I am still writing the last chapter. If I finish it, it will be morning. If I fall asleep in front of the computer, it will be much later. Everyone, please don't wait.
I am very satisfied with this chapter and countless other chapters. Everyone knows how satisfied I am. Perhaps you cannot agree because I cannot extravagantly ask for the satisfaction of all my friends. I only hope that everyone is satisfied with my satisfaction because this means that everyone is satisfied with my attitude in writing the book. Only something that I am satisfied with will I bring it up for everyone to see. So that is how it is. It is only so, but it is still so. Not bad.
Thank you very much for being with me for so long. The day after tomorrow, I will write the epilogue and repeat it a few times. Please read it.
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The Qing Emperor's fist was always steady and powerful. It was full of the aura of a ruler. It easily pierced through all obstacles in front of it, just as he often did in this life.
In the decades of history in this land, not many people had survived an attack from the Qing Emperor. Sigu Jian, that strange old creature, had his intestines torn apart and could only rely on Fei Jie's strange poison to struggle at death's door. However, Fan Xian had relied on the magic Ku He had left behind to move dozens of feet in one move. Contrary to the Qing Emperor's expectations, he had forcefully avoided the terrifying power contained within the fist.
Wu Zhu did not avoid this punch. He had truly withstood the boundless zhenqi in the Qing Emperor's body. A part of his chest caved in, but he did not fall. If the highest realm in the world was a Great Grandmaster, then if the only weakness of a Great Grandmaster was that they were still like a mortal's, then Wu Zhu clearly did not have this weakness. His body was certainly the most powerful among the Great Grandmasters.
He only stood up again and moved closer to the Qing Emperor on the wet ground.
He once again walked in front of the Qing Emperor. The black cloth on his face did not move. The metal drill in his hand waved and broke through the air noiselessly. Because it was too fast, the people who were struggling to survive could not see what was happening on the stone steps or hear any sound.
The Emperor did not retreat. A faint gray light flashed through his eyes. His feet stood steadily on the stone steps. Just as he had declared with boundless dominance and confidence in the Hanging Temple, he had never retreated half a step in his life, regardless of what enemy he faced.
He punched again. His jade-like fist glowed with a faint light. In an instant, it evaporated all the moisture in the air and landed squarely on Wu Zhu's abdomen.
Wu Zhu's metal rod was like a streak of clear light cast down from the sky. It could not be stopped. It struck ruthlessly against the Qing Emperor's left shoulder.
For warriors of their realm, in the last battle of their lives, they had long cast aside all external pretense and techniques. In the word "power", the power was already in their bodies and bearing. They collided purely with reality. It was just like what Master Ku He's great ancestor, Gen Chen, had said in one of the sayings, "Take off your clothes and go!"
The duel between the two peerless experts was just the most indifferent and simple performance art. Without any external appearance, it was just like primitive people practicing the most perfect killing skills in the snow, beside the volcano, and in the midst of grassland beasts.
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The Emperor's left shoulder shattered with a crack. Fresh blood seeped out from between his lips. His cold eyes only watched Wu Zhu's figure flying further and further away.
Wu Zhu was once again sent flying by that fist. His leg had been broken, and his body was crippled. His unimaginably calculating ability could no longer be supported by the powerful execution of his body. He could not dodge the Qing Emperor's fist that broke through the boundaries of time and space.
In the light rain that was about to stop, Wu Zhu's body arched as he retreated backward in the air. The cold wind caused his clothes to flutter. With a pa, his feet landed on the ground. He slid backward over a hundred feet on the slippery ground before he managed to stop. However, his left leg couldn't support him and he almost fell to the ground.
After taking this punch head-on, Wu Zhu did not fall to the ground. It seemed that his situation was better than before. However, the incomparable confidence and powerful light on the Emperor's face, as well as Wu Zhu's slightly lowered head, seemed to indicate an inauspicious ending.
Wu Zhu stood quietly in the pool of blood below Taiji Palace. He lowered his head to look at his abdomen and was silent for a long time.
Before the Emperor's fist struck his abdomen, Wu Zhu had blocked his left hand. Thus, the Emperor's fist had actually struck his palm and then his abdomen.
Wu Zhu's hand was like an icy piece of metal. His body was also like an icy ball of metal. However, the Qing Emperor's fist was like a god's hammer, smashing the metal into the ball of metal. His palm had sunk deep into his abdomen like two pieces of metal being forcefully glued together.
The corner of his brows that was not covered by the black cloth furrowed slightly. Coldly, Wu Zhu pulled at his left hand. He didn't know how much strength he used before he managed to pull his hand out from his abdomen. However, it brought up a large patch of pale flesh that was no longer bleeding. Accompanied by the sound of tearing, it appeared unusually terrifying.
The Qing Emperor's first punch landed on Wu Zhu's chest. He didn't block it. The second punch landed on his abdomen. He did not block it. Two different choices represented two completely different levels of damage. It seemed that the vital points of the emissaries of the Temple were no longer a secret in the eyes of that powerful ruler. This reality made Wu Zhu somewhat stunned. It also made the spectators, who were still enduring and shivering, begin to feel boundless fear.
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Propping the metal rod on the blood-soaked and rain-soaked ground, Wu Zhu used his left hand to straighten his almost broken left leg. With great difficulty, he took a step toward Taiji Palace. His cloth shoe stepped on the hand of a corpse and almost slipped. A crisp crack rang out from Wu Zhu's abdomen. It was as if a spiderweb of cracks were spreading out and tearing through his body with that spot as the center.
