Chapter 454 Obsessed

Chapter 454: Madness

However, before Cheng Ge could respond, the man was already dead.

Cheng Ge opened his mouth, but only a hoarse, dry sound came out of his throat.

He desperately wanted to say something—to ask the man's name.

But nothing came out.

The sickly sweet taste of blood he had been suppressing in his chest surged up violently, and he turned his head to the side—

"Ptoo—" A mouthful of black blood sprayed onto the ground.

The sounds of battle raged in his ears—blades clashing, screams, war cries—all mingled into a deafening chaos.

Wind swept through the palace corridors, carrying a thick stench of blood that slammed into him, nearly making him gag.

He looked up at the young face that would never speak again.

Cheng Ge reached out, gently pressing his palm over the man's eyes, closing them.

Then he stood, lifted the body, and carried it to the palace wall, propping the man up against it.

………

Outside the palace.

In the shadows beyond Tianyi Gate, Zhou Xing and his men finally burst out.

Behind them, the pursuers had been shaken off. Ahead in the darkness, a group of riders could be faintly seen waiting in silence.

Zhou Zhan was gasping for breath, glancing back at the palace walls.

The firelight had turned half the sky a deep orange, and the sounds of battle continued unabated, as if they would never stop.

"Your Highness!" a voice called from the shadows ahead.

Zhou Zhan turned.

The firelight illuminated the man's face—dark flying-fish robes, a Xiuchun Saber at his waist, his features cold and sharp.

Lu Ming, Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Zhou Zhan froze.

Why was Lu Ming here?

Wasn't he supposed to be... supposed to be...

Something in his head exploded with a deafening roar.

He suddenly remembered what Cheng Ge had said before leaving—

"I'll break out from Yinghua Hall and find you outside the palace."

"Commander Lu of the Embroidered Uniform Guard is my backup. Nothing will happen."

He had said it so casually, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

But Lu Ming was here.

He had been waiting here all along.

Then Muyu...

The Emperor was helped onto the carriage, still in his Embroidered Uniform Guard attire, still unconscious.

Several physicians who had been waiting there immediately crowded around him, checking his pulse, applying acupuncture, and administering medicine.

Zhou Xing was taking a headcount, and several Imperial Guards were tending to wounds.

But Zhou Zhan couldn't hear any of it.

He just stood there, staring at Lu Ming, his face growing paler by the second.

"Lu Ming..." His voice was hoarse. "Why are you here?"

Lu Ming frowned slightly: "I am here on imperial orders to receive you, Your Highness..."

"Whose orders?"

Lu Ming was silent for a moment.

That moment of silence was like a blade, plunging deep into Zhou Zhan's chest.

Lin Nanshu and Yun Xunyu hurried over from the other side.

They saw Zhou Zhan, Zhou Xing, and the unconscious Emperor.

They also saw Lu Ming—but Cheng Ge was nowhere to be found.

Lin Nanshu's steps halted abruptly, just in time to catch the end of their exchange.

He looked at Lu Ming, then at the palace wall glowing red with firelight.

In that moment, everyone understood—Cheng Ge's claim that "Lu Ming was his backup" had been a lie.

He had never planned to walk out alive.

Yun Xunyu's face changed, and he turned to charge back into the palace, Zhou Yinyun right behind him.

"You—" Zhou Zhan took two steps after them but was stopped by Lin Nanshu's outstretched arm.

"Your Highness the Crown Prince!" Lin Nanshu's voice was ice-cold, carrying a severity never seen before.

"Muyu went to great lengths to protect your life and His Majesty's—don't let his efforts be in vain!"

Zhou Zhan's eyes were red too, his chest burning like fire with unbearable pain.

The Crown Prince again! Just because he was the Crown Prince, he couldn't do anything!

"Then I don't want to be Crown Prince anymore!" His voice trembled, as if something were lodged in his throat. "Let Yinyun take it! Let me go!"

Zhou Yinyun paused mid-step and glanced back at him.

Prince Jing caught up and grabbed Zhou Yinyun's arm.

"Yinyun!"

Zhou Yinyun tried to pull away, but couldn't break free.

"Father, let go."

Prince Jing wouldn't let go.

Zhou Yinyun looked at him. The Prince lowered his head and gave a faint smile—light, apologetic.

"Father," he said. "Take another wife. Have a son who's worth something."

Prince Jing: "..."

While he was stunned, Zhou Yinyun had already pulled free and charged into the blaze of firelight, chasing after Yun Xunyu.

Lin Nanshu ordered his men to hold the Crown Prince back, then led his troops as they charged into the palace.

Yun Xunyu had already vanished into the night. Zhou Yinyun followed close behind.

Zhou Zhan stood there, staring at their retreating backs.

