“Pfft—”
Li Si’s words shattered the last bit of courage Ying Teng had forced himself to muster.
His throat turned sweet.
His vision went black.
His body swayed and then fell straight backward.
“Lord of the Clan Court!”
“Quick, catch him!”
Several officials rushed forward in panic and managed to keep him from hitting the ground.
But he had already fainted.
The scene was absurd to the extreme.
A grand and solemn act of “death remonstration” ended with the main actor fainting on the spot.
Ying Ziye curled his lips.
He walked over and removed the brocade cushion from the pillar.
Then he wiped the pillar clean again with the cloth.
After that, he tucked both the cushion and the cloth back into his sleeve.
Every movement was meticulous.
As if he were handling something extremely important.
After finishing, he walked up to Ying Teng, who was just being revived and supported by several people.
Ying Teng opened his eyes.
He saw that innocent little face right in front of him.
His whole body jolted.
“You… don’t come any closer!”
Ying Ziye sighed.
He looked like a child worried sick over an unreasonable adult.
“Old Sir.”
His voice was soft and childish.
“I’ve thought about it.”
“Crashing into a pillar… it really seems quite painful.”
“And if you don’t do it properly, you might end up half-dead, stuck in bed for months. That would be suffering.”
Ying Teng’s face went pale.
He had no idea what this little demon was planning now.
Ying Ziye crouched down.
Under everyone’s shocked gaze, he pulled something out from his small leather boot.
A dagger.
It was only palm-length, simple and ancient in style.
But the moment it was drawn, a chilling aura instantly spread.
The blade shimmered like flowing water.
Even the bright hall seemed to dim slightly.
Ying Ziye held it out in front of Ying Teng.
“Use this instead.”
His expression was sincere.
“Just slash across your neck.”
“It’ll be quick.”
“It won’t hurt at all.”
The dagger’s blade reflected Ying Teng’s distorted face.
His eyes were bloodshot and trembling.
This was not acting.
This was not intimidation.
That eight-year-old child truly wanted him dead!
“Aaah—!”
Ying Teng let out a scream that didn’t sound human.
He scrambled backward with both hands and feet,
like a dog that had just seen a butcher’s knife.
“No! No! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”
Tears and snot streamed down his face. He no longer had any trace of dignity as the Lord of the Clan Court.
“I still have usefulness! I still want to see the future of Great Qin!”
He wailed incoherently.
“Please, Your Majesty spare me! Please, Ninth Prince spare me!”
The entire hall fell into dead silence.
The old aristocrats who had been crying along with him moments ago all lowered their heads,
wishing they could crawl into a crack in the ground.
Too humiliating.
On the dragon throne,
Ying Zheng finally moved.
He slowly stood up.
His tall, youthful figure cast a massive shadow.
“Useful body?”
He let out a cold laugh.
That sound lowered the temperature of the entire hall.
“In my view…”
“It’s just a cowardly body afraid of death.”
Ying Zheng stepped down the stairs one step at a time.
“Ying Teng, Lord of the Clan Court, roared in the imperial court and used death to threaten his sovereign and father—completely lacking ministerial conduct.”
With every word he spoke, Ying Teng’s body trembled once.
“However, considering you still fear death, I will not execute you.”
Ying Zheng stopped in front of him, looking down.
“I hereby decree.”
“Strip Ying Teng of his title as Lord of the Clan Court, demote him to commoner status, and confine him to his residence.”
“You are not allowed to die.”
The last three words were spoken lightly.
Yet they were more terrifying than any punishment.
Not allowed to die.
He would be forced to live.
To personally witness how everything he opposed would become reality.
To watch the “brat” he despised crush the old world he cherished into dust.
“Drag him away!”
Two heavily built guards stepped forward.
Like dragging a dead dog, they hauled the limp Ying Teng out of the Qilin Hall.
His miserable wailing gradually faded into the distance.
Inside the hall, silence returned.
Ying Zheng turned around and walked back to the dragon throne.
His gaze swept across the trembling officials below.
“Who else.”
“Wants to talk to me about the laws of the ancestors?”
No one dared to answer.
Those Confucian officials who had been speaking so passionately moments ago had now all become cowards, shrinking back in silence.
At that moment, a figure stepped out from the ranks.
It was Boshe of the Imperial Academy, Kong Fu.
A descendant of Confucius, and the current leader of Confucianism in the world.
He was around fifty years old, his beard and hair already white, but his back remained perfectly straight.
Kong Fu walked to the center of the hall.
He neither cried nor made a scene.
Instead, he performed a flawless ritual bow of Zhou etiquette.
“This minister, Kong Fu, pays respects to Your Majesty.”
His voice was calm and steady, neither humble nor arrogant.
It stood in stark contrast to Ying Teng’s earlier disgrace.
Ying Zheng looked at him.
“What do you wish to say?”
Kong Fu straightened his body.
“I do not speak of death remonstration.”
“I only wish to ask Your Majesty one question.”
He paused, then suddenly raised his voice.
“How does Your Majesty intend to govern the world?”
“By slaughter, or by virtue?”
“By warriors, or by scholars?”
His gaze burned as he stared directly at the dragon throne.
“The Ninth Prince is indeed intelligent, and I respect that.”
“But he despises scholars and humiliates the loyal—this shakes the very foundation of the state!”
“Your Majesty!”
Kong Fu’s voice echoed through the hall.
“The world is vast and requires officials to govern it, and scholars to educate it!”
“Bamboo slips are expensive, and knowledge is hard to obtain!”
“All the learning of this world resides in the minds of us scholars!”
“Without us, who will Your Majesty rely on to measure land and establish taxes?”
“Without us, who will Your Majesty rely on to educate the people and stabilize the realm?”
“Will it be those who only know how to kill—the generals?”
“You!”
Wang Jian and Meng Yi at the front both glared in fury.
Several generals looked ready to step forward in anger.
But Kong Fu did not even glance at them.
He simply stood there proudly.
It was an arrogance backed by confidence.
Because what he said… was true.
The foundations of Great Qin did depend on these literate former nobles and Confucian scholars.
This was their confidence.
The atmosphere in the court froze again.
It was a deadlock.
A deadlock even the First Emperor could not easily break.
Just as Kong Fu believed he had taken control of the situation—
“Pfft…”
A sudden laugh broke the heavy silence.
It was Ying Ziye.
He was clutching his stomach, laughing so hard he bent forward and backward.
Tears were almost coming out.
Kong Fu frowned.
“Ninth Prince, why do you laugh?”
Ying Ziye finally managed to stop laughing.
He wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes and walked up to Kong Fu.
He lifted his little face.
“Old man.”
“I’m laughing at you…”
“You’re just too pitiful.”
He pointed at Kong Fu with his small finger.
“Just those bamboo slips in your hands—so clumsy and heavy, taking half a day just to carve a few words…”
“And you still dare call that ‘knowledge’?”
“You still think you can monopolize learning in the world?”
Kong Fu’s expression changed.
“Impudent child spouting nonsense!”
Ying Ziye ignored him completely.
He turned and ran toward the dragon throne, hugging Ying Zheng’s leg.
“Father Emperor!”
He looked up, his eyes frighteningly bright.
“Your son has a treasure!”
“A treasure that will make all books in the world—”
Ying Ziye paused, thinking of the right comparison.
“Cheaper than the toilet bamboo strips in our palace!”
“No!”
He shook his head again.
“Even cheaper than cabbages in the fields!”
He pointed at the stunned Confucian officials below.
“In the future!”
“I will let everyone in the world read books!”
“Let’s see then…”
“What will you old fellows use to monopolize knowledge!”
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