Raising Orphans, Not Assassins

Bianliang Imperial Palace

Inside a lavish bedchamber, dozens of candles flickered, illuminating the room as bright as daylight.

In the corner, a small incense burner released curling wisps of calming fragrance, drifting into the air and dissolving into silence.

The room was deathly still.

On the bed sat a middle-aged man, dressed in a bright yellow robe embroidered with dragon motifs.

His features were imposing, yet exhaustion weighed heavily on his face. Dark circles encased his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights.

Before him, on the floor, lay the severed head of a young man.

Beside the head, a eunuch in a deep purple robe knelt.

His face was ghastly pale, his forehead pressed against the ground, beads of cold sweat dripping down his skin.

The middle-aged man’s voice was slow, yet carried an unmistakable authority.

“Banban, I remember you once told me…” he murmured. “Among all the grandmasters in this world, you rank in the top three.”

The kneeling eunuch trembled as he responded in a hushed voice.

“Your Majesty, Prince Su… he cultivated the Profound Ice Demonic Art of the demonic sects.”

“I was wounded twenty years ago in battle with the Black Tortoise Banner Master of the demonic sect… that injury never fully healed…”

“He and I were both in the Grandmaster Realm, but he used a technique of mutual destruction.”

“I… was no match for him.”

The middle-aged man closed his eyes.

His expression remained unchanged, just as it had when he first saw his son’s severed head.

He asked, “Where is Prince Su’s body?”

The eunuch immediately replied, “Outside.”

The Emperor of Da Wu said nothing.

For a long time, silence filled the room.

Then, he spoke again.

“I had only one son.”

“My brothers… I killed nearly all of them eighteen years ago.”

“The few who survived… have no sons.”

“Banban, tell me—what will become of the Dawu dynasty now?”

The eunuch’s body trembled violently.

Cold sweat drenched his back. He pressed his lips tightly together, not daring to utter a single word.

His fear reached its peak.

He understood all too well.

With the prince’s death, the imperial bloodline of Dawu was severed.

All that remained were the princesses.

The Dawu Emperor, Zhao Xie, let out a sigh.

“Banban, if only you had died alongside the prince. Wouldn’t that have been better?”

The eunuch’s body shook uncontrollably.

“I deserve to die a thousand times over…”

Zhao Xie shook his head. His tone was gentle, devoid of blame.

“I do not fault you. You are old…”

“When one grows old, they fear death.”

He gazed at his son’s severed head, his deep eyes devoid of emotion.

After a long silence, Zhao Xie spoke softly.

“The throne of Dawu can only be passed to my descendants.”

“Banban, I need you to do something.”

The eunuch shuddered and bowed low.

“This servant will lay down his life for Your Majesty!”

“Take all the princesses to the Autumn Hunting Grounds. Give each of them a knife.”

Zhao Xie’s voice was almost tender.

“By dawn, I want a result.”

At that moment, the eunuch felt an indescribable chill rise from the depths of his soul—

A coldness even more terrifying than the Profound Ice Demonic Art.

Eunuch Feng Man clenched his teeth, his body trembling in pure terror.

Zhao Xie glanced at the eunuch who had served him faithfully for years and waved a hand.

“Go.”

Then, exhaustion crept onto his face.

“I… am tired.”

“Understood.”

The eunuch slowly rose, his body stooped, his legs weak.

He bowed and stepped backward, carefully shutting the chamber doors.

Feng Man looked at the intricately carved red lacquered doors he had just sealed with his own hands.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

A bitter smile tugged at his aged face.

Only those who serve beside the emperor understand—serving a king is like walking alongside a tiger.

Turning away, his hunched figure moved forward, his left hand rising to his mouth as he coughed softly.

After a few coughs, his gaze landed on the body lying in the center of the courtyard.

It was Prince Su’s corpse.

Zhao Kai’s lifeless body remained in a meditative posture. His skin was gray, his vitality long extinguished. Crystals of frost clung to his brows and hair.

His body had frozen solid—yet his eyes were open, and he was smiling.

After assassinating the crown prince, he had succumbed to the backlash of the Heavenly Demon Dissolution Technique.

Atop the roof of Hongbin Tower, he had perished in silent meditation.

“Madman.”

As Feng Man passed by Zhao Kai’s corpse, he muttered under his breath.

Grandmasters were rare in this world.

To become one was to gain the right to establish one’s own sect and rise among the elite, ensuring a legacy for a hundred years.

Yet Zhao Kai… had chosen death.

A true madman—one who had destroyed his own dynasty.

… 

As the sound of the doors shutting reached his ears, Zhao Xie reclined on his dragon bed, inhaling deeply as he closed his eyes.

