“You…”
Ying Teng’s fingers trembled violently in the air.
He pointed at Ying Ziye, looking like a rooster whose throat had been seized.
His old face changed from flushed red to a deep purplish hue.
“You… you little beast!”
He finally roared out, his voice hoarse like a broken gong.
“You actually dared to tear up the Eldest Prince’s blood letter!”
“You show no respect for your elder brother! No regard for rites and laws!”
“Great Qin! Great Qin will fall because of a madman like you!”
Ying Teng’s wailing became a signal.
Behind him,
the group of old aristocratic officials who had been waiting for this moment immediately moved.
Thud!
Thud!
Over a dozen officials from the Confucian faction—imperial censors and scholars—knelt down in a rush.
“Your Majesty! The Ninth Prince is cruel and tyrannical, lacking all propriety! Please punish him severely!”
“The Eldest Prince is benevolent and filial. His words are sincere and all for the eternal foundation of Great Qin!”
“If this child is not deposed, we will be failing our ancestors and the world!”
In an instant.
The entire Qilin Hall was filled with crying voices that shook the heavens.
As if the sky of Great Qin was about to collapse at any moment.
Li Si stood outside the crowd, expressionless.
He glanced at Wang Jian beside him.
The old general was lowering his head, studying the patterns on his boots, as if a flower had been embroidered there.
On the dragon throne,
Emperor Ying Zheng had changed.
He was no longer the ruler who might fly into rage at differing opinions.
He simply leaned back in his chair.
His young and powerful fingers lightly tapped the dragon-head armrest.
Once.
Then again.
He looked down at the “loyal ministers” performing with great fervor.
His expression was like watching an amusing monkey show.
Ying Teng, still kneeling, glanced sideways at the dragon throne.
His heart sank.
The Emperor… was completely unmoved!
This was entirely different from what he had expected!
Could it be that even the Eldest Prince’s blood letter could not shake His Majesty’s will?
No!
A flash of determination appeared in Ying Teng’s eyes.
He still had one last move.
The most ruthless one.
“Your Majesty!”
Ying Teng suddenly raised his head, tears streaming down his face.
“This minister has served loyally for generations, living off Qin and serving Qin!”
“Today, seeing treacherous villains take power and the foundation of the state shaking, yet I am powerless!”
While crying out, he struggled up from the ground.
“I… I have no face to meet the ancestors of Great Qin!”
With that, he suddenly turned around.
And charged straight toward the thick red lacquered pillar in the center of the hall—wide enough for one man to wrap his arms around!
A death charge!
The final, most tragic weapon of a scholar-official!
“Lord of the Clan Court!”
“Don’t do it!”
The surrounding officials immediately cried out in coordinated alarm.
A few even pretended to reach out, trying to stop him.
The entire scene instantly became chaotic and tragic.
As if in the next second, blood would splatter across the Qilin Hall, witnessing the fall of a loyal minister.
Ying Teng even felt a trace of satisfaction in his heart.
If he died by crashing into that pillar, he, Ying Teng, would be remembered in history!
He would become a timeless model of resistance against tyranny!
And that eight-year-old brat would forever bear the infamy of forcing a loyal royal relative to death!
He could already see the pillar getting closer and closer.
He even closed his eyes, ready to welcome the moment of historical glory.
At that instant.
“Stop!”
A clear, slightly childish voice suddenly rang out through the entire hall.
It was not loud.
Yet it instantly suppressed all cries and commotion.
Ying Teng’s steps subconsciously halted.
He was only three steps away from the pillar.
He abruptly opened his eyes and turned back to look.
A surge of wild joy rose in his heart.
He was afraid!
This brat… he finally knew fear!
Ying Teng thought Ying Ziye would rush over, cling to his legs, and cry while begging him not to die.
However.
Ying Ziye moved.
But he did not run toward Ying Teng.
Instead, he took his short little legs and tadada ran to the red lacquered pillar.
Under everyone’s confused gaze,
Ying Ziye stood on tiptoe.
He rummaged inside his wide sleeves.
First, he pulled out a thick cushion wrapped in brocade.
Pa.
He carefully pressed it against the exact spot where Ying Teng was about to crash.
Everyone was stunned.
What… what was this?
But it wasn’t over.
Ying Ziye then pulled out a clean cloth from his sleeve.
He began wiping the pillar up and down, carefully and thoroughly.
As if he were polishing a priceless treasure.
After finishing, he clapped his small hands in satisfaction and nodded.
Then he turned around.
Lifting his innocent little face, he looked at the frozen Ying Teng.
“Lord of the Clan Court.”
His voice carried the concern of a child.
“This pillar was freshly repainted by Father Emperor a few days ago.”
“It’s made of the finest golden silk nanmu wood. Very expensive.”
He pointed at the cushion he had just placed.
“When you hit it, aim here.”
“Go a little gently. Don’t damage the pillar.”
Ying Ziye frowned slightly again, as if thinking about something very serious.
“And don’t splatter brain matter everywhere.”
“Blood is hard to wash off once it dries.”
“……”
“…………”
The entire Qilin Hall fell into absolute silence.
All cries, all exclamations, all movements froze at that instant.
The ministers were as if collectively struck by a paralysis spell.
Each of them stood there, mouths open, eyes wide.
Looking at the eight-year-old child who seemed to be “considerately arranging everything for you.”
Then they looked at Ying Teng, still stuck mid-charge.
A tragic death?
A loyal martyr?
A name for the ages?
All gone.
What remained was only an indescribable, eerie, almost laughable absurdity.
Ying Teng stood there.
To crash, or not to crash?
If he crashed?
Into that cushion?
It would become the greatest joke in history!
If he didn’t?
Then everything he had just performed with such passion—what would that become?
His old face turned red so quickly it seemed ready to bleed.
He felt every gaze in the hall stabbing into him like needles.
At this extremely awkward moment,
a calm voice broke the dead silence.
Li Si stepped out from the ranks.
He bowed slightly toward Ying Teng, expression solemn.
“Lord of the Clan Court.”
He asked, “Will you still crash?”
Li Si paused briefly, then added sincerely: “If not…”
“Then the morning court should continue.”
“We are still waiting for His Majesty’s instructions.”
“Pff—”
That single sentence became the final straw that broke the camel’s back.
Ying Teng felt a sweetness rise in his throat.
His vision went black.
He could no longer hold on.
His body swayed—and he collapsed straight backward.
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