Chapter Eighty-One: The Passing of Prince Yu! (Double Chapter)

Before the Prince of Yu could scream, Fine Rain had already withdrawn his flexible sword. Hearing his words, Fine Rain directly seized the prince by the throat, lifting him into the air.

“Your Highness, do not toy with the likes of us commoners. Since you now know everything, there is no point in us trying to deceive you. Let us speak plainly: do you wish for a quick and peaceful death, or to die as you just did, writhing in agony?”

“As you yourself said, the time left for you to choose is scant. You had best say everything you should say, right now.”

Fine Rain clutched the Prince’s throat, threatening him through gritted teeth, his tone revealing a hint of exasperation.

Beside them, the lifeless Jiang Yuyan’s eyes flickered with a flush of anger. Life or death aside, this had been her choice—she was fulfilling the vow she once made, dying for Zhu Yu.

Until this moment, Jiang Yuyan’s heart brimmed with a strange satisfaction, pride, and the glory of dying for Zhu Yu. But upon hearing the Prince of Yu’s words, she suddenly understood: her actions were nothing but vain sentimentality—she had no choice from the start.

She had romanticized her fate, thinking it noble, but what was this if not paying the price for her own folly?

Forcing herself to suppress the urge to kill the prince then and there, Jiang Yuyan spoke coldly, “Enough. There’s no time to waste. Go back and get the answers we need. That’s the priority.”

Since there was no other choice, they could only see the matter through to the end.

By now, the Prince’s pain had eased slightly, and his mind began to clear. In halting words, he supplemented what he had left unsaid.

“This thing… there’s no antidote. I said before, it’s a unique method of body augmentation belonging to the Star Sect. It must be used both internally and externally; if you use only one method, it becomes a deadly poison.”

“This is no secret in the Star Sect—everyone knows it, so no one is ever poisoned. Naturally, there’s no need for an antidote.”

“However… although there’s no antidote now, there is a Star Sect member currently staying at my residence. Release me, and I’ll have him prepare an antidote. How about it? I’m not threatening you… but the truth is, you need to decide quickly. Making an antidote takes time. Can you wait? But this lady here cannot.”

The Prince of Yu, enduring the pain, revealed his calculations. He no longer expected a good outcome—his only hope was to persuade them to let him return to the residence, even under guard.

The conventional path was now blocked; all he could do was take a desperate gamble, to see if he might claw back the faintest chance of survival.

His plan was simple but depended entirely on his return to his own residence and his personal command.

As soon as he finished speaking, before Hua Wuqian and the others could respond, Black Stone’s sentries reported, “The screams just now were too loud—there are already brave townsfolk peering this way. What should we do?”

Even if the prince spoke truth, the risk was immense; it could easily doom the entire operation. The Black Stone leaders hesitated, their thoughts thrown into chaos by this new warning.

Seeing their indecision, Hua Wuqian took charge, declaring, “Go back. You know there’s still hope to save her. If you ignore it, then Black Stone is finished.”

Hua Wuqian’s words were the final straw. The group, having not gone far, immediately turned back and raced toward the Prince’s residence.

Unlike before, the residence was now ablaze with lanterns. Though there was little commotion, attentive ears could detect the rapid footfalls echoing within.

“You all wait at the gate. I’ll take the prince inside. If anything goes wrong, attack at once—killing him is the highest priority,” Hua Wuqian instructed the Black Stone members, his last words directed coldly at the prince before he loosened the prince’s bonds and dragged him forward.

“Wait, old Hua,” Jiang Yuyan interjected, blocking his path. “Though no one here matches your martial skill, hidden dangers abound. Besides, I’m already dying of poison, and this is all for my sake. Let me go first. You all wait outside.”

Without waiting for a reply, she seized the prince from Hua Wuqian and strode toward the residence.

She had intended to sneak the prince inside, but realizing the pointlessness of further subterfuge, Jiang Yuyan brazenly entered through the main gate.

As expected, a cluster of guards immediately surrounded her. These were not ordinary guards but armored and armed like soldiers. Leading them, besides the two monks seen earlier, was a man in foreign dress—the Star Sect member the prince had mentioned.

Secrecy had been paramount in this operation, so not even Hua Wuqian had anticipated that things would come to such a public confrontation.

Seeing Jiang Yuyan’s bold entry, the group was left both enlightened and embarrassed; but the prince’s guards soon gave them a chance to recover their composure.

As the guards closed in, Hua Wuqian and the others followed, forming a protective phalanx behind Jiang Yuyan.

“Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?” asked one of the monks. They knew perfectly well how the prince had left the residence, but the current situation was clearly amiss—no one could fail to notice the prince’s mangled hand.

This was nothing like what the prince had envisioned—shouldn’t they have snuck back in? And what of his subordinates? In such a situation, how could he possibly slip away?

Jiang Yuyan gave him a gentle shove, signaling him to speak.

But with his plan already in tatters, the prince opened his mouth and found no words.

Seeing his hesitation, Jiang Yuyan frowned and nudged him again, murmuring, “Your Highness, do you wish to suffer more?”

This question flashed through the prince’s mind like a comet, clearing his thoughts. How had that woman with the sword threatened him? A peaceful death or one full of torment?

If so, their goal was simply to kill him.