Wu Zhu's body began to tremble and tilt. It was as if he could become countless pieces at any moment, fall apart, and collapse into a pool on the ground.
However, the metal drill rod was still tightly gripped in his hand, supporting his tottering body valiantly, allowing him to take another step forward.
Even his first step was so difficult, so slow, accompanied by some extremely dry sounds. However, he still walked step by step towards the Emperor without hesitation.
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The Emperor pulled back his fist. His indifferent and emotionless eyes glanced at his chest. It was as if he wanted to count how many of his ribs had been shattered by that hard metal rod. He didn't remember how many punches he had thrown out or how much blood he had spat out. He only remembered that he didn't take a step back, but he didn't advance either. He just stood like a puppet on the stone steps in front of his palace and threw out his punches mechanically and repeatedly.
How many times had the Fifth Prince fallen? How many times had he gotten up? How many times had he fallen in his life? How many times had he gotten up? Why was the Fifth Prince clearly about to fall, yet he struggled to get up? Did he not know that a monster like him would one day truly die? If the Fifth Prince was not a dead thing but a living thing, knew about life and death and feared it, then why didn't he show it?
Why was it that the Fifth Prince's movements had clearly slowed down so much, yet the hard metal rod in his hand was always able to smash into his body? Was it because he was already old and was about to run out of oil?
No, it couldn't be. It shouldn't be. Dissatisfaction and indignation burned faintly in his cold eyes. In the end, it turned into endless tiredness and boredom.
Was this a shocking battle destined to be recorded in the annals of history or a small show destined to disappear in the long river of history? Regardless of which it was, the Qing Emperor was tired of it. It was just like how many years after his father ascended the throne, he was forced to painfully prepare for the matter of Taiping Courtyard. A few years later, there was going to be a night of blood in Jingdou. The great Dong Mountain lured and killed those two old things. An Zhi lured and killed those shameless people who dared to betray him in Jingdou. Last year, he wanted to lure the chest out. Now, the Fifth Prince was here.
Endless schemes and plots were like the Fifth Prince in front of him falling and rising again. They repeated endlessly. It was like a story from many years ago, stubbornly replayed over and over again. This kind of repetition was truly annoying and tiresome.
However, the Qing Emperor could not be tired. He was not willing to be tired. He still had many things to do. He had not defeated the most powerful enemy in front of him. He could not let go.
Slowly wiping away the blood that gushed endlessly from the corners of his lips, the Emperor suddenly felt his body grow slightly cold. A year ago, he had been heavily injured and had not recovered. At times, he was afraid of the cold, light, and wind. Thus, he was willing to lie on the soft couch and cover himself with the silk blanket Wan 'er had brought from Jiangnan.
He liked that warm feeling and didn't like this cold feeling. It made him feel powerless and tired. It seemed that as the blood flowed away, the temperature and confidence in his body also flowed away.
Looking at Wu Zhu, who had once again climbed to his feet, the broken Wu Zhu, the Emperor's burning eyes suddenly lit up. Following the sudden paleness, his old face appeared unusually thin and sallow.
The rain had stopped. The dark clouds in the sky were turning into white clouds at a speed visible to the naked eye. They grew whiter and whiter, more and more beautiful, and brighter. The air in the square of the Royal Palace was filled with the beautiful aura of rain washing the blue sky. Beyond the Palace walls, in the extreme eastern sky line, something beautiful was faintly happening.
The Emperor opened his hazy eyes. With a shake of his clothes, he finally flew up from the stone steps of Taiji Palace. In this rainless sky, he brought up a stream of rain parallel to the south, leaving behind countless afterimages in the air.
The blue sky reflected this dragon of rain. A draconic cry seemed to ring out from somewhere in the Royal Palace. Wu Zhu, who was holding the metal drill, was immediately surrounded by this dragon and countless draconic cries. The gray, solemn, and beautiful rainwater that broke through the air instantly launched its most powerful attack toward Wu Zhu.
Other than the two powerful warriors present, no one could see clearly what was happening in that curtain of rain. However, the dragon's cry had died out. After a terrifying moment of absolute silence, countless sounds rang out one after another like a string of thunder. It was also like the wind high up in the sky instantly blowing through the yellow paper lanterns put out by countless lovers. Pa, pa, pa, pa …
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Wu Zhu finally fell. He fell under the Qing Emperor's storm-like punches and fingers. In this instant, his body had suffered countless heavy blows. Finally, he sat down weakly at the Qing Emperor's feet. His pale right hand opened toward the sky. There was nothing there.
The long silent and noble head also drooped down powerlessly and fell in front of the Qing Emperor. Reluctantly and helplessly, he let go of the hand holding the metal drill.
He let go of the hand holding the metal drill, but the metal drill did not fall to the ground of the Royal Palace. It made the clear sound of a funeral bell because the metal drill was stuck in the Qing Emperor's abdomen and was trembling slightly.
Fresh blood surged out of the Qing Emperor's abdomen and flowed down the metal drill. It dripped down the smooth tip of the drill and landed on Wu Zhu's pale palm. Following a clear line of life, it gradually bloomed into a beautiful peach blossom.
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The Emperor's thin and emotionless lips were slightly parted. They appeared slightly dry. His face was deathly pale. His eyes were empty and without a trace of emotion. He lowered his head to look at the metal drill in his abdomen. Feeling boundless exhaustion and annoyance, he prepared to pull out the metal drill that had sunk deep into his abdomen.
