Chapter 393 Fury

Chapter 393: The Emperor's Wrath

Zhou Mingqi looked down at him from on high, his eyes utterly devoid of warmth—only a knowing clarity, heavy with disappointment and fury.

"Not knowing? A fine 'I didn't know'! These are the ironclad evidence Cheng Ge uncovered in Yuanzhou!

The local corrupt officials took a small portion, but the lion's share—didn't it flow straight into the leather goods shops and private banks of your maternal grandfather's Chen clan's side branches!

And this Chen family, maintaining such close ties with the various tribes of the Northern Di—do you think I'm dead?!"

With every word Zhou Mingqi spoke, Zhou Hao's heart sank further, a chill shooting from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.

Corruption was already a grave crime; if entanglement with foreign powers and aiding the enemy were added, not to mention himself as a prince, the entire Chen clan of nine generations would be utterly annihilated, with no one left to bury them!

The immense terror threatened to consume him, but the instinct for survival and the cunning cultivated through years of walking on eggshells were now pushed to their breaking point.

He could not confess! Absolutely not! To confess would mean utter ruin!

If he relented now, he would fall into a bottomless abyss.

He prostrated himself on the ground, his forehead pressed against the cold, sticky floor tiles, yet he still clung to his original defense.

"Father... Your son... Your son truly does not know! As for the Chen family's business dealings, Your son lives deep within the palace and truly... truly has no way of knowing the details!

If there is any wrongdoing, it must be subordinates deceiving their superiors. Your son is willing to beg forgiveness on behalf of his maternal clan and begs Father to investigate thoroughly!

But as for the heinous crime of colluding with the enemy and betraying the state, Your son would stake his life on it—the Chen family would never dare, and Your son would never even entertain such a thought, Father!"

He dared not look up at Zhou Mingqi's expression, feeling only that gaze like icy daggers stabbing into his spine.

The hall was deathly silent, broken only by his own heavy, suppressed breathing and the faint drip of blood hitting the floor.

Young as he was, under such thunderous imperial wrath and overwhelming pressure, his mind nearly collapsed, kept together only by his stubborn refusal to accept his own ruin.

Zhou Mingqi did not immediately respond to his defense, but instead let his scrutinizing gaze slowly sweep over him, from head to toe, and back again.

That gaze seemed capable of piercing through flesh and bone, peering straight into the deepest, most turbulent thoughts he dared not acknowledge.

Zhou Mingqi regarded him silently for a long while, the sound of his knuckles tapping the desk cutting through the silence with sharp clarity, like a water clock counting down, pressing on his heart.

After a long moment, he spoke slowly, his voice flat, each word heavy and deliberate:

"You study the *I Ching*. Do you still remember—'The dragon that flies too high will have cause for regret'?"

Zhou Hao, still prostrate, stiffened abruptly, his breath held.

The top line of Hexagram Qian in the *Zhou Yi*: "The dragon that flies too high will have cause for regret." When the dragon flies too high, reaching its zenith, regret and disaster follow.

This line sits at the very top of the hexagram, with nowhere left to rise. If one does not know when to retreat, regret is certain.

His father's mention of this line at this moment could not have been clearer—

It was a warning to him, and at the same time to the Chen family, that they had reached the height of "arrogance," and if they did not know when to restrain themselves and yield, they would face the abyss of "regret" and "calamity"!

His heart shook violently, the flame of resentment nearly burning him to ashes.

Why... why should Zhou Zhan, that useless mediocrity, be naturally regarded as the future "lord" merely because he was the legitimate eldest son of the Empress?

And he, Zhou Hao, merely because his maternal clan held great power, had to endure this suspicion of "powerful minister and maternal relatives," denied even the slightest right to aspire, warned so openly and stripped of all illusion?

His hand clenched inside his sleeve, nails digging deep into his palm, the sharp pain nearly drawing blood.

That overwhelming resentment surged like magma in his chest, searing his organs with burning pain.

Yet the throbbing ache at his forehead wound, the sticky tea stains and blood on his robes, and the scattered memorials before him—enough to doom both the Chen family and himself—all served as a reminder.

At this moment, any show of resentment would be a death warrant.

All his resentment could only turn into deeper fear, forced down into every limb and bone.

Only terrified submission and a "sudden awakening" of fear remained.

He knocked his forehead hard against the cold floor tiles, producing a dull thud, his voice hoarse from suppressed sobs, dripping with sincerity.

"Your son remembers. 'Top nine: The dragon that flies too high will have cause for regret.'... The *Xiang* says: 'The dragon that flies too high will have cause for regret—fullness cannot last long.'"

He went on to quote the *Xiang Zhuan*, "When full, it overflows; when too high, it is in danger. Heaven abhors excess, and human affairs dread overabundance...

In the past, when Your son read these words, he took them as mere commonplaces. Only today does he grasp the warning of treading on thin ice and teetering on the edge of an abyss!"

Zhou Mingqi's gaze fell upon his sweat-soaked and blood-matted hair, gesturing for him to continue.

Zhou Hao's mind raced; he knew this was his final chance.

"Your son humbly submits that this 'arrogant dragon'—it is not that its position is low, nor that its power is weak, but rather that it does not know when to stop, nor understand when to advance and retreat.

'The dragon flying in the heavens' is indeed the peak of glory, but beyond that point, if one still blindly seeks to advance without looking down to take stock, one loses the favor of heaven that brings rain and clouds, and loses the solid earth beneath one's feet—left isolated and hanging precariously. How could there not be 'regret'?"

He subtly reframed the concepts, suggesting the "dragon" referred to an ambitious, capable prince, and the "timely heavens" and "solid earth" symbolized the emperor's favor and a subject's proper role.

"Your son lives deep within the palace, relying on Father's teachings and nurturing—this is Your son's 'timely heavens' and 'solid earth.'

If my maternal relatives have acted imprudently, and Your son failed to admonish and guide them properly, that is already a failure in Father's eyes.

If I myself entertained any thought beyond my station, that would be cutting myself off from heaven's favor, destroying my own foundation, becoming that 'arrogant dragon' that doesn't know when to stop or retreat... Your son dares not! A thousand times dares not!"

He framed his and the Chen family's latent ambitions as "not knowing when to stop," presenting loyalty and contentment with one's place as the only "retreat" and "foundation," nearly swearing on his life that he would never again "advance."

Zhou Mingqi's eyes flickered with a subtle light at his words, as if weighing something, or perhaps something far deeper.

He neither said he believed nor that he didn't, only said flatly: "Remember what you said today. Withdraw. Have the imperial physician look at the wound on your forehead."

There was no further reprimand, no further punishment specified, and he even permitted him to seek medical treatment.

But this "withdraw," and that seemingly indifferent "remember," weighed on Zhou Hao more heavily than any thunderous rage, leaving him uncertain.

"Your son... thanks Father for his grace, and will remember Father's teachings." Zhou Hao knocked his head heavily on the floor once more before struggling to push himself up with his hands, attempting to rise.

His knees were numb with pain, his vision swam with darkness; he swayed, barely managing to stay upright.

Not daring to look again at the figure behind the imperial desk, he lowered his head, dragging his stiff, aching legs, and retreated step by step, painfully slowly, toward the hall's entrance.