Chapter 395 Matricide

Chapter 395: Matricide

Zhou Hao steadily raised the medicine bowl to Beauty Chen's lips, the rim nearly brushing her bloodless mouth.

He no longer spoke with the harsh, urgent tone he had used before; instead, he leaned forward slightly.

His voice dropped to a gentle, coaxing murmur, carrying a tone that was almost coaxing, yet piercingly cold:

"Mother, think again... In all your years in this palace, how many days have you truly been happy?"

Beauty Chen's lashes trembled, her hollow eyes meeting her son's face, so close to hers.

"From the moment you entered the palace, the late Empress has been one step ahead of you. She was the rightful Empress, seated in the central palace, hailed from a distinguished family, and even Father had to respect her.

And you? No matter how favored you were, didn't you still have to bow your head and call her 'Elder Sister'?"

Zhou Hao's voice was soft, yet like fine needles, it precisely pierced the oldest, most festering scars in Beauty Chen's heart.

"She never had to fight for anything—everything was handed to her.

Even after her death, for over a decade, didn't Father still keep the Eastern Palace reserved for her son?"

Beauty Chen's breath suddenly quickened; beneath the ashen despair in her eyes, something long buried began to churn.

"Her son, Zhou Zhan."

Zhou Hao spat out the name with undisguised contempt and resentment.

"What a useless piece of trash he is! Good at neither books nor martial arts, timid and mediocre, with no backbone at all!

Yet just because he's the legitimate eldest son of the late Empress, he gets to sit on the Crown Prince's throne, basking in Father's expectations and the court's kowtows!"

His voice grew more heated, but he forced it down, turning it into an even deeper coldness.

"Why, Mother? Tell me, why?!

Are you willing to watch your son, just as you were once pushed around by the late Empress, be pushed around by that waste for the rest of his life?

To watch what should be mine get stolen by someone who doesn't deserve it?

And then, after Father is gone, bow to him as a subject, with my life, death, honor, and shame all in his hands?"

Beauty Chen trembled violently—whether from fear or from the overwhelming resentment and hatred his words stirred up, it was hard to tell.

The late Empress—that was the shadow she could never outgrow in her lifetime.

Her son, Zhou Zhan, was a thorn in her side that could never be removed!

Countless times in the dead of night, she had cursed, wondering why that sickly woman could give birth to a legitimate son.

While her Hao'er, clearly a hundred times better than Zhou Zhan, could only be stuck in a lower position!

"Mother," Zhou Hao pushed the bowl another inch closer, his voice dropping even lower, with a hypnotic, seductive pull.

"Are you okay with this? Are you willing to let your son repeat your fate—to live forever in someone else's shadow, never getting what should rightfully be his?"

"Now, for his sake, Father has already put a knife to our throats.

To back down now means not only the complete ruin of the Chen family, but also the end of any future for your son—maybe even our lives! But to push forward..."

He stared at his mother's suddenly constricted pupils, "It's risky, but there's a glimmer of hope!

Not only can we save the Chen family, but we can also... drag that waste down! Take back everything that should rightfully be ours!"

"Haven't you always wanted to outdo the late Empress?" His final words, like a demon's whisper, struck the very core of Beauty Chen's soul. "Now's your chance!

Once this succeeds and your son takes that throne, you'll be the rightful Empress Dowager—the most honored woman in all of Great Zhou!"

"Empress Dowager..." Beauty Chen unconsciously repeated those three words, and in the ashen light of her eyes, a faint, twisted flame seemed to flicker to life.

That supreme glory, that obsession with outdoing the late Empress, that hope for her son's future, and that refusal to accept their present desperate situation...

All these emotions churned like boiling oil in her heart, nearly burning away what little reason she had left.

Her hand trembled as she slowly raised it, reaching for the bowl of medicine. Her fingertips twitched as they touched the slightly warm porcelain.

Zhou Hao's breath caught almost imperceptibly, a sharp, cunning glint flashing in his eyes.

"Mother, drink it—for me, and for yourself."

Beauty Chen's fingers finally closed around the rim of the bowl. The cold of the porcelain seeped through her skin, jolting her foggy mind into a brief moment of clarity.

