Shu Mingye woke up in a cold, dim room. His eyes were swollen and wet. He didn't know why. He wasn't lying down or standing. He was kneeling.
Two men were beside him—one on his left, one on his right. Their hands were like iron, gripping his wrists tightly so he couldn't move. His knees pressed into the hard ground. He tried to struggle, but it was useless. All he could do was kneel there and cry.
In front of him, his mother—Queen Shu—was also on her knees. Her long, dark hair was no longer neat. It hung in messy strands over her face. Her silk dress, once so beautiful, was torn down the sides, ripped as if someone had tried to pull it off. Dark red stains soaked through the fabric. She was crying, reaching out toward the man standing tall in front of them.
It was Shu Wenxu, his uncle.
"Please," Queen Shu sobbed, her voice raw and shaking. "Don't kill him. Don't kill my son. Let him go. Just kill me instead!"
He raised his hand and gave a small wave toward the guard beside him.
The guard stepped forward and grabbed Queen Shu's hand without care. Shu Mingye saw his mother flinch.
"Say that again," Shu Wenxu said, voice lazy and arrogant.
"Please!" Queen Shu begged again. "Please let him live. He is just a child!"
The guard didn't speak. He grabbed her finger and twisted.
Her scream tore through the air. It echoed off the walls and stabbed straight into Shu Mingye's ears. His chest tightened. His heart pounded hard.
"No!" Shu Mingye shouted, eyes wide in terror. "Stop! Don't hurt my mother!"
But no one listened. No one ever did.
He pulled against the guards holding his wrists, twisting and jerking, trying to break free. But their grip didn't loosen. His arms ached. His knees stayed pressed to the cold floor. He was trapped. In front of him, his mother kept screaming. Her body shook, but she still stayed on her knees. Still begging.
"Kill me!" she cried, voice hoarse and broken. "Kill me! And let him go!"
The guard didn't speak. He reached for her hand again.
Another scream filled the room—sharp, raw, endless.
It echoed in Shu Mingye's ears, louder than anything else. His chest tightened so badly he couldn't breathe. Tears spilled from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks silently. He couldn't stop them. He couldn't stop anything. He felt useless. All he could do was cry.
Then the door burst open. Two more guards marched in. Between them, they dragged a man by his arms, his legs dragging limply behind him. They threw him to the floor in front of Queen Shu like he was nothing but garbage.
"Husband!" Queen Shu cried out, her voice filled with fresh panic. "Husband!"
Shu Mingye blinked through his tears.
It was his father. King Shu.
He didn't look like a king anymore. Blood soaked his robes and skin. His hands were ruined. His face was pale, lips cracked. His chest barely moved. His eyes were half-open but dull, empty. Wounds covered every part of him.
Shu Mingye stared for a second, frozen in place. Then he shut his eyes tight. He couldn't watch. He couldn't breathe. His heart hurt too much. He lowered his head and cried—quietly, helplessly. Tears dropped onto the cold floor beneath him. His hands trembled in the guards' grip. His shoulders shook, but he didn't make a sound. He didn't dare.
Then another sound. Sharp. Sickening. Followed by his mother's scream. Louder than before. It tore through the air like lightning, cutting straight into his heart.
Shu Mingye flinched. He wanted to open his eyes, but he was too scared. Too scared of what he might see. Too scared of what might happen next.
Then came his uncle's voice, smooth and full of cruelty. "The new emperor, Fu Jingtao," Shu Wenxu said, almost laughing, "told me I just had to keep you alive enough to be displayed."
Displayed. Like an object.
Shu Mingye's stomach turned.
Then a weak voice spoke—his father's.
"Why did you do this?" King Shu asked, voice barely above a whisper. His voice was tired, but it still held a spark of anger.
Shu Wenxu snorted. "Why?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Why? If only you had listened to me. If only you had given Shulin to me. This throne was meant for me. Not you!"
Shu Mingye's heart stopped. His breath caught.
Then his father spoke again, coughing out a broken laugh. "So... greed… and jealousy, huh?"
A loud slap echoed through the room.
Shu Mingye heard his father grunt in pain. His mother was still crying. Still begging. Still hurt. And he could do nothing. He just stayed there—kneeling, crying, useless. His throat burned, but somehow, he forced the words out.
