Mingzhao slowly lifted Lixuan, supporting him carefully.
His hands were strong, yet there was a strange gentleness in his grip — as if he was not only holding his body, but also the little courage he had left.
Lixuan's body was completely exhausted.
His breaths were heavy, and the darkness beneath his eyes looked deeper — as if he had not only fought a battle, but also a war against the darkness within himself.
There were dried bloodstains on his clothes, and his fingers were still trembling slightly.
The air carried the mixed smell of iron and blood.
Broken weapons, shattered surroundings, and marks on the ground in the palace courtyard still told the story of the storm that had passed through just moments ago.
Fengli stood a little behind.
There was clear fear in his eyes — but it wasn't fear of a sword or death.
It was fear of power.
What he had witnessed had shaken his belief.
Mingzhao looked at him and said softly,
"Whatever happened here… no one should find out."
There was less command and more concern in his voice.
Fengli nodded silently.
In that moment, an unspoken agreement formed between them.
Lixuan steadied himself and walked forward slowly.
Every step felt heavy, as if the ground itself was trying to hold him back.
He went to Fengli's mother.
She was sitting outside near the stone steps.
Her clothes were soaked with blood, yet there was a strange calmness on her face.
Her breaths were weak, but her eyes still held love and pride.
Lixuan knelt in front of her.
He lowered his head. For the first time, the break in his voice was clearly audible.
"I came late…"
She looked at his face with a faint smile.
"You came… that is enough."
There was no complaint in her voice.
Only a mother's reassurance.
Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed from the palace gate.
With the clink of metal and hurried breaths, two silhouettes stepped into the light.
The princes of the Shenmei clan — Xiangu and Zhichen — had arrived.
Concern was clearly visible on their faces.
As if throughout the journey, only one question had circled their minds — were they too late?
Xiangu immediately asked,
"Is everything alright? We received Chief Zhihao's message, so father sent us here."
Mingzhao glanced at Lixuan for a moment.
Then he looked away and replied calmly,
"Yes… something did happen. But a strange whistling sound echoed… and after that everything stopped."
Fengli added, trying to support the story,
"We couldn't understand it properly either."
Xiangu looked at the soldiers lying inside.
His eyes held both shock and suspicion.
"Who did all this?"
Mingzhao hesitated slightly before saying,
"I don't know… when we arrived, everything was already like this."
Zhichen had remained silent until now.
His gaze was fixed on Lixuan.
The faint line of dried blood at the corner of his lips, the deep exhaustion under his eyes, and the storm buried within them —
Zhichen noticed everything.
He said nothing.
But his silence was full of questions.
Xiangu stepped forward and sat beside Fengli's mother.
A soft glow of his power spread over her hands.
Gradually, her breathing began to stabilize.
But Fengli's father…
was no longer in this world.
Fengli sat down on the ground.
He bowed his head beside his father's body.
His back trembled — but he made no sound.
He began the funeral rites in the traditional way.
With every ritual, it felt as if his childhood was slowly slipping away.
With trembling hands and tears, his mother said softly,
"Now this palace… and this clan… are your responsibility."
She transferred her power into Fengli's hands.
A faint light passed between them — as if one era was being handed to the next.
And then…
she left.
Fengli remained seated there.
Losing both parents in a single night — something inside him had shattered.
Lixuan came to him and said quietly,
"Now you are the king of the Shenqi clan. The weight of the entire clan is on your shoulders. You cannot lose courage."
Fengli said nothing.
But he closed his eyes and nodded slightly.
—
Meanwhile, in the Qingyu clan…
A deep silence filled the court.
Torchlight flickered along the walls.
Zhi Yan entered alone.
There were wounds across his body.
His clothes were torn. Not a single soldier was with him.
He bowed before Moyan.
"I would have killed them all…
but that boy… Lixuan…"
His voice trembled.
"He had lost his power… yet he still had power.
Far greater than mine.
There was black smoke around him… and the shadows of that smoke killed all our soldiers.
And when he whistles… those controlled by Yin Mo Ji begin to recover."
Silence filled the court.
Moyan slowly stood.
There was a faint smile on his lips — but it was cold.
"So you couldn't break him with darkness…"
Then he said softly,
"Breaking him isn't necessary.
That boy will become our pawn.
We won't force him…
We will trap him so that the whole world turns against him."
His eyes glinted coldly.
"When everyone sees him as guilty…
he will step out of our path himself."
—
Back at Shenqi Palace, the night was growing deeper.
Clouds drifted across the sky, the moon appearing and disappearing.
Lixuan stood quietly to one side.
As if everything was happening around him…
yet he himself was somewhere else.
Voices echoed in his mind.
Of battle. Of screams. And of his own heart.
Zhichen walked up to him.
He gently placed a hand on his back.
At that touch, Lixuan's body relaxed slightly —
as if someone had placed a calming hand over the storm inside him.
Xiangu stood at a distance, watching everything.
He didn't ask anything.
Sometimes understanding comes without questions.
Mingzhao stood beside Fengli.
His silence was companionship — and sometimes that is the greatest support.
Zhichen asked softly,
"The soldiers here… were they really killed by you?"
Lixuan gave no reply.
He simply lowered his eyes.
And Zhichen understood everything.
His hand was still on Lixuan's back.
And his gaze didn't leave his face even for a moment.
Mingzhao, Fengli, and Xiangu were all nearby —
but no one spoke.
In that single night, the history of the Shenqi clan changed.
A night in which a son became a king,
a friend stood strong even while breaking inside,
and a boy began to fear his own power.
The truth was before everyone…
yet no one could say it.
There was only the night.
And its silence —
writing a different story in every heart.