A crowd surrounded the man in the wheelchair at the doorway. He wore ink‑black robes, his hair bound with a jade pin, his face pale as fine jade, his dark eyes sharp and penetrating. Noble, aloof, and radiating the authority of one born to rule.
Prince Rui! Everyone gasped, then dropped to their knees.
“Greetings to Prince Rui, long live, long live, long long live.”
Li Wuyang’s gaze swept the hall. Wherever his eyes fell, ministers bowed their heads, trembling, none daring to meet his stare. He was the living King of Hell—moody, mercurial, his strikes thunderous, leaving death or ruin.
Amid the crowd, one red‑clad maiden stood out. She was beautiful—bold, dazzling, like a blooming peony, radiant as a national treasure. But most striking were her eyes, clear as mountain springs—no fear, no flattery—only remembrance.
Yun Zheng lifted her head slightly, looking at the man of supreme power. The world feared him, but she felt only nostalgia.
Their eyes met: his cold and detached, hers calm and composed.
Yun Zheng smiled at him—bright, unrestrained, captivating.
Li Wuyang was startled. She was the first woman to dare meet his gaze. Was she truly unafraid?
“Rise.”
The crowd stood. The vast hall fell silent, no one daring to speak.
Marquis Pingxi’s heart pounded with dread. Wherever Prince Rui appeared, disaster followed. But as host, he forced himself to ask: “Your Highness, what brings you here today?”
Li Wuyang’s voice was cold: “I hear the Marquis household has openly violated imperial law, challenging the throne…”
With each word, Marquis Pingxi’s face grew paler, his insides twisting. Was this an accusation?
Jiang Wenzhou broke into a sweat, hastily denying: “No such thing! It’s all rumors, Your Highness—you’ve been deceived.”
Marquis Pingxi cursed inwardly. How could Prince Rui ever be wrong? To suggest he’d been deceived was unforgivable. “Silence!”
Too late. Li Wuyang’s gaze turned icy, terrifying. “Marquis Pingxi, you have raised a fine son. Hmph.”
The crushing pressure made the Marquis tremble violently. He turned and slapped his son twice—smack, smack. “So clever, so quick‑witted, are you? Before Prince Rui, what right has a junior to speak? Shameless brat! You are punished to kneel in the ancestral hall for three days.”
It was all this wretched son’s fault. Had he married Yun Zheng quietly, he would have gained both wealth and a wife. But instead, he placed love above all else.
“Your Highness Nine Thousand Years, my son has been spoiled by his mother. He is young and ignorant. Please forgive him.”
Li Wuyang said nothing, yet Marquis Pingxi dared not stop slapping. One blow after another rang out, echoing through the hall.
Jiang Wenzhou’s face swelled, burning red, the pain and humiliation unbearable. Never in his life had he been so disgraced—shame beyond measure. All because of Yun Zheng! If only she had obeyed, none of this would have happened. She had stirred up trouble and brought this dreaded figure upon them!
He glared at Yun Zheng with venom, but Yun Zheng looked at Nine Thousand Years with admiration.
Power that shook the world and inspired awe. A single word from him was enough to terrify the entire Marquis household.
The Marchioness, distressed for her only son, pleaded: “Husband, the child is merely ignorant. He can be taught slowly…”
Li Wuyang’s black eyes were deep as an abyss. “Virtue unworthy of position brings disaster. Marquis Pingxi, I recall you have three other sons.”
Marquis Pingxi’s heart quaked. Was this a warning—or a hint? “Yes.”
Faces throughout the household changed. What did he mean? Could the heir’s title be replaced?
The Marchioness’s hand trembled.
Jiang Wenzhou broke into a cold sweat. With a thud, he knelt, banging his head hard against the floor until it bruised. But nothing else mattered now—only one thought consumed him: the heir’s title must not be stripped.
“I was wrong. Please punish me, Your Highness.” He was truly afraid. A single word from Nine Thousand Years could strip a noble of his rank—let alone remove an heir. If he lost the heirship, his life was ruined.
Li Wuyang cast him a faint glance. Jiang Wenzhou trembled, sweat dripping like rain from his brow.
At that moment, a delicate voice rang out: “Your Highness, all the fault lies with me and my sister-in-law. The heir is innocent. If punishment must be given, let it fall on us.”
It was Ye Yizhen. She walked gracefully forward, bowing with elegance, her figure alluring, her neck tilted just so, revealing a pitifully delicate face. Every gesture, every glance was carefully calculated—to soften even the hardest of men’s hearts.
Yun Zheng laughed in anger. Scheming is one thing—but dragging me down as your stepping stone?
“I did nothing wrong!”
“You put on a show of kindness and virtue to attract men’s attention. I won’t play along—it’s beneath me.”
Everyone: … Too sharp!
Ye Yizhen’s eyes reddened, tears brimming. “Sister-in-law, you wronged me. I haven’t—I only have Brother Jiang in my heart and eyes.”
