Chapter 167

Rong Tang had already been puzzled by that cup of tea from Liuyun. But after today’s explanation, he needed no evidence. His instincts told him that the letter was undoubtedly Sheng Chengli’s doing.

Back then, every trusted aide around Sheng Chengli had been handpicked by Rong Tang, uncovered, groomed, and presented to him one by one.

In truth, those strategists had far closer ties to Rong Tang than to a prince who had only recently emerged from the cold palace.

Even if, in time, some newcomers took a dislike to him—resenting how much sway Rong Tang held in front of Sheng Chengli—not one of them would have dared think of killing him.

—He was, after all, the Shizi of Duke Ningxuan.

As for Su Huaijing’s camp, the main villain was a figure of unquestioned authority. None under his command would ever act without orders or take matters into their own hands.

Liuyun was the sole exception. He was obstinate, single-minded, and tasked only with safeguarding Su Huaijing’s safety. Never to meddle in the cutthroat political manoeuvring of court. That made him a far easier target than most.

Rong Tang didn’t know how Sheng Chengli had learned of Liuyun’s existence, but once every other possibility had been ruled out, only one figure remained who had both reason and motive to wish him dead at that particular moment. The very man who had just quarrelled with him, whose wings were growing and who was increasingly at odds with him: Sheng Chengli.

He wanted to consolidate his power, so Rong Tang had to die.

Rong Tang almost found it amusing. The first life, he’d used someone else’s blade. The second, Sheng Chengli had plunged the knife in himself. And now, the man still had the gall to ask, “Is this how biao ge sees me?”

And how else was he supposed to see him?

Should he imagine Sheng Chengli had no choice, forced into his actions by cruel circumstance?

He was no longer the same Rong Tang shackled by the constraints of system tasks and scripted plot lines. Why on earth should he offer Sheng Chengli patience… let alone another chance?

He sat with perfect posture, unmoving. After delivering that remark, his gaze shifted to the so-called ‘scribe’.

“And is this your master?”

Sheng Chengli faltered. Before he could respond, Rong Tang gave a soft click of his tongue. “You’ve short-changed him rather badly. After all his years of scheming for you from the shadows, you’ve done no better than making him an imperial palace clerk? Even Master Huimian wasn’t given such shabby treatment.”

Huimian had been one of Sheng Chengli’s deadliest pawns, yet from the moment Rong Tang turned the tables and took the mountain route, he’d turned that piece into his own. The result had been a game Sheng Chengli could no longer control—and the man’s fury at the end had proved it.

Sheng Chengli opened his mouth, then paused, a flush of restrained anger spreading across his features. “You’ve known all along.”

He had tested Rong Tang more than once for signs of memories from their past life. Every time, Rong Tang had brushed him off with some half-truth or clever dodge. But now, he wasn’t bothering to pretend.

Suppressing his temper, Sheng Chengli steadied himself and said darkly, “Was it me who wanted to kill you… or was it you who wanted to kill me? Wasn’t it you who ordered someone to gouge out that eye?”

Rong Tang gave him a silent nod of approval for his skill at flipping the blame. But his patience had worn thin.

He turned to the ‘scribe’ instead, and asked mildly, “How should I address you, sir?”

No hysteria. No anger. Just calm, collected composure.

Sheng Chengli fell silent, startled by the sudden shift, and looked at him, unsure what to say.

The man behind the desk finally raised his head and looked at Rong Tang.

With a single glance, Rong Tang froze.

It was a face… beyond words.

The kind of face one might find in paintings of saints or books about sages. Calm, gentle, ancient. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties, beard turning white, expression serene yet warm. A face one could see ten times and still forget. Yet the moment you laid eyes on him, an inexplicable calm settled over you.

And it was that very serenity that sent a chill down Rong Tang’s spine. The unsettling sense of something inhuman.

He quietly pinched his fingertips, anchoring himself in the pain, and stared at the man with wary eyes.

The figure said gently, “I have neither name nor surname. But if you’re willing, young friend, you may call me the Heavenly Way.”

In that instant, it felt as if Rong Tang had plunged into an icy abyss.

—

Beyond the capital’s outskirts, a convoy of carriages rolled by. At the rear, the wagons were piled with crates of freshly ripened autumn fruit—plump, fragrant, the sweet scent lingering in the air as the horses galloped forward.

The convoy halted outside the gates of Yu capital. Sheng Chengming leaned out from the carriage and looked up at the plaque above the city walls.

He hadn’t set foot in the capital for two years… not since he was granted a princely title and departed in the tenth year of Qingzheng’s reign.

Back then, he had entered the capital in high spirits, dreaming of the throne. But over the years, that dream had gradually curdled into a quiet fear. Sheng Chengming was not the cleverest of Emperor Renshou’s sons. But he was obedient.

—He listened to Su Huaijing.

It was Su Huaijing who advised him to accept the title and leave the capital behind. Sheng Chengming had resented it at first. But looking back now, among all the sons of the late emperor, which of them aside from him, had met a decent end?

The eighth prince’s bloodline had come under suspicion. While Sheng Chengming remained in distant Lingnan, he’d received countless letters from the capital. Those once-proud princes who had been escorted in splendour wherever they went, had vanished… one by one. And now, only Sheng Chengli remained a viable contender for the throne.

And yet…

He sat back in the carriage and closed his eyes. Outside, the capital’s ever-blowing winds whistled past. But behind that sound. It was distant, almost imperceptible… he heard something else.

The thunder of hooves. The sound of three hundred thousand warhorses charging in from every direction.

His lips were dry. He unconsciously clenched his fists.

None of the brothers had won. There was only room for one true victor.

A guard outside the window called out respectfully, “Your Highness, shall we enter the city?”

Sheng Chengming shook his head. “No. We rest here.”