But then, a new question arose: with such strength, why bother abducting him at all? Why not kill him outright?

The Prince of Yu was no fool; in an instant, he realized—they wanted something from him. If so, torture would be inevitable.

As his mind raced, Jiang Yuyan sensed a change. Gone was the cowering, battered prince; in her grip now stood the same dignified lord who had once laughed in the face of danger.

Though his face was streaked with tears and snot, filthy and even repulsive, Jiang Yuyan’s instincts as a master told her that something fundamental had shifted.

Straightening despite the pain, the prince glanced at her hand on his neck before meeting her gaze directly. “Release me.”

Jiang Yuyan did not obey, but neither did the prince. They locked eyes. At first, all was as before, but gradually she sensed an imperial authority in his stare, intensifying with every heartbeat.

Though she was a grandmaster and could easily kill him with a squeeze, she felt herself the lesser in this silent battle of wills. It was not a weakness of strength, but a bone-deep awe for those born to rule.

She was not mistaken. The Prince of Yu had been royal from birth. From the moment he entered the world, he was destined to command millions. Raised in the ways of governance, he never became emperor, but his nobility was innate, immutable.

To the common people, the imperial family was as the heavens—beyond their reach or reckoning.

Zhu Yu, for all his cunning and the aid of his system, lacked this essential quality of the bloodline—he was, after all, an outsider. Yet this was also what allowed him to befriend the likes of Hua Wuqian and Xiao Yuer, and what made Jiang Yuyan once dare to love him.

But the absence of such bearing now did not mean it would never arise; the aura unique to those in power can be cultivated, slowly, over time.

“Let go,” the prince repeated quietly.

Still meeting his gaze, Jiang Yuyan involuntarily relaxed her grip, if only by a fraction—not enough to free him, but enough for the prince to sense the loosening. He smiled faintly, then, without another glance, drew a handkerchief and began to clean his face.

To the guards of the residence, the prince’s composure was nothing out of the ordinary; but the Black Stone members, who had seen him at his lowest, found it remarkable.

Just as the Colorful Trickster stepped forward to restrain the prince again, Hua Wuqian stopped him. “Something’s wrong. Wait.”

After a short while, the prince finished cleaning his face, straightened his rumpled clothes and disheveled hair. Save for his maimed hand, every inch of him radiated the majesty of a royal prince.

“I do not know what my imperial brother hopes to learn from me, but how could everything proceed as he wishes? He’s nothing but a useless wretch—born a few days before me, nothing more. If not for his handling of Chancellor Cai’s affair, he would never have kept the throne.”

Having restored his dignity, the prince turned to Jiang Yuyan, his expression mocking.

Jiang Yuyan, now fully recovered from her daze, was stung by his insult. “A traitorous rebel like you has no right to speak of His Majesty.”

“Heh, traitor, am I? Seems my imperial brother, for all his timidity, has begun to show some imperial mettle…”

Before he could finish, Jiang Yuyan crushed his fragile neck.

It was not impulse that guided her hand, but the realization that the prince sought death. From his tone since entering the residence, she knew nothing more could be gained from him. As a prince, he deserved at least a dignified end.

The light faded from his eyes, mingling regret and release.

Regret for the world’s splendor, which as a prince he had enjoyed more fully than most.

Release, because he was weary. Everyone who knew anything said he harbored treasonous intent—but did he truly wish to rebel? He could honestly say he did not.

His father’s sudden death, the crown prince’s accession—it had all happened in a blink. Chaos reigned: Chancellor Cai controlled the court, Zhu Wushi and his allies preserved the dynasty’s face, while the once-despised eunuchs safeguarded the royal family’s honor.

In such turmoil, the prince lost all taste for pleasure. The Jing Dynasty was his home, now unrecognizable.

He resolved to save the realm. If the crown prince was incompetent, he would become emperor and restore Jing to glory.

So he ceased his idle ways, using every means—bribery, persuasion, even personal appeals—to win over officials, the infamous Star Sect, and even support from Mongolia.

He was full of ambition. Yet, upon returning to the capital, he found the wastrel crown prince had already rid the court of Chancellor Cai and handled the aftermath well.

He was at a loss. He cared little for power; leisure would have suited him better. But he had passed the point of no return.

Even if he regretted his path and wished to resume his idle life, those whom he had persuaded, bribed, or cajoled would never allow it. They would push him step by step toward his promised goal, then take their share—or more.

He became a pawn to others, even convincing himself that becoming emperor might be best, that he could rule better than the crown prince.

So he launched his coup, plotting with his allies, but lost his fervor and no longer involved himself in every detail.

He returned to his old amusements, which is how the Prince of Duan discovered his weakness.

None of that mattered now. Since learning that his captor was an agent of the emperor, he had felt a strange calm amid his fear.

Once he knew there was no hope of survival, the old, spirited prince returned. He refused to die in disgrace and squalor.

Treason may be unforgivable in the eyes of some, but in his own heart, he was a hero.

Yet, who among men can face death without flinching?

The emperor wanted him dead, and he would not submit. But when his last hope was dashed, he found an unexpected peace.

What did the emperor want to know? The prince could not say, but surely nothing he would willingly reveal.

And so he died, the last vestige of his dignity intact.