He was the person with the greatest willpower in the world. At the beginning, his meridians had all been shattered. Even the pain of being a cripple could not weaken his spirit at all, much less the pain in his abdomen. He knew that Lao Wu was already crippled. A faint pride flashed through his eyes, but there was only boundless exhaustion. He discovered that his lips were beginning to taste something rusty.
Fan Xian still had not appeared. This reality confused the Emperor. A glimmer of a self-mocking smile rose to the corners of his lips. It looked like his son's state of mind was stronger than he had imagined. Because of his strength, he had been cold, callous, and cold-blooded enduring silently until now. He had watched as Wu Zhu was crippled by him but still refused to come out.
Strangely, the Emperor once again felt admiration and admiration for his son. He seemed to feel that his most unfilial son was becoming more and more like himself, as cold-blooded as himself.
He had thought that Fan Xian should have come out a long time ago. When Wu Zhu first fell to the ground, or when Wu Zhu's leg was broken in two, he had been secretly preparing for this. However, Fan Xian had not come out, so he felt a faint disappointment and an ominous feeling.
Was the blue sky after the rain going to witness the Emperor's final failure? Was she going to use her son's eyes to see his failure?
Fresh blood surged out from the powerful Emperor's lips and from his abdomen. He once again felt the coldness and began to think of the soft blanket on the couch and the woman in the royal study. Then, his right hand gripped the metal drill steadily and began to slowly pull it out of his body with a heart-shaking coldness.
There was an old saying that when a blade was pulled out of a wound, the pain was the greatest. This could be used to refer to life, but it could also be used to refer to the current situation.
When the Emperor slowly pulled out the metal drill, it was like exposing the scars that had been hidden in the darkness by his mask all these years. The scars that he thought had long healed made him think of many people and many things. The pain made his pale face even whiter, so white that it was not like a normal person's.
It seemed like even this monarch's arm couldn't bear to let him face this kind of pain. Therefore, at this moment, in the cold and clean air, an extremely strange twist suddenly occurred!
It was a twist and separation of bone and flesh. It did not conform to the structure of the human body at all. It bent out at a strange angle. It was rather like Wu Zhu's leg.
Blood blossomed under the blue sky. Bone and flesh separated from the Qing Emperor's body. His left arm was neatly cut off from the elbow joint by a mysterious force. Under the light of the clear sunlight, the severed arm flew into the spotless air. With the slowest speed, it spun, jumped, danced, and danced with beads of blood at the stump.
Only then did the clear sound of a gunshot echo through the empty and empty Royal Palace courtyard. It curled up in spirals and was lonely and clear. It was like a sorrowful accompaniment to the dancing of the severed arm.
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Other than losing to Zhan Qingfeng on the Northern expedition, the meridians in his body shattered, and the days when he sank into darkness. This moment was the most painful and weakest moment of the Emperor's life.
The gunshot, which had been silent for decades and then silent for another year, finally rang out in the Royal Palace. After a year of silence and another morning of silence, Fan Xian's figure finally appeared by the Emperor's side.
Watching as Wu Zhu was heavily injured by the Emperor until he became useless, Fan Xian still did not come out. What kind of pain was he suppressing? However, when he appeared, he chose the most opportune moment and appeared in the most opportune place. He appeared directly beside the Emperor.
All he needed was the snap of a finger.
His 20-odd years of bitter cultivation after being reborn, his motivation between life and death on the meadow, his will to not despair in the desperate situation in the Snowy Palace, his comprehension under the tree, his thoughts in the snowy plains, the creation of the yuanqi of heaven and earth, life and death, separation and separation, the clash between weak and valiant, a life of craving life and hating death, and the pain of the autumn rain all merged into one feeling. An aura exploded out of Fan Xian's body.
There was no sword, no arrow, no dagger, no poisonous smoke, no small tricks, no coffin-breaker, no stretching out of his arm against the path of the sword, and no channeling of his Qi against the path of heaven and earth. Fan Xian abandoned everything. He only turned himself into a gust of wind and a streak of gray light. In the shortest of moments, he forced out all of his power through his fingers and chopped toward the Emperor's heavily injured and weak body.
The powerful Tyrannical zhenqi did not hesitate to cut the already thick meridians in his body. With a decisive stance and a speed beyond his ability, it fiercely sent out.
Countless streaks of smoke and dust lit up the cold autumn.
He sent it to his fingers. The zhenqi did not spit it out. Instead, it gathered it inside. The sword qi did not leave his fingers, but it was as solid as metal and stone. Viciously, it pierced into the Emperor's shoulder.
Moving it to his palm, the zhenqi was like the wind of the East Sea. It surged out violently and swept through the clean jade mountain. Without leaving a single speck of dust, it slammed heavily into the Emperor's chest.
Chopping, finger, and palm, he chopped away the past of these years. He pointed out a path of life and death. With a single palm, he separated the line between ruler and official, father and son.
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Fan Xian had never been so powerful in his life. The Qing Emperor had never been so weak. This pair of father and son didn't even have time to meet each other's eyes for an instant before they became two shadows in front of Taiji Palace. They made the intimacy of life and death with each other. It was as if countless yellow paper lanterns in the air had been torn apart by the strong wind. They popped endlessly, causing one's heart to palpitate with boredom.
The speed of Fan Xian's movements had already risen to a level that would make people dumbfounded. He did not leave any afterimages. There was only a wisp of gray shadow that circled around the Emperor's body. In an instant, he had attacked dozens or hundreds of times.