His expression remained calm, undisturbed.

As if nothing had happened.

… 

The rooster crowed.

Dawn’s first light painted the sky a pale blue.

A golden sun peeked over the horizon, casting its radiance.

Bianliang, draped in morning gold, glowed beneath its touch.

“Your Majesty, this servant has returned.”

Eunuch Feng Man stood outside, his voice hushed.

“Enter.”

A weary voice drifted from within.

Feng Man stepped inside.

As he did, he glanced over his shoulder at the figure behind him, his expression complex and unreadable.

He approached the emperor’s bedside and supported Zhao Xie as he attempted to sit up.

The emperor’s breaths were labored, his illness visibly worsening.

In just a few hours, his condition had deteriorated further.

“Let me see…” Zhao Xie’s voice was hoarse.

He straightened his back and turned his gaze to the third person in the room.

Before he could see clearly, a thick, metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils.

The heavy stench caused Zhao Xie’s pale face to flush with a tinge of red, his expression tinged with excitement.

His dragon-like eyes fixed on the figure before him.

Then, a flicker of confusion crossed his gaze.

“You… who was your mother?”

A cold, youthful voice responded.

“Concubine Wang.”

Zhao Xie narrowed his eyes, as if trying to recall the woman’s face.

Yet no matter how long he pondered, he could not picture her.

Shaking his head, he asked, his voice tinged with excitement—

“How many did you kill?”

“Fifteen.” The voice was calm, detached.

Zhao Xie nodded, a hint of concern slipping into his tone.

“And how did it feel—killing for the first time?”

“No different from slaughtering chickens.” The voice paused, then continued.

“I only killed one. After that, my legs went weak.”

For a moment, Zhao Xie was stunned.

Then, he burst into laughter.

“Good!”

“Well done!”

His laughter was unrestrained, genuine joy lighting up his face.

Zhao Xie’s pale complexion flushed with excitement.

“What is your name?”

“Zhao Yuzhu.”

Zhao Xie’s gaze locked onto the girl before him, his eyes shining with a strange light.

“From now on, you will not be called that.”

His voice was solemn, each word deliberate.

“You are Zhao Zhu.”

“You are my lost second prince.”

“From this moment on—you are the Crown Prince of Dawu.”

His voice rang out like thunder, shaking the very air.

The weight of his words was enough to drive the world into madness.

But the girl before him showed no reaction.

She remained expressionless.

Silent.

Zhao Xie stared at her, and she stared back at him.

For a long time, Zhao Xie laughed.

"I am very pleased. Do you have any wishes?"

The girl in the room replied coolly, "I want Eunuch Song dead."

Zhao Xie frowned slightly. "Who is Eunuch Song?"

"The eunuch who delivered my mother’s monthly stipend."

Zhao Xie was momentarily stunned by this answer.

Then, after a brief pause, he laughed.

"Very well!"

"I will grant your wish."

"Banban, bring Eunuch Song here and have him executed by lingchi."

"I want to watch him die with Zhu'er!"

The elderly eunuch, Feng Man, respectfully replied, "As you command."

Zhao Xie turned to look at Zhao Zhu once again and asked, "Are you satisfied?"

Zhao Zhu remained silent, simply staring at Zhao Xie.

Her gaze was like that of a young wolf—cold and fierce.

Zhao Xie saw the look in her eyes and sighed.

"Good. You are much stronger than the Crown Prince."

"At least… he never dared to look at me this way."

After saying this, Zhao Xie waved his hand. "Banban, take her to change her clothes."

"Have breakfast prepared."

Feng Man bowed respectfully. "As you command."

With a slight bend in his waist, he led Zhao Zhu out of the sleeping quarters.

A short while later.

Feng Man returned to the entrance of the palace.

This time, he was alone.

"Your Majesty…"

Standing outside the door, he called softly.

"Come in," Zhao Xie, still lying on his bed, asked, "What is it now?"

Feng Man entered, knelt on the floor, and hoarsely said, "Your Majesty, the Second Prince has a younger sister."

Hearing these words, Zhao Xie fell silent.

After a long while, Zhao Xie let out a quiet sigh.

"Still not ruthless enough."

TL Notes: 

Small Incense Burner:

Lingchi: usually translated "slow slicing" or "death by a thousand cuts", was a form of torture and execution used in China from around the 10th century until the early 20th century. It was also used in Vietnam and Korea. In this form of execution, a knife was used to methodically remove portions of the body over an extended period of time, eventually resulting in death. Lingchi was reserved for crimes viewed as especially heinous, such as treason. Even after the practice was outlawed, the concept itself has still appeared across many types of media.