For Ying Zheng, his heart was a tempest of complex emotions. He was a person for whom affection ran deep.
How could he possibly forget the mother-son bond they once shared? But the memory of being betrayed by the person he trusted most brought a bone-piercing pain with every thought. So, with her so close at hand, Ying Zheng's heart was gripped by a deep hesitation. He wanted to see her, yet he was afraid; he wanted to see her, yet he was filled with hate.
Ying Zheng stood outside the grand hall. Dozens of attendants knelt before it, none daring to make a sound. Zhao Gao stood behind him, equally silent. After a long pause, Ying Zheng finally made his decision and strode through the doors.
Upon entering, his eyes immediately fell upon the vacant-faced Concubine Zhao. She sat motionless in her seat, as if her soul had fled her body. Several palace maids were in attendance by her side.
Ying Zheng waved his hand. "You may leave."
The palace maids immediately withdrew.