She looked at her reflection in the medicine—a face twisted, terrified, etched with defiance, yet pale and fragile like a frost-bitten flower in autumn.

A primal fear of survival, like a viper, suddenly shot up her spine, instantly overwhelming the ambition and resentment that had been stirred up!

"No... No!" She snatched her hand back as if she'd been burned. The bowl shook violently in Zhou Hao's grasp, splashing out some of the medicine.

"Hao'er... No! I can't! It's poison!"

The flame in her eyes was doused by the icy water of fear, replaced by the panic of a dying animal as she struggled to back away.

The gentleness and coaxing on Zhou Hao's face vanished in an instant, like a mask slipping off to reveal the cold, iron heart beneath.

The last trace of warmth in his eyes froze solid, replaced by an impatient ruthlessness and a desperate madness.

"Mother, at this point, you don't have a choice!" His voice turned abruptly cold, no longer hiding his coercion. "This play—you'll perform it whether you like it or not!"

"No! I won't! I won't drink it! You unfilial son! Beast!" Beauty Chen mustered her last bit of strength, screaming, flailing her hands wildly in an attempt to knock the bowl away.

In her struggle, her long fingernails raked across Zhou Hao's hand and cheek, leaving several angry red marks.

Zhou Hao winced in pain, and a fierce murderous look surged in his eyes.

He didn't hesitate any longer. With one hand, he violently seized her flailing arms with shocking force.

With the other, he pressed the medicine bowl to her lips without hesitation, forcing the rim between her clenched teeth despite her struggles and whimpers!

"Drink it!" He growled, his voice laced with fury at her resistance, as he forcibly poured the medicine down her throat!

"Mmm—gulp... cough, cough, cough!" Beauty Chen choked and struggled violently, medicine mixed with saliva spilling from the corners of her mouth and soaking her collar.

But most of her strength had already been spent on fear; she was utterly powerless against her young son.

The warm liquid, with its strange, cloying sweetness, was forced down her throat.

Zhou Hao didn't release her until he confirmed the bowl was empty. He abruptly let go, staggering back a step, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

The scratches on his hand and cheek stung fiercely, beads of blood seeping out, making him look even more ferocious.

Beauty Chen collapsed to the ground, coughing violently, trying to reach into her throat with her hand, but it was already too late.

She lifted her head, face streaked with tears and snot, mixed with the spilled medicinal liquid.

Her eyes were filled with extreme terror, rage, and disbelief, glaring daggers at Zhou Hao.

Then, her body stiffened suddenly!

An indescribable agony erupted from the depths of her organs, as if a red-hot poker had been thrust clean through her!

She curled up violently, letting out a guttural, almost inhuman howl of agony.

"Hahk—" Then, warm liquid gushed uncontrollably from her mouth and nose.

Thick, sticky blood quickly soaked her pale chin and the front of her robes, dripping down onto the floor tiles.

Her eyes bulged in agony and sheer disbelief, locked on Zhou Hao, bloodshot veins racing across the whites.

"Uh... ah..." A strange, rattling gurgle escaped her throat. She could no longer form complete sentences—only endless agony seethed in her eyes.

Only now did she fully understand—the whole "pretend to be gravely ill" and "you won't actually die" act—it was all a lie!

Her own flesh and blood had wanted her dead from the very start! Her gruesome death as his birth mother was meant to be the spark that ignited the Chen family's rebellion!

"Uh... ah... Zhou... Zhou Hao..."

With the last of her strength, Beauty Chen forced broken syllables from her blood-choked throat, every word dripping with venomous hatred.

"You... you... monster! Mother-killing... beast! I... I'll haunt you... even as a ghost, I'll never let you go!!"

When the words "mother-killing beast" burst from his mother's twisted lips with bloody froth, Zhou Hao swayed almost imperceptibly.

His face tightened, jaw clenching, and he tasted a hint of metallic, coppery blood.

Yet, to his surprise, after that bitter curse, Beauty Chen didn't immediately die or keep cursing.

The extreme agony and terror of approaching death seemed to momentarily override her hatred.

Her eyes, clouded and bloodshot from pain and congestion, stared hard at her son a few steps away.

The emotions churning in them shifted abruptly—from venomous malice to the most primal, desperate will to survive.

"Hao... Hao'er..."

