NOVEL NEXT Chapter 291: The Body At The Gate
I did not wait for ceremony, nor did I tell anyone what I was doing.
For a moment, I thought I should tell Mingyu what my plans were, but at the same time, I knew that it would put him in an awkward position.
He was the Emperor… he couldn't just turn around and kill a minister simply because someone had said something.
I, on the other hand, didn't have those same limitations.
Minister Han's chambers smelled of old incense, the kind that clings to silk until even the moths grow sick of it. He rose when I entered, his robes falling perfectly, and his hands folded in front of him.
He was the perfect image of a servant of rites.
"Your Majesty," he began, bowing low. "If this is about the offerings—"
"It is," I cut in. "Offerings you thought to make to Baiguang."
He froze, still bent, then straightened too quickly. His eyes flicked past me, measuring how many guards had followed. None. I didn't need them.
"I should warn you…Hua talks too much," I continued before he found words.
He laughed. Thin. False. "Captain Hua is mistaken. The man has always been weak—"
I moved. One step closed the space. My hand found his throat before he could finish. His breath caught, robes wrinkling in my fist.
"You sold a road," I said, voice low. "You sold my son into a coffin. Do not insult me by pretending you thought incense could cover the stink."
His eyes bulged. He clawed at my wrist. "Majesty—please—we all serve the realm—I only—"
"Coin," I hissed. "How much?"
He gagged, spit sliding down his chin. "Enough… to ease shortages… enough to—"
I tightened my grip until his words broke into gasps.
"You don't ease shortages with children's bones," I said. I shoved him backward. He stumbled into the altar, bowls crashing, ashes scattering like gray snow across the floor.
He landed hard, wheezing. "It was—only politics—Baiguang promised—"
"Baiguang promised to buy you. And you let them."
I didn't give him time to crawl upright. My boot caught him in the ribs, pinning him against the lacquered wood. His hands scrabbled at the floor, searching for purchase, for escape, for anything.
"Names," I demanded. "Who else in Rites took coin? Who else bends knee to Baiguang behind closed doors?"
He shook his head, teeth bared with pain. "No one—it was only me—"
My hand filled with pure black mist. It curled, soft as silk, before searing into his skin. Not the healing fog that mended Wei's bruises.
This was the other edge of the blade—the one that burned instead of soothed.
Han screamed. Not loud enough. I pressed harder, the mist sinking through robes, into flesh, scalding him from the inside.
"Who else?" I repeated.
"Zhou!" he cried. "A scribe—just a scribe—he carried letters—"
"Who else?"
"Chen—the temple rope-seller—he supplied the cords—"
"I already have Chen," I said coldly. "You give me nothing new. Try again."
His body arched, sweat running down his face, smoke curling faint from his skin. "Two ministers—Revenue—Justice—they… they looked away. I swear it! I only—"
I cut the mist off, sudden as a door slamming. He collapsed, gasping, coughing up bile.
"Now we are closer," I said.
His eyes streamed, terror stripping him of rank. "Majesty, mercy—"
"Mercy?" I crouched beside him, brushing ash from his sleeve. "Mercy was what you stole from my son. You put him in the dark, gagged, in a coffin meant for corpses. You think you can buy back mercy?"
He sobbed. The sound disgusted me.
"Majesty," he whispered, "please… I was promised protection… Baiguang said—"
"Baiguang," I echoed, quiet as a knife sliding free. "Do you know what I say?"
His breath hitched.
"I say you live long enough to show the city what happens when a man sells its heir."
I grabbed his collar and dragged him upright. His feet scraped uselessly across the floor, his sobs smearing against the tiles. Servants scattered as I hauled him out into the corridor. None dared step forward.
Yaozu was waiting outside, arms folded. His eyes took in the trembling bundle at the end of my fist. He did not ask. He only tilted his chin toward the gate.
"South," I said. "The wide road."
He nodded once and fell into step beside me.
Han babbled as we walked, voice cracking. "Majesty, no, please—the people will see—my family—"
"They will," I said. "That is the point."
We reached the southern gate as the sun climbed, weak light spilling across stone. Guards stiffened when they saw me, then froze entirely when they saw who I carried. Minister Han tried to twist, to appeal, but one look from me stopped their mouths.
"Post," I ordered.
Two men brought the thick beam used for traitors. They hesitated. I did not. I slammed Han against it, rope biting as Yaozu bound his wrists.
"Majesty!" Han shrieked. "I confess—I will sign—I will—"
"You already confessed," I said. "Now you will be the example."
Yaozu finished the knots with ruthless efficiency. Han sagged against the post, bound upright, a mockery of the bow he had given me hours before.
I stepped back. The gate loomed behind him, iron hinges frosted, the city beyond already gathering with whispers.
"People of Daiyu!" I called out, my voice carrying across the distance. "This man is Lord Han of Rites. He took Baiguang's coin. He sold our roads. He let a coffin pass with my son inside. He betrayed not only his Emperor and Empress, but you—your walls, your children, your peace."
The murmurs swelled. Faces pressed closer. Eyes wide, mouths hard.
"This is what happens when you sell Daiyu," I said. "This is what happens when you dare touch my son."
I drew my blade. Black mist curled along its edge and Han's scream split the air as steel bit deep.
I did not draw it out. I was not here to play. The blade drove clean across his chest, through his ribs, pinning him to the post. His body jerked once, twice, then sagged. Blood streaked down the wood, dark against frost.
The city watched. No one spoke.
I wiped the blade, sheathed it, and stepped back. "Leave him," I ordered. "Let the crows have him. Let every man who passes this gate remember what coin cannot buy."
The guards bowed low.
I turned, cloak snapping in the cold wind. Behind me, Han's body swayed, nailed to the gate like a warning bell that would never ring.
Yaozu fell into step beside me. His eyes glinted. "The court will whisper," he said.
"Let them," I replied. "If they whisper loud enough, I'll find their tongues next."
We walked back toward the palace. Behind us, the city murmured, the sound growing—not outrage, not pity. Fear. The kind that keeps doors shut at night, that stops tongues from wagging, that turns rumors into silence.
The Empress had set her law in blood.