Wind poured into his collar, bitingly cold. Suddenly his knees went weak, and he sank to the ground.

He clutched at his hair with both hands, his knuckles white. He buried his head low, his forehead almost touching the ground.

"Why... why!"

His voice was muffled in his throat, as if forced from the depths of his chest.

His head slammed hard against the ground, and a dark stain spread across the earth—whether from tears or blood, no one could tell.

Zhou Xing stood off to the side, watching the man kneel there.

He didn't step forward to help. He just stood there, motionless.

Lu Ming's hand was still on his sword hilt, glancing toward the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

The dull, heavy thuds finally stopped, but his body was still trembling, as if all the strength had been drained from him.

No one spoke.

Just then, a commotion came from the carriage.

"Your Majesty... His Majesty is awake!"

Zhou Mingqi opened his eyes. His face was still pale, his lips still tinged with fading purple.

His eyes were half-lidded, as if it had taken great effort just to open them.

His gaze paused for a moment, then he slowly pushed himself up. The physician beside him hurried to steady him.

His eyes swept across the crowd, scanning the surroundings—but he didn't see that figure.

Zhou Mingqi's brow twitched slightly, then settled back to calm.

"Where's Cheng Muyu?"

His voice wasn't loud, even a bit hoarse, yet it landed clearly in everyone's ears.

No one answered.

Zhou Mingqi looked at Lu Ming. Lu Ming went down on one knee.

"Your Majesty, Lord Cheng—"

Before he could finish, someone lunged forward.

Zhou Zhan knelt beside Zhou Mingqi, both hands clutching the hem of his father's robes, like a drowning man grasping for the last straw.

"Father—!"

His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, tears and blood mingled together, smeared across his face.

He knelt there like that, looking up at Zhou Mingqi, like a desperate child who had finally found a grown-up.

"Father... Muyu... he... he lied to me..."

Zhou Zhan's voice came out in broken fragments, every word forced from his throat.

"He said Lu Ming would be there to meet us... he said he would come out... he told me to go first..."

He pressed his head against Zhou Mingqi's knee, his shoulders shaking violently.

"He lied to me... he never planned to come out... he lied to me... Father... save him..."

In the distance, the cries of battle continued. Zhou Mingqi looked down at him.

Looking at this son covered in blood and tears, he simply reached out and placed his hand on Zhou Zhan's trembling shoulder.

That hand was steady—steady as a mountain.

"Zhou Xing."

Zhou Xing stepped forward and knelt on one knee.

"Your servant is here."

Zhou Mingqi's gaze swept over the crowd and settled on Zhou Xing.

"Go now to Sun Jingyao of the Patrol Battalion. Have him come see me immediately."

Zhou Xing was taken aback.

Summoning the Patrol Battalion commander instead of directly issuing orders to deploy troops—

He suddenly understood. This was about taking someone into custody first.

What Zhou Mingqi wanted wasn't a piece of paper with orders. He wanted the Patrol Battalion, whole and complete, firmly in his grasp.

Zhou Xing bowed deeply. "Your servant obeys!"

He rose and strode away.

Zhou Mingqi's gaze turned to the civil officials standing nearby.

Those were the old ministers who had escaped the palace with him—Lin Zhufeng among them.

They stood by the carriage, weary-faced, yet all holding themselves upright, refusing to fall.

"Zhang Gelao."

Zhang Gelao stepped forward and clasped his hands in salute.

"Issue the edict at once. Convey my decree: General Chen of the Western Mountain Camp is to lead his troops into the capital, join forces with the Brave Cavalry Camp, and enter the city to put down the rebellion."

The Western Mountain Camp was stationed fifty li west of the capital—a bit farther out than the Brave Cavalry Camp, but they could still get there by dawn.

Grand Secretary Zhang bowed deeply. "Your servant obeys."

Zhou Mingqi swayed slightly but steadied himself. "Lu Ming. Take half the Embroidered Uniform Guard and get to the palace now to reinforce Cheng Ge."

The moment the words left his mouth, Lu Ming snapped his head up. "Your Majesty! You can't!"

"Chen Zhengqi's forces are strong right now, and we've only just gotten out of the palace. If we split our troops now and the enemy catches on and gives chase—"

He paused, each word seeming to be dragged out of his chest.

"It'd be like standing under a collapsing wall!"

He watched Zhou Mingqi's face.

That pale face showed nothing at all, just listening in silence.

Lu Ming gritted his teeth and forced the last words out.

"Besides, even if we send help to save Lord Cheng now, I'm afraid... it's already too late."

He went quiet.

The air around them went still, the smell of blood in the wind getting stronger.

Zhou Mingqi looked at him—his eyes, tired as they were, stayed razor-sharp.

That look landed on Lu Ming like an invisible knife.