The rainwater that had accumulated on the stone floor suddenly seemed to have been split open by a water repellent bead. It spread to the sides, revealing the clean stone tiles in the middle. About half a palm's length above the stone tiles, the Emperor and Fan Xian's figures flew through the air. In an instant, they left the front of Taiji Palace and flew like lightning toward the northeast.
Water splashed everywhere along the way. A trail of blood flew through the air in a line.
With a bang, the bright yellow figure dispiritedly smashed through the Palace doors between the walls of the Royal Palace, shattering the thick Palace doors and filling the air with wood shavings.
The wood shavings shot out in all directions like powerful arrows. With a series of sizzling sounds, they shot through the circular stone doors behind the Palace doors and sent up a wave of stone shavings. They embedded deeply into the vermilion Palace walls.
It was the wood shavings shooting out from all directions beside the bright yellow figure that forced Fan Xian, who was like a soul-chasing wind and soul-chasing shadow, to slow down and reveal his body in the air.
The bright yellow figure smashed through the Palace doors and immediately after, he crashed heavily into the large copper water vat between the walls. With a muffled sound, he also revealed his body.
The hand that was still not stained with blood broke through the air, and with a pa sound, a slender wrist was shaken off. Like lightning, he pulled out the ice-cold metal, flipped his wrist up, and pinched that soft throat.
Then, it gripped the serving girl's throat.
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With a splat, the Emperor leaned dejectedly and weakly against the side of the large copper vat and spat out a mouthful of fresh blood. However, a faint and strange smile rose to his pale face. One of his arms was already broken. There were four or five finger holes and three palm prints on his body. Fresh blood dyed the dragon robe on his body, making the golden dragon on his bright yellow clothes appear particularly ferocious but also particularly wretched.
Fan Xian slowly put down the bridge of his left hand and right fist that covered his face. The wood shavings also caused blood to seep endlessly out of his clothes. He coughed violently and coughed up threads of blood. The attack earlier was an attack that he had condensed his life into. At this moment, he was forced to stop. It was already impossible for him to unleash that mysterious speed. Furthermore, a large portion of his Meridians had been cut. They were like countless little knives scraping through his body. The pain was difficult to endure.
The Emperor's injuries were even more serious. It was so serious that it seemed like he could disappear from this world at any moment. However, there was not a glimmer of joy on Fan Xian's face. After a series of hurried coughs, his expression recovered its calm. Looking at the Emperor, who was leaning against the copper vat and gasping for breath, he didn't say a word.
However, his eyes revealed his true emotions. They were complicated. He stared at the Emperor in a daze. He kept feeling that the scene in front of him was not real. The Emperor, who was as high and unreachable as a snowy mountain, bone-chilling, and powerful and indestructible, would also have a time when he was at the end of his rope?
When did the Emperor's appearance become so old?
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"Your Majesty, you've lost." Fan Xian lowered his head slightly and used the sleeve of his eunuch robe to wipe away the blood at the corner of his lips. He looked at the Emperor with a complicated gaze.
The words he said were meaningless. There were at least a dozen wounds on the Qing Emperor's body, particularly the cut on his left arm and the wound on his abdomen. Fresh blood gushed out endlessly.
Just as the Emperor had said to Wu Zhu earlier, there were no immortals in this world. Wu Zhu was not, and neither was he. The betrayal, assassination, and injuries he had suffered this year had dragged on until now. Now, he had fought a heaven-shaking battle with Wu Zhu, had his arm cut off by the heavy sniper rifle, and had been ambushed by Fan Xian, who was faintly breaking through. Even the most powerful ruler in the world had reached his final moments.
A glimmer of a mocking and cold smile still hung on the Emperor's face. His three fingers continued to gently rest on the serving girl's throat. The serving girl held a gun in her hand.
The Emperor glanced at Fan Xian but did not pay attention to his words. Instead, in a raspy voice and coughing up blood, he looked at Fan Ruoruo beside him with a warm gaze. After looking calmly for a long time, he said, "As I said, it is not easy to be a good Emperor. First, you have to abandon some unnecessary emotions and cannot be soft-hearted. Ruoruo, you are soft-hearted today. This is a fatal mistake."
The face of the young lady of the Fan family, dressed in serving girl attire, remained calm. However, her slightly furrowed brows showed that her heart was not as calm as her appearance.
Since last autumn, she had been taken into the Royal Palace by the Emperor. She had always accompanied this lonely ruler in the royal study. Day after day, she had seen too many times the thin figure reading memorials under the oil lamp, heard too many coughs coming from the sickbed, and seen too many times the thin old man's furrowed brows. Gradually …
On the eighth day of the New Year, on a snowy day, she had been in Zhaixing Tower, looking through the glass at the bright yellow figure in the distance. She had always felt that it was unreal, so her fingers had not trembled in the slightest. Now, through the crack in the Palace doors, looking at the gradually aging and familiar face of the Emperor, for some reason, she had chosen to aim at the Emperor's arm and not at a fatal point.
The Emperor was right. In that instant, Fan Ruoruo's heart softened a little.
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"Girls are extroverted. Chen girl has tried endlessly to soften my resolve this year, but I ignored it. You like that scoundrel An Zhi, I know that. However, have you girls ever thought about whether, in this year, you have softened me or been softened by me? "
The Emperor spoke calmly and indifferently. He did not summon the internal court eunuchs he had exiled to the back palace. He also did not stop the bleeding. It was as if he did not care at all about the blood flowing out of his body. A slightly mocking smile rose to the corners of his lips.
