DLERB -Chapter 58 Father Emperor, Have I Done Something Wrong?

The Emperor no longer regarded him as a human being.

To him, Zhao Gao was nothing more than an ant at his feet—whether to step on it or not was irrelevant.

No.

There wasn’t even a decision to be made.

He was simply passing by.

“Heh…”

A meaningless, hoarse laugh escaped Zhao Gao’s throat.

All his strength seemed to be drained from his body in that instant.

He collapsed completely, turning into a puddle of mud that could no longer be held together.

It was over.

Decades of planning.

Decades of patience.

Decades of power.

All gone.

He was going to die here.

Die in this muddy ground that he had always looked down upon.

Die in front of the very “little bastard” he had always wanted to kill.

Little bastard…

Yes!

Little bastard!

Zhao Gao’s gaze slowly, stiffly moved away from the Emperor’s dragon boots.

He raised his head.

He saw Ying Zheng.

And behind Ying Zheng, he saw a small figure peeking out, curiously watching him.

Ying Ziye.

Everything… was because of him!

If not for him!

He would still be the powerful Imperial Secretary of the Central Secretariat!

He would still be the Emperor’s most trusted servant!

He would soon have toppled the Meng family!

He would soon have controlled the entire Great Qin!

All of it—because of him!

This eight-year-old monster!

A strange, distorted smile suddenly appeared on Zhao Gao’s deathly pale face.

He looked at Ying Zheng.

His gaze was filled with poisonous hatred.

Since there was no way to live.

Since the Emperor would not give him a way out.

Since everyone wanted him dead…

Then fine!

If he must die, then everyone should die together!

At least someone must accompany him on the road to the underworld!

And it would be the future crown prince of Great Qin!

The monster who ruined everything!

Worth it!

“Your Majesty!!”

Zhao Gao suddenly let out a scream that didn’t sound human.

With his last strength, he struggled to prop himself up from the ground.

He didn’t look at Ying Zheng.

Instead, he pointed directly at Ying Ziye.

“It’s him!!”

“This monster harmed me!!”

“He is not human! He is here to destroy Great Qin!!”

This sudden madness stunned everyone for a moment.

And in that instant—

Zhao Gao moved!

A hidden hand inside his sleeve suddenly shot out!

A streak of blue light flashed!

A dagger!

A dagger already prepared and coated with deadly poison!

“Little bastard!!”

Like a mad dog burning through his last life force, he lunged toward Ying Ziye behind the Emperor!

“Come die with me!!!”

His roar echoed across the fields.

“Not good!”

“Protect His Majesty!!”

Wang Jian and Meng Yi’s expressions changed drastically!

The surrounding imperial guards were terrified out of their minds, trying to rush forward—but it was already too late!

Too fast!

Too close!

No one expected a crippled eunuch to explode with such terrifying speed!

The dagger’s cold light was already in front of Ying Ziye’s face!

Li Si’s face turned completely pale.

Ying Zheng’s pupils shrank violently.

He subconsciously tried to pull his son behind him, but his arm simply could not keep up with the streak of blue light.

It was over.

Everyone’s mind was filled with only those two words.

At the exact moment the poisoned dagger was about to pierce Ying Ziye’s forehead—

A figure appeared.

A figure no one knew when it had arrived, suddenly standing in front of him.

No overwhelming aura.

No flashy technique.

That figure simply raised a hand.

And extended two fingers.

Index finger and middle finger.

Then—

Gently pinched.

“Clang——!”

A piercing metallic sound exploded in everyone’s ears!

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

Zhao Gao’s crazed, twisted expression froze.

His eyes widened.

He looked at his dagger—sharp enough to cut iron like mud, coated with poison.

It was being held—

Firmly—

Between two fingers.

Those two fingers were pale, slender, even slightly elegant.

Yet the dagger could not move at all.

“You…”

Zhao Gao could not believe what he was seeing.

He tried to push the dagger forward by another inch.

Even half an inch!

He used every last ounce of strength he had, his entire face turning a deep purplish-red.

But the dagger remained frozen in midair, as if welded in place.

Qinglong looked at Zhao Gao expressionlessly.

