Chapter 456 Kneel Properly

Chapter 456: Kneel Still

Everyone's hearts jolted, and many people secretly glanced at Chen Zhengqi.

Chen Li was the Grand Guardian of the court and Chen Zhengqi's own father. He was well known, and many among those present recognized him.

Chen Zhengqi's words from moments ago still echoed in their ears—"Just some nobody."

But now, that face was right there, beneath the firelight, before the thousands of troops.

Was he a nobody?

The crowd's expressions shifted.

Those looks held shock, complexity, and something else hard to name.

But that something was quickly pushed down by another emotion.

Reverence. Awe. Admiration.

—This was for the sake of the nation—setting aside personal loyalty for the greater good.

—Killing his own father, abandoning his clan—he'd be cursed and condemned by the world for years to come.

—Yet Chen Zhengqi went and did it anyway.

—This is true loyalty. True righteousness.

—For the Great Zhou, he'd actually go this far.

Cheng Ge saw it all clearly in those looks, and a flicker of contempt flashed in his eyes.

He suddenly raised his hand, spun the spear, hooked the tip around the back of Zhou Hao's collar, and yanked him forward.

Zhou Hao stumbled, nearly falling. He fought to lift his head.

Cheng Ge reached out, ripped off the rag covering his face, and exposed it to the firelight.

Zhou Hao didn't cry out. He just knelt there, straining with everything he had to keep the dignity of a prince.

The crowd went still.

That was—

The Second Prince?!

A commotion erupted from the crowd.

Everyone had assumed Cheng Ge would keep using the Chen family as leverage.

Chen Li was dead, but the Chen family still had dozens of members, with plenty of descendants still thriving—

Zhou Hao's face was as pale as paper in the firelight, but those features, that profile—who there didn't recognize them?

Years back, the Great Zhou had suffered a terrible drought, with refugees running wild. Back then, Zhou Hao had personally handed out porridge east of the city to calm the refugees.

That was exactly how the Second Prince's reputation for kindness spread far and wide, winning him no small amount of support among the common scholars.

The crowd's faces went pale with panic, and their eyes snapped to Chen Zhengqi.

Chen Zhengqi had raised his troops under the banner of "cleansing the court." He claimed the Crown Prince was wicked, had poisoned His Majesty, and thrown the court into chaos.

But if both the Crown Prince and the Emperor were dead, the only one left to take the throne would be the Second Prince.

Yet now, that very man was in Cheng Ge's grip, spear tip pressed to his back.

What now?

Chen Zhengqi's face darkened to an extreme.

The deputy general beside him couldn't help but speak, his voice barely a whisper.

"Milord—"

The commotion from the crowd showed no signs of dying down.

Those looks shifted from Zhou Hao to Chen Zhengqi, then back again.

The stars dimmed and the moon hid itself. Suddenly, a flash of white light cut across the sky, lighting up the entire palace in an instant.

Flying eaves and upturned rafters, carved beams and painted pillars, and the dense dark crowd—all of it exposed in that pale light.

"Boom—!" A clap of thunder exploded right by their ears.

Cheng Ge just stood there, his hair bun coming loose, a few loose strands whipped up by the wind, sticking to his blood-stained face.

The blood at his feet had pooled into a small puddle, slowly seeping into the cracks between the stone slabs.

He stood there like a nail, hammered into this ground of blood and fire.

A great wind suddenly rose, carrying nothing but the stench of blood.

The smell was so thick it wouldn't disperse, flooding every nostril and nearly making people gag.

Zhou Hao struggled, trying to get up.

He'd knelt too long; his knees were numb, but the humiliation was harder to bear than any pain.

He was a prince—the Second Prince of the Great Zhou. Why should he kneel in this pool of blood, waiting to be butchered like a prisoner?

But the moment his shoulder rose an inch—

The spear shaft slammed down on him.

The force wasn't heavy, but it carried an unyielding authority.

The shaft pressed against his shoulder blade, forcing his whole body down.

A voice came from right beside his ear, so soft it felt like a whisper against his skin.

"Kneel still..."

Zhou Hao's back went rigid.

That voice was too close—so close it felt like it was breathed right into his ear.

But there was no warmth in that voice, like a demon whispering right in your ear.

A chill shot up from the soles of his feet, crawled up his spine, and settled at the back of his skull.

Cheng Ge didn't look at him again.

He lifted his head, the wind whipping his hair across his blood-caked face.

Thunder exploded with a deafening roar that rattled eardrums, the spear tip aimed dead at Chen Zhengqi.

"Traitor minister, gutted, his red heart truly dead. Wicked man, swallowing the blade, his loyal heart still fragrant. His name hidden among the stars—his deeds sever the soul's thunder!"

"Now—"

His voice suddenly shot up, like it could shatter heaven and earth.