Her voice suddenly grew faint, with a bone-chilling gurgle.

"Save... save me... Mother... Mother doesn't want to die... it hurts... it hurts so bad..."

She actually dragged her body—already spasming uncontrollably from the poison's ravages—using the last shred of her strength, crawling inch by inch toward Zhou Hao.

Her fingers clawed at the smooth, cold tiles, nails snapping and leaving bloody scratches behind.

Her blood-stained skirts dragged across the floor with a rustling sound like a slithering viper.

She craned her neck up, her face hideously distorted with blood seeping from every orifice, yet she strained to force an almost pleading expression, reaching a trembling, blood-soaked hand toward Zhou Hao.

"Hao'er... Mother was wrong... Mother will drink it... Mother will obey you...

Please... call the imperial physician... save me... I am your mother..."

Tears, snot, and blood smeared her entire face—a sight both horrifying and utterly pitiful.

Zhou Hao stood completely frozen.

He'd imagined his mother would rage, would curse, might even die quickly in agony.

But he'd never anticipated that this woman—always so arrogant and proud, who'd just been putting up a brave front—

when truly facing death, would grovel so abjectly, crawling toward him—her poisoner—like a dying stray dog begging for help!

Those cries of "Hao'er," those pleas of "Mother," mixed with bloody froth and deathbed whimpers, pierced like the sharpest needles through the walls he'd so forcefully built around his heart.

He stared at that familiar yet alien face, twisted into such a horrifying, pathetic sight amid blood and suffering, watched her reach out that pleading hand toward him...

An icy chill of dread and indescribable terror seized him instantly!

"No... don't come near!" His throat seized up, and he almost instinctively staggered backward, trying to get away.

He retreated too hastily—his heel caught on the embroidered stool knocked over during their struggle, and he lost his balance entirely, toppling backward in a panic!

"Bang!" A dull thud. He crashed heavily to the ground, his elbow and the back of his head slamming the cold, hard tiles. Pain shot through him, and stars exploded before his eyes.

That fall shattered whatever composure and pretense he had left.

He sat sprawled on the floor, looking up to see his mother still crawling closer inch by inch, those bloody hands just inches from his ankles!

He could even smell the thick, nauseating stench of blood mixed with the peculiar sweet-sickly odor of the poison, blending with the stale, spoiled perfume powder still clinging to his mother—a scent straight out of hell.

"Ah—!" He couldn't contain it anymore, letting out a short, startled cry of horror. He scrambled backward on hands and feet, his back pressing hard against the cold wall, nowhere left to retreat.

His pupils contracted, all color draining from his face, leaving only the pallor of terror. His lips trembled uncontrollably.

The ruthlessness and resolve he'd shown while forcing the poison down her throat were utterly gone. In this moment, he was just a boy terrified by the horrific scene before him.

"Save... me..." Beauty Chen seemed to have exhausted her very last ounce of strength. That outstretched hand...

her fingertips nearly brushing the toe of Zhou Hao's boot—finally fell limp, hitting the floor tiles with a heavy thud.

She gave her son one last look. The complex emotions in her eyes—fear, pleading, hatred, despair, and a faint, bewildered flicker of maternal instinct—all froze on that blood-seeping, hideously contorted face.

Then her body gave one final convulsion and went still.

In the bedchamber, silence descended once more, heavier and more suffocating than before.

Zhou Hao sat slumped in the corner, his back pressed to the cold wall, chest heaving violently, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

He stared fixedly at his mother's corpse a few steps away—silent now, yet still wearing that ghastly expression.

Stared at the hand still reaching toward him even in death, at the dark pool of blood spreading across the floor...

His stomach churned violently. He clapped a hand over his mouth and dry-heaved several times, but nothing came up—only cold, clammy sweat soaking through his entire body.

He'd killed his mother.

In the cruelest way possible, he'd witnessed her most gruesome, most abject death.

That realization weighed on his heart heavier than any curse.

He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes, trying to calm the heartbeat and dizziness threatening to burst from his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, Zhou Hao slowly opened his eyes. Bracing himself against the wall, he got to his feet, his legs still unsteady.

He no longer looked at Beauty Chen's corpse, his gaze sweeping past to the shattered bowl on the floor.