Fan Ruoruo's body trembled slightly. Fan Xian narrowed his eyes slightly and looked at the Emperor in front of him, who was both familiar and strange and had a complicated relationship with him. He didn't know what kind of shock rose in his mind. His admiration for the Emperor's willpower and scheming reached a peak. In such a dangerous moment earlier, the Emperor had appeared defeated under his desperate attack. In reality, he had still chosen the best path. He had broken through the Palace doors, found the person holding the spear, and taken control of her.
Fan Xian pressed his thin lips together tightly. Suddenly, he gritted his teeth and said, "Your Majesty, don't try to use her life to threaten me."
"You will accept my threat?" The Emperor asked in a mocking tone as he slowly turned his head and allowed the blood to soak into his dragon robe.
Fan Xian was silent for a moment. He then shook his head. Looking at Fan Ruoruo, he said in a raspy voice, "If you die, I will accompany you."
Fan Ruoruo's face was slightly pale. After a moment of silence, she said, "Sister, you are not afraid of death."
"Is escaping the fear of life and death something remarkable?" The Emperor stared into Fan Xian's eyes and suddenly laughed softly. "Your face is like your mother's, but your lips are a bit like mine. Extremely thin and heartless. It is indeed true."
A moment later, the indifferent Emperor suddenly said, "In my life, I have never lost."
For some reason, after Fan Xian was reborn, he always possessed a calmness, even coldness, that normal people did not have. However, at such a tense moment, when he heard the Emperor's words, a sliver of sourness, emptiness, and anger welled up from the depths of his heart. In a cold voice, he roared loudly at the Emperor, "Enough!"
The Emperor looked calmly into his son's eyes. He looked at his handsome face that was slightly twisted in anger. Suddenly, he laughed coldly. It was as if he was laughing at the other party's loss of composure, the other party's fear, and the strange anger that came from nowhere.
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In the empty Royal Palace, other than the rainwater still accumulating on the ground and the countless corpses and flesh, there were only four people left standing. Fan Xian stood by Uncle Wu Zhu's side and stared coldly at the bright yellow figure not far away. No one knew what he was thinking. He was indeed afraid, but the anger was not born out of fear. Instead, it was born out of another sense of sorrow.
From there to here, the distance was very short. Fan Xian seemed to have an opportunity to attack. However, the Emperor was within three feet of Fan Ruoruo's side. No one dared to take such a risk in front of a Great Grandmaster. Fan Ruoruo still held that heavy sniper rifle in her hand. Everyone could see that the Emperor was at the end of his rope and was on the verge of death.
"I have never lost in my life." The Emperor looked at the son in front of him and Wu Zhu in front of him. He slowly raised his sleeve to wipe away the blood at the corner of his lips. Coldly, he said, "I just feel as if I am going to die."
Failure and death were two different concepts. Failure was victory and defeat, but life and death often belonged to fate. A ruler's failure would certainly lead to his death. A ruler's death was not necessarily because he had failed.
Perhaps the Qing Emperor was already surrounded by the aura of death, but he had not failed. His death had actually been predestined a long time ago.
There was no true path of kings in the world. The Emperor's body had been disturbed by ruthless zhenqi these years, making it impossible for him to rest. The many things that had happened this year had allowed the zhenqi to find a way to harm him in his body. It quickly destroyed his life force and sped up the process of his aging. However, the Emperor's slightly sunken eyes looked coldly at Fan Xian. He did not lightly speak of the truth that was destined to shock him endlessly.
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"Even if I die, I will kill you, unfilial son." The Emperor coughed, making him bend slightly. There was a faint unwillingness in his coughs. "The Li family's kingdom is destined to unify the world. As long as you die, regardless of which of my two sons takes the throne, the world will still belong to the Qing Kingdom."
The raging flames of war outside Nanjing were only flames that forced Fan Xian to appear. Otherwise, if Fan Xian returned from the Temple and went into hiding, where would the Qing Emperor go to find him? However, if Fan Xian did not die, the great work of the Qing Kingdom for thousands of generations would not appear. Even if the Qing Emperor knew that his body was about to weaken, how could he be at ease?
The situation today was just a ruler wanting to kill his official and a father wanting to kill his son. Who would have thought that the situation would change in the Royal Palace? In the lonely Royal Palace, the Emperor faced all of the enmity alone.
The Emperor felt a bit tired. He looked at Fan Xian calmly and suddenly realized that the desire to kill his son was not as strong as he had imagined. Why was this? Perhaps the source of the Emperor's desire to kill was the anger he felt because of Fan Xian's betrayal and not for the Qing Kingdom for thousands of generations.
An Emperor without meridians and a heartless person. Once he became angry because of disappointment and moved, he was nothing more than a mortal.
The Emperor suddenly felt that if he died like this, he would probably be very lonely. What kind of cold gaze would his relatives in the netherworld, Chengqian, Chengze, and the empress look at him? Would his mother be well in the netherworld? After that woman's death, would her spirit still look at him with that seemingly gentle but actually incomparably distant gaze?
A sense of loneliness and desolation took over the old Emperor's body. He suddenly realized that in the last battle of his life, he was still facing her spear, her servant, her, and his son.
After struggling for a lifetime, in the end, he was still fighting her. Thinking of this, a glimmer of a sorrowful smile rose to the Emperor's face. Was he destined to lose to her hands?
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The bright yellow figure shook slightly. The spear in Fan Ruoruo's hand was caught through the air by his uninjured hand. His fingers tightened slightly. The Tyrannical zhenqi in the Emperor's body burst forth like a river or an ocean. After a light sound, the barrel of the spear was forcefully bent.