"You, Chen Zhengqi—what the hell do you intend to do?!"

The instant the words left his mouth.

"Boom—!"

A bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, turning the whole palace bright as day in a flash.

That lightning looked like it tore a gash in the sky, shoving the figure before the hall into plain view.

A fierce wind kicked up out of nowhere.

The ribbon in Cheng Ge's hair blew loose, vanishing into the night.

His long hair, drenched in grime and blood, caught the wind and whipped wildly in the firelight.

Chen Zhengqi's eyes churned with a storm of fury.

He watched that figure—Cheng Ge was nailing himself to the pillory of shame.

To make sure he'd never rise again.

Thunder rolled in his ears, peal after peal, like it was joining in the condemnation.

The armored soldiers' eyes landed on him, full of doubt, full of wavering, full of something they couldn't name.

Chen Zhengqi's chest heaved hard.

His hand clenched the sword hilt, then let go. Let go, then clenched again.

There was no turning back now.

He'd already come this far.

He'd shouldered the infamy of killing his father, worn the rebel's cap—could he really turn back now?

He let out a sudden laugh.

That smile flickered in the lightning, cold as midwinter ice.

He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over the spear pointed at him.

"The realm's great instrument isn't the private property of one family. Since he's lost the Way, how can he keep usurping it for long? The throne should change hands, to earn heaven's blessing."

Thunder rumbled overhead, his voice still echoing.

"Today—I take the throne. What's wrong with that?!"

Chen Zhengqi suddenly drew his bow and nocked an arrow, the string snapping taut in an instant, the arrow glinting cold in the lightning.

Zhou Hao knelt there, just shaking off the chill of that "Kneel properly," when he saw the arrow.

That arrow tearing toward him—his pupils suddenly shrank.

How could this happen?

He was a prince, damn it!

He was the Second Prince of Great Zhou! Chen Zhengqi's own nephew! The one he was supposed to put on the throne!

There's no way his uncle would kill him!

How the hell could he kill him?!

His body trembled as he tried to struggle, tried to dodge! But it was too damn late!

"Thunk." The sound of the arrow sinking into flesh.

It was soft, almost swallowed by the thunder, and Zhou Hao's voice died mid-syllable.

Blood surged from the arrowhead, spreading a dark red stain, trickling down his collar and dripping onto the stone slabs, mixing with the dried blood already there.

He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something.

But the light in his eyes faded, bit by bit.

The kneeling figure swayed once, twice.

Then—slammed to the ground.

The wild wind raged on, his face pressed against the cold stone slabs.

"Boom—!" Another bolt of lightning struck.

In an instant, a torrential rain came pouring down.

The rain came down too hard, like the sky had been ripped open.

Raindrops slammed into the ground, blood and rain splattering everywhere.

The crowd stood there, frozen.

Those armored soldiers, those generals, all who'd followed Chen Zhengqi this far—every last one of them was stunned into silence by the rain.

How could this be happening?

Why had it come to this?

It was supposed to be a purge of the court's evils—how the hell had it turned into rebellion?

And what about them?

What the hell were they now?

Allies of the rebels? Traitors and usurpers?

Those eyes began to waver, then shift, then move from Zhou Hao to Chen Zhengqi.

Chen Zhengqi stood on the high ground, rainwater streaming down his armor, pooling into a dark red rivulet at his feet.

He lowered his bow, his gaze sweeping across the dense ranks of armored soldiers.

He saw what lurked in those eyes—hesitation, suspicion, confusion.

Zhou Hao lay there—the very banner of their campaign to purge the court.

Now that banner had fallen, and he must raise another.

"All who stand with me today, when I take the throne—"

His voice continued to echo, growing louder and louder, as if to tear the heavens apart.

"All here today shall be recorded as meritorious heroes of the Lingyan Pavilion! All who follow me—"

He paused, his gaze like lightning, raking over those rain-soaked faces.

"A thousand taels of gold, and honor for three generations!"

"Made lords of ten thousand households, with titles passed down forever!"

"Sharing the nation's fate, enjoying riches and glory for all time!"

His voice detonated through the rainy night, rattling eardrums.

The eyes of those armored soldiers began to change.

Wavering turned to hesitation, doubt turned to calculation, bewilderment turned to eager ambition.

Then, a voice suddenly cried out from the crowd.

"The lord's right! We've come this far—can we turn back now?!"

Another voice joined in.

"Death either way—rebel or not! Might as well gamble on glory!"

"Follow the lord! Win rank and power!"

"A thousand taels of gold! Honor for three generations!"

The voices grew louder and louder, like wildfire racing through the crowd.

Those hesitant eyes began to burn, those wavering hearts began to harden.

That's right.

They had come this far—they were already branded as rebels. Could they really turn back?