Jiang Wenzhou was deeply moved. True love revealed in adversity—only Yizhen truly cares for me.
But Li Wuyang had seen countless palace women. Their tricks were endless, and such petty schemes could never fool his eyes. “You are so frivolous—what brothel did you crawl out of?”
A courtesan? If Nine Thousand Years said she was a courtesan, then she was. No rebuttal accepted.
The hall fell silent. People wanted to laugh, but dared not, stifling it.
Ye Yizhen’s vision went dark, nearly spitting blood. “I’m not! I’m not!”
Her reputation was ruined. How could she face society again?
“Ha ha ha.” A clear laugh rang out.
It was Yun Zheng, laughing boldly, joyfully.
Ye Yizhen was furious, her eyes bloodshot. “We are family. Seeing me humiliated, you laugh? You are vicious.”
She longed to shift attention onto Yun Zheng, to blur the “courtesan” label. If she could drag things out, the scandal might fade.
But Yun Zheng saw through her instantly. “Who is family with a courtesan? How disgraceful.”
“Yun Zheng!” Jiang Wenzhou roared in fury.
Yun Zheng smiled sweetly. “I know—the heir doesn’t love proper women. He prefers this sort. As long as you’re happy.” Her words grew more outrageous.
Marquis Pingxi shouted: “Enough! Stop this nonsense!” He cursed inwardly. He had known Nine Thousand Years’ ears and eyes were everywhere, but he hadn’t expected them to be *this* sharp.
“Your Highness, she is my wife’s niece, raised under our care since childhood—a clever, obedient girl. Now she is my eldest son’s wife.”
Li Wuyang’s black eyes were deep as ink, unreadable. “Your eldest son is truly pitiful.”
The hall fell silent. What did that mean?
Only Yun Zheng smiled sweetly and added, “Exactly. Alive, he was never treated well. Dead, his brother sleeps with his wife, a bright green crown upon his head. Tsk, tsk—so tragic, unable to rest in peace.” Her words were venomous.
The Marquis and Marchioness’s faces shifted from blue to red to green—spectacularly so.
The Marchioness forced herself to speak. “Since ancient times, *jiāntiāo* (marrying on behalf of a deceased brother) has been permitted and recognized.” She smiled ingratiatingly. “Your Highness, it is our honor that you grace the Pingxi household. Please, drink a cup of wedding wine before you depart.”
She waved her hand. “Continue the ceremony.”
Marquis Pingxi said nothing—his silence was tacit approval.
Yun Zheng sneered inwardly. The old fox was always like this—sending his wife forward to bear the blame, while he hid behind, controlling everything. When trouble arose, he dismissed it lightly as the ignorance of women and children.
The pair were a perfect match.
Jiang Wenzhou, unwilling but compelled, stepped forward. In front of Nine Thousand Years, he dared not act rashly.
Ye Yizhen seethed with resentment. No, she could not be the only one disgraced. Her eyes darted, then suddenly she screamed: “Brother Jiang, I feel unwell—my whole body aches!” She closed her eyes and collapsed.
Jiang Wenzhou rushed to catch his beloved, seeing her eyes shut tight, breathless, as if lifeless. He panicked, distraught. “Zhenzhen, you mustn’t be harmed! I’ll take you to a physician at once.” He scooped her up and bolted outside, so fast no one could stop him.
The guests were dumbfounded. Nine Thousand Years was still present, yet they ran off? No wedding rites?
Yun Zheng sneered. Ye Yizhen could never bear to see others well. They thought this would embarrass her? Little did they know—such theatrics could never fool these old foxes. That shameless pair’s reputation was utterly ruined. Worst of all, to play tricks in front of Nine Thousand Years was courting death.
Sure enough, Li Wuyang’s expression turned cold and harsh. “The heir is too entangled in romance, lacking heroic spirit. He is unfit for office.”
The Marquis and Marchioness felt as though thunder had struck them. This was the end of Jiang Wenzhou’s path to officialdom.
The Marquis household held noble rank, but without real power it was only an empty shell, a title for show. No one truly respected them.
“Your Highness Qiansui, my son…” He had already placed Jiang Wenzhou in the Forbidden Palace as a guard, often serving before the Emperor. The political resources he gained were unimaginable. With the Emperor’s favor, he could have risen swiftly. It was the path noble sons took, a stepping stone to officialdom.
But Li Wuyang’s thin lips parted, his voice icy and merciless: “Strike Jiang Wenzhou’s name from the Forbidden Palace guard list. Never employ him again.”
The hall erupted in shock. Jiang Wenzhou’s career was finished!
Serves him right—for playing the lovesick fool, for running off with his sweetheart without a word, ignoring Nine Thousand Years entirely. Serves him right!
The Marchioness’s vision went black; she fainted.
Marquis Pingxi staggered, then roared hoarsely: “Go! Drag that wretched son back here—quickly!”