The Emperor's zhenqi surged. His injuries worsened. He only narrowed his eyes and looked coldly at the scrap metal thrown at his feet. It was as if he was interrogating the woman. He didn't say anything for a long time.
"How good would it be if Lao Wu never stepped into the world again?" The Emperor lowered his head and suddenly sighed gently. Slowly raising his head, he looked at Wu Zhu, who was sitting on the ground and leaning against Fan Xian's leg. With great difficulty, he shook his head.
"I can't remember many things."
"However, what has happened has happened. One day, he will remember what happened in the past and know something. He will come to kill me." The pale-faced Emperor looked in a daze at Wu Zhu, who was dumb and speechless like a child. He tried to stand up but could not. Suddenly, the Emperor opened his mouth and said, "Lao Wu, you've forgotten some things again. Truly … fortunate."
When a powerful figure starts to become so naggy, does it mean that he is really old? Or was this the final radiance of a setting sun? Fan Xian looked in a daze at the one-armed Emperor and suddenly felt an emptiness in his chest. He kept on feeling that everything that had happened today was too strange. It did not seem real at all.
The light in the Emperor's sunken eyes gradually dissipated. Looking at Fan Xian, he quietly said, "It wasn't you. In the end, it was only your mother who won."
He gazed at Fan Xian mockingly without a trace of dejection. On the contrary, he was very much like that incomparably powerful ruler from a few years ago. Mockingly, he said, "The seed of the Zhan family's little Emperor is yours. You know what kind of person the Third Prince is. No matter what you do in the future, this world will always belong to the Li family."
"You once said that after you died, even if the flood reached the heavens, I would have to think about it." The Emperor looked at Fan Xian. The smile at the corners of his lips grew wider and filled with mockery. "Your mother is only trying to change the course of history, yet you vainly want to stop the course of history. What an arrogant and naive way of thinking."
Fan Xian was silent for a long time. He then suddenly said, "Actually, you and I, in history, are both unremarkable splashes."
"No, the history books will have a page for me." A cold and proud light flashed through the Emperor's eyes.
Fan Xian didn't say anything more. Only now did he realize that he had still underestimated this Emperor. Nothing he said or did could be hidden from him. He even knew about the red bean rice in Northern Qi.
The scene was a pool of blood. Fan Xian didn't move. He didn't dare move. His sister was under the Emperor's control. He didn't even know how to resolve the situation before him. He also didn't know whether the Emperor's current weakness was an illusion or if he had truly seen through certain things when he was about to die.
Fan Xian had an innate respect for the Emperor. Even at this moment, he still felt this way. He didn't know whether or not the Imperial Army outside the Palace would break through the backup he had left behind and forcefully open the Palace doors. He also didn't know how the Shadow and Ye Zhong were doing. He also didn't know why Eunuch Yao's group still hadn't appeared.
What chilled him the most was whether the Emperor's counterattack before his death would have Uncle Wu Zhu, his sister, and himself accompany him in death. Even now, he still believed that the Emperor had this kind of power.
…
…
The Emperor raised his head with difficulty and narrowed his eyes slightly. Separated by the Palace walls, he looked at the blue sky in the east. It was as if he had discovered that something beautiful was about to happen there.
He gazed at the sky. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes trembled slightly. It was as if he had thought of something. His right hand, which was outside his long sleeves, curled slightly as if he wanted to hold onto something. The light in his eyes gradually gathered from the scattering. It was as if he wanted to see something clearly. Countless images flashed through his mind as if he wanted to remember something.
No one knew the state of his body better than the Qing Emperor himself. Perhaps from the beginning of the snowy days on the eighth of the New Year, he had foreseen that this day would come. This was not a debt repayment. It was fate. However, why did he still have such a powerful dissatisfaction in his heart? His extremely furrowed brows were like a question, endlessly asking a question to the blue sky that had been washed by the rain and appeared exceptionally clean.
When he was young, he silently endured humiliation in a ruined manor. When he was young, he traveled the world with his friends and increased his knowledge. When he was young, he galloped across the grasslands in the white mountains and black waters, leading countless men to conquer a large territory. He pointed his sword at the world and wanted to conquer an even larger country. His intention was to last for thousands of generations. He wanted to leave his name in the annals of history.
However, all of this had to stop here. How could he be satisfied? He still had many things that he had yet to do.
If the Qing Emperor knew that these people, such as Ye Qingmei, Wu Zhu, and Fan Xian, were actually not people of this world, would he sigh with regret that the heavens wanted him dead and that it was not his fault for fighting?
He was just thinking.
If there was no that woman, there would not have been Lao Wu who had followed her into the world. There would not have been An Zhi. Perhaps there would not have been the palace treasury or many other things. Could he not have conquered this country himself?
No, he could have done the same. At most, it would have been a little later. So what if he didn't have the Nameless Martial Secret? Something like a Great Grandmaster who dared to oppose him should not have existed, should it not?
However, if there was no if, if there was no Ye Qingmei, perhaps he would not have had those truly happy days in his life.
The Emperor's brows furrowed. He forgot about the life in his body and sank into this question. Fan Xian had once raised this question in the little building. It was not until now that the Emperor truly asked him. Perhaps it was because he had never dared to ask himself this question in the decades that had passed.
He withdrew his gaze and recovered his calm. The dying Emperor still possessed an unparalleled might and will. He looked coldly at Fan Xian and Wu Zhu in front of him. It was as if he could use the last of his life to burn their lives away at any moment.