Better to fight a bloody path forward than surrender meekly!

The victor becomes king, the vanquished a bandit!

If they won—then it would be riches and glory for a lifetime!

Chen Zhengqi stood on the high ground, watching the shift in those eyes, a smile slowly curling at the corners of his mouth.

That smile flashed briefly in the lightning, as cold as the rain.

He raised his hand and pointed at Zhongzheng Hall.

"Then come with me, all of you—"

He spoke slowly, each word deliberate.

"Into the hall! Capture the remnants of Great Zhou!"

"Charge—!"

A thunderous battle cry erupted from the crowd.

But just as that cry erupted—

"Hahaha—!" A sudden burst of laughter exploded.

It was so abrupt, so jarring, as if it had ripped a hole through the overwhelming bloodlust.

It laughed wildly, arrogantly, as if it would laugh the heavens down.

Everyone went still.

Those armored soldiers, those generals, those who had just been shouting their allegiance—all went silent.

Their eyes turned in unison toward the source of the voice.

Cheng Ge stood there in the rain.

He tilted his head back to glance at the sky. The rain washed the blood and grime from his face, revealing skin so pale it was almost translucent.

Bedraggled, yet laughing with reckless abandon.

When he had laughed his fill, he lowered his head, his eyes sweeping over the dense ranks of armored soldiers.

Then he slowly took a step forward.

One step.

Another.

Rain hammered him, the notched spear, those startlingly bright eyes.

Then he spoke.

His voice was hoarse, yet every word landed clearly in every ear.

"The remnant of Great Zhou that General Chen is looking for—"

He paused, then reached up and tore off his tattered outer robe.

The robe dropped to the ground.

Firelight and lightning together lit up the bright yellow dragon robe beneath.

A five-clawed golden dragon coiled across his chest, claws bared, glinting harshly in the rain.

Cheng Ge swayed slightly, blood from his mouth trailing down his chin, soaking the dragon's form.

Blood and gold intertwined, sharp, almost crazed.

He pointed at himself.

"It's me!"

Chen Zhengqi's eyes narrowed sharply.

Before he could react, Cheng Ge's spear tip flicked open Zhou Hao's outer robe.

Zhou Hao lay in the rain, revealing a prince's python robe.

The four-clawed golden python on it was blindingly bright in the rain.

Cheng Ge's spear tip pointed at Zhou Hao.

"Or—"

He said, each word deliberate.

"Looking for him?"

Thunder crashed suddenly.

"Boom—!"

That thunderclap felt like it struck Chen Zhengqi's heart.

He swayed, nearly toppling from his horse.

A scheme. It was all a scheme!

Cheng Ge never intended to threaten him with hostages! Chen Li, Zhou Hao—they were all just pawns to buy time!

The emperor was never here at all!

The crown prince had already escaped the palace long ago!

Everyone had been played by Cheng Ge!

Played!

Chen Zhengqi's face twisted into something unrecognizable, veins bulging like they were about to burst.

He whipped out his blade, pointing it at Cheng Ge, his voice cracking.

"Tear him apart limb from limb—!"

He wheeled his horse around, his voice thundering through the rainy night.

"Follow me out of the city—!"

But just then—

"Boom—!"

The palace gates burst open.

The remaining soldiers burst out, raising broken blades and shattered weapons, lining up on either side of Cheng Ge.

They were drenched in blood, some barely able to stand. Yet not one stepped back.

They stood behind Cheng Ge, behind that blazing yellow dragon robe, in the downpour.

A bloody glow rose.

Severed limbs and crimson blood, washed by the rain, flowed in all directions.

The rain hurried death along.

Cheng Ge knelt, half-crouched, before the palace.

His legs were completely numb; only the spear propping him up kept him from collapsing.

Before him stood barely a dozen men, all wounded, all gasping for breath.

But they still stood their ground.

Still held the line.

Cheng Ge's vision started to blur.

The rain, the firelight, the dark mass of people—all blurred into a haze of shifting light and shadow.

He blinked, trying to focus.

But the blur only grew worse.

At that moment—

A violent thunder of hooves sounded from afar!

The sound was so loud it was like thunder, like a landslide, like a thousand drumsticks pounding on hearts at once.

The crowd was violently split apart.

All hell broke loose.

A figure sat astride a horse, a cavalry lance slanted in hand, its tip gleaming coldly in the rainy night.

One thrust pierced an armored soldier in the way, sending him flying into the crowd behind.

Thus, he rode through blood all the way.

Cheng Ge's vision grew more and more blurred.

But that figure kept drawing closer.

Closer.

He couldn't make out the face.

A shout ripped through the blood-soaked, fire-lit night.

"Yun Mingyue! Leading the Cui family's troops, here by imperial order to defend the throne—!"