A prince bringing troops into the capital without cause would be treated as a traitor. The punishment was death. And behind him stood three hundred thousand soldiers.

He had to wait… for the signal from the capital. Wait for legitimacy.

Whether he would turn the army and seize the throne himself…

At this moment, Sheng Chengming could only admit… he might not be cut out for it.

Even if he succeeded by sheer luck, how long could he hold it?

When Su Huaijing had been his adviser, Sheng Chengming had trusted him without reservation. And now that Su Huaijing sought to make him his shield. Sheng Chengming…

Well, he couldn’t quite think of a reason to refuse.

After all, this empire should have belonged to Su Huaijing… or rather, to Sheng Fuya.

He let out a quiet breath and closed his eyes, weariness settling in his bones.

The sky was darkening, the city gates soon to close. A few jackdaws burst from the dense woods beyond the capital. Overhead, the last blush of daylight withdrew into the clouds, returning home.

—

Inside Qinzheng Hall, Rong Tang swallowed unconsciously, the flicker of shock in his gaze swiftly reined in as he composed himself once more.

“I thought you’d have come to find me long ago,” he said.

The old man who called himself the Heavenly Way merely replied, “I too had thought that, once your task was complete, we would meet.”

He paused, then added softly, almost regretfully, “It’s just a shame… you never completed it. Not even once.”

Rong Tang looked directly at him and asked, with no hint of tact, “Are you trying to imply that all of this happened because I wasn’t competent enough to complete the task?”

His tone turned cold. “That’s called psychological abuse.”

Both of them stilled for a moment. If the system were still here, he would likely already be muttering curses with Tangtang, complaining about this smug, high-handed tone. Draped in gentleness yet soaked in blame. The sort of tone that disguises coercion as benevolence.

But Rong Tang…

He’d spent a lifetime being a Buddha. What did it matter if the man wanted to shove the blame onto him?

He leaned back in his chair and offered a slow, sardonic smile. “Looking back, it’s a good thing that wretched mission failed.”

The old man blinked in surprise, then gave a light chuckle. “Little friend, you’re still as amusing as ever.”

“As ever?” Rong Tang asked. “So you’ve met me before?”

The Heavenly Way nodded. “I am Heaven. All under Heaven is within my gaze.”

Rong Tang nodded. “Sounds very altruistic of you.”

Then his tone turned, and his eyes slid towards Sheng Chengli, who had been silent since their conversation began. His voice was laced with mockery. “So benevolent, and yet you chose that sorry excuse of a man to help you steal?”

Sheng Chengli snapped, “You—!”

Heavenly Way frowned. For the first time, displeasure flickered across that overly serene face, and he said sternly, “Mind your words, little friend.”

“What is it I must mind?” Rong Tang countered. “That Sheng Chengli didn’t steal Su Huaijing’s rightful throne? Or that you didn’t steal my role in this?”

A flicker of something strange passed through the Heavenly Way’s gaze, but it smoothed over quickly. “It seems you already know quite a bit.”

He looked into Rong Tang’s eyes and said meaningfully, “But tell me, do you know the whole truth?”

Within the hall, candlelight burned steadily. The final traces of dusk faded from the skies beyond. Rong Tang met his gaze—and felt a sudden wave of vertigo.

His brow furrowed. Not good.

He dug his nails into his palm. The sharp pain helped anchor him. Blood touched the edge of his tongue for the first time in years.

At that moment, a palace servant knocked gently on the door and murmured, “Your Highness, Excellency Su requests an audience. Shall I let him in?”

Instantly, something in Rong Tang loosened… like a taut string slackening. Just hearing Su Huaijing’s name felt like shelter from a coming storm.

He lowered his head and took a moment to still the tumult left behind from that last eye contact.

Sheng Chengli looked displeased. He had barely uttered the word “No” when the Heavenly Way cut in gently: “Go and see him. I still have matters to discuss with this young friend.”

Sheng Chengli fell silent, hesitated for a breath, then remained still. Only when the Heavenly Way repeated, “Go and see him,” did he finally nod and withdraw, stiff with restraint.

The doors closed again. Only the two of them remained.

Rong Tang had long believed they would meet face to face, but now that they had, he had no idea what this so-called then Heavenly Way intended to say.

Sheng Chengli was revolting, not merely because of his cruelty, but because of the way he cloaked his malice in transparent lies, always feigning the injured party.

Rong Tang could scarcely bear to look at him.

But the old man before him… this man had sent Sheng Chengli away. And what he alone now wanted, Rong Tang could not yet guess.

He waited.

The old man didn’t speak. Instead, he tilted his head back and looked up at the beam overhead with a distant expression, almost nostalgic.

A cold knot twisted in Rong Tang’s chest. An awful premonition surged upwards, urgent and sickening. He followed the gaze, lifting his own eyes to the old timber above.

The man spoke:

“Did you know? The late Emperor and Empress were hanged from that beam. The palace was in chaos for several days, and they hung there the entire time. When Sheng Xuyan finally arrived, the Qinzheng Hall was swarming with flies, maggots crawling from their eye sockets and nostrils, one after another. The eunuch sent to collect the bodies wet himself on the spot.”

He smiled slightly, ignoring the pallor that had spread across Rong Tang’s face, and said with a sort of wistful regret, “A pity. I should’ve made sure he saw it before he left the capital.”

“If he had, how could he have been so easily redeemed by you?”

The man who called himself the Heavenly Way was now speaking the most nauseating, blood-chilling words Rong Tang had ever heard.

There was no compassion in his eyes. No false benevolence.

Only a bottomless, ravenous hatred.

He loathed Rong Tang, but could not kill him.

He wanted to drag Su Huaijing into the darkness… but could do nothing but watch as Rong Tang pulled him, time and again, into the light.