There was a long silence.
Fan Xian once again wiped away the blood at the corner of his lips and watched each of the Emperor's movements nervously. Even he did not realize that not only were his thin lips very similar to the Emperor's, but his action of wiping away blood was also very similar to the Emperor's.
The Emperor suddenly smiled. The corners of his lips curled up strangely. He then gradually restrained his smile. Coldly, he said, "Today, I know what is in the chest. But, there is one more thing I am very curious about in my life."
He narrowed his eyes and gazed at Wu Zhu. Enunciating each word, he said, "I very much want to know what exactly is hidden behind this black cloth."
…
…
The last target of the most powerful Emperor in the world had chosen Wu Zhu and not Fan Xian. Perhaps it was because Fan Xian was his flesh and blood. Perhaps it was because he thought that Wu Zhu, an emissary of the Temple that he hated, truly deserved to die. Perhaps it was because the Qing Emperor had always believed that the matters of the world should always be resolved by the people of the world and should not have those dogsh * t gods interfere.
Perhaps it was because the Qing Emperor had discovered in that last moment that some of Fan Xian's indescribable actions were very similar to his own. In any case, his lightning-like hand split the air and attacked toward Wu Zhu's face while letting Fan Xian go.
Fan Xian survived. In front of the Emperor's last attack, his hand was shaken away like a leaf. It was completely unable to block it. He could only watch as the Emperor's palm, mixed with the last bit of zhenqi in his life, brushed viciously against Wu Zhu's face.
With the Emperor's brush, Wu Zhu's neck snapped abruptly and he fell backward. The black cloth fell. Time seemed to freeze in this moment.
…
…
The piece of black cloth slowly floated down in the cool wind.
A piece of black cloth covered the glass windows of the Overwatch Council to hide the piercing light of the Royal Palace. A piece of black cloth covered Wu Zhu's eyes to hide the sky.
This piece of black cloth had been covered for countless years. It seemed that there would never be a day when it would be undone. For hundreds of years, thousands of years, tens of thousands of years, it had always been like this.
Today, this piece of black cloth had fallen. Beneath the black cloth was a rainbow.
A rainbow surged out from between Wu Zhu's delicate brows. It surged out from between his clear, lively, and perplexed eyes. In an instant, it lit up the square inside the Royal Palace and pierced through the bright yellow figure.
The rainbow pierced through the Qing Emperor's body and illuminated his incredulous expression. It then struck heavily against the palace of Taiji Palace and turned into a fire dragon, instantly igniting the entire palace.
In just an instant, the Emperor's expression suddenly became calm. Amidst this fire, he proudly straightened his body. Although he only had one arm, he straightened his body. In the instant before he left, a disdainful thought floated through his mind. So that was how it was. It was nothing more than this. It was still like this.
Even in the instant of death, the most powerful person in the world would still leave behind an extremely powerful back. In this warm rainbow, this back appeared particularly cold and severe, silent, bleak, lonely, and unusually proud.
The flying ash gradually fell. It was like the shrapnel of firecrackers used to offer sacrifices to the impermanence of the mortal world, spreading in the pool of blood in the square in front of the Palace.
At the same time, across the eastern sky of the Palace walls, a rainbow finally appeared after the rain in the place where one always felt beautiful things would happen, overlooking the entire world.
… …
Night fell. The raging fire in Taiji Palace had already been put out. Fortunately, the rain had wet the ground. Otherwise, this fire would probably have burned the entire Qing Royal Palace into ruins.
Not long after the strange rainbow appeared, the closed main gates of the Royal Palace were forcefully broken through by the court's army. No one could hide the news of the Emperor's death. Even now, the mournful and incomparably angry people were still unable to find the Emperor's remains.
The person who assassinated the Emperor was not a Northern Qi assassin. It was the most heinous and unpardonable rebel in Qing history, Fan Xian. The court confirmed this news at the first moment. If it were not for the fact that Hu the Scholar and the heavily injured but not dead Ye Zhong had forcefully suppressed the grief and anger in Jingdou, perhaps in this night, many of the manors in Duke's Alley and Fan manor would have been burned to the ground. The people inside would have no chance of survival.
Other than Hu the Scholar and Ye Zhong, the person who truly controlled the situation was the Third Prince, Li Chengping, who had ascended to the throne at the risk of the country. Under the powerful control of the Qing Emperor, the situation in Jingdou did not go out of control.
Of course, no one knew exactly what role the old Overwatch Council and other hidden powers had played.
Unexpectedly, the criminal Fan Xian, who was once again wanted by the court and had a shocking reward, had appeared in a place no one would have expected.
He was still in the Royal Palace. Under the cover of the night, he withdrew his gaze from Taiji Palace and walked in the little building that was even more deserted than the Cold Palace. Taiji Palace had already been burned, and the little building had long been reduced to ashes. He walked among the knee-deep grass with his head slightly lowered. No one knew why he had come. Or, was he just here to tell Ye Qingmei everything that had happened today?
Fan Xian's pupils constricted slightly as he looked at the person who had appeared beside the ruins of the little building. He tilted his head slightly as if he had not expected it.
The person who had appeared was Eunuch Yao. He expressionlessly walked in front of Fan Xian and handed over a small box. In a low, raspy voice, he said, "This is what the Emperor left for you."