His gaze was like he was looking at a dead object.

“Just you?”

He spoke, his voice calm and devoid of emotion.

“And you think you can harm the young master?”

As soon as the words fell—

The fingers holding the dagger gently twisted.

“Crack!”

A sharp sound rang out, like bones snapping.

The dagger—crafted from refined, tempered steel—broke cleanly into two halves.

The broken blade fell to the ground with a “ding.”

Zhao Gao was completely stunned.

And at that moment—

Qinglong raised his other hand.

He struck out with a palm.

The motion was light and slow.

Like casually brushing dust off his sleeve.

It landed squarely on Zhao Gao’s chest.

“Puh——!”

A dull impact sounded.

Zhao Gao’s entire body was sent flying, as if he had been struck by a charging rhinoceros.

A mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of internal organs sprayed wildly from his mouth, forming a mist of blood in the air.

He flew back three zhang (about 10 meters).

Then crashed heavily onto the hardened field ridge like a broken sack.

“Bang!”

Dust erupted into the air.

“Ugh… ah…”

Lying on the ground, Zhao Gao tried to struggle, tried to get up.

But the moment he moved, he let out an even more miserable scream.

He could feel every bone in his body had shattered.

At his chest, there was now a terrifying sunken cavity.

He was finished.

Dead for sure.

Only then did Ying Zheng finally react to the lightning-fast turn of events.

A wave of lingering fear, mixed with overwhelming imperial rage, erupted violently from within him.

He pulled the small figure behind him tightly into his arms.

So tightly it was almost crushing.

He could feel the small body trembling slightly.

Just a moment.

Just one more moment—

And he would have lost the son who had shown him the boundless future of Great Qin.

“Zhao—GAO!!”

Ying Zheng’s voice came out through clenched teeth, filled with killing intent.

On the field ridge—

Lying in a pool of blood, Zhao Gao heard the Emperor’s roar.

He did not look at Ying Zheng.

He did not even spare another glance at the exalted master he once served.

He rolled his eyes, using the very last bit of strength he had, and locked his gaze—tight, unblinking—onto Ying Ziye, who was still in Ying Zheng’s arms.

A broken, wheezing sound escaped his throat.

He laughed.

A laugh uglier than crying.

“Your… Your Majesty…”

He spoke his final, broken curse in fragments.

“You… you will… regret this…”

“This… monster… he… he uses sorcery…”

“He can foresee the future… he knows… he knows everything…”

“He…”

He did not finish.

Qinglong’s figure had already appeared in front of him.

He raised his foot.

Pointing directly at Zhao Gao’s throat.

Without the slightest hesitation—

He stomped down.

“Crack.”

A soft sound.

Zhao Gao’s voice was cut off instantly.

His bulging eyes remained fixed on the sky.

Inside them lingered endless malice—and a secret he never got to speak.

He died with his eyes open.

The field fell into a deathly silence.

The wind blew across the land, carrying the thick scent of blood.

The court officials trembled, their heads lowered deeper than ever before.

The three thousand Shen Ce Imperial Guards still knelt there, like three thousand stone statues.

Ying Zheng held Ying Ziye in his arms.

He could clearly feel the slight trembling of the small body.

Was it… fear?

Ying Zheng’s heart felt as if it had been violently pierced.

For the first time, he truly realized.

He had nearly lost this son.

This son who had brought him divine crops, a tiger-and-wolf army, and the foundation of an eternal Great Qin.

An unprecedented feeling surged within him—regret mixed with lingering fear.

He tightened his arms, holding the small figure even closer.

He lowered his head, and that face—always cold and iron-hard—softened in a way it never had before.

His voice was hoarse, yet carried an unexpected gentleness, even he himself did not notice.

“Ziye, don’t be afraid.”

“Your father is here.”

From within his broad embrace, Ying Ziye slowly lifted his head.

Those clear, water-like eyes were filled with shimmering tears.

They welled up, refusing to fall.

He looked at his father, his small face full of grievance—and a pure, childlike fear.

With a trembling voice, barely holding back tears, he whispered:

“Father…”

“Did I… do something wrong?”