"Please stop… don't hurt them anymore."
His voice was small. Shaky. His eyes stayed shut, too afraid to open.
Then he heard footsteps. Getting closer.
Then—slap.
Something hard struck his face. His head whipped to the side. His body nearly fell, but the guards holding his wrists yanked him back up. Pain bloomed across his cheek. His skin stung. He opened his eyes, blinking through tears.
His vision blurred, but he saw her.
His mother. She was crawling across the floor, dragging herself on bloody hands and knees. Her body was trembling. Her dress was torn even more now, soaked with blood and dirt. She reached his uncle, grabbed the hem of his robes, and held on.
"Stop!" Queen Shu cried, her voice raw and shaking. "Please stop! I will do anything. Stop hurting him!"
Shu Wenxu looked down at her with disgust.
"Too late," his uncle spat.
Shu Mingye couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His heart was breaking in a way words couldn't explain.
Then Shu Wenxu turned away, as if bored.
"Put them in prison," he ordered.
And just like that, it was over. But for Shu Mingye, the nightmare had only just begun.
The guards beside him didn't let go. They grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the room. His knees scraped along the floor, his wrists ached in their grip. He didn't walk. He didn't stand. He was pulled like a sack of cloth, limp and helpless.
Outside, the courtyard was painted in red. Blood soaked the stones. Bodies lay everywhere—motionless, broken, cold.
As he was dragged across the stone path, Shu Mingye saw faces he knew. Familiar ones. His guards, who used to laugh with him. His nanny, who once sang him to sleep. Palace workers, kind servants, people who smiled at him each morning. Now, they stared up at the sky with empty eyes.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see anymore. His knees burned as they scraped against the rough ground. Blood trickled down his legs, mixing with the dirt. But he made no sound. Not even a whimper. He didn't have the strength left to cry.
After a while, the guards stopped. They threw him to the ground. His body hit the cold stone floor with a thud. He opened his eyes. Thick metal bars loomed before him.
The palace prison.
He pushed himself slowly toward the corner of the dark cell. He curled up, folding his knees to his chest, and sat there—shaking, silent. Then he saw them. More guards came, dragging two more bodies past him.
His mother and his father. Each was tossed into a separate cell. His mother was still breathing, still crying softly. His father didn't move at all.
Shu Mingye pressed his forehead to his knees.
Night fell.
He didn't sleep. He couldn't. He sat there in the dark, his body trembling, his eyes wide open. All night long, he listened.
His mother's screams. His father's low grunts of pain.
Again and again, until—
Silence. Just silence. And in that silence, Shu Mingye realized something deep and cold: He was no longer a prince. He was just a boy in the dark. Alone.
He didn't know how many days had passed. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He just sat there, curled up in the corner of the cold prison cell, waiting. For what, he didn't know. Maybe for someone to save him. Maybe for the pain to stop. But no one came. Only the silence and fear kept him company. Then one day—footsteps. Loud. Heavy. The cell door creaked open. Two guards stepped inside and grabbed him without a word. Their hands were rough, dragging him out again like a broken doll.
The sunlight outside burned his eyes.
Standing there, waiting, was the one face he hated most.
Shu Wenxu.
He was smiling. That awful, fake smile.
Shu Mingye felt something twist in his stomach. Disgust. Rage. But he had no strength left to speak, to curse, to fight. He just stared with tired, empty eyes.
Shu Wenxu stepped forward, calm and smug. "The emperor has made his decree," he said casually, as if reading a letter. "You'll be exiled to the north."
He paused. Then suddenly, he grabbed Shu Mingye's jaw—fingers digging hard into his skin, pinching cruelly.
"And your mother and father?" he said, his voice turning low and mocking. "They've been executed."
Shu Mingye's breath caught.
Shu Wenxu leaned in, smiling wider. "Their heads are hanging at the palace gates right now. You'll see them on your way out." Then he laughed.
That laugh. It felt like poison in Shu Mingye's ears. His whole body trembled.
His mother—who used to hold him, hug him. Gentle, kind, always warm.
His father—who stood tall like a mountain, strong and just. Who once told him never to kneel to evil.
Gone. Executed. Displayed like trophies.
Shu Mingye's lips trembled. He didn't cry. Not now. Not yet.
Deep inside, something shattered.
He knew everything would never be the same again.