Fan Xian accepted the box woodenly and watched Eunuch Yao disappear into the night. He was not worried that he would summon aces to surround and attack him. Outside the Palace was one world, and inside the Palace was another. In this world inside the Palace, presumably no one would want to harm him. Even if someone wanted to, it would not be at this moment.
What had the Emperor left for him? Why did he leave it? Had he known beforehand that he would not be able to survive today's ordeal? Fan Xian stared in a daze at the box in his hand. Only now did he understand why Eunuch Yao had not been by the Emperor's side earlier. The Emperor had given him a strange mission.
Opening the box, there was a piece of white silk and a thin letter. Fan Xian's body froze slightly. He immediately recognized what it was.
This was one of the three things he had seen under the empress dowager's phoenix bed when he had entered the Royal Palace at night. He had long copied one of the keys and successfully opened the box. The white silk and this letter were the other two.
Four years ago, when the Eldest Princess was rebelling in Jingdou, Fan Xian had once tried to find these two things again. In the end, he found that they were no longer in Hanguang Palace. Thinking about it now, the Emperor must have placed them somewhere else.
Later, the Emperor knew that the key was in his hands, so he had only left this letter and this piece of white silk for him.
Fan Xian used the tip of his finger to gently rub the surface of the white silk. Calming himself, he opened the unsealed letter and looked at it closely. Gradually, his brows furrowed and then relaxed.
This was a letter Ye Qingmei had written to the Qing Emperor. From the contents of the letter, he knew what the white silk was. This was the white silk the empress dowager had given to the witch Ye Qingmei to use to commit suicide. After Ye Qingmei received the edict in Taiping Courtyard, she had sent this white silk, untouched, back to the Palace and delivered it to the empress dowager's bed.
Presumably, only Uncle Wu Zhu could do such a thing. Presumably, the empress dowager had been terrified that day, so she had kept this white silk to deepen her hatred toward Ye Qingmei, that witch.
Other than narrating this matter with a mischievous and smiling tone to express her strong displeasure, there was nothing else worth paying attention to in Ye Qingmei's letter. It was just family gossip, how Wu Zhu was, and how Fan Jian was in the brothel. Paired with the clumsy and stiff handwriting, it was truly unbearable to look at.
Fortunately, there were only two thin pages. Fan Xian increasingly didn't understand why the Emperor would treasure this letter so much to the extent that he would leave it for him. Was he wrong earlier? Regardless of whether it was the white silk, the key, or this letter, they were all hidden by the Emperor in Hanguang Palace and not by the empress dowager?
He shook his head and stopped thinking about these questions that were destined to be buried in his memories and that no one knew the answer to. Immediately after, he noticed the handwriting on the back of the second piece of paper.
The handwriting was strong and forceful, but it controlled emotion. It was written with particular order. It was clearly the Emperor's handwriting.
Fan Xian looked at it carefully. After looking at it for a long time, he sighed gently. His hands tightened. Unconsciously, he wanted to destroy the letter. Then, he carefully stuffed the paper back into the envelope and tucked it away in his clothes.
"I was not wrong."
These were the last words the Qing Emperor had left at the back of the letter. It appeared to be an unusually powerful and proud declaration. However, for it to be a declaration to a woman who had passed away, it could only be a faint self-questioning.
No one could answer this question. Other than history, no, even those history books that spoke with certainty would probably not be able to judge the merits and demerits of the Emperor's life.
It originated from Ye Qingmei and Chen Pingping. He only had hatred toward the Emperor. However, his relationship with the Emperor was not as simple as blood. The soul in his body could not acknowledge the blood connection, but he could not shake off the things that had happened over the years. This kind of emotion was extremely complicated. It could not be expressed in words.
The Emperor had died. Even now, Fan Xian still felt numb and cold from his body to his heart. He didn't dare believe this reality. He had always felt that man was the most powerful person in the world and the most impossible to defeat. How could he have died? He seemed to be somewhat relieved, but he did not feel the joy of revenge. He seemed to be sorrowful, but he could not cry no matter what. He could only stand numbly in the cold wind.
From the letter, one could see that there was no true path of the Emperor in the world. The Emperor's body had already failed this year. Even if it was as Ye Qingmei had said, letting each person become their own king was not the path of the Emperor. Fan Xian and the beliefs he held onto were even less so.
Just as he had said to His Majesty on that snowy night, all he wanted was peace of mind and to settle a personal grudge. It did not involve the question of whether it was right or wrong. It should be known that humans were not a species that pursued the correct path. Being right was not justice because justice always had a stance.
He suddenly thought of Ye Qingmei's memorials and letters that King Jing had treasured. He thought of how Ye Qingmei's letters to the Emperor always talked about the world and the people's lives. There was only one letter with such a normal tone like today. Perhaps it was because of this that the Emperor treasured it so much.
Thinking of this, a bitter smile rose involuntarily to the corners of his lips. The Emperor and Ye Qingmei were, without question, first-class romantic figures in the world. They were unspeakably beautiful. However, it was not a happy thing for the two of them to meet. For the Emperor to meet a woman like Ye Qingmei was also a kind of pain. However, for Ye Qingmei to meet the Qing Emperor was even more indescribably sorrowful.
Fan Xian stood woodenly in the night Palace among the long grass, looking at the remains of the little building in a daze. Even now, he still didn't know where Ye Qingmei was buried. Now that he knew what his father had said back then, it was only a kind of comfort. The yellow-clothed woman in the painting in the little building had already turned to dust and gone with the wind. The Emperor had also turned to dust and gone with the wind. Perhaps, in some corner of the world, they would meet again?
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