The reason Zhou Mingqi had fought his way past the other princes and taken the throne wasn't just his brains—it was that he stayed rational.

He could kill without hesitation, never ruled by impulse.

Lu Ming knew Zhou Mingqi got what he was saying.

In this situation, any smart emperor would know what to pick.

Splitting the troops to save a minister who was as good as dead, putting the emperor and crown prince—who'd just gotten out of danger—right back in harm's way, was pure stupidity.

One breath. Two.

Lu Ming's head dropped lower and lower, cold sweat soaking through his robes and down his back.

He finally realized that Zhou Mingqi hadn't ignored what he'd said—he just hadn't needed to hear it at all.

This emperor knew everything, understood everything, had a clearer head than anyone.

Not just the emperor in front of him—even the ones who'd turned back to the palace knew it perfectly well.

Yet they'd still made that choice, crazy and without a second thought.

Lu Ming didn't dare raise his head again. He kowtowed hard.

"Your servant... obeys."

He got up, stepped back twice, turned, and walked off.

—

Zhou Mingqi looked away, swaying a little. He grabbed the edge of the carriage to steady himself.

Then he looked down at Zhou Zhan, who was still kneeling at his feet.

Zhou Zhan's face was streaked with tears, blood still dripping from his forehead, looking as pathetic as a stray dog.

But he knelt there, looking up at Zhou Mingqi, his eyes holding a light that was almost begging.

Zhou Mingqi didn't say anything. He just reached to his side and picked up a sword.

The scabbard was pitch-black, the hilt wrapped in bright yellow tassels.

It was the imperial sword—the one he'd personally buckled at his waist the year he took the throne.

He held the sword out toward Zhou Zhan.

Zhou Zhan went still.

He looked down at the sword, then lifted his head to meet those eyes.

Those eyes, tired as they were, held a rare hint of gentleness.

No blame. No disappointment.

"Father..."

Zhou Mingqi looked at him and said only one thing.

"Go."

—

Inside the palace, the sounds of battle were deafening.

Cheng Ge was protected in the middle of the formation, the surviving Embroidered Uniform Guard around him, blades out, fighting as they fell back.

"Protect His Majesty—!" someone shouted, his voice hoarse but piercing.

Cheng Ge said nothing, just gripping his blade tighter.

"Left side!"

He roared, swinging his blade to cut down an armored soldier charging at him, the edge slicing across the man's throat.

He didn't stop. He reversed his grip and cut down another—but there were too many. Too many to kill.

Another blade came slashing down. He sidestepped, the edge grazing his shoulder and shearing off a strip of fabric.

Before he could catch his breath, another one came charging from a different direction.

Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying. The hand gripping Cheng Ge's blade was already shaking.

He'd lost count of how many he'd killed, only knowing the waves of men kept coming, one after another.

Another armored soldier rushed at him; he brought his blade up to block—clang! The sword jarred, was knocked from his grip, and landed a few steps away on the ground.

Cheng Ge's hands were left empty.

In that instant, before he could retrieve it, another figure charged from the side, blade raised to strike.

He could only sidestep.

Just as he twisted to the side—

"Whoosh—"

A surprise arrow shot from the flank, hitting him right in the calf.

A searing pain shot through him; he grunted through clenched teeth and dropped to one knee.

The arrow had gone clean through his calf, the shaft still quivering, blood pouring out and soaking his pant leg.

"My lord—!"

Several imperial guards rushed forward, throwing themselves in front of the surging armored soldiers.

Two others grabbed Cheng Ge's arms and yanked him to his feet.

"Get him inside! Quick, into the hall!"

Cheng Ge was hauled back. His wounded leg left a trail of blood across the floor, each step sending pain that made his vision go black.

But he clenched his jaw and refused to cry out.

Behind him, the imperial guards fell one by one, the sounds of tearing flesh and clashing blades blending into one another.

Finally—the hall doors were right in front of him.

They half-carried, half-dragged him into Zhongzheng Hall.

The doors slammed shut behind them. Cheng Ge leaned against them, gasping for air.

He looked down at his leg—the arrow was still lodged in his calf, blood trickling down the shaft, forming a small puddle on the floor.

He raised his head and scanned the room. Only a hundred or so were left inside, and every last one of them was wounded.

They stared at him—at the dragon robe soaked through with blood.

No one spoke.

Cheng Ge shut his eyes for a moment, then pushed himself up from the wall and slowly got to his feet.

His injured leg trembled, and sweat beaded on his forehead from the pain. Yet he straightened up and walked, step by step, to the center of the hall.

He reached down and grabbed the arrow shaft sticking out of his calf.

"Nngh—"

He let out a muffled groan as he ripped the arrow out.

Blood gushed out. He tore a strip of cloth from his robe with his blade and cinched the wound tight.