ensure his sleep, the room was not only exceptionally well soundproofed, but its floor was also covered with a thick, incredibly soft carpet.
Looking at Yang Zhao, whose face had turned bluish purple and whose whole body was trembling like a sieve, Chen Ye's eyes flashed with amusement.
"Don't panic, Your Majesty. Dizziness is normal. It'll pass soon."
As the words left his mouth, a cold light flashed, and a small throwing knife swept across Yang Zhao's neck.
Pfft.
A jet of blood spurted out. The warm liquid splashed onto the carpet and was instantly absorbed by the thick pile, leaving only a patch that quickly darkened.
All the strength drained from Yang Zhao's body in an instant. He collapsed to the floor, his eyes full of terror and confusion.
He couldn't understand.
Even if this man had come to assassinate him, shouldn't he first have listed his crimes and let him die knowing why?
This man... how could he strike without even asking a question?
As though reading the confusion in his eyes, Chen Ye smiled, crouched down, and said calmly, "Does it seem unbelievable? Can't figure out why you're dying so unceremoniously?"
"To tell you the truth, in my eyes, some fucking Son of Heaven, some supreme sovereign, is no different from the pigs and dogs waiting to be slaughtered at the marketplace outside."
"Just another man with a straw marker stuck in him, his head up for sale."
After hearing those words, the light in Yang Zhao's eyes began to fade rapidly.
He felt his body growing colder and colder, and his consciousness began sinking into boundless darkness.
Just as the last of his consciousness was about to fade, he saw the most unbelievable sight of his life.
The muscles and bones in the old eunuch's face began to squirm and shift eerily.
In just a few breaths, the face settled into its final form.
It became a face he knew all too well.
Yang Zhao's eyes went wide, and a strange gurgling came from his throat. He seemed to want to say something, but he couldn't get a single word out.
Chen Ye glanced down at Yang Zhao and smiled faintly. "Go on your way in peace."
"Leave the rest to me, your emperor."
Yang Zhao's body shuddered. Then the light in his eyes went out completely, and he breathed his last.
Chen Ye changed his clothes, tidied his appearance, and strode out of the bedchamber.
He returned to the front hall of the Hall of Mental Cultivation and sat on the dragon throne. After taking a moment to feel the curious sensation of the chair beneath him, he spoke in a deep, majestic voice, indistinguishable from Yang Zhao's earlier voice.
"Attend me."
A young eunuch outside the hall came scrambling in and fell to his knees.
"Summon Immortal Master Xuanjizi to an audience."
"At once!"
At that moment, Xuanjizi was in his room, drinking and making merry. Yang Zhao had rewarded him with dozens of beautiful palace maids in one stroke, to say nothing of the countless other rewards.
As a result, Xuanjizi had been feasting and reveling night after night of late, enjoying himself immensely.
When he received the decree, Xuanjizi froze for a moment, then climbed out of bed with some displeasure.
"Where is His Majesty now?"
"In answer to Immortal Master, His Majesty is in the Hall of Mental Cultivation."
Xuanjizi suspected nothing and assumed Yang Zhao had something to discuss with him. So he merely muttered a few words, then pinched the cheek of the palace maid on the bed.
"Be good and wait in bed for me, your Daoist master, to return!"
"Then your Daoist master will battle you for another three hundred rounds."