The Emperor's gaze lingered on Ming, then dropped to his own hand. He had caught the blade bare-handed—yet blood traced a thin line across his palm. Not deep, only a scratch, but a scratch all the same.
The Alliance Leader's eyes widened, shock breaking his calm mask. Impossible… How could a boy with no training, no knowledge of martial arts, wound someone at the Transcendent Realm—a pinnacle few ever touched?
The Emperor felt the same question echoing within. A genius… born once in a thousand years. To draw blood from me with nothing but sheer will… His thoughts tightened, already reaching forward into the future. If he comes to my side, in ten years he could shake the heavens. He could be my blade.
"Physician Lian," the Emperor said at last, voice steady but edged with something rare—anticipation.
"Do everything in your power to make him live again," the Emperor said, his voice a cold command that left no room for argument. "Fail me, Lian, and you will die for it."
Lian's face drained of color. For a moment he could only stare, panic rising like bile. Then, with a voice that shook, he managed, "I—Your Majesty, I will do everything I can to save him." He swallowed, eyes darting to Ming's broken form, and then knelt to begin the desperate work of healing.
The Alliance Leader looked down at Ming like a man examining a rare seed. This is the best seed I have seen in my life, he thought. If the Emperor takes him, the throne will sow a problem for the Alliance. If he comes to my side, he will become our finest weapon — and his hatred can be forged into a blade against the throne. After all, the Emperor killed his family.
Then he Stepping forward, he planted his boots between the Emperor and the motion of the attendants, voice low and deliberate. "Your Majesty, there is no need for you to dirty your hands over a lowly commoner. I will take responsibility for him." His tone carried no humility — only a claim. Beneath the polite words lay a threat: the Alliance would not allow the throne to raise this boy into a weapon for itself.
The Emperor's smile was cold as winter. " understanding his meaning." I will have him executed in the capital, before my subjects. Let everyone see what happens when a commoner raises a blade at his sovereign.
The Alliance Leader's jaw tightened. He read the threat for what it was — meant to warn off any who might interfere. He could not back down and let the throne claim the boy; if the Emperor had him, the Alliance would lose a weapon. If they could not obtain Ming, then perhaps the only way to keep him from the Emperor's hand was to end him first.
The Alliance Leader stepped forward, voice low and deliberate. "Then I propose this: execute him here," he said, eyes never leaving the Emperor's. "Let his head be taken back to the capital and hung at its center for all to see. Let the people learn what happens to those who raise a blade against a sovereign — and let our enemies know the Alliance and Throne stand together like brothers."
On his face there was no emotion, only the trained stillness of command. Inside, however, a slow smile unfurled. Now what will you do, Emperor?
The Emperor read the Alliance Leader as clearly as if the man had spoken aloud—he wanted Ming for himself, or else dead to prevent future trouble. He did not flinch. "There is no need," the Emperor said coolly. "I will see to him myself. Today's meeting is canceled — we will discuss other matter another day." The words closed the issue like a door; the court shifted, knives hidden behind courtesy.
The Emperor looked down at Ming, then turned his gaze to Physician Lian. "How is his condition?"
Lian swallowed. "He's alive, Your Majesty, but he's lost a great deal of blood. It will take time before he stabilizes."
The Emperor inclined his head once. "Very well. We leave at once — take him with us." He fixed Lian with a steady look. "Physician Lian, come with me. I will restore your old position."
Hearing those words, Lian bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the stone. "I will do my best to serve His Majesty," he whispered.
Before anyone could move, the Alliance Leader's voice cut the air like a blade. "I object."
He drew his sword in one fluid motion; a deathly intent settled over him so cold and concentrated it made the onlookers flinch. He was no mere noble — he stood in the Transcendent Realm, and that presence alone made the square smaller, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
The Emperor's face darkened into a storm. "So you finally show your colors," he thundered, fury flaring from him like a struck firebrand. The courtyard went utterly still — it felt as if a great battle were about to break loose at any instant. Bothe side shifted, hands moved to hilts, and even the wind seemed to stop listening.
Lian's fingers trembled over Ming's wound. The crowd pressed back, eyes wide with dread. For a heartbeat, two of the realm's greatest wills faced one another across a single broken life — and every man there understood how thin the thread was between courtly posture and slaughter.
Both men halted, blades halfway to a clash, and the square held its breath. For a single, sharp second the two greatest wills measured one another — neither wished a head-on confrontation yet; neither was prepared to lose this wager.
The Emperor's voice dropped, cold and deliberate. "Then we will not spill blood here," he said. "Send him to Monster Valley." The words landed like a verdict. "You know as well as I do — none who enter that place return alive. My royal guard will escort him. Your men also accompany them .
The Alliance Leader quickly understood what the Emperor meant. He wants our men to fight each other over this boy, he thought. But if we send him to Monster Valley, no one will blame us. Our image as brothers before the people will remain safe.
Monster Valley was a place where they sent criminals they wanted to get rid of. No one ever came back alive from there. The First Emperor himself had called it the most dangerous land in the world, and no one had ever returned alive.
The Alliance Leader bowed slightly. "Very well. If that is your will, let him be sent to Monster Valley."
The Emperor's cold eyes glimmered. "Then it is decided. My royal guards will escort him. Your men also go as well."
***
Slowly, Ming opened his eyes and found himself inside a cage-like carriage. His hands and feet were bound with thick ropes. He didn't understand where he was at first, but then he noticed the crowd.
People lined the streets, glaring at him as the carriage passed. They cursed his name, their voices filled with hate. Some even threw stones at him. To them, he was the villain who had tried to kill the Emperor.
No one asked if it was true or false. They only wanted someone to blame, someone to release their anger on—and Ming had become that target.
And slowly, Ming remembered. The images of his family's death flashed in his mind, and at last, he realized what was happening.
A twisted smile spread across his face. Then he burst into laughter—loud, wild, almost insane.
"Hahaha!" His laughter echoed through the streets, making people stop in their tracks.
He raised his head, glaring at those who cursed him. His voice thundered:
"You are the same! All of you! You are nothing!"
His laughter and shouting filled the air, drowning out the crowd's curses.
The people stared, unsettled.
"Is he crazy? What is he talking about?" they whispered.
Ming's laughter rang out, sharp and broken. To the crowd, it sounded like madness, but beneath it was grief so deep that no one could hear.
"You are the same!" he cried, his voice cracking with sorrow. "All of you! You are nothing!"
The people only shook their heads.
"Crazy," they muttered. "He's lost his mind."
But every word Ming spoke was the truth—truth born from suffering. Only someone who had felt the same loss, the same pain, could understand his voice.
And after that pain, after everything had been stolen from him… wasn't it his right to laugh like a madman?